My brother downloaded the Sims with all 8 expansion packs today. (legit? Of course! what a ridiculous question....) An 8 in 1 kind of deal, pretty cool. I don't know how to get to it though, dangit. All I want to do is design a house on Sims...oh, it's been too long. I'm going through withdrawal now that I think about it. Hmmmmm....Sims....
Things at my house are calm right now, which isn't saying much considering that my family is a bipolar, 6-part whack job that consumes any people, ideals, or insects to perch next to it. Bow down before the all-destroying collective, ready to freak out and scare anything, anytime. Beware, though; the ability to disappoint and panic is the only stable action one can rely on, this unit thrives on disappointing. It’s not too bad, though; Nothing $50,000 worth of therapy and a couple of pick-me-ups can’t fix. Fear not.
Do you fabulous people remember our dear friend Heather? The stupid one? Well, out of the incalculable sentences of unsurpassable idiocy, I managed to find one of merit. This is not to be seen as redeemable, however; the woman would have to write a Dostoyevsky to do that. Listen to this:
“I'm tired of love; it can kiss the fattest ass in the world [and] lick its cheeks until it bleeds for all I care.”
-Heather
This makes me smile. Ha. I’m going to start cracking up when I see her in English tomorrow. hee hee hee.
The play is over but I’m not sad. I’m continuing to bond with these adorable people; next week I’m going to a party at Dave’s and then throwing one of my own. How splendid.
Yes! Rob’s online and might show me how to get to Sims. My mother’s away for the evening, so I can play to my hearts desire (definitely NOT a good thing). I leave you now for my sexy flooring and improved wall paper. Hmmmmm, wallpaper…drool….
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
The play went fabulously. Absolutely fabulous. We performed well, Travis and Maile were there, it was absolutely corking. Max and Dan and I went on a wild rampage to kiss everybody on the cheek, seeing as it was our last day. I had a spiffy time.
I'm going to miss the play. Honestly- I am. It was ever so fun, I loved it. I'm going to have a cast party (get this) at my house either this week or next. Dave is throwing a hot tub party soon. I think I'm going to stay in touch with most of them, I'm excited. I love these people so much. Huzzah.
Yes- well, there is a chance I'm going to the temple tomorrow morning at 5:00, so I think I'll leave you and sleep after taking off the extreme amount of makeup that is currently covering my face.
Bubye, all.
I'm going to miss the play. Honestly- I am. It was ever so fun, I loved it. I'm going to have a cast party (get this) at my house either this week or next. Dave is throwing a hot tub party soon. I think I'm going to stay in touch with most of them, I'm excited. I love these people so much. Huzzah.
Yes- well, there is a chance I'm going to the temple tomorrow morning at 5:00, so I think I'll leave you and sleep after taking off the extreme amount of makeup that is currently covering my face.
Bubye, all.
Sunday, March 28, 2004
I just finished contending with my mother. I can’t stand this family and I don’t think I’ll be able to take it for much longer. Apparently my mother, my brother, and my grandma have been reading my blog and Elisse’s blog. Everybody wave. They’ve been working very hard to prove their ever-so-mature temperaments to me and the rest of the world.
My mother is incredibly upset that I keep a blog. She’s fine with a physical journal, but not a blog. She hates the fact that the entire world can read it but her, that I’m discriminating against her. Why is the fact that I don’t want her knowing every thought that runs through my pessimistic brain beyond her grasp? Why is it insulting to see that, being her daughter, I become angry with her and I need to talk about it? Why does it matter whether only I read it or Elisse and two other complete strangers read it? The woman is driven to yoke me in my impenetrable solitude and eventually drown me in it. The rest of the world (the entire 2 people that read my blog) can’t possibly find out that my mom is actually flawed. I can’t possibly express myself in a way that produces a substance that has the power to benefit and entertain others. Of course not- I’m suppressed. Huzzah.
Rob has been reading this and informing my mom that I have a dirty mouth. I have used an entire 2 (count them) swear words, and I have a dirty mouth. What? My mother would break down if she actually had a problem child, a child with really massive problems. Argh.
I just don’t understand it. I don’t see why I’m expected to go hang out with all the other Mormon girls when I don’t respect them. “He who sins against the greater light receives the greater condemnation”- don’t the Mormon girls, therefore, have the bigger problems? No- they do not drink or smoke or have lots of sex with random people, but they are materialistic, exclusive, malicious people that taunt those not in their circles to the point of sadism. They know what they should be doing, and yet act in a manner entirely un-Christian. Why should I associate with these counterfeits simply because they make themselves look how they’re supposed to look?
I refuse. I will not do this. I’m not going to censor my blog; I do not write for them. I’m not going to feign respect for them when they’re feeding their insecurities by reading my blog. I have my own morals, and I’m a good child. I have done close to nothing. Nothing. My family is too unsound to compensate me with the trust I believe myself to by worthy of. They are too dependent upon the illusion of control to let me speak out against them. What does it matter if it’s on the freaking web or not? What does it matter if I type it- you can’t stop me from thinking it. It scares you to see it written because it robs you of your ability to turn a blind eye to my feelings and my hindrances. You can no longer pretend to have built a seamless family because my honest opinions are staring you in the face. I am revolted by such suppression and refuse to condone it by muting my views and judgments. This is what I think. This is what I feel. If you have a problem with this then rob me of more rights and privileges. I DON’T CARE. This is what I see, from my mind to yours. I give it unto you. Do with it what you wish.
My mother is incredibly upset that I keep a blog. She’s fine with a physical journal, but not a blog. She hates the fact that the entire world can read it but her, that I’m discriminating against her. Why is the fact that I don’t want her knowing every thought that runs through my pessimistic brain beyond her grasp? Why is it insulting to see that, being her daughter, I become angry with her and I need to talk about it? Why does it matter whether only I read it or Elisse and two other complete strangers read it? The woman is driven to yoke me in my impenetrable solitude and eventually drown me in it. The rest of the world (the entire 2 people that read my blog) can’t possibly find out that my mom is actually flawed. I can’t possibly express myself in a way that produces a substance that has the power to benefit and entertain others. Of course not- I’m suppressed. Huzzah.
Rob has been reading this and informing my mom that I have a dirty mouth. I have used an entire 2 (count them) swear words, and I have a dirty mouth. What? My mother would break down if she actually had a problem child, a child with really massive problems. Argh.
I just don’t understand it. I don’t see why I’m expected to go hang out with all the other Mormon girls when I don’t respect them. “He who sins against the greater light receives the greater condemnation”- don’t the Mormon girls, therefore, have the bigger problems? No- they do not drink or smoke or have lots of sex with random people, but they are materialistic, exclusive, malicious people that taunt those not in their circles to the point of sadism. They know what they should be doing, and yet act in a manner entirely un-Christian. Why should I associate with these counterfeits simply because they make themselves look how they’re supposed to look?
I refuse. I will not do this. I’m not going to censor my blog; I do not write for them. I’m not going to feign respect for them when they’re feeding their insecurities by reading my blog. I have my own morals, and I’m a good child. I have done close to nothing. Nothing. My family is too unsound to compensate me with the trust I believe myself to by worthy of. They are too dependent upon the illusion of control to let me speak out against them. What does it matter if it’s on the freaking web or not? What does it matter if I type it- you can’t stop me from thinking it. It scares you to see it written because it robs you of your ability to turn a blind eye to my feelings and my hindrances. You can no longer pretend to have built a seamless family because my honest opinions are staring you in the face. I am revolted by such suppression and refuse to condone it by muting my views and judgments. This is what I think. This is what I feel. If you have a problem with this then rob me of more rights and privileges. I DON’T CARE. This is what I see, from my mind to yours. I give it unto you. Do with it what you wish.
Saturday, March 27, 2004
So the inhumanly busy day that I went to bed early for has so far turned out to be one of the most empty ones I've lived in months. I awoke at 7, grabbing an orange while rushing out to the SAT. After sending me to 5, I kid you not, 5 different buildings, they kindly informed me that I did not have my registration packet and therefore could not take the test. The woman that I talked to last night on the help 1-800 line must have been an evil impersonator who was trying to deceive me, because only one of the eight things she told me was true. Surely, it wasn’t whoever I was currently talking to at that time who was at fault; everyone was wrong except for whoever was “assisting” me at the moment. I felt completely vexed at the incompetence that sprung forward to meet me at every turn, so I stomped home after informing the tester that his campus was of the devil.
I wasn’t too frustrated, however; I had work at 11:30 and was going to have to seriously push my physical capacity to get to work on time. I figured this was for the best and that I could take the test next month. I clean my room, go to work, and then spend 45 minutes waiting for busses and trains to take me back home upon realizing that I’m not working today.
Technically I’ve spent a lot of time frantically doing nothing today. What a frustrating feeling. Argh.
Anyway. Elisse was arrested yesterday for being assaulted by her 60 year old step-grandmother. Huh.
Apparently Sue, her grandfather’s wife, attacked her and then pretended as if Elisse had attacked her. Yeah, I know: kind of hard to see. So Elisse spent the morning in juvenile detention and emerged an incredibly depressed person. I was going to go with her to a friend’s house, but it was raining and I would have to tell an incredible amount of lies to do so, so I decided against it. Elisse became quiet and withdrawn, as if she was so used to me abusing her. I’ve always marveled at Elisse’s amazing ability to victimize herself, especially in our relationship. She viewed me as this pitiless addiction; her drug of choice. She would whine and whine and whine and make up these nonsense problems and dilemmas, then cry and scream out in self pity when I refused to waste my time trying to resolve them. She would complain to her friends about how hard it was to be mistreated by me and then become puzzled when they all hated me. Even when my mother decided I couldn’t talk to her anymore, she became mad at me because I wouldn’t “fight” for her. How could I do this to her? Yes, my family was falling apart, my mother didn’t trust me, I was handled like a disease at home, and Elisse cries and yells because she doesn’t like how I’m handling things. What does she want? Does she want everyone to stop and drop everything to play into her ideals every time she demands them to? She expected the same things from Hunter. Does she expect me to lie to my family and kill myself trying to hold on to the little rights I have left just so I can comfort her when her picture perfect net of manipulation and deceit finally starts to rip? I don’t adore her as everyone else does. I won’t let her walk all over me just like her minions do. How does such behavior classify as abuse? The only way I could get away from the false entity she saw me as and forced everyone else to see me as was to plant that letter and walk away as the ungrateful child. I’m glad this event has finally slapped her in the face with the callous hand of reality. I’ll never forgive her for some things that happened last year. She says that she has matured and grown, I hope she doesn’t think that growth comes without price. I hope she doesn’t think that I’ve forgotten about the tremendous impact her fallacious visions had on my life.
Yesterday, after I decided not to go with her, she acted so hurt and crippled. When I caught her walking, I came up to her. She wouldn’t talk. She said she was tired “of nobody being there when she called”. She ignored the fact that I was walking in the rain with her when I had a ride. She ignored the fact that I hate talking to her when she’s submerged in her blinding self pity, yet I was doing it anyway. That’s not what she wanted, so it doesn’t count.
Fuck. I’ve felt this for the longest time. I’ve felt so sickened and disgusted by this, so utterly mad, so consumed by this anger. I haven’t endeavored to surface this because she’ll twist it into whatever shadows her flaws and illuminates mine. I haven’t tried to talk about this because it’s over, and I’m sick of these warped feelings and synthetic emotions. I am so glad this is over, so glad. The most melodious emancipation was the first step I took away from her. She doesn’t even realize this.
She doesn’t even care.
I wasn’t too frustrated, however; I had work at 11:30 and was going to have to seriously push my physical capacity to get to work on time. I figured this was for the best and that I could take the test next month. I clean my room, go to work, and then spend 45 minutes waiting for busses and trains to take me back home upon realizing that I’m not working today.
Technically I’ve spent a lot of time frantically doing nothing today. What a frustrating feeling. Argh.
Anyway. Elisse was arrested yesterday for being assaulted by her 60 year old step-grandmother. Huh.
Apparently Sue, her grandfather’s wife, attacked her and then pretended as if Elisse had attacked her. Yeah, I know: kind of hard to see. So Elisse spent the morning in juvenile detention and emerged an incredibly depressed person. I was going to go with her to a friend’s house, but it was raining and I would have to tell an incredible amount of lies to do so, so I decided against it. Elisse became quiet and withdrawn, as if she was so used to me abusing her. I’ve always marveled at Elisse’s amazing ability to victimize herself, especially in our relationship. She viewed me as this pitiless addiction; her drug of choice. She would whine and whine and whine and make up these nonsense problems and dilemmas, then cry and scream out in self pity when I refused to waste my time trying to resolve them. She would complain to her friends about how hard it was to be mistreated by me and then become puzzled when they all hated me. Even when my mother decided I couldn’t talk to her anymore, she became mad at me because I wouldn’t “fight” for her. How could I do this to her? Yes, my family was falling apart, my mother didn’t trust me, I was handled like a disease at home, and Elisse cries and yells because she doesn’t like how I’m handling things. What does she want? Does she want everyone to stop and drop everything to play into her ideals every time she demands them to? She expected the same things from Hunter. Does she expect me to lie to my family and kill myself trying to hold on to the little rights I have left just so I can comfort her when her picture perfect net of manipulation and deceit finally starts to rip? I don’t adore her as everyone else does. I won’t let her walk all over me just like her minions do. How does such behavior classify as abuse? The only way I could get away from the false entity she saw me as and forced everyone else to see me as was to plant that letter and walk away as the ungrateful child. I’m glad this event has finally slapped her in the face with the callous hand of reality. I’ll never forgive her for some things that happened last year. She says that she has matured and grown, I hope she doesn’t think that growth comes without price. I hope she doesn’t think that I’ve forgotten about the tremendous impact her fallacious visions had on my life.
Yesterday, after I decided not to go with her, she acted so hurt and crippled. When I caught her walking, I came up to her. She wouldn’t talk. She said she was tired “of nobody being there when she called”. She ignored the fact that I was walking in the rain with her when I had a ride. She ignored the fact that I hate talking to her when she’s submerged in her blinding self pity, yet I was doing it anyway. That’s not what she wanted, so it doesn’t count.
Fuck. I’ve felt this for the longest time. I’ve felt so sickened and disgusted by this, so utterly mad, so consumed by this anger. I haven’t endeavored to surface this because she’ll twist it into whatever shadows her flaws and illuminates mine. I haven’t tried to talk about this because it’s over, and I’m sick of these warped feelings and synthetic emotions. I am so glad this is over, so glad. The most melodious emancipation was the first step I took away from her. She doesn’t even realize this.
She doesn’t even care.
Friday, March 26, 2004
$40. Forty dollars. FORTY FREAKING DOLLARS. Had I worked tonight, I would have made a whopping 20 dollars and 25 cents. AND I AM PAYING $40 TO GET IT COVERED!!!!! I'm still in shock.
Anyway- performing is fun. Opening night was yesterday and we were sold out. I loved every second of it. I leave in 2 hours and 55 minutes for my second performance. I'm excited.
Yesterday NZ gave me a big hug. It made me happy but I overheard him talking about this other girl he is in love with. Meh. Yes, I love the boy, but I'm somewhat apathetic seeing as the attraction is purely physical. I am quite content with my virginity; he's quite set in his ways of taking advantage of women.
I can't help feeling swept every time he breaks into a smile, throwing his head back to laugh. I can't change the fact that his grin and his eyes and his being is adorable, as messed as he appears to be.
Anyway- performing is fun. Opening night was yesterday and we were sold out. I loved every second of it. I leave in 2 hours and 55 minutes for my second performance. I'm excited.
Yesterday NZ gave me a big hug. It made me happy but I overheard him talking about this other girl he is in love with. Meh. Yes, I love the boy, but I'm somewhat apathetic seeing as the attraction is purely physical. I am quite content with my virginity; he's quite set in his ways of taking advantage of women.
I can't help feeling swept every time he breaks into a smile, throwing his head back to laugh. I can't change the fact that his grin and his eyes and his being is adorable, as messed as he appears to be.
Thursday, March 25, 2004
I'm in Frank's room right now. The food fair is still going on, but I left 15 minutes into it; there's
very little to do and it incredibly easy to get past the pseudo bouncers they have stationed outside
of it. My marzipan was a big hit, Mrs. Child loved it. I want to go to sleep, but all the blankets
are taken. Argh.
very little to do and it incredibly easy to get past the pseudo bouncers they have stationed outside
of it. My marzipan was a big hit, Mrs. Child loved it. I want to go to sleep, but all the blankets
are taken. Argh.
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
Kransekake is so yummy. Such a yummy pain in the butt.
My mother and I just finished making the rings for marzipan Kransekake, and I’m ever so anxious to eat it. I’m taking it to the cultural food fair at school, so I’ll have to wait till the morning. Mmmm…marzipan…I’m going to give a nice big piece to Frank and he’ll love me even more. Huzzah!
Anyway- it was a pain in the butt to make. I had to grind the almonds into a fine paste, which, considering I used a blender as opposed to a nut grinder, took forever. We then added powdered sugar and egg whites until it was perfectly moist, then proceeded to roll them into rings and gently place them on the pan. It’s a lot harder than it sounds; the marzipan keeps falling apart and getting to thick or to thin and keeps being a slut.
But it’s so yummy!
Tomorrow is opening night. Seriously- in 22 hours and 25 minutes I’ll be shaking behind stage, struggling to feign effortless tranquility. I’m so sad; I can’t believe the play will be over so soon. it will never be the same and I won’t be seeing all of these dear people. So sad. *sniff*
I still haven’t gotten my shift covered. (hahahahhaha). I left an incredibly sad and guilting message on one of the girl’s answering machine, I’m screwed if she’s as unsympathetic and pitiless as I am. I’m not worried about it, though. I just won’t go to work, get fired, then live in genteel poverty. Sounds good to me.
I’m getting up early tomorrow so that I can curl my hair and look all sexy like, so I need to get to bed.
Wish me luck! (Considering how easy in is for me to dislocate and break things, I think this wish is much safer than the other expression.)
My mother and I just finished making the rings for marzipan Kransekake, and I’m ever so anxious to eat it. I’m taking it to the cultural food fair at school, so I’ll have to wait till the morning. Mmmm…marzipan…I’m going to give a nice big piece to Frank and he’ll love me even more. Huzzah!
Anyway- it was a pain in the butt to make. I had to grind the almonds into a fine paste, which, considering I used a blender as opposed to a nut grinder, took forever. We then added powdered sugar and egg whites until it was perfectly moist, then proceeded to roll them into rings and gently place them on the pan. It’s a lot harder than it sounds; the marzipan keeps falling apart and getting to thick or to thin and keeps being a slut.
But it’s so yummy!
Tomorrow is opening night. Seriously- in 22 hours and 25 minutes I’ll be shaking behind stage, struggling to feign effortless tranquility. I’m so sad; I can’t believe the play will be over so soon. it will never be the same and I won’t be seeing all of these dear people. So sad. *sniff*
I still haven’t gotten my shift covered. (hahahahhaha). I left an incredibly sad and guilting message on one of the girl’s answering machine, I’m screwed if she’s as unsympathetic and pitiless as I am. I’m not worried about it, though. I just won’t go to work, get fired, then live in genteel poverty. Sounds good to me.
I’m getting up early tomorrow so that I can curl my hair and look all sexy like, so I need to get to bed.
Wish me luck! (Considering how easy in is for me to dislocate and break things, I think this wish is much safer than the other expression.)
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
Apparently this girl at school, Amanda, had a dream about me. She's an interesting girl, a friend of Elisse's. Well, not really, but much more her friend than she is mine. I don't respect her, but we get along and I enjoy her company.
In her dream I was sitting in seminary, in an absolute fit. I was flooded with tears, pounding the desk, slamming and rushing my head into the wood. I was screaming wretchedly, loudly. "I can't do it! I can't do it! Personality and individuality have been sacrificed on the bloodless alter of acceptance! I have no choice but to conform!" And I screamed such things throughout her dream.
huh.
How true, how true. No matter what I exist as I always end up chatting about clothes and "hot" boys. I'm such a typical teenager. I'm a bitter, cynical, sadistic person who comes across as an intellectual in the right light. I'm like the rest of them, identical except for one key characteristic: I revel in it. I love it! I'm shallow and petty and I love every second of it. This is the only time I can accurately blame my problems on my age. I know this, and plan to rape this tidbit of knowledge to my full advantage. YAY!
I'm in a good mood right now. Play went fabulously, even though I did flirt with every guy there. The male population of the drama department is so open, I adore them all. And NZ was there, of course, looking as dashing and smoldering as ever. I chatted with Dave about color coordination in the spring, and met a new hilarious actor that's afraid of me. Good times, good times.
I hate being bipolar. These feelings of elation and distraction are so liberating that confinement is that much more painful when it plunges down to meet me. I am an instant gratifier, however, so it generally tends to work itself out. Oh well.
Yeah. So: “I would die for you” by garbage is such an exceptionally sexy song that it’s almost implausible. Talk about some fine make-out music. Yes, indeed, sexy make-out music. Mmmmm….
I just read Elisse’s blog and I think she’s in Moab. I’m not sure. How do I miss something like this, dangit? Ahh- I’m so confused. I think I’ll email her, but in her blog she said she was going without communication. What? Alrighty, I suppose I’ll find out whenever she chooses to respond.
I have nothing else to write. If I did continue to write, it would most likely contain nothing but details about how I want to rip certain people’s clothes off. (Surely no one from New Zealand, I’m sure) Since all of you already know about this, I think I’ll leave you now. For your own sake, you know.
In her dream I was sitting in seminary, in an absolute fit. I was flooded with tears, pounding the desk, slamming and rushing my head into the wood. I was screaming wretchedly, loudly. "I can't do it! I can't do it! Personality and individuality have been sacrificed on the bloodless alter of acceptance! I have no choice but to conform!" And I screamed such things throughout her dream.
huh.
How true, how true. No matter what I exist as I always end up chatting about clothes and "hot" boys. I'm such a typical teenager. I'm a bitter, cynical, sadistic person who comes across as an intellectual in the right light. I'm like the rest of them, identical except for one key characteristic: I revel in it. I love it! I'm shallow and petty and I love every second of it. This is the only time I can accurately blame my problems on my age. I know this, and plan to rape this tidbit of knowledge to my full advantage. YAY!
I'm in a good mood right now. Play went fabulously, even though I did flirt with every guy there. The male population of the drama department is so open, I adore them all. And NZ was there, of course, looking as dashing and smoldering as ever. I chatted with Dave about color coordination in the spring, and met a new hilarious actor that's afraid of me. Good times, good times.
I hate being bipolar. These feelings of elation and distraction are so liberating that confinement is that much more painful when it plunges down to meet me. I am an instant gratifier, however, so it generally tends to work itself out. Oh well.
Yeah. So: “I would die for you” by garbage is such an exceptionally sexy song that it’s almost implausible. Talk about some fine make-out music. Yes, indeed, sexy make-out music. Mmmmm….
I just read Elisse’s blog and I think she’s in Moab. I’m not sure. How do I miss something like this, dangit? Ahh- I’m so confused. I think I’ll email her, but in her blog she said she was going without communication. What? Alrighty, I suppose I’ll find out whenever she chooses to respond.
I have nothing else to write. If I did continue to write, it would most likely contain nothing but details about how I want to rip certain people’s clothes off. (Surely no one from New Zealand, I’m sure) Since all of you already know about this, I think I’ll leave you now. For your own sake, you know.
Dash it all! My study habits are terrible. I got up at 4:00 to do the physics I could have easily done yesterday, but I can't ever concentrate unless I'm mentally absent. Talk about ironic. Huh
Anyway-Opening night is in two days and I still have no one to cover my shift at work. I have a lot of work to do on my last scene that I really don't want to do. I am so sick and tired of acting all sick and tired of everybody and exploding; it's incredibly draining. After our run-through yesterday, though, NZ told me I was incredible. *sigh*
Speaking of such personas, I saw him yesterday after school. Mom and I went down to 9th and 9th to get some bread at great harvest (one of the many things I did yesterday instead of my homework), and to go lazily meander throughout the shops there. The bat has returned from her trip, and was waiting in the car. The woman brought me back a shirt. An interesting shirt. It's a cute collared shirt that fits well, but it's hideous; it's baby blue with this electric blue Hawaiian print on it. Insisting that I wear it out, I pull it over my tee and stomp out to the car wearing the blue monstrosity and long khaki shorts. I'm in tennis shoes.
I looked like a freaking tourist.
All I needed was a camera and a floppy straw hat and I would be the spitting image of a native Wyoming-an out for vaca in the valley. The color was terrible with my face, too. I looked ghastly. So, of course, right as I walked out of great harvest in my dinky wittle outfit, NZ is strolling down the street, 7 feet away.
"Hey Rachael." He calls.
I stand there with my loaf of bread in hand, force a smile and answer back. I blushed then bolted for the car. Dangit! The first time the bat has left town it 5 years! The first time she's gotten me a shirt this ugly! The ONLY time I EVER wore long khaki shorts! Of course they all come together when NZ is walking down 9th south debonairly, jacket carelessly flung over his back. Argh!
This is stupid of me, and I have no idea why I care so much. I don't think I even realized how much I cared until that moment, right after I had stepped off the imaginary charter bus from Cheyenne. I really shouldn't mind, but I do. I crave control at all times, and no one is in control while wearing neon colors! No one.
Oh well. I guess I’ll just have to look beautiful today to make up for the fact. Since I haven’t done my English and (get this) have yet to finish my physics, I need to leave you. I adore you all, so don’t find me too pathetic.
I’m just a conceited, arrogant, delusional control freak. Nothing wrong with that, right? :)
Anyway-Opening night is in two days and I still have no one to cover my shift at work. I have a lot of work to do on my last scene that I really don't want to do. I am so sick and tired of acting all sick and tired of everybody and exploding; it's incredibly draining. After our run-through yesterday, though, NZ told me I was incredible. *sigh*
Speaking of such personas, I saw him yesterday after school. Mom and I went down to 9th and 9th to get some bread at great harvest (one of the many things I did yesterday instead of my homework), and to go lazily meander throughout the shops there. The bat has returned from her trip, and was waiting in the car. The woman brought me back a shirt. An interesting shirt. It's a cute collared shirt that fits well, but it's hideous; it's baby blue with this electric blue Hawaiian print on it. Insisting that I wear it out, I pull it over my tee and stomp out to the car wearing the blue monstrosity and long khaki shorts. I'm in tennis shoes.
I looked like a freaking tourist.
All I needed was a camera and a floppy straw hat and I would be the spitting image of a native Wyoming-an out for vaca in the valley. The color was terrible with my face, too. I looked ghastly. So, of course, right as I walked out of great harvest in my dinky wittle outfit, NZ is strolling down the street, 7 feet away.
"Hey Rachael." He calls.
I stand there with my loaf of bread in hand, force a smile and answer back. I blushed then bolted for the car. Dangit! The first time the bat has left town it 5 years! The first time she's gotten me a shirt this ugly! The ONLY time I EVER wore long khaki shorts! Of course they all come together when NZ is walking down 9th south debonairly, jacket carelessly flung over his back. Argh!
This is stupid of me, and I have no idea why I care so much. I don't think I even realized how much I cared until that moment, right after I had stepped off the imaginary charter bus from Cheyenne. I really shouldn't mind, but I do. I crave control at all times, and no one is in control while wearing neon colors! No one.
Oh well. I guess I’ll just have to look beautiful today to make up for the fact. Since I haven’t done my English and (get this) have yet to finish my physics, I need to leave you. I adore you all, so don’t find me too pathetic.
I’m just a conceited, arrogant, delusional control freak. Nothing wrong with that, right? :)
Monday, March 22, 2004
It's 5:42 in the morning, and I've been up since 3:45, therefore I'm a little off right now. I finished my history essay on change in the roaring 20s in which I focused on architectural transformations in style, and now I have to start on my trig. Jo's (I'm sick of typing Amy jo, so we shall hence forth refer to her as "jo") coming over soon due to the fact that neither of us understand it. I'm trying to type really quickly so that I'll be finished by the time she comes over. Ugh- I haven't even started my trig yet. Argh!
The good news, however, is that I did no homework whatsoever on the Sabbath, which makes me happy. I had an exquisite day yesterday, it was fabulous. Hmmmmm.
Starting in a month or two, I might have every other Saturday night off. Redemption!
Jo isn't here yet, but mom's home from her route and I'm going to go have breakfast with her. Jauntome, all.
The good news, however, is that I did no homework whatsoever on the Sabbath, which makes me happy. I had an exquisite day yesterday, it was fabulous. Hmmmmm.
Starting in a month or two, I might have every other Saturday night off. Redemption!
Jo isn't here yet, but mom's home from her route and I'm going to go have breakfast with her. Jauntome, all.
Sunday, March 21, 2004
I have the strangest feeling that I'm going to be writing about my cute busser quite a lot, and therefore need to bestow one of my own specially-conceived names upon him. I shall call him Claudio.
I'm beginning to find this boy more darling every time I see him. He dominates my thoughts at work; I can’t glance in his direction without blushing and turning my head the other way in order to hastily grin in a manner that’s anything but discreet. I can’t help but throw my hair back every time I approach his bussing station, I honestly can’t. He’s such a dear, and he doesn’t do heroine. Talk about a double threat!
I’m so sad that he’s old. Well, older. I think he’s 20, but he might be 19. Normally this wouldn’t deter me, but at work things like this never work. What a pity.
I had so much homework to do today that I didn’t do. (A surprise, I know, please do try to contain your shocked gasps and startled demeanors.) I don’t know when I’m going to do it, yet it has to get done. This isn’t fair; if my history teacher has the power to create a time warp in her class and command time to stop, I should too. I should be able to snap my fingers and work and sleep and eat, only to return back to this rushed reality when I feel prepared and well-rested. Stupid deadlines, gngngng…
Opening night for take 5 is in less than a week, and I still need to get one of the nights covered. If I don’t get it covered, than I’m not going to work. It’s simple; I’m not missing the play just so that I can be at work to serve dollops of spag to uncouth customers.
Oof. I’m tired. To bed I valiantly trot!
I'm beginning to find this boy more darling every time I see him. He dominates my thoughts at work; I can’t glance in his direction without blushing and turning my head the other way in order to hastily grin in a manner that’s anything but discreet. I can’t help but throw my hair back every time I approach his bussing station, I honestly can’t. He’s such a dear, and he doesn’t do heroine. Talk about a double threat!
I’m so sad that he’s old. Well, older. I think he’s 20, but he might be 19. Normally this wouldn’t deter me, but at work things like this never work. What a pity.
I had so much homework to do today that I didn’t do. (A surprise, I know, please do try to contain your shocked gasps and startled demeanors.) I don’t know when I’m going to do it, yet it has to get done. This isn’t fair; if my history teacher has the power to create a time warp in her class and command time to stop, I should too. I should be able to snap my fingers and work and sleep and eat, only to return back to this rushed reality when I feel prepared and well-rested. Stupid deadlines, gngngng…
Opening night for take 5 is in less than a week, and I still need to get one of the nights covered. If I don’t get it covered, than I’m not going to work. It’s simple; I’m not missing the play just so that I can be at work to serve dollops of spag to uncouth customers.
Oof. I’m tired. To bed I valiantly trot!
Saturday, March 20, 2004
What a beautiful day. On the wings of freshest exaltation has spring finally flown into the picturesque valley in which I live. Every element announces its return; the birds sing lightly, the wind brushes up gently against everything it meets. Even the hurried hum of the cars outside seems to fade into a rushing reverberation that reminds me of the sea. I love how the sunlight falls through in the mornings, slowly creeping up to the last areas of my neighborhood where it bursts within and illuminates everything in sight. This world is once again mine; this scenery delights and enraptures me, folding me in layer upon layer of seasonal splendor until I feel protected yet strangely exposed.
Today I did the paper route for Mom and Jeff. They’re in southern Utah, running in a marathon. I woke up begrudgingly, bitter at the thought of losing so much precious sleep. What a fabulous time I had, though, carelessly dropping off the papers at each doorstep, whistling the entire time. It was not work; each step came forward to meet me, every house sprung up, ready to be served.
Yes, I am sentimental. At times like this I truly am. I don’t care about walking at graduation or going to dances or the rubbish that plagues many of the minds that surround me, the mawkish and the maudlin. Why would I feel a reaction to any of these man-made incidences? Why would I bother to concern myself with such a thing when I find it so trivial? It is the moments such as the one I’m currently experiencing that lift my heart. I’ll always delight in the right to witness such things.
I have work today, I work lunch and dinner. I’m going to try to go running before, so I leave you now. The birds are beckoning me.
Today I did the paper route for Mom and Jeff. They’re in southern Utah, running in a marathon. I woke up begrudgingly, bitter at the thought of losing so much precious sleep. What a fabulous time I had, though, carelessly dropping off the papers at each doorstep, whistling the entire time. It was not work; each step came forward to meet me, every house sprung up, ready to be served.
Yes, I am sentimental. At times like this I truly am. I don’t care about walking at graduation or going to dances or the rubbish that plagues many of the minds that surround me, the mawkish and the maudlin. Why would I feel a reaction to any of these man-made incidences? Why would I bother to concern myself with such a thing when I find it so trivial? It is the moments such as the one I’m currently experiencing that lift my heart. I’ll always delight in the right to witness such things.
I have work today, I work lunch and dinner. I’m going to try to go running before, so I leave you now. The birds are beckoning me.
Argh. So tired. So very tired.
I haven't written in a while (at least if feels like it, even though I think I wrote yesterday), so I'm just going to leave a couple words with you. Let's start with this: I'm freaking exhausted. Ran around all day today trying to get things done, and then worked for 6 hours. So very tired.
Good job, you assumed correctly; this entry is going to be nothing but a complaining session, how did you know? Fine, I won't whine. I suppose I can find something else to write about.
I am absolutely smitten with this adorable boy at work. Smitten in every sense of the word (except for any sense that's remotely biblical, simply because of the obvious connotation formed by years of reading the book of Job). The boy is so adorable. He's a busser, a shy busser. He's the type of boy to glance up and hold eye contact just barely long enough to noticeably look down, blushing. He has the deep brown eyes you want to swim in, I swear he's adorable. And his smile- by thor, his smile. He has these perfect, white, teeth that burst through his beautiful mouth every time he sees someone. The boy's beautiful.
*sigh*
Why do I have to be the youngest person working at the OSF? Why, oh why? This is terrible! I've decided, however, that I need someone with dark eyes. I'm such a slave for dark eyes. Dark, mysterious eyes and dark hair.
[Due to the liberal amount of drool found on Ivory's keyboard, she will now be leaving you so that she can clean it up and get at least 5 hours of sleep. Farewell]
I haven't written in a while (at least if feels like it, even though I think I wrote yesterday), so I'm just going to leave a couple words with you. Let's start with this: I'm freaking exhausted. Ran around all day today trying to get things done, and then worked for 6 hours. So very tired.
Good job, you assumed correctly; this entry is going to be nothing but a complaining session, how did you know? Fine, I won't whine. I suppose I can find something else to write about.
I am absolutely smitten with this adorable boy at work. Smitten in every sense of the word (except for any sense that's remotely biblical, simply because of the obvious connotation formed by years of reading the book of Job). The boy is so adorable. He's a busser, a shy busser. He's the type of boy to glance up and hold eye contact just barely long enough to noticeably look down, blushing. He has the deep brown eyes you want to swim in, I swear he's adorable. And his smile- by thor, his smile. He has these perfect, white, teeth that burst through his beautiful mouth every time he sees someone. The boy's beautiful.
*sigh*
Why do I have to be the youngest person working at the OSF? Why, oh why? This is terrible! I've decided, however, that I need someone with dark eyes. I'm such a slave for dark eyes. Dark, mysterious eyes and dark hair.
[Due to the liberal amount of drool found on Ivory's keyboard, she will now be leaving you so that she can clean it up and get at least 5 hours of sleep. Farewell]
Friday, March 19, 2004
Thursday, March 18, 2004
Once again, I miss my bus. Stupid UTA. Oh, how I hate UTA. The foundation is simply stupid for many reasons:
• These people are never on time. NEVER. I understand it’s impossible to predict just how long it will take to get to a certain bus every day; it depends on how many old ladies will take 5 minutes getting onto the bus and how busy the traffic is. I know this; I understand they can’t be on time everyday. This does not change the fact, however, that having to wait for up to 10 minute intervals on both sides of the pre-stated arrival time sucks like a headache after St. Patty’s day.
• Those operating the bus are rude; they grunt, they bark, they drool while sluggishly announcing the names of the stations their monstrosity of a vehicle is currently approaching. These people aren’t nice. Once again, I understand they might possibly have the worst job in all of the salt lake valley, but I don’t care. I deal with inept schmucks everyday, I’m underpaid and unappreciated, but I still have to smile and laugh at every stupid joke that comes my way. Freaking deal with it. I have to.
• The bus rides are overpriced! Bollocks, people! After suffering the stomach-churning nuisances listed above, one has to pay an arm and a leg to get onto the eyesore mess of a bus that sputters before them. $1.35 for 4 blocks? I don’t think so.
Well, I have to go to my appalling job right now. And remember, my dear bus drivers of Utah: I’ll be smiling every freaking minute that I’m on.
• These people are never on time. NEVER. I understand it’s impossible to predict just how long it will take to get to a certain bus every day; it depends on how many old ladies will take 5 minutes getting onto the bus and how busy the traffic is. I know this; I understand they can’t be on time everyday. This does not change the fact, however, that having to wait for up to 10 minute intervals on both sides of the pre-stated arrival time sucks like a headache after St. Patty’s day.
• Those operating the bus are rude; they grunt, they bark, they drool while sluggishly announcing the names of the stations their monstrosity of a vehicle is currently approaching. These people aren’t nice. Once again, I understand they might possibly have the worst job in all of the salt lake valley, but I don’t care. I deal with inept schmucks everyday, I’m underpaid and unappreciated, but I still have to smile and laugh at every stupid joke that comes my way. Freaking deal with it. I have to.
• The bus rides are overpriced! Bollocks, people! After suffering the stomach-churning nuisances listed above, one has to pay an arm and a leg to get onto the eyesore mess of a bus that sputters before them. $1.35 for 4 blocks? I don’t think so.
Well, I have to go to my appalling job right now. And remember, my dear bus drivers of Utah: I’ll be smiling every freaking minute that I’m on.
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
I have to go to stake cultural night tonight. I don't really want to go. I don't want to go at all. How, oh how can I get out of this? Maybe I'll think of something while I'm writing...
I've decided I adore Dave. The man is so adorable. He plays the depressed clown in the play, and he's fabulous. He's one of the most animated actors I've ever met, and he's so talented. He's the perfect metrosexual- the gay guy that's straight. He's a straight guy that knows how to moisturize and dress well. That's all I want in a guy, really; masculinity is over-rated. He's a smoker though, which is bad in my book. If only he were sexy. He's cute and endearing in his own way, I suppose, but he's just not beautiful. If only I could find a way of cramming his fabulous, addictive personality into NZ's beautiful lithe body. Dang.
Speaking of, I've decided that NZ is just lacking a personality. It's either not there, or it's currently being eaten by the monster that stupid boy keeps on injecting into his arm. Pity, the boy's so beautiful. Like I said before: a complete waste of olive skin. What a shame...
I'm talking with daddy on IM. Father's wonderful, I'm so blessed. He's a sweetie. He might take me on a cruise this summer. Definitely a sweetie.
Well Bugger! I see no reason why all the men in my life should be as sound as a pound except for the beautiful boy. Someone really ought to have a chat with him one of these days.
I haven't thought of anything yet. I suppose I'll have to go- what a shame.
Argh.
I've decided I adore Dave. The man is so adorable. He plays the depressed clown in the play, and he's fabulous. He's one of the most animated actors I've ever met, and he's so talented. He's the perfect metrosexual- the gay guy that's straight. He's a straight guy that knows how to moisturize and dress well. That's all I want in a guy, really; masculinity is over-rated. He's a smoker though, which is bad in my book. If only he were sexy. He's cute and endearing in his own way, I suppose, but he's just not beautiful. If only I could find a way of cramming his fabulous, addictive personality into NZ's beautiful lithe body. Dang.
Speaking of, I've decided that NZ is just lacking a personality. It's either not there, or it's currently being eaten by the monster that stupid boy keeps on injecting into his arm. Pity, the boy's so beautiful. Like I said before: a complete waste of olive skin. What a shame...
I'm talking with daddy on IM. Father's wonderful, I'm so blessed. He's a sweetie. He might take me on a cruise this summer. Definitely a sweetie.
Well Bugger! I see no reason why all the men in my life should be as sound as a pound except for the beautiful boy. Someone really ought to have a chat with him one of these days.
I haven't thought of anything yet. I suppose I'll have to go- what a shame.
Argh.
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
So it appears that Elisse broke up with her boyfriend Hunter yesterday. Right after I went home, they just broke up. Huh.
Elisse is going to Highland, and I’ll be seeing less of her. She has no connection to east now, I give her my blessing and my encouragement. I’ll still write her, but things will change. I don’t think we’ll drift apart or become less close; once you get to a certain point this doesn’t seem to happen. We’ve reached a state of adoration and understanding that physical distance and time simply can’t spoil. It feels as if we’ll run into each other in 20 years and pick up a conversation right where we left off.
I'm content with the new simplicity found in my blog. No links, no images, nothing buy my words. That's what I wanted all along, I suppose, but my other template was adorable, you have to admit.
I had an absolutely grand time at play. I'm enjoying myself thoroughly; I have a lead, I adore those in my play, and I enjoy the beautiful boys not in my play. I'm beginning to have fun with the play, experimenting with and adding the details and movements that really endear a play to someone. I'm more comfortable with the cast, today Max and Dave sung the "family guy" theme song to me on the side of 13th. I'm beginning to see and appreciate Katie’s genius, to work with her and try and identify what she’s envisaged for the play. It’s going quite well.
I’m listening to “drive you home” by garbage as I gaze out my study window, witnessing the transformation currently occurring outside my door. How appropriate. My life is slowly changing right along with the weather; relationships are collapsing and others are materializing, more pressing issues worry me while those that previously dominated my life are fading. I used to fear solitude, viewing it as a sign of ineptitude, of weakness. I now lust after it, discarding the connections and forged friendships I’ve worked hard for. I used to feel vexed every time I was alone, goaded by the sound of my mind and thoughts. I now cherish them more that the shallow, petty voices that usually surround me. I feel more confident now that I’m no longer performing for distraction, but for entertainment.
Change is never easy; tension is growing in my family, and I’ve become less assured about my future. There is a price for progress, however, and I’m finally more than ready to pay it.
Elisse is going to Highland, and I’ll be seeing less of her. She has no connection to east now, I give her my blessing and my encouragement. I’ll still write her, but things will change. I don’t think we’ll drift apart or become less close; once you get to a certain point this doesn’t seem to happen. We’ve reached a state of adoration and understanding that physical distance and time simply can’t spoil. It feels as if we’ll run into each other in 20 years and pick up a conversation right where we left off.
I'm content with the new simplicity found in my blog. No links, no images, nothing buy my words. That's what I wanted all along, I suppose, but my other template was adorable, you have to admit.
I had an absolutely grand time at play. I'm enjoying myself thoroughly; I have a lead, I adore those in my play, and I enjoy the beautiful boys not in my play. I'm beginning to have fun with the play, experimenting with and adding the details and movements that really endear a play to someone. I'm more comfortable with the cast, today Max and Dave sung the "family guy" theme song to me on the side of 13th. I'm beginning to see and appreciate Katie’s genius, to work with her and try and identify what she’s envisaged for the play. It’s going quite well.
I’m listening to “drive you home” by garbage as I gaze out my study window, witnessing the transformation currently occurring outside my door. How appropriate. My life is slowly changing right along with the weather; relationships are collapsing and others are materializing, more pressing issues worry me while those that previously dominated my life are fading. I used to fear solitude, viewing it as a sign of ineptitude, of weakness. I now lust after it, discarding the connections and forged friendships I’ve worked hard for. I used to feel vexed every time I was alone, goaded by the sound of my mind and thoughts. I now cherish them more that the shallow, petty voices that usually surround me. I feel more confident now that I’m no longer performing for distraction, but for entertainment.
Change is never easy; tension is growing in my family, and I’ve become less assured about my future. There is a price for progress, however, and I’m finally more than ready to pay it.
Monday, March 15, 2004
Look what I do for you people. I sacrifice my beautiful trendy template and my small font just so you can actually read the blog. Silly people.
Today went fabulously. I woke up at 8, did my unit circle extra credit assignment, and went for a quick shopping trip with Amy Jo. I came home and went to Play practice.
Shopping was uneventful and fruitless. I didn't have any money, so I have nothing to write about. Play practice, however, went fabulously. I remembered all my lines, played splendidly, interacted just as I wanted.
Then came the time to go to the movie with Elisse. We went to go see lost in translation. The movie was cute, although I didn't really enjoy it. We went to Kyoto; I had a small bowl of soup and some rice and ran home.
I don't have the energy to write. My stomach hurts. Poor Ricky's done nothing all day, I'm going to go do something with him. I love him, he's a sweetie pie. He deserves a lot more than the meager things presented to him. I worry about him.
I go. Bubye, my dears.
Today went fabulously. I woke up at 8, did my unit circle extra credit assignment, and went for a quick shopping trip with Amy Jo. I came home and went to Play practice.
Shopping was uneventful and fruitless. I didn't have any money, so I have nothing to write about. Play practice, however, went fabulously. I remembered all my lines, played splendidly, interacted just as I wanted.
Then came the time to go to the movie with Elisse. We went to go see lost in translation. The movie was cute, although I didn't really enjoy it. We went to Kyoto; I had a small bowl of soup and some rice and ran home.
I don't have the energy to write. My stomach hurts. Poor Ricky's done nothing all day, I'm going to go do something with him. I love him, he's a sweetie pie. He deserves a lot more than the meager things presented to him. I worry about him.
I go. Bubye, my dears.
Sunday, March 14, 2004
My family is having company over tonight. I don't like these people; they're tri-athletes, free spirits, and fairly odd people. The mother, a first generation German immigrant with 2 PhDs, is an intriguing and witty woman, but the men of the family are found somewhat lacking. They are found to be very lacking.
Gundi, the mother, has one son named Lucas. This little boy is quite extraordinary; apparently his entire existence upon this earth has been spent without taking a single shower. I swear, not a single one. There is no way someone who has ever bathed before could smell this bad, it's simply not a possibility. Rolling around in canine feces does not leave a smell like this, although the odor is just as penetrating. It's more subtle, less explicitly dreadful, yet far more pronounced. The second he enters an edifice it's as if a fetid blanket of malodorousness permeates the building, flooding every hallway and opening with this inconceivable, inescapable stench. The smell is so thick and so concentrated that one can almost see it; a normal human being instinctively attempts to extend an arm so as to feel it, catch it, and ultimately force it to disappear. It fills a room immediately, leaving the dwellers inside to languish and to suffer, to drown in a sea of an indiscernible poison. Overwhelming and inhuman, this boy's odor exists as one so unbelievable it appears fantastical to many. What crazy fool thought of something so horrifying? Such an extreme is hardly pragmatic to the majority of the populace, it simply sounds absurd. But it exists- this stalking, preying, unforgiving aroma. It exists, and is currently defiling my living room. I find such inimitability creditable; I almost respect him for it. Surely someone with the power to create such a substance is to be treated with reverence and esteem. Surely someone with the ability to be so disagreeable has supremacy of his own, a preeminence fought for with every second he's got. His power to dominate through repulsion is prevailing, and is therefore to be handled with disgusted awe.
They're leaving now, thankfully. His weapon completely departs with him. I don't know how one lives in such a putrid perdition; I'm left feeling quite puzzled. I don't understand it.
Tomorrow I have a busy day. I'd write about it, but I'm left completely weakened by the smell that's currently dictating my mindset. I'm destabilized, shaking on the floor, striving fruitlessly to recover.
You have no idea. This kid smells really, really bad. My eloquence has been ravished and beaten; my already feeble ability to articulate has been crippled. I can't tell you, I'm not a good enough writer.
He smells.
He smells so bad, I don't understand it. I'm almost in tears; what cruel, malicious beast would do this? Who is capable of such brutality?
Wow- I'm a priss. Huh.
Gundi, the mother, has one son named Lucas. This little boy is quite extraordinary; apparently his entire existence upon this earth has been spent without taking a single shower. I swear, not a single one. There is no way someone who has ever bathed before could smell this bad, it's simply not a possibility. Rolling around in canine feces does not leave a smell like this, although the odor is just as penetrating. It's more subtle, less explicitly dreadful, yet far more pronounced. The second he enters an edifice it's as if a fetid blanket of malodorousness permeates the building, flooding every hallway and opening with this inconceivable, inescapable stench. The smell is so thick and so concentrated that one can almost see it; a normal human being instinctively attempts to extend an arm so as to feel it, catch it, and ultimately force it to disappear. It fills a room immediately, leaving the dwellers inside to languish and to suffer, to drown in a sea of an indiscernible poison. Overwhelming and inhuman, this boy's odor exists as one so unbelievable it appears fantastical to many. What crazy fool thought of something so horrifying? Such an extreme is hardly pragmatic to the majority of the populace, it simply sounds absurd. But it exists- this stalking, preying, unforgiving aroma. It exists, and is currently defiling my living room. I find such inimitability creditable; I almost respect him for it. Surely someone with the power to create such a substance is to be treated with reverence and esteem. Surely someone with the ability to be so disagreeable has supremacy of his own, a preeminence fought for with every second he's got. His power to dominate through repulsion is prevailing, and is therefore to be handled with disgusted awe.
They're leaving now, thankfully. His weapon completely departs with him. I don't know how one lives in such a putrid perdition; I'm left feeling quite puzzled. I don't understand it.
Tomorrow I have a busy day. I'd write about it, but I'm left completely weakened by the smell that's currently dictating my mindset. I'm destabilized, shaking on the floor, striving fruitlessly to recover.
You have no idea. This kid smells really, really bad. My eloquence has been ravished and beaten; my already feeble ability to articulate has been crippled. I can't tell you, I'm not a good enough writer.
He smells.
He smells so bad, I don't understand it. I'm almost in tears; what cruel, malicious beast would do this? Who is capable of such brutality?
Wow- I'm a priss. Huh.
Saturday, March 13, 2004
I'm going to be made a desk hostess soon. I'm very excited and, to be completely honest, surprised. Jane and Britnee have been there for over 2 years and they're still floor hosts. I must be chirpier than I thought. This isn’t exactly inspiring.
Desk hosts get paid more for doing less manual work. It's more stressful, but once you have it down you're doing less work. I've been at the OSF for 4 months, I happy to make desk so soon.
A couple things happened at work, none of which were too exciting. I have a couple of things I might do soon, none of which are too exciting. Amy Jo and Jamie just called; they want me to go to the stake dance. Eeck. The thought leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Horrid music, horrid people, horrid dancing. I'm afraid I'm simply not masochistic enough for that. Maile wants me to come with her to her best friend's party. I could sit in a corner and watch a throng of strangers get dangerously drunk and rub up against each other, but I'm just not cynical enough for that. Durham's watching the Princess Bride up at her house with her soph friends. I'm not bored enough for that.
Once again, I'm left feeling pleasantly inadequate. How sweet it is to only feel fit to do that which you desire to do. I had an epiphany while seating people today; I saw a beautiful building, and the second I work out in my head how the staircases will meet on the first floor, I'll draw it. That's all I'll do. I won't travel to the stake center and mingle with the drones while swaying to a morbid beat, I won't try to label and then become one of those at Maile's best friend's party, I won't force laughter out of my throat only to drip into the crippled minds of the pampered. I'll just draw. I'm very excited.
I attained the names of two architectural firms for whom I might work in the summer. Bad pay, unimportant work, positioned under many inept individuals: sounds like fun, don't you agree? The exposure would be beneficial, and I would eventually learn how to draw up some professional blue-prints and fiddle about with CAD a bit. That's all I currently want, really, so I'm going to aim for this additional job as opposed to working full time at the SpagFac in the summer. At least I'll lose my sanity to two different sources instead of one. I don't know why, but this is much more appealing; if I were to dump all my time, energy, and effort into one foundation, I don't think I'd be able to handle it. Maybe if I have two jobs I'll feel as if I have more control over my life. Ha.
Wow. Louis Vuitton’s fall 2004 ready to wear is to die for. So pretty and dainty. Love the shoes, I adore the shoes. The country fabrics would be much too ghastly if they weren't topped off with the flawless fur. I swear, Marc Jacobs is a genius. I've never been the biggest fan of Vuitton, but this was a good show. It wasn't astounding, overwhelming, or blow-your-pants-off good, but it was classy, well-designed, and of good quality. This might seem boring, but this is getting to be rare in the world of high fashion, sadly enough.
I still haven't figured out the first floor of this house, but I'm going to go materialize my visual and see what I have. Farewell.
Desk hosts get paid more for doing less manual work. It's more stressful, but once you have it down you're doing less work. I've been at the OSF for 4 months, I happy to make desk so soon.
A couple things happened at work, none of which were too exciting. I have a couple of things I might do soon, none of which are too exciting. Amy Jo and Jamie just called; they want me to go to the stake dance. Eeck. The thought leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Horrid music, horrid people, horrid dancing. I'm afraid I'm simply not masochistic enough for that. Maile wants me to come with her to her best friend's party. I could sit in a corner and watch a throng of strangers get dangerously drunk and rub up against each other, but I'm just not cynical enough for that. Durham's watching the Princess Bride up at her house with her soph friends. I'm not bored enough for that.
Once again, I'm left feeling pleasantly inadequate. How sweet it is to only feel fit to do that which you desire to do. I had an epiphany while seating people today; I saw a beautiful building, and the second I work out in my head how the staircases will meet on the first floor, I'll draw it. That's all I'll do. I won't travel to the stake center and mingle with the drones while swaying to a morbid beat, I won't try to label and then become one of those at Maile's best friend's party, I won't force laughter out of my throat only to drip into the crippled minds of the pampered. I'll just draw. I'm very excited.
I attained the names of two architectural firms for whom I might work in the summer. Bad pay, unimportant work, positioned under many inept individuals: sounds like fun, don't you agree? The exposure would be beneficial, and I would eventually learn how to draw up some professional blue-prints and fiddle about with CAD a bit. That's all I currently want, really, so I'm going to aim for this additional job as opposed to working full time at the SpagFac in the summer. At least I'll lose my sanity to two different sources instead of one. I don't know why, but this is much more appealing; if I were to dump all my time, energy, and effort into one foundation, I don't think I'd be able to handle it. Maybe if I have two jobs I'll feel as if I have more control over my life. Ha.
Wow. Louis Vuitton’s fall 2004 ready to wear is to die for. So pretty and dainty. Love the shoes, I adore the shoes. The country fabrics would be much too ghastly if they weren't topped off with the flawless fur. I swear, Marc Jacobs is a genius. I've never been the biggest fan of Vuitton, but this was a good show. It wasn't astounding, overwhelming, or blow-your-pants-off good, but it was classy, well-designed, and of good quality. This might seem boring, but this is getting to be rare in the world of high fashion, sadly enough.
I still haven't figured out the first floor of this house, but I'm going to go materialize my visual and see what I have. Farewell.
I haven’t written for three days, which is somewhat aberrant of me. I leave for work in 11 minutes, so I’m afraid my delayed entry will have to be rather pitiable. You’ll live.
Yesterday I came home from school, miserably sick. I went to a terrible night at work, came home and threw up 4 times during the night. I slept in after consuming liberal amounts of various over-the-counter drugs, and woke up feeling considerably better.
I got my nails done. They’re pretty and acrylic and fake. You’ll notice that I’m typing however; they’re short and extremely natural-looking. I couldn’t be happier with them. I have sexy hands now.
I went to go see my brother’s middle school play at 1. The play was “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor dream coat”, so I was satisfied, seeing they had nothing laudable to debase. I adore Andrew Lloyd Webber, I do, but this is just ridiculous. After seeing such marvels as The Phantom and Evita, one can’t turn back to any play a notch below spectacular.
I have to leave now. My 11 minutes flew by all too quickly, and I’m not yet wearing shoes. Farewell, dearest reader. I must do my duty to spag and my country!
Yesterday I came home from school, miserably sick. I went to a terrible night at work, came home and threw up 4 times during the night. I slept in after consuming liberal amounts of various over-the-counter drugs, and woke up feeling considerably better.
I got my nails done. They’re pretty and acrylic and fake. You’ll notice that I’m typing however; they’re short and extremely natural-looking. I couldn’t be happier with them. I have sexy hands now.
I went to go see my brother’s middle school play at 1. The play was “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor dream coat”, so I was satisfied, seeing they had nothing laudable to debase. I adore Andrew Lloyd Webber, I do, but this is just ridiculous. After seeing such marvels as The Phantom and Evita, one can’t turn back to any play a notch below spectacular.
I have to leave now. My 11 minutes flew by all too quickly, and I’m not yet wearing shoes. Farewell, dearest reader. I must do my duty to spag and my country!
Wednesday, March 10, 2004
I'm in an odd mood right now. An extremely odd mood. It may not seem funny to you, but I happen to be reading this blog out loud in a ridiculous fake French accent. Funny indeed.
Maile came over at 3:30. We talked, lounged, and harassed Ricky and his friend until 4:00, when we left to take Amy Jo out to lunch for her birthday. Things turned out splendidly; upon seeing that no one at the training table would sing to Amy Jo, we decided to dine at the Olive Garden instead, an improvement in every way and sense. The experience really brought some insight as to how I come across when I'm with different people. When out with people from work, my group and I hold a quiet yet pleasant conversation, cheerfully addressing those waiting on us, smiling and listening to what he/she/it has to say. When out with people such as Jane or Elisse, we discuss topics seriously and vigorously, only talking to the service when absolutely necessary. When I'm with Amy Jo and Maile, we're the annoying, giggling, boisterous teenagers every server fears and dreads. I had a spectacular time.
The Waiter sat down with us, advising us what to get and warning against the more daring items on the menu. We chatted with him for 5 minutes before ordering, and then requesting a birthday song or two. We burst into fits of laughter almost forcing us out of our chairs, having contests to see who could inspire the most colorful reaction by twisting our faces into hideous expressions. Good times, good times.
I'm not quite sure when the French nationality seized me, I think this occurred about half way through the lecture at young women’s. Apparently we're going to be taking food to the homeless or something. Huh.
I think I gained 5 pounds today. I had the alfredo (what's wrong with me? I work at the OSF, I know the type of grams in alfredo.) and not only that, but I won't be starting yoga until next week, at the very earliest.
Argh. Lately I've haven't been able to feel attractive. Natural and healthy, I suppose, but not just plainly attractive. But I'm too lazy to do anything about this, I don't care. And I don't care about the fact that I don't care. I'm okay with this, all of it but the couple pounds I've gained over the winter. I'll lose them soon, I always do one way or another.
Well, I hate not being able to articulate. It frustrates me, and I'm tired. I don't need to be frustrated right now, not when I have pink and lime-green mammals dancing around my head, occasionally poking me.
I think I'll go to sleep in an attempt to calm them down.
Maile came over at 3:30. We talked, lounged, and harassed Ricky and his friend until 4:00, when we left to take Amy Jo out to lunch for her birthday. Things turned out splendidly; upon seeing that no one at the training table would sing to Amy Jo, we decided to dine at the Olive Garden instead, an improvement in every way and sense. The experience really brought some insight as to how I come across when I'm with different people. When out with people from work, my group and I hold a quiet yet pleasant conversation, cheerfully addressing those waiting on us, smiling and listening to what he/she/it has to say. When out with people such as Jane or Elisse, we discuss topics seriously and vigorously, only talking to the service when absolutely necessary. When I'm with Amy Jo and Maile, we're the annoying, giggling, boisterous teenagers every server fears and dreads. I had a spectacular time.
The Waiter sat down with us, advising us what to get and warning against the more daring items on the menu. We chatted with him for 5 minutes before ordering, and then requesting a birthday song or two. We burst into fits of laughter almost forcing us out of our chairs, having contests to see who could inspire the most colorful reaction by twisting our faces into hideous expressions. Good times, good times.
I'm not quite sure when the French nationality seized me, I think this occurred about half way through the lecture at young women’s. Apparently we're going to be taking food to the homeless or something. Huh.
I think I gained 5 pounds today. I had the alfredo (what's wrong with me? I work at the OSF, I know the type of grams in alfredo.) and not only that, but I won't be starting yoga until next week, at the very earliest.
Argh. Lately I've haven't been able to feel attractive. Natural and healthy, I suppose, but not just plainly attractive. But I'm too lazy to do anything about this, I don't care. And I don't care about the fact that I don't care. I'm okay with this, all of it but the couple pounds I've gained over the winter. I'll lose them soon, I always do one way or another.
Well, I hate not being able to articulate. It frustrates me, and I'm tired. I don't need to be frustrated right now, not when I have pink and lime-green mammals dancing around my head, occasionally poking me.
I think I'll go to sleep in an attempt to calm them down.
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
Guess what I do in an hour? I'm going fake-baking with Jane. HAHAHAHHA- die, skin!
I can't even type that without feeling guilty. I'm going to keep my face covered; I just need tan legs. I have long, beautiful, flawless legs (egoism! Huzzah! I'm not lying, though; My legs are probably my best asset, I kid you not.) they might as well be long, beautiful, tan, flawless legs. I went for a long jog yesterday, and I'm excited to get them in shape again.
I've decided against writing my thesis my paper. I shall endeavor to kill my skin instead.
I make so many bad choices when it comes to certain things.
I can't even type that without feeling guilty. I'm going to keep my face covered; I just need tan legs. I have long, beautiful, flawless legs (egoism! Huzzah! I'm not lying, though; My legs are probably my best asset, I kid you not.) they might as well be long, beautiful, tan, flawless legs. I went for a long jog yesterday, and I'm excited to get them in shape again.
I've decided against writing my thesis my paper. I shall endeavor to kill my skin instead.
I make so many bad choices when it comes to certain things.
My family and I went to divulge ourselves at one of salt lake city's finest dineries- the pie pizzeria.
I was extremely against the idea in general. I don't do pizza, and I haven't since 7th grade. If I'm going to blow my fat-gram allowance in one shot, I'm afraid pizza is not what I'll be spending it on. Yesterday, therefore, I was one of the snottiest little girls a family could ever dream to have.
But oh my Janus! Best Pizza ever! We got this alfredo broccoli thingy, and it was divine. I couldn't resist. I couldn't resist last night, and I couldn't resist this afternoon although it had sat out all night. Oh well- food borne illnesses will be one of the last things to stop me. I am invincible!
I have a ton of work to do today. I have to make my atom, which one I have not yet chosen, watch 30 minutes of a Spanish soap opera and take notes (Wow- they're all right! Utah education ISN'T a joke after all! Who knew?) And I have to write my thesis paper about Christina Rossetti. And I'm not going to let what happened yesterday happen today. I will not start working at 9:30 and spend all my time blogging, instead! I will fight, I will struggle, I will prevail!
(Unless, of course, Daddy's online. How can I ever reject such a dear man?)
Oh- note to Elisse: Do you see this? What is this Soir†nonsense? Do you feel no obligation to the inferior of the computering world? What about us PC users who want to buy the machine without any previous education on implementing it, don't bother to research it or learn something about it, and then expect it to work? (my brother works tech support, if you can't tell) What about us? Help, this is ugly!
Don't make me call tech support!
I was extremely against the idea in general. I don't do pizza, and I haven't since 7th grade. If I'm going to blow my fat-gram allowance in one shot, I'm afraid pizza is not what I'll be spending it on. Yesterday, therefore, I was one of the snottiest little girls a family could ever dream to have.
But oh my Janus! Best Pizza ever! We got this alfredo broccoli thingy, and it was divine. I couldn't resist. I couldn't resist last night, and I couldn't resist this afternoon although it had sat out all night. Oh well- food borne illnesses will be one of the last things to stop me. I am invincible!
I have a ton of work to do today. I have to make my atom, which one I have not yet chosen, watch 30 minutes of a Spanish soap opera and take notes (Wow- they're all right! Utah education ISN'T a joke after all! Who knew?) And I have to write my thesis paper about Christina Rossetti. And I'm not going to let what happened yesterday happen today. I will not start working at 9:30 and spend all my time blogging, instead! I will fight, I will struggle, I will prevail!
(Unless, of course, Daddy's online. How can I ever reject such a dear man?)
Oh- note to Elisse: Do you see this? What is this Soir†nonsense? Do you feel no obligation to the inferior of the computering world? What about us PC users who want to buy the machine without any previous education on implementing it, don't bother to research it or learn something about it, and then expect it to work? (my brother works tech support, if you can't tell) What about us? Help, this is ugly!
Don't make me call tech support!
Monday, March 08, 2004
My day was flawless. The weather was absolutely corking today, breezy with this penetrating sunshine that subtly caught me between gusts of wind and billowing clouds. I'm listening to Debussy's “Beau Soir”, and I'm lost in ecstasy.
And yet I claim to be completely rid of sentimentality. Get away, you pesky beast of denial! Shoo!
I'm thinking of cutting my hair. Elisse cut hers today, it's all sexy and tousled and short. Mine's almost down to my waist, and it's hard only having two looks to work with- up and down. Really kind of frustrating.
Anyway- the bat left this week for Colorado. Apparently she's going to see her friend Betty who broke her hip, had two heart attacks, and gained 80 pounds all in the same month. Yeah- she's not alone in being completely and totally weird. The word "weird" is probably one of the weakest adjectives in the English language, but I simply cannot fight the fact that it is the most appropriate. She’s amusing yet depressing, alive with senile vivacity yet so withered; she leaves one in a neutral mindset that can’t be described. The woman is simply weird.
I’ve discovered another person I’ve decided to add to my hate list. Here is my new updated version:
1. Boris the Dog
2. That freaking 6’2’’ goddess that stalks the B floor. No one has the right to look like that. No one. I hate people who are prettier than me with an ardent passion that I don’t endeavor to curtail. Grrrrr
3. The Bat- the more I think about her, the more disgusted I am.
4. Amy Jo- sorry, love. Stupid people and I just don’t mix well. What can I say? I think I’ll allow JD Bernal to say it for me:
“The full area of ignorance is not mapped. We are at present only exploring the fringes.”
5. John Galliano, for doing what he does to Dior every other show.
6. Tom Ford, for what he’s doing to Gucci by leaving.
7. That stupid little girl that stares at me and sits in front of me at church. Why are those overly-large pale blue eyes always staring at me from two pews away? Why? For two freaking years she stares at me for the majority of sacrament. May you have glass legs and may the glass break, you yellow bellied comatose prant!
8. And the newest addition to my list: Heather McGuire.
This girl was born of the lowest realms of mediocrity, yet raised and parented by arrogance and haughtiness themselves. She’s the type of creature to label an entry as her favorite, best written blog entry, and then proceed to show you the most vile of expressions and manifestations; a smoldering lump of goopy sentiment and cliché nonsensical avowals. I don’t mean to be rude, but you simply must view this:
“This eye followed me from childhood on up until this past week or so. Clearing my mind of childish disasters and broadening my feel for future life took its creepy toll just these past months. In its bittersweet victory my maturation both mind and spirit kicked me in the teeth and hanged me by the fireside. Honesty towards all others including myself became so palapable in my new reality. The clairvoyant mysteries of my family drenched me with harsh passion against anyone who dare discover the secret. In my mind I always knew my family was unhappy, yet we put on this show with great eloquence; one in which the carnival ride ceases to halt in its spinning and whirling. Like the titanic struck by an iceberg in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and still remaining "unsinkable", I so blatantly saw what came from beneath me. The boring reality of my new found maturity grasped me with both hands and dunked me under its tide for minutes that seemed like hours those which will now drag on for years at a time not without occassional moments of immature glory. In several hopeless attempts to save what has been done, I myself die with the inheritence. Simple questions with complex answers pressure me to grow up faster than I have to. It makes me sad to think that I'll be stuck in this rut forever unless I change my whole ideas about going through life, and as long as I keep myself busy. I'm not sad anymore, I'm not happy anymore, I'm not hurt anymore, I'm not fulfilled anymore. I'm just curiously bored out of my mind. In another hopeless attempt, I think all I need is affection without a schedule, and a new job to work on my weeknights.
Side Note: Sorry if you cannot understand my random mumblings, maybe someone someday will. I don't purposefully try to sound like a "yale scholar" even though my confusing thoughts may lead some to believe this and the fact that I used 2 or 3 of my English vocabulary words in this entry. (I'm proud of myself sometimes, but some people succeed in tearing down my walls and poking my feelings, so I become bitter and use it against them for a few months, then I give up because that too gets boring.) My best thoughts know no boundaries and usually only make sense to me and to those with great ability to analyze. On an ending note -- Ever since I cleaned my room it's been cold in here; I should have left all the junk in here, at least it kept it warm.
From my brain to yours, do with it what you wish
-Stupid.”
These vocabulary words are so obviously planted that the fact that she misspelled one of them is demoralizing. I suppose I am moved emotionally in a very distressing way, perhaps she felt this too, hence the feeling of prided she late expressed at writing such rubbish:
“I feel confident that I'm going to be a future achiever of America. I can handle the pressure, can you? I would consider myself a little above averagely mature for my age level, and it really helps you understand the feel of life. Underlaying ideas often prohibitted me from her true friendship, but in so many ways these past 2 weeks we've bonded the ancient gap. I love Ana, she's the sweetest girl, and such a smart one too. Our group against the world 2005; we'll show you all what we're made of. If you don't understand this disreguard it, it's not meant for those who just can't grasp what I put across. I still think my entry before this was the best.”
Now, if the homework I have yet to do was anything but history, I would not proceed to rip this absurdity apart and into my mental oblivion. I am afraid, however, that the homework I have left is history.
I find many disturbing things in such a bold statement. I keep on running my tongue across my teeth and lips, hoping to rid my mouth of the nauseating taste instigated by this entry; I find the very thought morbid. By the way, if you find any part of my actions arrogant, conceited or just malicious, congratulations: You win the prize for most meaningless observation made in one week.
1. In the above two entries, she spelled the following words wrong:
• Palpable
• Occasional
• Inheritance
• Underlying
• Prohibited
• Disregard
*Just a little note to Heather- before comparing yourself to a “Yale scholar”, try using a spell check, you arrogant little shit.
2. Grammar- I’m afraid it’s late and I simply haven’t the time to go into this. No person in possession of an education, job or life does. Sorry!
3. The abstractness with which she tries to write is poorly crafted and transparent. She does not write for herself, she’s like a cheap house disguised by plaster columns and inferior embellishment. This is for display; I doubt she feels anything for this excluding the joy she sees in impressing. I’m afraid that “those with great ability to analyze” will see no merit in this at all, just wobbly desperation that is poorly masked by pathetic egoism.
4. I can’t even label these phrases, they’re so hideous:
• If you don't understand this disreguard it, it's not meant for those who just can't grasp what I put across
• Sorry if you cannot understand my random mumblings, maybe someone someday will
• My best thoughts know no boundaries and usually only make sense to me and to those with great ability to analyze
Your thoughts do know boundaries, even your best ones. The individual built to serve society or a collective mind of any type is restricted by the very fixation for which it labors. No one can “grasp what you put across”; you’re not articulate. Not even those with “great ability to analyze” can understand this; there is no meaning. Your pride and the satisfaction you feel in dejection will not help you or make you taste superior; they will become your burdens and your vices.
Good luck with that.
I’m tired and it looks like I’ll be waking at 4 to complete my history. Huzzah! Inefficiency has never tasted so bittersweet. I did my trig, at least, kind of (not really). Wow- I need this year to end. Then I can spend three months doing nothing but showing people to their tables and napping on the front desk of work. My brain has either died or developed a very crippling personality disorder; it’s not working anymore. It might of decided to vacation in Europe; perhaps I’ll stumble upon it at an Irish pub someday. Maybe it’s just sleeping.
Oh my, I’m rambling. A couple more minutes and I’ll start sounding like our dear friend Heather who we met a couple paragraphs ago. I can’t let this happen, I leave you only because I must.
Farewell!
And yet I claim to be completely rid of sentimentality. Get away, you pesky beast of denial! Shoo!
I'm thinking of cutting my hair. Elisse cut hers today, it's all sexy and tousled and short. Mine's almost down to my waist, and it's hard only having two looks to work with- up and down. Really kind of frustrating.
Anyway- the bat left this week for Colorado. Apparently she's going to see her friend Betty who broke her hip, had two heart attacks, and gained 80 pounds all in the same month. Yeah- she's not alone in being completely and totally weird. The word "weird" is probably one of the weakest adjectives in the English language, but I simply cannot fight the fact that it is the most appropriate. She’s amusing yet depressing, alive with senile vivacity yet so withered; she leaves one in a neutral mindset that can’t be described. The woman is simply weird.
I’ve discovered another person I’ve decided to add to my hate list. Here is my new updated version:
1. Boris the Dog
2. That freaking 6’2’’ goddess that stalks the B floor. No one has the right to look like that. No one. I hate people who are prettier than me with an ardent passion that I don’t endeavor to curtail. Grrrrr
3. The Bat- the more I think about her, the more disgusted I am.
4. Amy Jo- sorry, love. Stupid people and I just don’t mix well. What can I say? I think I’ll allow JD Bernal to say it for me:
“The full area of ignorance is not mapped. We are at present only exploring the fringes.”
5. John Galliano, for doing what he does to Dior every other show.
6. Tom Ford, for what he’s doing to Gucci by leaving.
7. That stupid little girl that stares at me and sits in front of me at church. Why are those overly-large pale blue eyes always staring at me from two pews away? Why? For two freaking years she stares at me for the majority of sacrament. May you have glass legs and may the glass break, you yellow bellied comatose prant!
8. And the newest addition to my list: Heather McGuire.
This girl was born of the lowest realms of mediocrity, yet raised and parented by arrogance and haughtiness themselves. She’s the type of creature to label an entry as her favorite, best written blog entry, and then proceed to show you the most vile of expressions and manifestations; a smoldering lump of goopy sentiment and cliché nonsensical avowals. I don’t mean to be rude, but you simply must view this:
“This eye followed me from childhood on up until this past week or so. Clearing my mind of childish disasters and broadening my feel for future life took its creepy toll just these past months. In its bittersweet victory my maturation both mind and spirit kicked me in the teeth and hanged me by the fireside. Honesty towards all others including myself became so palapable in my new reality. The clairvoyant mysteries of my family drenched me with harsh passion against anyone who dare discover the secret. In my mind I always knew my family was unhappy, yet we put on this show with great eloquence; one in which the carnival ride ceases to halt in its spinning and whirling. Like the titanic struck by an iceberg in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and still remaining "unsinkable", I so blatantly saw what came from beneath me. The boring reality of my new found maturity grasped me with both hands and dunked me under its tide for minutes that seemed like hours those which will now drag on for years at a time not without occassional moments of immature glory. In several hopeless attempts to save what has been done, I myself die with the inheritence. Simple questions with complex answers pressure me to grow up faster than I have to. It makes me sad to think that I'll be stuck in this rut forever unless I change my whole ideas about going through life, and as long as I keep myself busy. I'm not sad anymore, I'm not happy anymore, I'm not hurt anymore, I'm not fulfilled anymore. I'm just curiously bored out of my mind. In another hopeless attempt, I think all I need is affection without a schedule, and a new job to work on my weeknights.
Side Note: Sorry if you cannot understand my random mumblings, maybe someone someday will. I don't purposefully try to sound like a "yale scholar" even though my confusing thoughts may lead some to believe this and the fact that I used 2 or 3 of my English vocabulary words in this entry. (I'm proud of myself sometimes, but some people succeed in tearing down my walls and poking my feelings, so I become bitter and use it against them for a few months, then I give up because that too gets boring.) My best thoughts know no boundaries and usually only make sense to me and to those with great ability to analyze. On an ending note -- Ever since I cleaned my room it's been cold in here; I should have left all the junk in here, at least it kept it warm.
From my brain to yours, do with it what you wish
-Stupid.”
These vocabulary words are so obviously planted that the fact that she misspelled one of them is demoralizing. I suppose I am moved emotionally in a very distressing way, perhaps she felt this too, hence the feeling of prided she late expressed at writing such rubbish:
“I feel confident that I'm going to be a future achiever of America. I can handle the pressure, can you? I would consider myself a little above averagely mature for my age level, and it really helps you understand the feel of life. Underlaying ideas often prohibitted me from her true friendship, but in so many ways these past 2 weeks we've bonded the ancient gap. I love Ana, she's the sweetest girl, and such a smart one too. Our group against the world 2005; we'll show you all what we're made of. If you don't understand this disreguard it, it's not meant for those who just can't grasp what I put across. I still think my entry before this was the best.”
Now, if the homework I have yet to do was anything but history, I would not proceed to rip this absurdity apart and into my mental oblivion. I am afraid, however, that the homework I have left is history.
I find many disturbing things in such a bold statement. I keep on running my tongue across my teeth and lips, hoping to rid my mouth of the nauseating taste instigated by this entry; I find the very thought morbid. By the way, if you find any part of my actions arrogant, conceited or just malicious, congratulations: You win the prize for most meaningless observation made in one week.
1. In the above two entries, she spelled the following words wrong:
• Palpable
• Occasional
• Inheritance
• Underlying
• Prohibited
• Disregard
*Just a little note to Heather- before comparing yourself to a “Yale scholar”, try using a spell check, you arrogant little shit.
2. Grammar- I’m afraid it’s late and I simply haven’t the time to go into this. No person in possession of an education, job or life does. Sorry!
3. The abstractness with which she tries to write is poorly crafted and transparent. She does not write for herself, she’s like a cheap house disguised by plaster columns and inferior embellishment. This is for display; I doubt she feels anything for this excluding the joy she sees in impressing. I’m afraid that “those with great ability to analyze” will see no merit in this at all, just wobbly desperation that is poorly masked by pathetic egoism.
4. I can’t even label these phrases, they’re so hideous:
• If you don't understand this disreguard it, it's not meant for those who just can't grasp what I put across
• Sorry if you cannot understand my random mumblings, maybe someone someday will
• My best thoughts know no boundaries and usually only make sense to me and to those with great ability to analyze
Your thoughts do know boundaries, even your best ones. The individual built to serve society or a collective mind of any type is restricted by the very fixation for which it labors. No one can “grasp what you put across”; you’re not articulate. Not even those with “great ability to analyze” can understand this; there is no meaning. Your pride and the satisfaction you feel in dejection will not help you or make you taste superior; they will become your burdens and your vices.
Good luck with that.
I’m tired and it looks like I’ll be waking at 4 to complete my history. Huzzah! Inefficiency has never tasted so bittersweet. I did my trig, at least, kind of (not really). Wow- I need this year to end. Then I can spend three months doing nothing but showing people to their tables and napping on the front desk of work. My brain has either died or developed a very crippling personality disorder; it’s not working anymore. It might of decided to vacation in Europe; perhaps I’ll stumble upon it at an Irish pub someday. Maybe it’s just sleeping.
Oh my, I’m rambling. A couple more minutes and I’ll start sounding like our dear friend Heather who we met a couple paragraphs ago. I can’t let this happen, I leave you only because I must.
Farewell!
Sunday, March 07, 2004
I have just returned from one of the most fatiguing days of my life. I am much more exhausted then when I just drag myself up my dark mahogany stairs and collapse in my bed. When I am feeling truly drained and beaten I write.
The memory of today has turned into a blur that subconsciously I'm trying very hard to forget. My legs and arms are throbbing, and my eyes are stinging like mad, but it's this monotonous numb pouring throughout my mind that hurts the most. After giving everything to stay aloft, it feels like a time that I'd give all that I have to sink.
My day started early. My mother woke me at 7:30 to eat breakfast, which was proceeded by a shopping trip my mother and I took until I had to work at 11:30. I had a splendid time, really. We discovered this heart-stopping smoky gray gown that was marked down from $335 to $89. We decided to meet in the Library at 4:30 to go retrieve it after I cashed my check.
Work was terrible today. It was busy when we opened, when we closed, during every dragging moment in between. Every customer I sat was displeased, no one was satisfied. I couldn't get off until 4:00, sprinting to the library so that I wouldn't miss mom. Fifteen minutes later I hurried into the edifice, climbing the concrete stairs to the pre-arranged meeting place. I grabbed a Harper's Bizarre mag, and rested in the same spot that I had met Elisse the week before. It was pleasant, sprawled out on the orange pleather, nonchalantly flipping through pages and pages of high fashion. Of course, right when I stumbled upon an interesting article about John Galliano, Jeff hurried up to me, looking slightly shaken.
Apparently my mother had decided to go psychotic today, shouting in front of everybody that she wanted a divorce and that Jeff was a thief. She was freaking out, searching for me in the library, although we had agreed to meet at 4:30. She had run away from Jeff, searching madly for me throughout the city.
Whatever. I've learned not to question episodes such as these. My mother simply can't be controlled at this moment; she'll plow through anyone or anything, searching for a shard of peace that isn't to be found. When she loses control, she searches unscrupulously and frantically until it finds her again. She just needs time, and that's what I give her. I wanted that dress, and it was only on hold until 5:00. I forced Jeff to take me to the bank instead of looking for my mom. He wouldn't have prevailed; if the woman doesn't want to be found, she won't be found. If she wants to be found, neither you nor any mortal has the power to avoid her.
So we rushed to Nordstrom's, only to see that they accidentally put it back on the floor, even though it wasn't 5 yet. I ask you: why is competency nowhere to be found in the work field? Why? The dress is gone; we searched the racks, the other racks, interrogated the half-wit responsible thrice. It was gone.
Whatever. I'm pissed already, and this incident fits perfectly into my day. People don't care, people don't see, people just don't know. The dress was one of a kind, but I have to get back to work.
So we pull into the OSF parking lot to see my mother emerging from the building, in a rage. This is when I almost went ballistic. Twice before has my mother screamed at my manager for nothing, getting me an official warning. Why does she do this? I worked hard for this menial job and I'm working very hard to keep it. I started to cry, knowing my mother had just made trouble for me at work. She runs up to me, screaming at me for "picking Jeff over her", for "running away from her when she left skiing early to find me at the library", and for "abusing her and treating her with disrespect". My mother and I, mind you, were on good terms up until this point; we were both ecstatic about the dress and were happy to go get it. She continues to rage on in this fashion for another minute or so, until I start to scream back at her through the salty tears that have covered my face. Why does she have to be this way? Why can't she restrain herself ever? Why must it always be my fault? It's so frustrating...
We're sitting in the back of a blazer, shaking with rage, screaming the sharpest, most dangerous words at each other. Faces red with hatred, faces wet with tears, eyes swollen already. Finally she stopped, slammed the door open, and ran down 6th east.
I was tired; I wanted to run. I wanted to run in the opposite direction as fast and as furiously and as desperately as my mother. I yearned to leave the parking lot, to run until finally my body gave up the ghost and I collapsed beside a dusty road. I wanted to feel the last pang of breath slowly exit my body, and to feel my limbs and head go limp, falling to the earth below. I wanted to bite down on my lip until it bled, to see blood flow forth just as the life slowly seeped out of my being, taking me onward.
But I couldn't, and I knew this. I was in flowing tears when I entered the mall, I was composed and smiling by the time I climbed the last step of the stairway leading directly to the OSF. My wish was partly granted: I could feel my being and will giving up the ghost, I could feel the life slowly seeping out of me. Every time I smiled or laughed I could sense my mind going limp, while my drive pushed on to maintain the face, to maintain the air of a care-free young woman. I laughed stupidly with the other hosts and customers, my body collapsing beside the road, panting and sucking air madly into my beaten lungs. I skipped up the staircases, I filled up my sections, I amused the managers, I was not taken onward.
It becomes easy to hide so openly. It's almost intuitive, killing the urge to lash out, placing a drive to please in its place. Once such an act is accepted, the rest of my being follows, obedient and silent. Just once did a tear fall to the floor, while I was taking a bathroom break. To the rest of the world I was happy, I was spoiled, I was protected. To the rest of the world I new nothing but contentment, nothing but fed ignorance and naivety. To them I was perfect.
I came home without eating. At times there's nothing quite like physical emptiness to complete and to fill the emotional voids created by desolation. I collapsed on my bed to find I was laying on the dress, a shimmering curtain shielding the viewer from the lack of control and cruelty felt by every member in the house. I threw it to the floor, rushed to my computer, and began to write.
The memory of today has turned into a blur that subconsciously I'm trying very hard to forget. My legs and arms are throbbing, and my eyes are stinging like mad, but it's this monotonous numb pouring throughout my mind that hurts the most. After giving everything to stay aloft, it feels like a time that I'd give all that I have to sink.
My day started early. My mother woke me at 7:30 to eat breakfast, which was proceeded by a shopping trip my mother and I took until I had to work at 11:30. I had a splendid time, really. We discovered this heart-stopping smoky gray gown that was marked down from $335 to $89. We decided to meet in the Library at 4:30 to go retrieve it after I cashed my check.
Work was terrible today. It was busy when we opened, when we closed, during every dragging moment in between. Every customer I sat was displeased, no one was satisfied. I couldn't get off until 4:00, sprinting to the library so that I wouldn't miss mom. Fifteen minutes later I hurried into the edifice, climbing the concrete stairs to the pre-arranged meeting place. I grabbed a Harper's Bizarre mag, and rested in the same spot that I had met Elisse the week before. It was pleasant, sprawled out on the orange pleather, nonchalantly flipping through pages and pages of high fashion. Of course, right when I stumbled upon an interesting article about John Galliano, Jeff hurried up to me, looking slightly shaken.
Apparently my mother had decided to go psychotic today, shouting in front of everybody that she wanted a divorce and that Jeff was a thief. She was freaking out, searching for me in the library, although we had agreed to meet at 4:30. She had run away from Jeff, searching madly for me throughout the city.
Whatever. I've learned not to question episodes such as these. My mother simply can't be controlled at this moment; she'll plow through anyone or anything, searching for a shard of peace that isn't to be found. When she loses control, she searches unscrupulously and frantically until it finds her again. She just needs time, and that's what I give her. I wanted that dress, and it was only on hold until 5:00. I forced Jeff to take me to the bank instead of looking for my mom. He wouldn't have prevailed; if the woman doesn't want to be found, she won't be found. If she wants to be found, neither you nor any mortal has the power to avoid her.
So we rushed to Nordstrom's, only to see that they accidentally put it back on the floor, even though it wasn't 5 yet. I ask you: why is competency nowhere to be found in the work field? Why? The dress is gone; we searched the racks, the other racks, interrogated the half-wit responsible thrice. It was gone.
Whatever. I'm pissed already, and this incident fits perfectly into my day. People don't care, people don't see, people just don't know. The dress was one of a kind, but I have to get back to work.
So we pull into the OSF parking lot to see my mother emerging from the building, in a rage. This is when I almost went ballistic. Twice before has my mother screamed at my manager for nothing, getting me an official warning. Why does she do this? I worked hard for this menial job and I'm working very hard to keep it. I started to cry, knowing my mother had just made trouble for me at work. She runs up to me, screaming at me for "picking Jeff over her", for "running away from her when she left skiing early to find me at the library", and for "abusing her and treating her with disrespect". My mother and I, mind you, were on good terms up until this point; we were both ecstatic about the dress and were happy to go get it. She continues to rage on in this fashion for another minute or so, until I start to scream back at her through the salty tears that have covered my face. Why does she have to be this way? Why can't she restrain herself ever? Why must it always be my fault? It's so frustrating...
We're sitting in the back of a blazer, shaking with rage, screaming the sharpest, most dangerous words at each other. Faces red with hatred, faces wet with tears, eyes swollen already. Finally she stopped, slammed the door open, and ran down 6th east.
I was tired; I wanted to run. I wanted to run in the opposite direction as fast and as furiously and as desperately as my mother. I yearned to leave the parking lot, to run until finally my body gave up the ghost and I collapsed beside a dusty road. I wanted to feel the last pang of breath slowly exit my body, and to feel my limbs and head go limp, falling to the earth below. I wanted to bite down on my lip until it bled, to see blood flow forth just as the life slowly seeped out of my being, taking me onward.
But I couldn't, and I knew this. I was in flowing tears when I entered the mall, I was composed and smiling by the time I climbed the last step of the stairway leading directly to the OSF. My wish was partly granted: I could feel my being and will giving up the ghost, I could feel the life slowly seeping out of me. Every time I smiled or laughed I could sense my mind going limp, while my drive pushed on to maintain the face, to maintain the air of a care-free young woman. I laughed stupidly with the other hosts and customers, my body collapsing beside the road, panting and sucking air madly into my beaten lungs. I skipped up the staircases, I filled up my sections, I amused the managers, I was not taken onward.
It becomes easy to hide so openly. It's almost intuitive, killing the urge to lash out, placing a drive to please in its place. Once such an act is accepted, the rest of my being follows, obedient and silent. Just once did a tear fall to the floor, while I was taking a bathroom break. To the rest of the world I was happy, I was spoiled, I was protected. To the rest of the world I new nothing but contentment, nothing but fed ignorance and naivety. To them I was perfect.
I came home without eating. At times there's nothing quite like physical emptiness to complete and to fill the emotional voids created by desolation. I collapsed on my bed to find I was laying on the dress, a shimmering curtain shielding the viewer from the lack of control and cruelty felt by every member in the house. I threw it to the floor, rushed to my computer, and began to write.
Saturday, March 06, 2004
So Ricky's been reading my blog. Everybody Wave! Hi Ricky! Thank you so much for showing an incredible disregard to my right to privacy. Thanks so much for not even trying to curve your curiosity just a little so that I might be able to express my self honestly in one way. Such a freaking sweetie, I know.
Yesterday, as I was leaving, he shouts "Rachael, don't like boyfriends who smoke!". I stop in front of him to shoot a glance of morbid curiosity and hatred, silently demanding an explanation. "Just random advice. Fun, huh?” he says. Wow, he has all the intellectual subtlety of a blind man performing brain surgery with a chainsaw, doesn't he?
I'm not trying to be rude, I'm simply endeavoring to tell him how offended I am. And since he'll never own up to reading my blog, I can insult him all I like and he can't retaliate. So, Ricky: knock yourself out, kid. I don't care. If I really have anything juicy that you would want to know, I'll write it then make my blog private. Schmuck...
So, now that we have concluded with our "Rant about family" section of this ever-faring blog, let's go onto "Rant about job" section. Should be fun!
Yesterday was just tiring. We were unbelievably busy, and Travis was lead and Britnee was desk. Bad combination, bad, bad combination. I find them to be lacking at each of their jobs, so when paired together on the busiest night of the week, havoc and chaos dominate the noble foundation known to us as the Old Spaghetti Factory. I was so frustrated. Not only that, but our two newest hostesses were the other floor hosts. What twit thought up last night's schedule? We were on a 20 minute wait, yet half the restaurant was empty. I tried to keep my section full, as an attempt to input a redeeming quality into the views of hostesses held by the rest of the restaurant, but every time I would ask for a table, I wouldn't get it. I was so mad:
"Travis, call me a four"
(three and a half minutes later, I get my four)
"Where you going with this, Rach?"
"8.4"
Vikki: “No, wait. I need a four up in 17, it's nearly empty."
So, of course, I go up there and there is ONE table empty. ONE! Stupid over-achieving hostess...
I am truly sorry about all the complaining that is going on here. This must be incredibly hard to read, but I'm so frustrated right now. I got into girls state, though. I'm leaving the last week of school, and Elisse made it, too. It will be fun. Not really compensation for the rest of my day being intolerable, though. This however, was:
I had to run back to school to grab my physics book. I didn't mind; the day was pleasant and I adore the way a cool March breeze folds over my skin, energizing me. I toddled a bit, approaching the school 15 minutes after departure. There, standing by the front door, was NZ. He was smoking, leaning debonairly against the wall, ignoring those around him. He looked up every once in a while, but seemed thoroughly bored. Smoke curled around his face, rising from a mouth that seemed so correct and appropriate. He tilted his head back, displaying his ample neck, blowing smoke into the wind and watching it float away. His long, dark eyelashes flitted about with every glance he threw while talking.
I was quite wrong. NZ reigns over my thoughts, as fervent and strong as ever.
Yesterday, as I was leaving, he shouts "Rachael, don't like boyfriends who smoke!". I stop in front of him to shoot a glance of morbid curiosity and hatred, silently demanding an explanation. "Just random advice. Fun, huh?” he says. Wow, he has all the intellectual subtlety of a blind man performing brain surgery with a chainsaw, doesn't he?
I'm not trying to be rude, I'm simply endeavoring to tell him how offended I am. And since he'll never own up to reading my blog, I can insult him all I like and he can't retaliate. So, Ricky: knock yourself out, kid. I don't care. If I really have anything juicy that you would want to know, I'll write it then make my blog private. Schmuck...
So, now that we have concluded with our "Rant about family" section of this ever-faring blog, let's go onto "Rant about job
Yesterday was just tiring. We were unbelievably busy, and Travis was lead and Britnee was desk. Bad combination, bad, bad combination. I find them to be lacking at each of their jobs, so when paired together on the busiest night of the week, havoc and chaos dominate the noble foundation known to us as the Old Spaghetti Factory. I was so frustrated. Not only that, but our two newest hostesses were the other floor hosts. What twit thought up last night's schedule? We were on a 20 minute wait, yet half the restaurant was empty. I tried to keep my section full, as an attempt to input a redeeming quality into the views of hostesses held by the rest of the restaurant, but every time I would ask for a table, I wouldn't get it. I was so mad:
"Travis, call me a four"
(three and a half minutes later, I get my four)
"Where you going with this, Rach?"
"8.4"
Vikki: “No, wait. I need a four up in 17, it's nearly empty."
So, of course, I go up there and there is ONE table empty. ONE! Stupid over-achieving hostess...
I am truly sorry about all the complaining that is going on here. This must be incredibly hard to read, but I'm so frustrated right now. I got into girls state, though. I'm leaving the last week of school, and Elisse made it, too. It will be fun. Not really compensation for the rest of my day being intolerable, though. This however, was:
I had to run back to school to grab my physics book. I didn't mind; the day was pleasant and I adore the way a cool March breeze folds over my skin, energizing me. I toddled a bit, approaching the school 15 minutes after departure. There, standing by the front door, was NZ. He was smoking, leaning debonairly against the wall, ignoring those around him. He looked up every once in a while, but seemed thoroughly bored. Smoke curled around his face, rising from a mouth that seemed so correct and appropriate. He tilted his head back, displaying his ample neck, blowing smoke into the wind and watching it float away. His long, dark eyelashes flitted about with every glance he threw while talking.
I was quite wrong. NZ reigns over my thoughts, as fervent and strong as ever.
Thursday, March 04, 2004
Ahhhhh....How perfectly absurd. Ridiculous in the sense that only Galliano can define. Neglecting entertainment value, however, I'm afraid I was a bit disappointed with this show. Not as disappointed as I was with the Spring/Summer 2004 Haute Couture, mind you, but pretty disappointed.
I swear- Dior's Fall 2003 Couture sucked me in. That was when I became a Dior addict, when I started to worship Galliano, and watch the show every other week. The sex, the beauty, the flow, the beat, it was this beautiful dance of strength and synchronized power. The models took the runway by storm, pouncing and beating on the runway with their high heeled shoes, stalking down with smirks most impertinent. The makeup was bizarre, the clothes were fabulously nonsense, I loved it. That show is why Dior is my favorite fashion house.
This current rubbish is poppycock. Galliano is loosing his touch. Shame...
I swear- Dior's Fall 2003 Couture sucked me in. That was when I became a Dior addict, when I started to worship Galliano, and watch the show every other week. The sex, the beauty, the flow, the beat, it was this beautiful dance of strength and synchronized power. The models took the runway by storm, pouncing and beating on the runway with their high heeled shoes, stalking down with smirks most impertinent. The makeup was bizarre, the clothes were fabulously nonsense, I loved it. That show is why Dior is my favorite fashion house.
This current rubbish is poppycock. Galliano is loosing his touch. Shame...
OMG OMG OMG!
Christian Dior's Fall 2004 is finally here!!!!! YAYYYYY!
Screw Trig- I'm going to go spend my homework time watching the show. Bite me, Nagle.
*You can view the runway show with the link to the left of this text, and then by clicking on live. YAYAYAYAYYASY!!!
HUZZAH! I'm so happy! Enjoy
Christian Dior's Fall 2004 is finally here!!!!! YAYYYYY!
Screw Trig- I'm going to go spend my homework time watching the show. Bite me, Nagle.
*You can view the runway show with the link to the left of this text, and then by clicking on live. YAYAYAYAYYASY!!!
HUZZAH! I'm so happy! Enjoy
My day was completely uneventful. I went to school, went to play practice, went to work. Apparently I did well in play today, two people who were viewing came up to me and said:
"You scared me. Good job."
This role is really draining. It just takes everything out of you; even though "mother's party" is a comedy, the break-down I have in the end is tiring. I'm really happy with it, though. It's something when someone who is practicing in a room a floor above you comes up to you and says "I could really hear the anger in your speech." Blah....
I think that NZ's reign over my thoughts during most of my classes is soon coming to an end. The interest just isn't really there anymore. Although I found out today that he had a lead in Les Mis last year, and loved it, I'm just bored by almost everyone around me. Even the heroine-using, olive-skinned, Mohawk-clad New Zealander is boring me. There isn't one person who intrigues me. Amy is predictable in her pettiness, my mother in her unpredictability, Elisse in her scandal. I love all of these people dearly, but isn't there one who can excite me?
I obviously was not created for the Salt Lake Valley. I have moved all my life; 13 times including our move to Utah. I am easily disillusioned with one place or another. I am ready for a new breeze against my face, and a new beauty to surround me. I am ready for different people and a different dominate religion. My family has spent 4 years in Salt Lake, I'm still in shock. I hate it.
There was this absolutely adorable waiting for TRAX beside me today. Juicy Couture jeans and a Dior fashion victim purse. Why can't I have a $1400 Christian clutch? Because I am a hostess that makes $7 dollars an hour. Argh.
Well, I have trig to do. 9 problems, but they're proofs, so they'll probably take the better part of an hour.
I think I need to move to Nepal. That's exactly what the doctor ordered...
"You scared me. Good job."
This role is really draining. It just takes everything out of you; even though "mother's party" is a comedy, the break-down I have in the end is tiring. I'm really happy with it, though. It's something when someone who is practicing in a room a floor above you comes up to you and says "I could really hear the anger in your speech." Blah....
I think that NZ's reign over my thoughts during most of my classes is soon coming to an end. The interest just isn't really there anymore. Although I found out today that he had a lead in Les Mis last year, and loved it, I'm just bored by almost everyone around me. Even the heroine-using, olive-skinned, Mohawk-clad New Zealander is boring me. There isn't one person who intrigues me. Amy is predictable in her pettiness, my mother in her unpredictability, Elisse in her scandal. I love all of these people dearly, but isn't there one who can excite me?
I obviously was not created for the Salt Lake Valley. I have moved all my life; 13 times including our move to Utah. I am easily disillusioned with one place or another. I am ready for a new breeze against my face, and a new beauty to surround me. I am ready for different people and a different dominate religion. My family has spent 4 years in Salt Lake, I'm still in shock. I hate it.
There was this absolutely adorable waiting for TRAX beside me today. Juicy Couture jeans and a Dior fashion victim purse. Why can't I have a $1400 Christian clutch? Because I am a hostess that makes $7 dollars an hour. Argh.
Well, I have trig to do. 9 problems, but they're proofs, so they'll probably take the better part of an hour.
I think I need to move to Nepal. That's exactly what the doctor ordered...
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
I can't do it, I simply cannot go a day without writing in my blog. I really don't have the time or something to write about, but I simply can't do it. So, here I am, feeding an addiction. How wise I am.
So... Joan Jett and the Blackhearts- bad reputation. Best song ever. Today I submitted my first two lessons to BYU distance learning. In the comment box I wrote "purple monkey dishwasher. Yippee!". I hope they have to document and catalog every comment they get. Muwhahahaha....
Elisse is going to stop smoking. Huzzah! Save the lungs!
I have to go memorize my lines. Stupid lines. Stupid play.
So... Joan Jett and the Blackhearts- bad reputation. Best song ever. Today I submitted my first two lessons to BYU distance learning. In the comment box I wrote "purple monkey dishwasher. Yippee!". I hope they have to document and catalog every comment they get. Muwhahahaha....
Elisse is going to stop smoking. Huzzah! Save the lungs!
I have to go memorize my lines. Stupid lines. Stupid play.
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
How I cherish a moment like this. I have absolutely nothing to write about; nothing hideous happened today that merits an account, and there was no smashing experience, lifting me. Nothing happened today. Nothing. I saw my Elissie, so my intellectual quota for the day was filled, however meager the short time I spent with her was. I saw NZ, my fam, talked to the bat, saw everybody I wanted to see. I had play practice and Young women's. Nothing happened. I love it...
I'm so content right now. I'm listening to sneaker pimps in my most comfortable jeans, laying decadently in my entrancing solitude, a feeling I rarely indulge in nowadays. I adore lying on the hard-wood floor, listening to my thoughts and my music. Nothing matters when I’m this way; there’s nobody I’m trying to convince, no one to please, nobody at all. There is no satisfaction like this, no pleasure so idolatrous. I love it …
Its at times like this when I realize I don’t need or want someone to share my life with. My thoughts are my thoughts, my mind is mind, this is one bliss I won’t parade in order to enslave others. I don’t need anybody; I can hardly stand anybody else. And yet I don’t feel forlorn, I feel privileged and free, I feel happy. I love it…
My ecstasy: a delight unexplained, an indulgence unwarranted.
I love it.
I'm so content right now. I'm listening to sneaker pimps in my most comfortable jeans, laying decadently in my entrancing solitude, a feeling I rarely indulge in nowadays. I adore lying on the hard-wood floor, listening to my thoughts and my music. Nothing matters when I’m this way; there’s nobody I’m trying to convince, no one to please, nobody at all. There is no satisfaction like this, no pleasure so idolatrous. I love it …
Its at times like this when I realize I don’t need or want someone to share my life with. My thoughts are my thoughts, my mind is mind, this is one bliss I won’t parade in order to enslave others. I don’t need anybody; I can hardly stand anybody else. And yet I don’t feel forlorn, I feel privileged and free, I feel happy. I love it…
My ecstasy: a delight unexplained, an indulgence unwarranted.
I love it.
Wow. Jeff is such an idiot, it's unbelievable. In an attempt to get out of preparing for ward basketball night, he claimed that "everyone else should do the work because they are lazy elitists who inherited their money anyway." I'm serious, he said this out loud, even though:
My laurels counselor grew up in a lower middle class home, working hard to start and own the advertising agency under her name.
Our other counselor up the street, who has worked to become a specialist on cardiology while paying for the education at the same time.
My best friend, who isn't rich.
The 3 lawyers in our ward who started their own firm when they were all under 30.
Lazy elitists who inherited their money? I think not. When I tell him he shouldn't open his mouth so as to prevent the tragedy of sounding stupid, he says that I sound stupid all the time. "Going on about how much you love Osama and how we shouldn't be helping Iraq out. And then how this is a sign of imperialism? You make your self look stupid every time you open your mouth, Rach."
I can't believe it. I can’t believe this is a 43 year old I'm talking to. I simply can't believe he's survived adulthood so far. I'm in shock....
But then again, he does work for the government.
My laurels counselor grew up in a lower middle class home, working hard to start and own the advertising agency under her name.
Our other counselor up the street, who has worked to become a specialist on cardiology while paying for the education at the same time.
My best friend, who isn't rich.
The 3 lawyers in our ward who started their own firm when they were all under 30.
Lazy elitists who inherited their money? I think not. When I tell him he shouldn't open his mouth so as to prevent the tragedy of sounding stupid, he says that I sound stupid all the time. "Going on about how much you love Osama and how we shouldn't be helping Iraq out. And then how this is a sign of imperialism? You make your self look stupid every time you open your mouth, Rach."
I can't believe it. I can’t believe this is a 43 year old I'm talking to. I simply can't believe he's survived adulthood so far. I'm in shock....
But then again, he does work for the government.
Monday, March 01, 2004
I adore my family. Really, truly, I adore them. Every member of this unity is just more justification for me being as messed up as I am. It's fabulous in every meaning of the word...
4 occurrences today reminded me of how lucky I am to have this type of family:
1. Family Dinner- this meal has always been extraordinary in my family. A combination of people such as Rob, the Bat, and Boris the dog is extremely promising in whatever light you choose to view it. Today during leopard lunch, there was an activity in which you had to pick a partner and stare at their eyes for 3 minutes without laughing or smiling. This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. After expressing his doubts about the challenging nature of such an exercise, Rob tried it and lasted roughly 6 seconds before bursting into his endearing laugh. The boy is truly something. No words can express such a character; therefore it would seem silly for me to endeavor to do so here. I’ll merely say that he’s insane like me, but is capable of better physical comedy than Michael Richards .This boy can twist his face into any expression of disgust, pain, laughter, gaiety, whatever. One simply cannot avoid laughing when he’s in certain moods. Tonight was one of those nights, so the voices coming from the dining room were those of pure, unrestrained laughter that can only be found in a home. After trying in vain to accomplish this look-in-the-eye feat, he decided to voice an assortment of odd and anomalous noises in an effort to make me laugh first. I think I burnt off the calories gained through the meal by laughing alone. It was spectacular.
2. Family Home Evening- With nobody being able to cease staring at each other in effervescent competition, Family Home Evening was a rather interesting affair. Even my mother kept on giggling during the lesson, throwing her head back charismatically, her laugh issuing forward graciously. After admonishing us, Jeff was disappointed to see Rob playing peek-a-boo with the Bat behind a pillow. Nothing was going to get done, and finally everyone present accepted the inevitable fate of the lesson. We decided between fits of laughter to prolong the lesson until next Monday, laughing madly for the next 10 minutes or so.
3. The Bat’s daily display of abnormality- today she decided that as a confidence-building activity, we would play “I am a star”. During this game, every member of the family would jump up and declare “I am a star!” before continuing to share a talent with the family. For her talent, the bat demonstrated her rendition of the Polka. I mean, this woman is simply batty. She stood up, and proceeded with the dance. She began this number in an incredibly still position, before waking up to her passion and galloping around the room in uneven steps, occasionally slapping her large thigh. This was brief, luckily, but I shall never forget it, or the look of intense concentration upon her face. I sang the first verse of Ella’s “Black Coffee”, mom whistled Bach’s Fugue, Ricky sat down on the floor and folded is limbs up in knots. A very informative presentation was given by Jeff, who showed us the proper form for the American Crawl Stroke, and then explained why most swimmers were inefficient fools who have already deserved the drowning he hoped for them. Robert played a Rachmaninoff on the grand. It was a dazzling, astonishing display that will not soon be forgotten. But, before we leave this subject, I must inform you that the Bat is leaving on Monday to take a road trip to our cabin in Rand, Colorado. I think I’m quite right in my hypothesis that the end is near for this woman; she can barely drive in the daytime and has a debilitating case of road rage. I might add also that she was the grand winner in our staring tournament, due to hours of hard practice with Boris the dog.
4. Talking and Singing with my mother- Things haven’t changed between us since our confrontation on Saturday, oddly enough. We sung for 45 minutes today, hymns, spirituals, bluegrass, and my mom even gave some classic Ella a shot. We then talked about when I was little, the quirky things I’d do and the mad escapades she had growing up. This all sounds horribly sentimental, but it’s simply how my family operates. We can’t get along, we verbally abuse each other daily, but all in all we’re bound with rope thicker than desires or rancor.
I just realized how much I truly will miss then. Rob leaves for Switzerland in less that two months, and one never knows how much longer the Bat will hold out for. This is how I will always picture my family: giggling at nonsensical nothings, bashing the apple users and the Swedes, trying to get Boris the dog to wag his tail. I’ll be sad when this all changes, when people leave and/or die.
I come from such a noble lineage.
4 occurrences today reminded me of how lucky I am to have this type of family:
1. Family Dinner- this meal has always been extraordinary in my family. A combination of people such as Rob, the Bat, and Boris the dog is extremely promising in whatever light you choose to view it. Today during leopard lunch, there was an activity in which you had to pick a partner and stare at their eyes for 3 minutes without laughing or smiling. This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. After expressing his doubts about the challenging nature of such an exercise, Rob tried it and lasted roughly 6 seconds before bursting into his endearing laugh. The boy is truly something. No words can express such a character; therefore it would seem silly for me to endeavor to do so here. I’ll merely say that he’s insane like me, but is capable of better physical comedy than Michael Richards .This boy can twist his face into any expression of disgust, pain, laughter, gaiety, whatever. One simply cannot avoid laughing when he’s in certain moods. Tonight was one of those nights, so the voices coming from the dining room were those of pure, unrestrained laughter that can only be found in a home. After trying in vain to accomplish this look-in-the-eye feat, he decided to voice an assortment of odd and anomalous noises in an effort to make me laugh first. I think I burnt off the calories gained through the meal by laughing alone. It was spectacular.
2. Family Home Evening- With nobody being able to cease staring at each other in effervescent competition, Family Home Evening was a rather interesting affair. Even my mother kept on giggling during the lesson, throwing her head back charismatically, her laugh issuing forward graciously. After admonishing us, Jeff was disappointed to see Rob playing peek-a-boo with the Bat behind a pillow. Nothing was going to get done, and finally everyone present accepted the inevitable fate of the lesson. We decided between fits of laughter to prolong the lesson until next Monday, laughing madly for the next 10 minutes or so.
3. The Bat’s daily display of abnormality- today she decided that as a confidence-building activity, we would play “I am a star”. During this game, every member of the family would jump up and declare “I am a star!” before continuing to share a talent with the family. For her talent, the bat demonstrated her rendition of the Polka. I mean, this woman is simply batty. She stood up, and proceeded with the dance. She began this number in an incredibly still position, before waking up to her passion and galloping around the room in uneven steps, occasionally slapping her large thigh. This was brief, luckily, but I shall never forget it, or the look of intense concentration upon her face. I sang the first verse of Ella’s “Black Coffee”, mom whistled Bach’s Fugue, Ricky sat down on the floor and folded is limbs up in knots. A very informative presentation was given by Jeff, who showed us the proper form for the American Crawl Stroke, and then explained why most swimmers were inefficient fools who have already deserved the drowning he hoped for them. Robert played a Rachmaninoff on the grand. It was a dazzling, astonishing display that will not soon be forgotten. But, before we leave this subject, I must inform you that the Bat is leaving on Monday to take a road trip to our cabin in Rand, Colorado. I think I’m quite right in my hypothesis that the end is near for this woman; she can barely drive in the daytime and has a debilitating case of road rage. I might add also that she was the grand winner in our staring tournament, due to hours of hard practice with Boris the dog.
4. Talking and Singing with my mother- Things haven’t changed between us since our confrontation on Saturday, oddly enough. We sung for 45 minutes today, hymns, spirituals, bluegrass, and my mom even gave some classic Ella a shot. We then talked about when I was little, the quirky things I’d do and the mad escapades she had growing up. This all sounds horribly sentimental, but it’s simply how my family operates. We can’t get along, we verbally abuse each other daily, but all in all we’re bound with rope thicker than desires or rancor.
I just realized how much I truly will miss then. Rob leaves for Switzerland in less that two months, and one never knows how much longer the Bat will hold out for. This is how I will always picture my family: giggling at nonsensical nothings, bashing the apple users and the Swedes, trying to get Boris the dog to wag his tail. I’ll be sad when this all changes, when people leave and/or die.
I come from such a noble lineage.
So I spoke with NZ today. He had shot up before, apparently, because he was high. Considering I've never seen a person under the influence and have never been myself, I can only presume he was as such, but I think this is a safe presumption; he was staggering, falling, his left eye was twitching and he kept on talking about the Oscars and eye liner. He might of been severely sleep deprived, but all things in consideration, this is somewhat improbable. He was pretty funny though; I couldn't help but laugh at the boy.
NZ: "My Physics Buddy!" He cries, patting me on the back. (This is a term he's never used in reference to me before, and he's never acted this jocund or open.) "How are you?"
Me: "I'm doing just fine. I haven't started memorizing yet, but, um....is your eye okay?" I say once I notice that his eye is acting violently spastic.
NZ: "Yes, it does that sometimes, but it's okay. Did you see the Oscars last night? They thanked everybody from New Zealand for ring of the Lords. Speaking of, I have to wear eye liner and a ton of it not cool me a man and all." He then slipped into comatose, then started to laugh gaily.
Me: "But I love eye liner! It's so sexy!"
NZ: "Not on a guy." He said, staggering. I couldn't help but laugh. He looked so pathetic. I broke into a fit of laughter, trying very hard to stop.
NZ: "Are you laughing at me?"
Me: Thinking: of course I'm laughing at you. You probably just got through shooting up on the A floor, and you've run into 4 things since I started talking to you 3.2 seconds ago. Tourettes Syndrome is being mimicked by your uncontrollable left eye, and I'm reminded faintly of a hummingbird. You've worked yourself into a fit talking about eye liner, and now you appear to have forgotten all about the fact that you're here for play practice. How on earth could I not laugh at you?
Me: Saying: "Of course I'm not laughing at you. You're just acting a wee bit strange."
NZ: "Define a wee bit."
Overall, I'm surprised that he would come to school like this. Or, at least, play practice, since I doubt he came to school. Kind of sad.
I still adore him, though.
NZ: "My Physics Buddy!" He cries, patting me on the back. (This is a term he's never used in reference to me before, and he's never acted this jocund or open.) "How are you?"
Me: "I'm doing just fine. I haven't started memorizing yet, but, um....is your eye okay?" I say once I notice that his eye is acting violently spastic.
NZ: "Yes, it does that sometimes, but it's okay. Did you see the Oscars last night? They thanked everybody from New Zealand for ring of the Lords. Speaking of, I have to wear eye liner and a ton of it not cool me a man and all." He then slipped into comatose, then started to laugh gaily.
Me: "But I love eye liner! It's so sexy!"
NZ: "Not on a guy." He said, staggering. I couldn't help but laugh. He looked so pathetic. I broke into a fit of laughter, trying very hard to stop.
NZ: "Are you laughing at me?"
Me: Thinking: of course I'm laughing at you. You probably just got through shooting up on the A floor, and you've run into 4 things since I started talking to you 3.2 seconds ago. Tourettes Syndrome is being mimicked by your uncontrollable left eye, and I'm reminded faintly of a hummingbird. You've worked yourself into a fit talking about eye liner, and now you appear to have forgotten all about the fact that you're here for play practice. How on earth could I not laugh at you?
Me: Saying: "Of course I'm not laughing at you. You're just acting a wee bit strange."
NZ: "Define a wee bit."
Overall, I'm surprised that he would come to school like this. Or, at least, play practice, since I doubt he came to school. Kind of sad.
I still adore him, though.
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