Well technically...

I realize that these three things are not really related. To you, anyway. Actually, now that I think about it, the music has nothing to do with either one of those other things. But we're switching from khaki pants to black ones, which kind of peeves me, because that means I have to buy new pants. Grr.

Also, I've embarked on an ambitious music copying/burning project. My old manager *sniffle* made me a CD, and Sarah made me heaps of them, and I've bought quite a few recently, and I hardly copied any of it onto my computer, so now I'm trying to update all my tags and copy the songs I want so I can make a bunch of killer new mix CDs that I will listen to non-stop for a couple months and then never touch again, in all likelihood, but they'll be fun while they last, right?

I actually have way more music than I realized. Even some cool stuff I didn't really know I had. Sarah burned a bunch of stuff for me, but she didn't tell me what half the stuff was, so I did a massive and rather laborious search by lyric and located pretty much everything, although there were a couple without words that I've had to label "Random Electronica" and "Unidentified Dance Object."

I'm also trying to come up with clever titles for the various mix albums I'm making. I'll let you know what I come up with (because I'm egotistical that way, and I don't feel as clever if other people can't bask admiringly in the reflected glow of my wit *smirk*).

Also, everybody should go congratulate Molly (link at left) because she finished her Nanowrimo Novel, despite being way, way short on words like two days ago, and I am so impressed that she got it done. Yay Molly!

And I think I have a pretty good candidate for best friend. I won't know for sure about the "best" part for a while, but the friend thing is totally working out.



Can any of you smart people out there explain to me why I was inspired (although that hardly seems like the right word) to buy Korn's greatest hits album? There are maybe four songs on it that I actually like, and I already had one of them on my computer. What the hell was I thinking? At least I bought it used...



I have this big knot in my shoulder. It's driving me crazy. Not that, even at the best of times, I am a paragon of sanity, but when I'm short on sleep and stressed AND knotted up, it really makes me go a little Nicholson.

I stole the title of this (very brief) post from the Cranberries, because they expressed how I'm feeling so much better (minus the "la"s and "das"):

I'm not ready for this,
Though I thought I would be.
I can't see the future,
Though I thought I could see.

I don't want to leave you,
Even though I have to.
I don't want to love you.
Oh, I still do.

Need some time to find myself.
I wanna live within.

Can I go my own way?
Can I pray my own way?
I don't want to leave you.
Oh, I need you.

Am I ready for this?
Did I think I would be?
Can I see the future?
No, I can't see.

I don't want to leave you,
Even though I have to.
I don't want to love you.
Oh, I still do.

Ah, la la da da da.
Ah, I still do.

Ah, la la da da da.
Ah, I still do.

So...Thanksgiving was not bad. It was actually kind of fun, really, and I got a call from the parental units before I left to see Granddad, and that really made my day. Made my entire week, actually. And I went to see Rent that night. Wow. What a great movie. I can only imagine how amazing it is on a stage. I cried. Bawled, actually. Tears streaming down my face, runny nose, raccoon eyes, sniffles, the whole embarrassing nine yards. But the girl two seats down was doing the same thing, and I heard a lot of sniffles, even from the guy sitting next to me, so I didn't feel too bad. I had forgotten how much I love musicals.

Also, I decided that I want to teach myself acoustic guitar. We'll see if I still want to in a month or so when I have the money (I hope) to buy one.

Today I went to lunch with Shannon, which was nice and free of drama, and I really don't need any more drama in my life after...(brace yourselves)...

THE WEEKEND FROM HELL

Yes, Sarah came, and it was even worse than I was expecting. Mostly because parts of it were better than I was expecting, and the switch from friend to raving bitch was kind of unexpected, and thus all the more upsetting.

I won't go into too many sordid details here--they will probably end up on Myspace. Let's just say that I am really relieved the whole thing is over, and at least I got some presents and more closet space out of it, so it wasn't a complete loss.

I think, in her own strange way, she was maybe trying to teach me a lesson and/or make things easier on me in the long run. What she doesn't seem to understand is that I really don't need her to teach me self-sufficiency (her professed goal for our relationship)--she and Kellie already taught me way more than I wanted to know on that front by leaving me on my own with a $600/month apartment sans laundry facilities two miles from my ($7/hr) job, and no car. Yeah. That sucked. But I managed. With a little help from my parents and no help at all from Sarah. And I still sent her presents. So I don't see why she feels called upon to continue the self-sufficiency lessons. I didn't want a teacher, anyway. I wanted a friend, or at the very least a civil parting with a former friend. Instead I got a dinner and game with an old friend, followed the next day by a deliberately cruel parting. Throw in some seriously mixed messages and some awkward moments, and you have a recipe for a really shitty weekend. I cried over her for the last time, and then I did some door-slamming and the obligatory bitching to anyone who would listen, and I slept for many, many hours last night (and had some fucked-up dreams). I also indulged in some childish revenge fantasies, and I'm feeling surprisingly okay now.

Except that I keep trying to come up with theories to explain her behavior. I really don't think she hates me. Just like I don't hate her, although I would kind of like to, after the shit she put me through. I guess maybe she was trying to help me by giving me a reason to hate her instead of missing her. Was she maybe trying to make me feel better by letting me be the wronged one? It seems like the sort of thing she would do...and she certainly seemed very tense when she finally got her stuff. Like she had to steel her nerves to be that bitchy to me and she wanted to get away quickly before she broke down completely. Maybe I read everything wrong, and the 3 1/2 hours of friendliness and joking around the night before (and the really sweet letter) were faked. But somehow I don't think so. Which leaves me thinking that she feels like she's bad for me, or I'm bad for her (both of which are pretty true) and we'd be better off apart, but instead of saying goodbye in a way which left the door open for friendship somewhere down the road, she decided to cut ties permanently so we wouldn't go on hurting each other. It's probably just as well. But I can't help wishing she could have at least said goodbye, even if she couldn't hug me or anything.

So now I'm listening to Janis Joplin and feeling nostalgic...*sigh*...and maybe a little melodramatic. A pretty important chunk of my life is over now (listen to me trying to sound all old and everything), but I'm determined not to wallow too much. I need to make new friends and look for a new job...

Revision of yesterday's angst-ridden hatred of the best friend post: I do not hate her. Quite. But I do think that the cutting ties thing is a good idea.

What's really astonishing about that is that it's one of the few times we've ever agreed about anything significant...the irony of us finally agreeing on parting ways is just delicious, isn't it?

I realized, after a short and awkward conversation with her today, that the one thing I resent most is the way she completely disrespects my religion. Even though my church (which she has been to) is about 95% gay, somewhat liberal (even a little charismatic at times), and very welcoming. I am not my parents. I was excommunicated by my parents' church, for God's sake. I'm more Democrat than Republican...I have a rainbow sticker on my car. I'm hardly a poster-child for the Religious Right, the devil rest their black little souls. I realize that she's not into religion, etc., but geez, show some respect. I mean, I've never shown such blatant disregard for something she felt so deeply about...certainly never to the extent of mockery. Even The Bitch, my pagan ex-friend Kellie, was a little more respectful of my Christianity than Sarah has been recently. And that's saying something.

Why is she automatically right about everything, just because she's a few years older than me and has had a rough life? It just doesn't seem fair.

There I go again, being naive...talking about fairness. Next thing you know I'll be having picket fence daydreams about enrolling the charmingly hyphenated children I'm raising with my life-partner in politically correct preschool.

Why is it that the only retorts I can think of are always the really, really harsh ones? The ones that I could never use and expect her to speak to me again? Why can't I find a middle ground between backing down and swatting a fly with a sledgehammer?

Maybe I will post some of my more choice sarcastic morsels where they won't offend anybody. Maybe keep them as a wallpaper on my computer...*smirk*...just kidding. Mostly.

The Keys to Your Heart

You are attracted to those who are unbridled, untrammeled, and free. In love, you feel the most alive when things are straight-forward, and you're told that you're loved. You'd like to your lover to think you are stylish and alluring. You would be forced to break up with someone who was ruthless, cold-blooded, and sarcastic. Your ideal relationship is open. Both of you can talk about everything... no secrets. Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about society and morality. You would never break a commitment. You think of marriage as something precious. You'll treasure marriage and treat it as sacred. In this moment, you think of love as something you thirst for. You'll do anything for love, but you won't fall for it easily.

Your Pimp Name Is...

Princess Big Spenda

So...my short list of friends is now one person shorter. And my list of hated people officially grows to, let's see, I think I'm at four now...two people who fucked with me in high school, although I really don't care much about that anymore, really, and my two ex-roommates.

Well, given the volatile nature of our relationship, I guess it was bound to happen, but I'm still royally pissed about it. I wrote a really livid, somewhat hateful entry on Myspace...friends only, because it was really not suitable for public consumption. And now I'm writing a slightly more balanced one here. Because I really couldn't NOT blog about this. It's been a long time since I've been simultaneously so angry and so hurt. And I am so strongly tempted to write a really, really scathing and hurtful e-mail. But I won't, because if I do that, we will never be friends again, whereas now there is a very, very slight possibility that if I live to be 5,000 I might not hate her quite as much by the time I die. Might even fail to snarl when I hear her name. You never know...miracles happen, right?

So...I bought the new Madonna CD. They were playing it at the gay bookstore (of course!) when I went in a couple days ago, and I liked it, so I decided to buy it.

*Spoiler Warning*

Anyway...Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire...where should I start? The special effects were superb, of course. How could they not be, with all the money that's thrown at them? All of the adult actors were excellent, particularly Miranda Richardson as Rita Skeeter. The scene where she corners Harry in the broom closet was probably the best in the entire movie. Malfoy's brief stint as a ferret should also not be missed.

There was the usual overacting from some of the child actors. Krum was a bit more handsome than I think was strictly in accordance with the book, and Fleur was satisfyingly Gallic, but not sufficiently beautiful, at least to my eye, to be reminiscent of a Veela. Moody was fabulous, and Karkaroff and Madame Maxim were quite good. Harry's was the only part of the first task that was shown, so the audience's view of the dragons is quite disappointingly limited.

The individual parts of the movie were generally quite good, but the film as a whole had a slightly disjointed, dreamlike feel to it. After it was over I wanted to grab the director, the writer/adapter, and the editor and shake them till their teeth rattled. There was almost nothing of the World Cup, which is something I was really looking forward to watching, and at least two fairly significant subplots were entirely removed, which naturally necessitated some baffling, not to say idiotic changes. It was confusing enough to a devoted fan like me who has read the entire series at least five or six times, but I can only imagine how little sense it would have made to someone who hadn't read the books at all.

Ron is still an idiot, of course. Hermione is adorable, Ginny is starting to come into her own as a character. McGonagall is still one of my favorite characters. Professor Trelawney, to my disappointment, made no appearance at all. You would never guess, from the movie, that there is even any schoolwork going on. And Sirius's head in the fire looked nothing like I anticipated. Somehow I don't think that's how JKR intended it to look, and I don't understand why she would have let them twist everything around so much.

I also saw Walk the Line this weekend, which was, cinematically speaking, everything that Goblet of Fire was not. It was coherent, character-driven, tightly woven, and compelling. I would highly recommend it. Joaquin Phoenix was completely spectacular, and I will be pretty surprised if he doesn't get an Oscar for that role. Reese Witherspoon was, naturally, completely adorable.


Also, for reasons that I won't go into at this time, I am looking for work, and will probably leave DQ sometime in January. Wish me luck.

Okay, so it may be strange and confusing and even a little disturbing that not even fifteen minutes after I posted the most incredibly long and confusing piece of tedium/angst ever seen on the Web (including ALL of my previous blog entries), I am now doing a random sarcastic fluff piece on life and Christmas and (finally!) some weather that is appropriate for this time of year.

I actually hung out with somebody on Sunday. Like, you know, a friend activity. For, like, 9 hours. And it like, totally rocked, man. Supercool groovitude. Or whatever the teenyboppers are saying these days... Yeah, so we spent three or four hours at Walmart, and we went out to eat twice, and we went to Barnes & Noble, but mostly we sat around talking. It was a lot of fun. Also, we tried on shoes. And yes, Sarah, I did look for some plain brown loafers, but I couldn't find any that that were plain enough. *grin*

I also bought a tiny little Christmas tree ($4.99) and some ornaments and lights to put on it so that my grandfather's Christmas doesn't totally suck. It looks like I'm probably going to NC for the holidays, and I feel really bad for leaving him here on his own, so I want to do something nice for him. I'm also contemplating putting up some lights in my front window (which is, naturally, larger than I thought it was when I was buying lights, and I already took them off that stupid little white holder thingy so I'm pretty much screwed). I find Christmas incredibly exciting. It's my favorite holiday by far...it was always so magical when I was little, partially because I got lots of presents from my paternal grandparents (I was the only grandkid on that side of the family), but mostly because my mom put her heart and soul into decorating and polishing and cooking and shopping and wrapping and just generally having a nervous breakdown so that I would have a wonderful Christmas no matter how little money we had (and we usually didn't have a whole lot). Every year my parents would tell me how tight things were, and they'd say we weren't going to have a lot of presents this year, but every year there would be two distinct mounds of presents under the tree--the larger pile of presents, mostly from my mom, but some from my dad which he persuaded her to wrap for him, were uniformly gorgeous and creatively festooned with ribbons and bows and artfully deployed tissue paper in a wide range of colors and textures. The other pile looked like they had been wrapped by a two-year-old on crack with materials salvaged from a thrift-store dumpster after a flood. Those, of course, were the ones my dad had to wrap, although when I got old enough to wrap presents he always made me wrap most of the ones for my mom, and he hardly wrapped anything. I will never understand how somebody so intelligent and talented (he actually is quite good at little cartoon-type sketches) can do such a lousy job of wrapping a present. Sometimes, usually when he had persuaded me to wrap a large and bizarrely-shaped present for Mom, I suspected that he did it on purpose out of sheer laziness.

At any rate, aside from my mother's annual there's-no-time-no-money-no-tree-no-holly-no-presents-wrapped-yet-what-am-i-going-to-do! meltdown Christmas was a highly enjoyable occasion for me. Every year we would greet the ornaments like old friends and exclaim over their beauty/cuteness/unfortunate breakage/hideous deformities (that last category was made up almost exclusively of saltdough ornaments which I created at the advanced age of three with a great deal more enthusiasm and glitter than taste--or recognizable shape, for that matter). My mother would wrestle with the fifteen thousand strings of lights, some of which came from different model years and manufacturers, others from distant planets (probably constructed by Grinch & Scrooge, Inc.) where functionality must at all costs be avoided and no bulbs from any other manufacturer/planet may be compatible and at least one bulb will already be burned out before you even plug them in and the rest will not light up if there is one bulb that is even thinking about contemplating a brief flicker, let alone going out. My dad, after much grumbling, would put the star on the top branch of the ridiculously tall tree my mother always insisted on, and, after even more grumbling, get one of the bulbs to light it up to her satisfaction. This never took more than two or three minutes, but the way he fussed about it, you would have thought she'd asked him to supply the entire neighborhood with electricity for their Christmas lights by running on a treadmill while the rest of us opened presents and ate his chocolate Santa or something.

My mom would always drive me around so we could ooh and ah over the houses with the extravagant displays of lights in their yards, and I secretly longed to live in one of those houses and be able to show my friends the Santas and reindeer and stable scenes in my front yard (funny how Mary and Joseph are often right next to Rudolph and Frosty, isn't it?). As I grew older and understood how much work was required in such a display, I was very glad that we didn't have one of those yards, but I still like looking at them.


I'm not sure why I'm in such a nostalgic mood. Maybe because it actually feels a bit like Winter now (it's close to freezing outside), and my feet are icy, even in thick socks, and I was listening to my Robert Shaw Christmas album in the car and I couldn't eat a lot of ice cream because I got too cold. I have an urge to go to Colonial Williamsburg and walk around saying "Brr" a lot and sniffing the wood smoke and fallen leaves and then eating ginger cakes and drinking hot cider and grinning insanely. Also, this will be the first Christmas I have never spent with my parents, and that is definitely going to be an emotional roller coaster (probably for them as well).

Speaking of parents...I hadn't heard from mine in a few days, because apparently there are incompetent people doing road work in Uganda and some of the workmen messed up the Internet connection, so they're back with the dial-up again. Also, my mom injured her leg somehow, and may have to have surgery, and you have no idea how much the idea of my mom having surgery in an African hospital scares me, prejudiced and unfair as I'm sure that is.

I will write about Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire sometime later this weekened, I promise, but right now I just do not have the energy.

Good night, everyone.

*Surgeon General's Warning: Reading this blog entry may be hazardous to your health. DO NOT READ if you suffer from any of the following conditions: allergy to angst, being in a hurry, requiring reading material to eventually get to some kind of point, inability to stomach long and rambling sentences, stupidity, intolerance, homophobia, ignorance, or ingrown toe nails.*

SO...I was going to write this long, breezy tongue-in-cheek blog with a nice sarcastic review of the new Harry Potter movie and leave you basking in the glow of my brilliant wit as an apology for not posting for so many days. BUT...I just had a really pathetically awkward and gut-wrenching argument with my ex-girlfriend/best friend, and I have some serious venting and explaining (and maybe a little apologizing) to do.

As usual, I managed to stick my foot in my mouth and not be able to explain what I really meant, and as usual she wasn't willing to stick around long enough to hear me out. Granted, I'm a long-winded kind of girl, especially when I'm feeling angsty (and boy am I feeling angsty--my stomach is in the tight little knots only she knows how to tie), but I feel like she's not really listening to me, sometimes not even willing to listen, and it kinda pisses me off. She's always twisting my words and telling me that the things I value in life aren't what's really important, and she knows better so I should always listen to her. I doubt she really means it that way, and I'm sure she's just trying to get me to do what's best for me...but...she's sounding like she's trying to be my mom, and I don't need that from her. I need her to be a supportive best friend kinda person, not a nagging mom kinda person. Her current approach reminds me a bit of my dad, or maybe even my grandmother (obsessive manipulative alcoholic, in case you were wondering), which I think is part of why it freaks me out and puts my back up so much.

I think all two of you who read this blog with any kind of regularity know that my ex was my first relationship of any kind, I was head-over-heels, foolish, blind, stupid naive in love. It didn't last (does it ever?), and we managed to salvage our friendship out of the wreckage, although it was touch-and-go for a while, mostly because I was an idiot and couldn't seem to fall out of love with her as easily as I fell into it.

I'm probably about 90% over her now. I still think about her a lot (she is my best friend), and we talk a lot, etc., but I don't daydream about her all the time anymore or invent those pathetic little white picket fence scenarios with her playing the female lead... The long-distance friendship thing is working pretty well, although I really miss hanging out with her.

The problem is that that 10% is enough to make me doubt that moving 400 miles away to be her roommate and go back to school is a great idea. I think she's mad at me for being scared. But I've done the whole unrequited crush thing way too many times to want to be stuck with an ex-girlfriend as a roommate when I might still have feelings. It's hard to tell for sure if I do, because I haven't seen her in over a year. Getting closer to a year and a half now. That was what I was trying--and failing miserably--to explain to her when she abruptly said that she'd had enough of that conversation and signed off.

I also said that I'd already turned my life upside down once because it was what she thought I should do (and I should point out that I never blamed her for it--God knows what desperate lengths I would have gone to if I hadn't come out of the closet soon). If anything, I'm profoundly grateful to her for giving me a kick in the pants when I sorely needed one. She was my lesbian mentor, as well as my friend and lover. Hell, she was my grownup mentor, too, half the time. And I can never repay her for supporting me (in every sense of the word), and encouraging me, and loving me when I felt completely unloveable, and helping me to get over my hurt when lifelong friends at my parents' church were no longer speaking to me after I was excommunicated. She is the only person who has ever made me feel beautiful or desirable, and that alone is enough to earn her my undying gratitude.

She did so many things for me, I can't even begin to list them, and my attitude towards her has always bordered a little bit on hero worship. I still wonder if she would approve before I buy clothes and music and shoes or get my hair cut. It's pathetic how much I still long for her approval in everything I do. I hate that I still want it, and I hate that I don't have it, and I hate that she never seems to have much time for me, and I hate that I can't seem to be cool with the casual friendship thing she has to keep re-establishing. I somehow manage to fuck it up every time (like tonight, for example).

She has friends and a loving family, and a decent job that actually gives her raises and benefits, and a cool zine, and I have...well...absentee homophobic parents, a depressed and depressing grandfather who hasn't lived in years but is scared to die, a church full of people way older than me that meets on the other side of a tunnel, a fairly dead-end job with a shitty sexist supervisor who doesn't think I'm even good at the job I have let alone worthy of promotion, innumerable scruples that I would probably be much happier without, a few acquaintances, no good friends to speak of, no money, no health insurance, and a serious case of depression. Doesn't seem like a fair trade, does it? I go up there, live with her, spend holidays with her family, hang out with her friends, go to her school, probably get a job with her or with somebody she knows...it's obvious what I'm getting out of it. But what does she get out of it? A nerd who hasn't done any of the things she's good at in so long she's probably forgotten how, an academic who can't write papers except when the mood strikes her (and it never lasts for long), a social reject who can't grasp the process of making friends, a city girl who likes easy living and short drives to the grocery store and having gay bookstores and Starbucks and gourmet food and well-educated people readily available (even though a lot of them despise me for working at DQ).

All the people I know are here. Everything that's comforting and familiar and home is either here or in Richmond with my uncle (with whom I would almost certainly not be welcome), or in Africa with my parents (ditto). I don't think I'm ready to leave. I'm still attached to the city I was born in. It's the only tie I have left with my parents, really, and I don't think I can cut that cord yet. A few years ago I would have jumped at the chance to leave town. But I'm the only family my grandfather has left, and even if he is a grumpy old whiner, he's still my grandfather, and I love him, dammit. And I don't know why I'm so emotional, because I just finished my period less than a week ago, but I should have known I'd be crying before this entry was over.


Pretty much everybody (except my boss, for obvious reasons) thinks that I should go back to school. Hell, I agree with them. It's pretty obvious. I am clearly not cut out for a life in fast food. For one thing, I'm not fast enough. For another thing, it just doesn't make me happy. It's a rare workday that I don't come home physically drained and a little emotionally bruised. I hate the stupid customers (and stupid employees). I hate the ignorance and the rigidity and the stagnation and the total lack of mental stimulation. On the other hand...I love learning. I love knowing the right answer, I love helping other people understand the right answer, I love impressing teachers (and occasionally stumping them), I love getting 100's on tests, I love above all that lightbulb moment, when something you've never understood, maybe never even given much thought to, suddenly makes complete and total sense and you just bask in the revelation. I love it. I love to read, and write, and think, and argue, and wrestle with concepts and characters and movements and ideals that are bigger and more important than I am.

I am way above average on pretty much every test I have ever taken (all the verbal stuff, anyway, and pretty good on the math, too). I was a National Merit Semi-Finalist (grades weren't good enough to be a Finalist), I won awards and scholarships... They used my PSAT booklet as a tool to show other kids how to do better on the test, for God's sake. People always knew that I would have the right answer and the best grade (or they thought they knew that, even after I got depressed and stopped turning things in). I could have made a killing writing papers and giving out test answers to people, only I was always too honest (and I will never regret that). Five minutes after meeting me, everybody says I'm way too smart to be working at DQ, I'm wasted on them, I absolutely must go back to school, etc. etc.

But...school is scary for me. The last four years of schooling I undertook were all fairly disastrous, although I managed to level out a bit in my senior year of high school, only to go hurtling into depression again in college and leave after about three months. I'm scared that I'll repeat all my past mistakes, that I'll procrastinate until there's no hope of catching up, that I'll be a social misfit again, that the bureaucracy and nitpicking will nip my creativity in the bud and I'll end up staring at a blank computer screen for hours on end, that (horror of horrors)... teachers won't like me. Or I won't be the best. Hell, maybe not even one of the best. I want to fit in, but at the same time I want to do better than everyone else. It's totally impossible, of course, so usually I end up striving for both and achieving neither.


So many things about moving in with her scare me, and I really don't think I can tackle them all at once. Let's see if I can list them all:
1. Grandfather alone.
2. Confused feelings almost undoubtedly exacerbated by living in close proximity.
3. Lack of my spoiled little suburban creature comforts.
4. No friends or family of my own--feel like a sponge.
5. Ditto sponginess with money/place to live.
6. Back-to-school failure angst
7.Hero-worship issues--may reach all new levels on basketcase chart attempting to be person she wants me to be because yes, I am just that impressionable and eager to please.
8. Have to watch any potential relationships develop. Definite awkwardness, misplaced jealousy, etc. Plus knowing my luck I would get a crush on girlfriend and then not know who to be jealous of.
9. Blah blah blah...Hannah insecure and paranoid... bad grades... falling down stairs in front of cute girl... will undoubtedly be alone forever... homophobia...could die on side of road in middle of nowhere... history of cancer and heart disease...alcoholism...crazy people...global warming...little green men... government conspiracy... we're all going to die...




I'm not really as pathetic as I just made myself sound. I do have a few friends, and I'm fairly well-liked (as far as I know) at work. But I have a lot of self-doubt issues, and somehow she always makes me feel tongue-tied and awkward and out of it, yet I still trail after her like a bumbling little puppy. I am tired and weepy and hopelessly confused and I will probably end up deleting this entry because it's way too long and ridiculously maudlin and nobody really wants to read all that, but right now I'm going to post it because I'm still mad and otherwise I'll never have the courage to say what needs to be said, because I can't go on like this, and I can't stand having her mad at me, so, (you know who you are) if you even finished reading this...

I'm sorry. Forgive me for being insecure and stupid?

The fauxhawk (and a tantalizing glimpse of Lauren's thumb)

Here are some sucky things in my life:

• Neither of the candidates for VA governor (I'm not including the independent, because they never win anyway) supports gay rights. At all. So I'm probably just going to vote Republican--God knows I don't need any more taxes.
• I have to go to work very, very early tomorrow morning. Well, very early for me. Because the grease is really really gross, and B is not going to be there to change it because she's off for the next three days, and it really needs to go. But I am already supposed to clean an ice cream machine, so I will have to go in extra early. Despite having closed tonight.
• I'm getting ready to start my period. Grr.
• I'm poor.
• I still have no definite Thanksgiving or Christmas plans.
• I should really return those damn boots and buy something practical, but I haven't been able to talk myself into it.
• I spent an hour and a half yesterday typing out recipes for my mom, and now I'm mad that my oven sets the smoke detector off, because I have a hankering for those pepper wreaths she used to make. Or focaccia. Oddly enough, I'm a pretty decent baker, although I'm not much of a cook. Perhaps because I helped my mom make a lot of bread during my seven years of homeschooling (and by help I mean that I spread flour on the counter and watched the yeast bubble and kneaded for a minute or two until my arms started to hurt).
• I have no DVD player (still).

Here are some not-so-sucky things in my life:

• Sudoku.
• Coldstone.
• Sleater-Kinney.
• E-mails from my mom.
• Overtime.
• Church.
• Phone calls from Sarah and Felicia.
• Good Night, and Good Luck: awesome movie about Edward R. Murrow and the McCarthy hearings. Probably the best movie I've seen in at least a year.

So...you guys remember how I was trying really hard not to spend all my money, right? Here is a list of the impractical things I did or seriously considered doing today:

1. Returned the towels I wanted but didn't need, intending to get a nice, practical pair of dressy casual shoes (something between sneakers and shiny leather dress shoes). Instead, I bought a pair of HIGH-HEELED BLACK BOOTS that are totally not my style and that I don't need at all and are very awkward to walk in but somehow make me feel attractive so I've decided they're worth it.

2. I thought about getting a second (!) pair of shoes, but I managed to talk myself out of it and bought some $4 notecards instead. Right, like I write notes. Whatever. I'm sure the people I send them to (announcing the birth of my third child, most likely) will appreciate them.

3. I went to Coldstone Creamery--one of my favorite indulgences. And I got a love it size with two mix-ins and refused to feel guilty about it.

4. I almost ordered a gotta have it, but I would have felt guilty about that.

5. I spent $44.06 at Planet Music. In my defense, four of the five CDs were used, and one of them was free, and I like both of the ones I've listened to so far.

6. I could easily have spent several hundred dollars there. Possibly over a thousand, if I'd had the time.

7. I bought a venti stawberries & crème frappucino from the not-quite-Starbucks-but-almost at Barnes & Noble. I had forgotten how sweet they are *sigh*

8. I only avoided any book purchases because I was determined not to spend all of the money I set aside for food between now and Monday when I get paid.

In my own defense, I would like to point out that I did three loads of laundry today and only spent $2 on lunch. $2! And for that I bought two LARGE slices of quite decent cheese pizza at Del Vecchios. And I paid the rent and mailed my student loan check. Yeah, okay, so it doesn't outweigh all my other expenditures, but still, it has to count for something, right?