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Monday, June 29th, 2009
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1:42 pm - I've Been Deus Ex Machina'd
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The Man sez: Whine and you shall receive, my children. Especially in this country. Well, if you've got the right connections. Let's all be honest for once about the American notion that the pulling up of oneself by one's bootstraps is all it takes to get ahead. It's calculated whining.
But pontification can be saved for another day because I finally received a god-damned summer placement, bitches!!!! Working - well, working for the school system - really agrees with me and being parted from it for the past few weeks has not been as fun or exciting or fulfilling as I had hoped. It was a lot of internet dumbshittery, DVR'd episodes of "The Mighty Boosh", and consumption of a surprising quantity of tomatoes. Dunno what that last one means, just that it happened. I still think I ought to enroll in something to occupy my rapidly atrophying brain. It's that or spend stupid money on dumb shit like the complete DVD set of "Coffee Prince", though I'll probs do that anyway. God, I am such a fuckwad. Thinking about taking Korean. Like, for really reals. Anyone interested? I know the answer to that question but I like to be polite and ask anyway. Never know when it'll come in handy...
In all honesty, though, I feel an enormous sense of relief. Enormous like a fucking Minke whale. Well, a Minke whale regardless of whether it's fucking. Blue whale-sized relief is relieved for stuff like that accident that wasn't my fault at all when the president of my university hit my car. Stuff when I realized I'm not going to be murdered by my parents. I celebrated by illegally downloading a ton of k-pop (Hey, if I could get in legally, I would! You're losing revenue on me, Lee Soo Man...) and will probably go spend the gift cards I just discovered on fancy eye makeup and new earbuds. Um, one thing - never give me a gift certificate to anything. Give me a check. Seriously, I have this fucking ridiculous block (reeeeeeeeeally? MEEEEEEEEE????) when it comes to spending gift certificates. I still have a Claire's GC from my godmother for Christmas when I was twelve. Yeah, it's bad. Cash will undoubtedly get spent on something too practical, like a soda at the Mall or Metro fare. Checks are just right. You know, in case you were wondering.
Also, I've got creeper nails again. I paint them with this really glossy strengthener that makes them really transparent. They look like glass. I fucking love it. It's one of those beauty things like chola makeup that's less about appearing attractive to the opposite sex and more about achieving a specific look. I don't know why summer brings this out in me, this need to grow long nails and wear sassy dark sunglasses and too much lip gloss. At any rate, I think my nails are super foxy and Michal can just stuff it in a sack.
THAT'S RIGHT -- I SAID IT!!!
current mood: better-ish
current music: Belle Epoque "May"
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| Saturday, June 27th, 2009
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8:24 pm - I've Been Snapple'd
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The Man sez: If you're not in the mood for whiny, why-me crabbing, I suggest going elsewhere for today. Or whenever, since that seems to be my millieu anymore. That and being super, super lame.
So I still live at home with my parents. This is mostly because I like saving money and would not be able to pay rent and keep a positive bank balance concurrently if I moved out. Unfortunately, this means I miss out on stuff, fun stuff. And normally (but especially when I check my bank statements), I don't give it a lot of thought because it is what it is and obsessing won't change it. Sometimes (but especially on Saturday nights at home), I can't help but think about how I'm too young and too old to be doing this. I'm too something to be so lonely. That's what I am - lonely. I'm transported back to being eight years old with no one to play with. And so, on top of no job placement for this summer and the new placement for the fall and realizing more and more that everyone else has grown up without me, that I'm left here kicking in the dirt by myself - I'm fucking sad. I'm so sad anymore. I'm so sad and it's really, really hard to be so sad after getting used to happy. God, I don't think I've been this sad in years.
I thought that giving myself this year to just stay in each minute and enjoy the things going on around me as they happen, damn it, I thought that would be a good idea and something to, I dunno, kind of heal me. It sounds stupid, but I wanted to be successful and enjoy it as it came, you know? Naturally, in its natural increments. And at the end, I expected to feel that sort of deep nostalgia that hits in the chest but overall peaceful, the peace I'd started to feel over the past nine months. I didn't expect to feel so very sad as I do. I hike my dog for hours just to get a bit of an artificial endorphin rush and it's not enough. I'm quick to anger and slow to calm. It's ridiculous.
I need to do something new. Something with new people especially. My therapist used to say that people have a sort of cap on the number of people they can focus on as friends and that it's not necessarily a reflection on my personality if someone doesn't have enough space in that friend focus to add me in. I recognize this as logically sound. I still need something new. Because I keep finding myself in second place, and even when I totally, totally recognize logically the situation in which I live and my relationships with others, it hurts to be second. It hurts to be left out. And I know even more so that pointing it out is useless because, in doing so, other people will be made to feel bad for stuff that isn't their fault. And, above all, I'll still be second. I'll still miss out on things and still feel awkward about myself (Is it something I said? Did I say the wrong thing? Or was I too desperate-looking? Did I sound needy? Or was I too aloof?) and still be exactly where and who I am at this very minute - sensitive. I'm too sensitive to do this. It's embarrassing to admit how much courage it takes for me to send something as innocuous as a "what's up" text message. And email, for whatever stupid reason, is even worse. Here I am, crawling back into my shell.
And even though new things and new people are not my specialty and in fact terrify me, sitting at home and fucking around on YouTube or whatever is not going to fix this. I need to make friends, be proactive, look people in the eye more. It's tough. My natural inclination is to retreat, but I started to make friends with my coworkers, right? And as hard as it was to be proactive and make eye contact, I did do it in the end, didn't I? So I even if I do suck at interpersonal relationships, I'm not hopeless, not totally. I just need a disclaimer, something like "Is not actually as mean as she sounds and can be an okay listener and has a lot of interests if you cut her a little slack on being difficult and kind of a loser".
Something like that.
current mood:  sad
current music: Shinee "One For Me"
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| Friday, June 19th, 2009
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11:14 pm - Bridge And Turtle Crowd
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The Man sez: So it looks like I'm going to have a lot of time on my hands this summer since HR claims the application I filed for a summer placement, the one HR emailed me two days after about having received said application, was never received. In other words, Boned City.
This makes me sad.
But I was sad to begin with. The school year ended and with it my first year as a gainfully employed person. Am I that much of a fucking weirdo emotional infant that I cry when I don't have to show up for work for, like, ten weeks? Probs, I'm realizing. I've been mucho depressed the last few weeks since the whole gross affair I like to call 'getting Office-picnicked'. My brother rolls his eyes every time I explain it that way, but that scene in the finale when Michael blurts out during the company picnic that one of the branches will, unbeknownst to that branch's employees, be closing - yeah, that's how I felt. A whole lot of trying not to hyperventilate followed by even more trying not to weep into my plate of fajitas for an hour. Never again y'all. I get to stay at the same school but in a different class. Ugh. I hate new people. I'm too awkward with people I know and with whom I work well. I don't want to make new friends. I was trying to, I dunno, think positive and whatever until this fucking bombshell about summer school rolled around. God damn my fucking stupid, stupid, worthless existence. This could just be hormones talking. This could also just be who I am.
See, I had a fantastic year. And just as I was starting to relax my hunched little shoulders a bit and poke my head ever so slightly out of my shell, it's gone. I hate to sound so dramatic about it since I sort of know the people next door and am, in all honestly, really fucking grateful to have any job. But fuck that shit. If there's one single bit of advice I will always stand firmly behind, it's that we are all entitled to our emotions. If this situation makes me feel like crying my ugly little tears, okay. Because that's how I fucking feel about it and people (of the nebulous variety) should stop fucking nagging each other to quit crying or to buck up or whatever. No. This is mine; I get to do whatever I want with it.
I was walking my dog last week and found a turtle stretched out across one of the wooden bridges by a tot lot and I can't get that image out of my head. I feel a little like that stupid turtle - at first scared of climbing up that embankment where anything could find it vulnerable, then emboldened by its new success and crawling further through the mud onto the truly challenging pavement, and finally scared again once on the warped planks of the bridge when some dog come along barking. I fucking dream about it now. I dream about the turtle and the way its shell seemed to suck its little body back inside. I dream about my coworkers and the kids in our class. And I wake up a little bit more sad each morning.
I hate change. It's just not who I am.
current mood: sad
current music: The Sugar Beats "Our House"
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| Monday, March 30th, 2009
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9:13 pm - Pack It Up; Pack It In
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The Man sez: Writing this from Podster, so forgive any instances of word substitutions, odd spacings, and the like. Also, I hate when people don't use a comma to separate the last two items in a list ("eggs, milk and bread" rather than the overwhelmingly more clear "eggs, milk, and bread"). Think about it.
So it was Michal 'n Liz Nite last Friday. Big M's birthday present was tickets to a Caps game because Michal loves hockey. We got Korean at the place on Rt 40 that used to be Plaster Funtime (there may be a space between "fun"and "time" in actuality, but this is my goddamned blog!!!!), the place me and Alice almost ate at when we were trying to find Mt. Fuji Sushi (the tiniest little sushi place run by a tiny Japanese grandpa and grandma team) but panicked when we opened the menu to an entire page of soups made from parts of a cow that are of questionable edibility (like, fuckin' three varieties of cow's blood stew?) so Alice made me fake a phone call so we could leave without seeming, uh, suspicious I guess? Yeah, there. It looked like every restaurant past Bare Bones has turned into a Korean place too. This is not an exaggeration; I have never witnessed such a concentration of Korean restaurants ever. Maybe not even in Korea. I got bibimbop, which I love like a child. I didn't recognize half of the veg items in the bowl, not that I cared. Something that looked like inoki but definitely wasn't of the mushroom family and similarly mysterious items all stirred up with delicious crispy rice - aw, f-cuss, I totally want some 'bop now. Michal stuck to mandu since she's really there for the banchan. This place didn't skimp on sides. There were nine bowls as opposed to the six you get at Shin Chon at Lotte. I'm always tempted to tell the waiteress that she can keep the spicy stuff since it's super unlikely I'll grow that fire-retardant tongue Korean food seems to require. Though the black soy beans (I looked it up, Michal, and they are kongjachae or something. And I got a pack from H Mart!) are fuckin' rocktastic. I took too long eating, which wasn't completely my fault since bibimbop is served in a searing stone cauldron and never cools down enough to just scarf. Much speeding and a liberal application of the Garmin later and we arrive in boroboro Chinatown (um, it's from a Japanese song I like and, uh, know... all the, uh, words to) only to find zero parking aside from the scammy ethiopian dudes who seem to now own every vacant lot in the tri-state area, congratulations. I'm trying not to run into the arena since, hey, it's a birthday thing on a friday night and let's all just take a deep breath.
Omj, I'm seriously falling asleep as I type this and dropping Podster onto my nose, which is slightly painful. Looks like this post will have to go unfinished til tomorrow.
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| Saturday, March 7th, 2009
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8:30 pm - I Love Retarded Kids
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The Man sez: I love retarded kids. Well, the ones I work with. See, I totally love my job. It continues to surprise me when people are like "Wow, Special Ed... That, like, counts as one of the three miracles required for sainthood, right?" Kids are kids. They come in different sizes and stuff, but my kids are not so different from the little 'uns I was taking care of in my previous job. I get why my mom used to tell me that she wanted a Downs baby. Downs kids are fun as hell. My coworkers and I are always repeating the funny little things N does in class, like the way he asks "HAPPYYYYYYYY??!" or interjecting "My dad" for no reason. It's pretty wild, though, the contrast between my "special" kids and Andrew. Sometimes I have to remind myself that no, he's not necessarily a genius after he does something like spell his name. Though he probably is a bit of a genius - the boy is two years old and can spell his name!!!
He also likes to shout "HEY YOU HUBBA HUBBA" when he's riding his tricycle, but that's another matter entirely.
current mood:  cheerful
current music: Kara "Honey" (at least I got "Shaky Egg out of my head)
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