Things are just so...weird lately.Just weird. The only word. Well, maybe not the only word.
But weird. And not really in a good way.
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A Penny Saved Is A Penny Earned
September 27th, 2005, 7:16 p.m.
It's Tuesday. Yesterday, I went shopping and I got a $150 dollar dress... on clearance... for one penny.
Today, I went shopping, and due to some mishap, I got a throw blanket, valued originally at $35... for free.
I can't wait to see what I get for free tomorrow.
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Welcome To The Jungle
September 25th, 2005, 7:49 p.m.
As I was running out the door this morning, I realized I hadn't taken any coffee with me and ran back to get some to bring to work. This was my first mistake. I have coffee every morning, but for some reason, today, I became so jittery from it that before I finished I had to throw it out to stop myself from drinking it. Of course, it didn't help that I was IRSTY BEYOND IRSTY. Then work was really busy, and I was running around, still all jittery and irsty and, I'm sure, very weird and out of it.
At the end of the day got in the car and screamed. About couple of minutes after I pulled out of the parking lot, I started talking to myself. Then, I was going down one road and a deer leaps out and runs across the road about fifteen feet in front of me. I slowed down, at one point actually stopped to make sure there were no more following, as "Welcome To The Jungle" blared up on the radio. And I'm like, "You're telling me."
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Now I Feel Really Bad
September 25th, 2005, 1:29 a.m.
So, it's 1:30 now. I have to be up at about 8:30, so I can still fit in six and a half, seven hours of sleep.
I just couldn't muster up the energy to click the "stop" button on my iTunes while Meatloaf was playing.
And now I'm kind of hungry... kind of tired... but mostly I just want to watch television.
I think I am a bum.
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I Should Be Ashamed
September 25th, 2005, 1:05 a.m.
It's 1 AM. I have work in the morning. And I can't stop listening to Britney Spears' "Toxic."
It's a taste of a poison paradise. It's toxic, and, well, to be quite honest... I'm slipping under.
Brilliant.
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Seven Dollars...OF REGRET
September 23, 2005, 10:05 p.m.
So, we were all prepared and ready to do some work on the movie today, but instead just sat around and talked about how we weren't getting anything accomplished. Then we talked about that. And then after some football and nasty hot dogs, we headed to Dunkin Donuts/Baskin Robbins. Where things went south.
We had seven dollars to spend, and with that, we bought 2 quarts of various kinds of ice cream. And ate most of it. And afterwards decided it was a really bad idea. I'm going to have an ice cream-hangover in the morning.
I'll go in to work in the morning, bags under my eyes, mumbling, "I remember something about...cookies and cream...chocolate and peanut butter...pecans...oh, WHY?!"
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Moan
September 19th, 2005, 7:56 p.m.
Sick. Tired. Bored. Aggravated. Sad. Completely out of it. I need some Nyquil and I'm going to bed. Hopefully when I wake up I will have stopped sneezing.
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Emmy Night 2005, Part Three: Disappointed
September 18th, 2005, 10:11 p.m.
This show blows.
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Emmy Night 2005, Part Two: Kind Of Bored
September 18th, 2005, 8:47 p.m.
Can we please just get to the good stuff? I have to get up early in the morning.
But I have to say, if Ian McShane doesn't win for "Deadwood," HEADS WILL ROLL.
(Unless it's Kiefer that wins instead. I'll take either.)
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Emmy Night 2005, Part One: Already Mad
September 18th, 2005, 8:17 p.m.
The Emmys have not even been on 20 minutes and I'm already mad. First, what the hell was that "performance" at the beginning? Then, Ellen -- I love Ellen to no end, but that could have been so much funnier. But I'll let her off the hook, because she's Ellen, and she's better than most the people who host the Emmys...or the Oscars...or anything else.
But then, Brad Garret beats out Piven for Supporting Actor? Come ON. No. Just no. That is so many kinds of wrong.
But here's Kiefer! So things are looking up.
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Strange Things
September 18th, 2005, 12:31 a.m.
I don't know what's up with this, but the milk sitting in my fridge right now totally tastes like vomit. This means one of three things:
1) This is a bad brand of milk.
2) This milk has gone bad.
3) Someone vomited in my milk.
Completely unrelated to this, I was just remembering the time when I was completely and totally freaking out over a certain very weird something "that boy" said to me. Jamie, being there in my time of need, said to me, "If it makes you feel any better...you're kind of a psychopath, too."
And oddly enough, I did feel better, to the point where I stopped shaking like a loon and went to bed. I thought about it the other day, and it still makes me feel better. Which, yes...is strange.
Oh, and also something horrible I said to Jamie and Laura the other day: "Ugh, I feel like I'm going to throw up. I haven't said that in a few days, because I haven't seen you guys."
That's not how I meant it, but that's what came out. Oh well.
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Offically Boring
September 16th, 2005, 9:02 p.m.
It's 9:00 on a Friday night, and I've just spent the last twenty minutes doodling.
(And cheering for the Yankees. Way to go, little Robbie Cano!)
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Cast Meetings, Boat Mishaps, And Candy Corn
September 16th, 2005, 6:57 p.m.
This afternoon we got the whole cast, sans the Ellen character, together for lunch to discuss some very important business related items. Although I don't know if we really got anything accomplished but just talking about the movie itself, and not, like, specific stuff. Or did we? Who knows. Maybe there's not all that much more to discuss. Maybe we just need to film everything already. Although we did get many, many strange looks from the waitstaff, especially during the conversation about the scene where we described how one person is in her panties and one is half naked, and then we went on to discuss, "Which half?" I love that restaurant. I hope they just ask one day, "What the fuck, seriously?" BUT. We did get not only the good side of the restaurant, but the BEST TABLE, the booth all the way in the back.
And that's it. I was in a good mood this morning, a bad one in the afternoon, and now I think I'm just in the middle. Better than before, though. But that might just be because I'm listening to "Jessie's Girl" and I have a whole bag of candy corn all to myself. (Ah, candy corn. This is why I love fall.)
And, I am still sore from my little boating mishap the other day. That mishap being that I fell off the boat. And into the lake.
Oh, and today is my half birthday.
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Walking With Meatloaf
2005-09-16, 1:52 p.m.
You know those little headphones that no one can see when your hair is down? I discoverfed today that wearing those and listening to Meatloaf's "For Crying Out Loud" when it gets to the really powerful part while walking into a building and down hallways by yourself is really rather fun, for whatever reason.
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Lights, Camera, Action
September 12, 2005, 1:39 p.m.
I'm a little pumped. But trying not to get my hopes up. I've been thinking about shooting the movie all day, because today's the day we might actually start filming. I've been making little production notes in my neat little production notes notebook and things like that. I think we can definitely get this done by the end of the year. The filming, at least -- the editing, who knows.
I also totally want to shoot behind-the-scenes production interviews and everything.
I'm pumped. I hope this goes well.
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I Sound Like A Seventh Grader
September 11th, 2005, 7:49 p.m.
Fuck it.
I do feel like shit, and unlike many other days of the past 6 weeks and three days, I'm going to full-out, unabashedly admit that, yes, I do, in fact, FEEL LIKE FUCKING SHIT. And yes, it's because of THAT, and THAT OTHER THING, and EVERYTHING. Including MYSELF.
So, FUCK. I just wanted to say that. Fuck. There, I said it twice.
I want my life to start again and I want to not be mad at everyone for not feeling like this.
Fuck. (Three times.)
I'm going to go eat candy corn and listen to Kelly Clarkson and read Glamour.
And I'm sorry if that's boring, but I can't be that person. Maybe once I could have been, but I can't anymore.
So, fuck. (Fourth.)
Sugar and Ms. Clarkson and glossy fashion ads are waiting for my boring fat ass.
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I Just Don't Know.
September 11th, 2005, 7:32 p.m.
The Yankees won. That's good.
Everything else... kind of... I don't even know what I'm trying to say. I'm amazingly exhausted. Not even just the yawning, I-need-more-coffee kind of exhausted. Just... oh, boy, so exhausted.
This is a forewarning: I'm not saying anything to degrade so called "partying" or the people who do so -- but I realize, after hearing a number of people talking about it, I am just so not the type of person who likes to "party." I'll have a grand old time and do whatever with people I'm comfortable with and laugh until I cry, but a bunch of people I don't know...just not appealing. And my friends claim they have more fun non-partying, but -- sorry, guys, I don't know. You seem to really like the partying, and especially after this paragraph, WOW, am I a boring person, so, you know.
I think I feel like shit. I can't tell right now. I'm too tired to go into any examining. But I want to kind of just crawl into bed and sit there and watch bad TV and hibernate for the remainder of the year, so that's kind of signaling that I feel like shit. But who knows.
I don't know.
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You'll Always Have A Deck Of Cards
September 9th, 2005, 9:23 p.m.
I was planning to go get a massage this evening, but hanging out with Jamie and making up metaphors was much more fun. (And all I have to say about our metaphors: I really want to play some poker.)
We hung around at my place, then hers, then the coffee place, then played pool for a bit, then dinner at our usual "business meeting" restaurant where there was a cute new busboy who chatted with us about how people look like animals sometimes. We did go there with the intention of having a business meeting (the business being, of course, the production of the movie) but we didn't actually get to that, unfortunately. We kind of just stuck with eating too much and talking about boys and things like that. So professional, I know. Then the coffee place again, and then to Jamie's car to sing and record funny things to play when her phone rings.
Unfortunately, we just got rejected for a title over at IMDb. Things are not looking so hot for the movie right now -- we need to start production, and SOON, or else we may not get some of this filmed until next June. Which is too long, since we'd like to finish it before the year is out.
And, in other news... I could be playing poker right now. Or even gin rummy, or bridge, or some variety of cards. If only I hadn't cut off my potential card-playing partner. I feel dumb.
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Our Characters Are On TV!
September 8th, 2005, 1:48 p.m.
I'm watching a rerun of "Ellen" right now, and laughing and laughing simply because of the fact that in this episode there are three - THREE - characters who have the same names as characters in the movie we wrote (and soon to be in production). Strangely enough, we more or less named our Ellen character after this Ellen. This happened after we couldn't think of a name, opened up People magazine, and randomly pointed to a person that we'd then name the character after.
We've been itching to get production started for awhile but still have not been able to clear our schedules at the same time -- but still. It takes place in summer, and we can't exactly use fall leaves. Or snow.
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To My Yankees
September 7th, 2005, 9:39 p.m.
To quote Keating... "Thank you, boys... thank you."
Now let's just keep that 5-4 lead for the next inning and we'll be good to go.
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Don't Go Breakin' My Heart
September 7th, 2005, 9:16 p.m.
Now, I love my Yankees. And Lord knows I love me some Derek Jeter.
But... come on. My heart aches. I would love to see some post-season games, I really would. Please don't deny me of that. I have very few joys in life. I need to wear those shirts in pride, man. And after the blow to our ego after last year? We need to at least be IN the series this year.
Although I don't quite think that's going to happen. We can't even beat Tampa Bay. This is embarassing.
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Heart and Insoles
September 7th, 2005, 3:34 p.m.
Someone needs to make shoes that fit me, are not ugly, make me tall enough so that even the "short" size pants don't drag on the floor, and do not make my feet ache days later after I wear them. That would be greatly appreciated.
But for now, I'll have to wear the shoes I have. Fabulous, leather, make me tall, but hurt like a BITCH. I've got to break out those gel insoles and try to make another day and still be able to walk.
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Amazingly Vague
September 6th, 2005, 8:09 p.m.
I keep going back in forth in my head. Mistake? No mistake? It's not even him that I'm obsessing over -- it's the fact that I could have had all that good stuff...but no. As Laura would say, I've got "fear problems." Perhaps you could call it..."scared."
And the other thing is, even if there hadn't been The "L" Word Distaster, would I still have chosen to end it? And, now that it did happen, does it make me more or less of a bitch that I ended it after that?
I'm awfully confused.
And I hate having to let people know that "other" Big Bad News. I get That Reaction -- the one that's kind of a mix between taken aback and sometimes sad and sometimes just, "huh?" Also, I don't do a very good job of breaking that news. It either sounds too dramatic or not dramatic enough. Sometimes I'd rather keep it to myself, but then, how can I not let people know? Because if I don't, I can't explain the way things are right now.
And that Big Bad News...sort of the reason I ended The Fling.
Or was it? I still don't know.
I swear to you, there was once I time where I was light-hearted.
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Boring Lamenting
September 5th, 2005, 11:28 p.m.
I can't believe how much I'm obsessing over everything. I'm obsessing over the recent fling and all my wrongdoings versus his wrongdoings and seeing how it stacks up and whether or not I made a dumb, quick mistake. I'm obsessing over tomorrow. I can't believe how much I just want to start a new chapter of my life. And I can't believe how much I sound like a 12-year-old in a livejournal.
And I'm also worried, because in the back of my mind there's this chance I'm going to see him tomorrow. Or every day. And... what will happen if that happens? Hopefully, I'll want to walk away. And if I don't, I'll kick myself.
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Well, Fuck.
September 5th, 2005, 8:53 p.m.
Starting the year off well, it looks like. Already rushing to get things done when I should have gotten them done long ago. Already making exuses and wallowing in self-pity.
It's going to be a fun year.
Oh, I'm being such a downer today.
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I'm Sure That's Not What Cher Meant By "Lonely"
September 5th, 2005, 7:12 p.m.
Okay, has anyone else seen this new weight watcher's commercial? A woman is walking into a party. The words "For the woman who feels like the fattest woman in the room" pop up on the screen as Cher's voice fires up in the background. A few more similar shots, and then Cher declares, "This is a song for the lonely!" Basically, this is a commercial for all the fat -- and therefore lonely -- women in America. Try our product, this way you won't be fat. And then, you won't be lonely. And then, as Cher says, "You're gonna be alright!"
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Dear Autumn: Please Don't Suck
September 5th, 2005, 3:26 p.m.
Good Ways To End A Bad Summer:
-Lay around in the dark, listen to girly music with candles lit, and make fun of everything in your head
-Break up with your crazy boyfriend
-Watch the "24" marathon and cheer for Jack and cute, bitter, slightly bitchy Tony
-Eat apple pie
Bad Ways To End A Bad Summer:
-Feel cheated that you didn't get to have fun
-Find yourself thinking of him... ew
-Find yourself thinking about everything that happened and how to tell everyone who knew you as someone completely different
Usually, you know, summers are always so-so. During them, if you're not really doing much of anything, you think "Gee, how boring," until the end when you realized how much fun you actually had.
This year, summer started off well, and took a horrible twist that not only ruined my summer but everything that I'd been working for and had attatched myself to. I'm horribly bitter now that after pre-emptively declaring it to be the "best summer ever", it turned out to be not only the worst summer but the worst couple of months of my entire life. No exaggeration. Everyone else got to have fun. I should have, too. This is my last high school summer, and I feel cheated. I can think of a few highlights, and except for those, I'd like to erase the past five and a half weeks from my memory.
And I'd like to get on with my life.
So, goodbye, summer.
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Relax
September 4th, 2005, 9:50 p.m.
My back is fucking killing me today. It hurt when I woke up. I lifted some heavy stuff at work. I came home, and after sitting for awhile, got up to find it hurting even more. My legs, arms, neck -- seems that everything is catching up to me. I'm going to spend a nice relaxing night on this Massaging Mat Thingy I borrowed from my dad. Light some candles, listen to some music (Meatloaf -- not the first thing you think of when you think of massages and candles, but oh well) and a nice big shot of NyQuil. 'Cause I've got to get to bed early, y'all.
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Now In Spicy New Weblog Flavor
Septermber 4th, 2005, 12:44 a.m.
Okay, so I just switched to the weblog-style thingy. I mean, fuck it. Let's face it. I'm not going to write those long entries, because I am busy and important.
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The Story Of How I Almost Poured Pina Coladas On My Cereal
August 27th, 2005, 10:22 p.m.
Work has been absolutely horrible this week. I was the only one working. Seriously -- everyone else? On vacation. At the same time. So, I'm left doing not only my job, but everyone else's in addition. The only "help" I had were my bosses lurking around, making sure I was never not doing something. Giving me one thing after another, giving me new tasks as I'm trying to finish my current one, running back and forth between customers and the phone and opening boxes upon boxes upon boxes or merchandise, heavy lifting and getting dirty. Working my fingers to the bone. (Almost literally, due to a slip of the box cutter.) And, on most days, not even 30 seconds to eat lunch. Usually I take about two minutes to shove down a sandwich, since I don't technically get a break, but usually there's other people, you know, ALSO WORKING. So I'm thisclose to quitting, going home every day starving and shoving anything and everything down my face. My stomach was very confused. Starvation, then tons of food.
You know how everyone kind of has a Body Clock? For example, if you wake up at 7:00 every morning of your life, and one day you decide you want to sleep in, but you can't sleep past 7 because you wake up that time every day. Well, I now know that I have a Stomach Clock. And this Stomach Clock has gotten severely fucked up. (Worse than the time I tried the 3-hour diet. What the fuck?) I'll try to eat something normal, and I'll get so full after just a couple of bites that I feel sick from it. Then, an hour later, I'm starving. And this keeps happening. Every meal. It's horrible. I won't be hungry until my body decides all at once -- WOAH, I'm fucking hungry! Then sick. Then more hungry. It's very frustrating.
So I had barely eaten anything all day and was attempting to have a nice dinner (of Chinese leftovers). A couple of bites of my little egg roll, a taste of shrimp lo mein, and I'm gone. The thought of food was sickening after that. Later on, Jamie, returning from vacation, came for a visit, so I made cookies. Didn't even want any. Frustrating, as cookies are very good.
A couple of hours later and here I am, starving. This is the time of night where I get hungry and can actually eat something. So I go for a bowl of cereal. I pour it merrily into the bowl in the darkness of my kitchen and then open up the fridge to get the milk. In the dim light of the refrigerator, I see a clear container of something white. I pull it out and, behind it, see the carton of milk. Oh, there's the milk, I think, and remember that what I am holding is actually Pina Coladas. So I put it back and got the milk.
And that's how I almost poured Pina Coladas on my cereal.
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Everything Old Is New Again
August 17th, 2005, 1:48 a.m.
I promised myself and my friends that when I got a new computer, one that actually worked fairly well, I would re-introduce myself into the world of an online diary. It was a world I was once comfortable to be in and eager to return to when I was away. I loved to write - still do - and just, for whatever reason, loved having a chronicle of my life that I could look back on and smile. Originally, it had started out as a way to keep in touch with the friends I could not keep in touch with, until it got to the point where the only people, out of those I knew, who I wanted to read it were the friends I kept in touch with. I kept my journal for probably about a year and a half. I loved it. I enjoyed it so much, writing and re-writing and reading things I wrote - fun, sad, boring, whatever it was. It was a great hobby, one that helped to hone my writing skills and allowed me to think out loud. It was therapeutic. After awhile, when I started getting socially busy and preoccupied with work, it started to feel more like maintenance. I wanted to put everything into it, but I couldn’t fit two weeks worth of my life into one entry. So one day, I quit. It wasn’t intentional, but there was a point where I realized, “Huh. I have forgotten about my journal. Completely abandoned it. Well, I can’t just pick up where I left off -- not now, months later.” My friends pushed me too and I said, “Yeah, yeah, sure.” Yet I never did. And there is a reason. And that reason is because I am a lazy person. Which is a fact of life that I have accepted, and you should too.
Since I left off in my old diary, I have done a lot -- a lot of fun things with my friends, a lot of not so fun things at work -- usual life stuff. The norm. The good norm. I got my driver’s license, ended my junior year of high school on a not-so-high academic note, bought my first car with the money I earned at my first real job, and was pretty much content with life, aside from the unfortunate fact that I, along with everyone else in the world, am sort of fucked up. You know, in the head. Anxiety issues aside, things were going well for me and my friends. I have these three friends, you see - we’re a foursome. We’re an “us.” We’re a group. You know how that works, with groups of friends. Sure, we all have other friends on the outside, but within the group, we pretty much rock. Something you need to know about me is that I love my friends so much and I think it’s amazing that we all found each other. Because we’re all kind of nuts. And also because we’re so different, and at the same time so the same, and we have a dynamic and a bond like I’ve never known outside our group. We don’t really have a name for our group, though, so I just call us “me and my friends.” (Well, once we had a name. We named ourselves the Cycle Sisters when we all got our periods on the same day. But that didn’t last very long, because the next month we were all different again. Oh well.) I live with my family, keep in close contact with my grandparents and aunt and uncle, and I’m close to them as well. We’re a fun, if not loud and fucking crazy, group of individuals. I now own two computers, both of which I mostly bought myself, and I take certain things, like television and caffeinated drinks (Diet Coke and coffee, to be specific), very seriously. If I don’t have an abundant supply of Diet Coke available to me at all times, I turn green and expand in size and anger faster than Jason Giambi on the juice. Which reminds me, I also take my baseball very seriously. Go Yankees! Ahem. Oh, and I am a female. A female on the prowl for a male. Take note of this, young men.
So, it’s summertime, and I’m working and driving and being independent and actually looking forward to my senior year of high school. The last one in the group got her license, and we all officially had cars and licenses and jobs and everything. (Yet, still, none of us have boyfriends. Go figure.) We had been toying for awhile with the idea of making our own movie -- writing, directing, and acting in the whole thing. Awhile ago, we started getting really serious about it, had our story and everything -- and then it reached a point where it was too much and we tossed the whole idea. But we did pick it up again, made it simpler (and shorter), and actually got around to writing the script. And it was written. And it was good. (Hey, we wrote it, of course I’m going to say it’s good.) So all we really need is to edit and do this and that and get all our stuff together for shooting. Oh, and probably getting a camera would help, but we’re working on that. This is the middle of our last high school summer, and we’re all feeling pretty good. Well, not completely on every level, but overall I think we were mostly okay with life and all. So this one morning I’m out picking up a friend, dropping by to say hello to another friend, and then I’m on my way home. I was in a good mood, as I had just gotten over a sad spell and we had just finished our script, and I’m looking forward to a nice day, thinking nothing was going to bother me at all, and during all this, I was being careful as usual, but I never saw the other car coming until right before the crash.
***
Three days later, I finally got out of bed. It hurt to stand, to move, to think, to breathe, to be in the world again and function. And I was only taking a shower. I didn’t know how to move on. I was fine, physically, nothing serious happened to me, nor to the other driver involved, but the car I had worked so hard to get the money for and to find and to buy, the car that had been my pride and joy, was totaled and sitting in my yard as a reminder of everything I’d wasted. Yet at that time, I still hadn’t cared about the car. I cared about getting it out of my head. I cared about how I was going to think of something else. I cared about being me again, moving on, not being afraid, regaining my independence and my pride and confidence. I cared about letting the people I love know that I love them and doing the things that I wanted to do. I cared only about not letting it be a huge part of my life. I wanted it to never have happened in the first place.
My friends were amazing during the whole thing. They let me talk and cry and heal with them. They didn’t mind sitting in my bed with me when I was bleeding and bruised and hadn’t taken a shower in three days. They understood that I needed time and I hope they know that just having them with me was enough to get me back into the world. One of my friends was on vacation, and I remember barking out an order in the ambulance for my mother to get her on the phone as soon as possible. (I ended up not doing this, because ruining someone’s vacation is kind of mean.) The day she came back was the first day I had gotten back in a car, gone back to work, sore and black-and-blued as I was. When I saw her I couldn’t help crying again. My friends understood when I didn’t handle my first day back in the world very well, and are still a support system for me now that I’m apprehensive to go out and do things like I used to -- but they push me and help me to live normally again. If not for friends like I have, I don’t know where I would be right now. But it would probably have padded walls. My family was equally supportive and my parents have been so great, especially money wise, and have been telling me not to let the financial situation discourage me from doing normal things, even though I am being extremely, self-denyingly frugal at the moment.
This is the first time I am writing about this and it is in an effort to try to accept it into my life without having it be scary. Because the fact is that I am not over it, but if I am, or if one day soon I am not as upset as I still am, I can perhaps talk about it more in-depth. The truth is that it’s had a really terrible effect on my mental health and this is part of my Therapy That Won’t Cost Me Any More Money That I Don’t Have. This regimen also includes frequent, promiscuous sex with strange men. Just kidding. Anyway. Going into anymore real detail about the situation is something I will not do in this venue, and if I do, it will not be for a very, very long time.
***
Aside from all…that, I’m anxiously anticipating my senior year and the end of this summer. Ironic -- I would have thought this would be the summer to treasure the most. My last high school summer. This school year, I’m doing a criminal justice program, which is what I plan to study in college. I’m pretty excited for the program itself, if not the chance to meet boys through this program. We are still actively working on the movie in between trying to make our hectic work and family schedules work so that we can all see each other. In a nutshell, I’m trying to get my shit together. This journal is an approach to have a hobby, to get back to normal, and to get back on track and be somewhat put-together for the crucial year ahead of me. Basically, I want things like they used to be, and if they’re not, I want them to be better.
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