Thursday, January 27, 2011


Okay, I just received an email from my boss that says we all have to wear this short sleeved shirt at work without long sleeves underneath or a sweatshirt over it.  So...I'm in deep shit.

I understand the whole no sweatshirt thing because it covers up the shirt, but no long sleeves underneath?  It gets cold in the cafes, and I really don't think it's fair for them to make a policy like that.  But my problem is that I wear long sleeves for a reason, and now I don't know what to do.  Fortunately, I don't work until Tuesday and don't normally see my bosses that day of the week so hopefully I can figure something out in the meantime.  Will foundation help?

I'm so screwed.

Monday, January 24, 2011


Well, I'm sitting in my room delaying homework that's due tomorrow, knowing I'll feel like hell if I don't go to bed (and getting a sick satisfaction as a result of my impending day of misery), and I can't stop all of the thoughts plaguing my mind.  My roommate earlier joked with a friend that her life is a tragedy, even though she is with friends all the time, has a plan after graduation, is beautiful and skinny and eats what she wants, and has had at least two serious boyfriends.  I, however, have no friends to confide in and rarely hang out with people anyway, have no idea what to do after graduating, am fat and hideous especially compared to her, and have never had so much as a casual fling (not including drunken one night stands).  So if her life is a tragedy, then what the fuck is mine?

The only person that I could claim to "confide in" is my mom, but I don't tell her most things.  The problem is that my mom loves the child she thinks she has.  According to her, we are very alike, I am extremely cheerful, and am emotional.  Uh, what?  First of all, we are not alike, and even my brother will attest to that.  Secondly, I am not cheerful; I pretend to be.  And third, well, I don't even know how to respond to that.  I try so hard not to be emotional, and I know that my emotions do wreak havoc on my life.  But I think that I contain them well.  I can only hope that she says I'm emotional because I'm self conscious and had a panic attack over my birthday weekend this summer...Another reason my mom and I aren't alike:  she has a flare for dramatics.  She worries about everything, has an irish temper, and assumes the worst or the best (depending on the situation) about everything.  This summer, for example, she threatened to throw me in a mental hospital for the rest of my life to waste away all because of one weekend.  Good god, woman.  So clearly, I will always have a wall between us or else I will be destined for the psych ward unless my dad steps in.  But you know dads; they like not to get involved.

Anyway, I can never joke about my life being a tragedy because, really, it kind of is.  But it's all my own doing so I can't even bring myself to want pity, though I do feel sorry for my pathetic excuse of a human being.  Life sucks; that's a fact.

Sunday, January 23, 2011


This is random, but I felt the need to express my strange attraction to potheads.  I was watching Dazed and Confused earlier, and, even though he's really not that attractive if you look at him, Slader (or however you spell it) captivates me.  I swear, every time he appears on screen I am mesmerized; he says the funniest things.  The same thing happens in Pineapple Express, but let's be honest, James Franco is hot sooo I don't know if it's just that he's a pothead in that movie.  But there's something about him running around with messy (but still sexy) hair and pajamas and making really deep and pointless observations.  Perhaps the latter is the reason for my fetish.

I think that smokers tend to seem like really laid back and happy people, content to just sit, smoke, and think.  I've only done so on a few occasions, but I just love being around the whole scene because of how relaxed it is.  It seems like their stress just fades away and suddenly the little things in life are just so fascinating.  And I find myself jealous because, while I brood most of the day, my thoughts are much darker, less peaceful, and certainly not funny if expressed aloud.  If my thoughts were put into a movie, it would be put on Lifetimes and people would only watch and say, "Wow, that's fucked up," because they had nothing else to do and there was nothing better on TV.  I suppose that's why thoughts are thoughts; I've always figured that what goes on in my mind isn't meant to be known...otherwise it would have come from my mouth instead, right?  I find that I censor most of what I say or else mumble incoherently...that would be problematic for my boring Lifetime movie.  They would need subtitles just to translate my lack of annunciation.  Granted, half of the time when I'm talking it's more to myself than for someone else's benefit, and there's really no point in speaking clearly when you already know in your head what your saying...

Wow, I've changed topics drastically.  I have other things to complain about, like how overly happy people irritate me...hell, happy people in general tend to irritate me (or at least confuse me).  The whole concept of always smiling and being cheerful boggles my mind a bit.  But I will leave that discussion for another day and try to reiterate my love for potheads.  They are fantastic people.  So if you smoke, I already like you.  I wish I could have a little circle of friends like in That 70's Show...what I'd give for that.