As I'm sitting in the airport in Mexico, waiting to take the plane back to Kansas City... I started to think about something...
The very first post on this blog was from this airport. Isn't that strange? How often I'm here.
Anyways, I'm working on a couple of new, longer posts. I'm sorry I've been gone for so long. I'll get some new ones up soon :) I kind of took a break for Thanksgiving.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
People are rude
Now I know I've had one people bashing post today but this is getting ridiculous. Now I'm wondering if people are always this rude.
Now yes, I dislike my generation... But I don't lump all of them together. For all the bad apples there are some good ones.
However, when I'm at Walmart and someone tries to correct me when all I'm doing is making a joke?? Come on now!
Cranky lady and her thanksgiving turkey can't take a joke? Sorry I tried to talk to the cashier. Laughing in my face and telling me that the rising price of food is actually NOT because of the thing I was joking about only proved how much of a sorry life you lead.
I understand that we're in a recession. Christ does America really have that short of an attention span? At least this isn't the recession of the 1970's or (heaven forbid) the 1930's!!!! SO MILK IS A BUCK SEVENTY-FIVE!!!!
AT LEAST GAS ISN'T FIVE DOLLARS WITH A TEN GALLON LIMIT!!!!!
God get over yourself you fat old hag. Yes, I'm young and virile, but I'm not stupid! I watch the news! I listen in class! I'm in college!
Don't think that just because you can complain about the price of a Thanksgiving turkey that means that you are suddenly smarter than me?! I can complain about all kinds of things but that doesn't make me smarter than anyone else!!!!!
I can complain about YOU but I don't know anything about you! AND I DON'T CARE TO!
Be polite. Don't complain about my generation when you can't even keep from judging someone just because of a joke.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Now yes, I dislike my generation... But I don't lump all of them together. For all the bad apples there are some good ones.
However, when I'm at Walmart and someone tries to correct me when all I'm doing is making a joke?? Come on now!
Cranky lady and her thanksgiving turkey can't take a joke? Sorry I tried to talk to the cashier. Laughing in my face and telling me that the rising price of food is actually NOT because of the thing I was joking about only proved how much of a sorry life you lead.
I understand that we're in a recession. Christ does America really have that short of an attention span? At least this isn't the recession of the 1970's or (heaven forbid) the 1930's!!!! SO MILK IS A BUCK SEVENTY-FIVE!!!!
AT LEAST GAS ISN'T FIVE DOLLARS WITH A TEN GALLON LIMIT!!!!!
God get over yourself you fat old hag. Yes, I'm young and virile, but I'm not stupid! I watch the news! I listen in class! I'm in college!
Don't think that just because you can complain about the price of a Thanksgiving turkey that means that you are suddenly smarter than me?! I can complain about all kinds of things but that doesn't make me smarter than anyone else!!!!!
I can complain about YOU but I don't know anything about you! AND I DON'T CARE TO!
Be polite. Don't complain about my generation when you can't even keep from judging someone just because of a joke.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Fake PPL
Now I know I've already harped on this quite a bit but I can't stress enough JUST how stupid it is for people to use chatspeak in their daily lives.
What brought about this ridiculous bout of anger is a combination of two things... One: Economics professor stated in his information concerning our 10 PAGE RESEARCH PAPER (!!!) that we should use proper English... Should a college professor have to tell anyone that?
How stupid are you that you can't even write a freaking paper without using chatspeak?? It's a formal research paper!! The only thing you should be speaking in is FORMAL ENGLISH!
The second thing that annoyed me is this: I walked past a sign in my hallway that asked what we were glad to be leaving behind now that fall is finished... And someone wrote: ...fake ppl...
FAKE PPL?? WHAT DOES THAT STAND FOR? FAKE PORTLAND POWER AND LIGHT? HONESTLY LEARN HOW TO WRITE IN ENGLISH!!
YOU are a fake person! Only fake people don't know how to write in proper English! Only FAKE people write like retards!! I know that the education system sucks in the United States but COME ON!!
IT'S NOT THAT BAD!!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
What brought about this ridiculous bout of anger is a combination of two things... One: Economics professor stated in his information concerning our 10 PAGE RESEARCH PAPER (!!!) that we should use proper English... Should a college professor have to tell anyone that?
How stupid are you that you can't even write a freaking paper without using chatspeak?? It's a formal research paper!! The only thing you should be speaking in is FORMAL ENGLISH!
The second thing that annoyed me is this: I walked past a sign in my hallway that asked what we were glad to be leaving behind now that fall is finished... And someone wrote: ...fake ppl...
FAKE PPL?? WHAT DOES THAT STAND FOR? FAKE PORTLAND POWER AND LIGHT? HONESTLY LEARN HOW TO WRITE IN ENGLISH!!
YOU are a fake person! Only fake people don't know how to write in proper English! Only FAKE people write like retards!! I know that the education system sucks in the United States but COME ON!!
IT'S NOT THAT BAD!!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Sick People
I dislike being sick. I used to love being sick, in fact.
It meant I didn't have to go to school and I hated school until college.
Of course the only class I like that I'm currently in right now is my Crime Scene class. The rest of them seem completely pointless to me.
Becoming a doctor exposes me to sick people, and where there are sick people there are sicknesses... meaning that I will eventually get sick.
Hopefully not badly.
Anyways I'm sick right now.
Like the sniffly, sneezy kind of sick. The kind of sick that mucus loves.
Mucus.
My arch enemy. It and I never see eye to it.
It wants to drain out of every orifice of my body. It wants my eyes to water with pressure in my sinuses. It wants me to be miserable every time I shower by dripping all over me.
Mucus and I just aren't friends. If mucus and I met on the street our conversation would go like this:
Mucus: "Hey! What's hangin'?" Then he would laugh and chortle about his stupid, gross joke.
Me: "Go the heck away!" Then I would blow my nose and he would fly away.
That is how I feel.
It meant I didn't have to go to school and I hated school until college.
Of course the only class I like that I'm currently in right now is my Crime Scene class. The rest of them seem completely pointless to me.
Becoming a doctor exposes me to sick people, and where there are sick people there are sicknesses... meaning that I will eventually get sick.
Hopefully not badly.
Anyways I'm sick right now.
Like the sniffly, sneezy kind of sick. The kind of sick that mucus loves.
Mucus.
My arch enemy. It and I never see eye to it.
It wants to drain out of every orifice of my body. It wants my eyes to water with pressure in my sinuses. It wants me to be miserable every time I shower by dripping all over me.
Mucus and I just aren't friends. If mucus and I met on the street our conversation would go like this:
Mucus: "Hey! What's hangin'?" Then he would laugh and chortle about his stupid, gross joke.
Me: "Go the heck away!" Then I would blow my nose and he would fly away.
That is how I feel.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Les Miserable (Lay Miz-er-ab)
When you were in college there was always that one kid in your class that you hated more than anyone else.
Be they obnoxiously self satisfied, or just plain obnoxious, they got on your nerves.
That kid is also the kid that likes to interrupt the teacher in order to make a statement that has nothing to do with what you're talking about... it's usually an anecdotal analogy that will most likely start some kind of a back and forth conversation between the professor and this "intelligent person".
You always assume that these people are attempting to boost their self esteem because they are trying to make others look stupid.
It's usually these people, however, that make themselves look stupid, because they don't seem to understand that NO ONE CARES!
No one cares that your grandmother from Russia came to America and then went back and left all of the stuff behind.
No one cares that your uncle is from England.
NO ONE CARES THAT YOU ARE UNEDUCATED!
Unless your story has some tie in to the story, or helps qualify your statement, no one cares about them.
If I say "The conditions were rough in Vietnam." And someone asked me how I knew, I could say. "My dad is a Vietnam vet."
I would not go into some long winded round-about story.
You know those stories, right?
The ones where at the end of the story you wonder what they were talking about before the story started?
Yeah, those are the stories these people come out with.
Of course as I'm saying all this I start to realize that this is exactly what I am doing.
Once you get to the end of this post you will be wondering why you wasted your life reading it...
Maybe that's what I planned... :)
Be they obnoxiously self satisfied, or just plain obnoxious, they got on your nerves.
That kid is also the kid that likes to interrupt the teacher in order to make a statement that has nothing to do with what you're talking about... it's usually an anecdotal analogy that will most likely start some kind of a back and forth conversation between the professor and this "intelligent person".
You always assume that these people are attempting to boost their self esteem because they are trying to make others look stupid.
It's usually these people, however, that make themselves look stupid, because they don't seem to understand that NO ONE CARES!
No one cares that your grandmother from Russia came to America and then went back and left all of the stuff behind.
No one cares that your uncle is from England.
NO ONE CARES THAT YOU ARE UNEDUCATED!
Unless your story has some tie in to the story, or helps qualify your statement, no one cares about them.
If I say "The conditions were rough in Vietnam." And someone asked me how I knew, I could say. "My dad is a Vietnam vet."
I would not go into some long winded round-about story.
You know those stories, right?
The ones where at the end of the story you wonder what they were talking about before the story started?
Yeah, those are the stories these people come out with.
Of course as I'm saying all this I start to realize that this is exactly what I am doing.
Once you get to the end of this post you will be wondering why you wasted your life reading it...
Maybe that's what I planned... :)
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Motivation
Some people are self motivated.
I, on the other hand, am not motivated by anyone or anything. It's rather odd.
Sometimes I can sit down and do anything I need to, and sometimes I push whatever it is off so long it becomes a problem.
Like right now. I have absolutely no motivation to write this post. In fact I've been typing one word per 30 minutes since I woke up. I'm not exactly sure what is wrong with me today.
That first part I'm pretty sure I wrote at about 2 PM central time. I'm writing this at 8 PM central time, that shows you just how lazy I am. NO motivation whatsoever.
I had about 20 ideas written down for you guys today but I just can't even rant. I could rant about how much I dislike you all, but that would be mean. :)
So for now I have nothing. I'll try to get something written before I go to bed, I feel like you deserve something.
I, on the other hand, am not motivated by anyone or anything. It's rather odd.
Sometimes I can sit down and do anything I need to, and sometimes I push whatever it is off so long it becomes a problem.
Like right now. I have absolutely no motivation to write this post. In fact I've been typing one word per 30 minutes since I woke up. I'm not exactly sure what is wrong with me today.
That first part I'm pretty sure I wrote at about 2 PM central time. I'm writing this at 8 PM central time, that shows you just how lazy I am. NO motivation whatsoever.
I had about 20 ideas written down for you guys today but I just can't even rant. I could rant about how much I dislike you all, but that would be mean. :)
So for now I have nothing. I'll try to get something written before I go to bed, I feel like you deserve something.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Crazy Drivers and Yelling at Grandma
I drive. A lot.
It's ridiculous how much I drive, for example: in the past week I've driven to Kansas City Friday night, back to Columbia Monday morning, back to Kansas City Monday afternoon, back to Columbia Tuesday afternoon, back to Kansas City last night and back to Columbia this morning.
So I see a lot of crazy things.
I see people driving at 40 mph on I-70 and people getting pulled over by State Troopers left and right.
I've seen two hour long traffic back-ups, usually because of someone making a stupid decision, like texting while driving. I've also clocked 1:32 to get into Kansas City, which is the approximate time it takes to get from Columbia to Kansas City, barring slow drivers and road hazards.
This morning I was driving along and suddenly someone slammed on their brakes. This meant I had to slam on my brakes, I wasn't going to rear end this stupid human being, and immediately slap the hazard lights (that's what those blinky lights are called, if you don't know).
Of course the semi-truck that had been following behind me fairly closely nearly totaled my car. I could feel the adrenaline, I was scared that I was suddenly going to be crushed. Fortunately he swerved off into the other lane before he hit me, but there for a moment it looked like I was going to die.
Wouldn't that be sad, no more entertaining posts for all of you. :)
But my point is this: WHY DO THEY GIVE THESE PEOPLE DRIVERS LICENSES!?!?
Do they pay the officer? Because I couldn't get away with anything with my lady-cop that was riding with me. (I wanted to say something else, lady cops are really mean... if you're a nice lady cop please come talk to me, I'd like to meet you.)
But because they give these people licenses I am forced to sit in my car, fuming about how stupid people are.
Honestly.
If you're going to turn RIGHT turn your RIGHT signal on.
Oh? You don't know where your signal is?
YOU SEE THAT BLACK BAR ON THE LEFT SIDE OF YOUR STEERING WHEEL? THAT ROUND THING YOU HOLD ON TO IN ORDER TO MOVE YOUR CAR?! YES! THAT! IT'S CALLED A TURN SIGNAL! IF YOU PUSH IT UP THE RIGHT LIGHT COMES ON! IF YOU PUSH IT DOWN THE LEFT ONE DOES!
USE IT!
I shouldn't have to tense up every time I see your brake lights come on. I have this intense fear the idiots around me are going to turn or stop or do something else equally stupid.
I don't mind people that speed. Really I don't, at least I know they won't stop suddenly. They're trying to get somewhere. And REALLY trying to GET somewhere!
However, there is one group of drivers I refuse to let myself become upset over.
These are seniors. There is something wrong with shouting obscenities at a senior citizen.
Teenagers? Fine. Young adults? OK. Adults? Yeah.
Seniors? I don't think I'd like someone shouting at my grandmother. Even if she did drive at 15 miles per hour in a 35. I mean honestly, you'd be mad at someone shouting at your parent... but your grandma? She's 92 with a handicapped sticker! You must want to be taken off of Santa's nice list!
I'm pretty sure shouting at old people should be outlawed.
It's ridiculous how much I drive, for example: in the past week I've driven to Kansas City Friday night, back to Columbia Monday morning, back to Kansas City Monday afternoon, back to Columbia Tuesday afternoon, back to Kansas City last night and back to Columbia this morning.
So I see a lot of crazy things.
I see people driving at 40 mph on I-70 and people getting pulled over by State Troopers left and right.
I've seen two hour long traffic back-ups, usually because of someone making a stupid decision, like texting while driving. I've also clocked 1:32 to get into Kansas City, which is the approximate time it takes to get from Columbia to Kansas City, barring slow drivers and road hazards.
This morning I was driving along and suddenly someone slammed on their brakes. This meant I had to slam on my brakes, I wasn't going to rear end this stupid human being, and immediately slap the hazard lights (that's what those blinky lights are called, if you don't know).
Of course the semi-truck that had been following behind me fairly closely nearly totaled my car. I could feel the adrenaline, I was scared that I was suddenly going to be crushed. Fortunately he swerved off into the other lane before he hit me, but there for a moment it looked like I was going to die.
Wouldn't that be sad, no more entertaining posts for all of you. :)
But my point is this: WHY DO THEY GIVE THESE PEOPLE DRIVERS LICENSES!?!?
Do they pay the officer? Because I couldn't get away with anything with my lady-cop that was riding with me. (I wanted to say something else, lady cops are really mean... if you're a nice lady cop please come talk to me, I'd like to meet you.)
But because they give these people licenses I am forced to sit in my car, fuming about how stupid people are.
Honestly.
If you're going to turn RIGHT turn your RIGHT signal on.
Oh? You don't know where your signal is?
YOU SEE THAT BLACK BAR ON THE LEFT SIDE OF YOUR STEERING WHEEL? THAT ROUND THING YOU HOLD ON TO IN ORDER TO MOVE YOUR CAR?! YES! THAT! IT'S CALLED A TURN SIGNAL! IF YOU PUSH IT UP THE RIGHT LIGHT COMES ON! IF YOU PUSH IT DOWN THE LEFT ONE DOES!
USE IT!
I shouldn't have to tense up every time I see your brake lights come on. I have this intense fear the idiots around me are going to turn or stop or do something else equally stupid.
I don't mind people that speed. Really I don't, at least I know they won't stop suddenly. They're trying to get somewhere. And REALLY trying to GET somewhere!
However, there is one group of drivers I refuse to let myself become upset over.
These are seniors. There is something wrong with shouting obscenities at a senior citizen.
Teenagers? Fine. Young adults? OK. Adults? Yeah.
Seniors? I don't think I'd like someone shouting at my grandmother. Even if she did drive at 15 miles per hour in a 35. I mean honestly, you'd be mad at someone shouting at your parent... but your grandma? She's 92 with a handicapped sticker! You must want to be taken off of Santa's nice list!
I'm pretty sure shouting at old people should be outlawed.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Cheetos and the Giant Chair
I love Cheeto Puffs.
It is an irrefutable fact that Cheeto Puffs are the greatest junk food of all time. It doesn't matter if you're a Cheeto junkie or just a bored college student with a love of cheese, they are always wonderful.
Me? I like to lick off the cheesy stuff before I eat them. I don't know why, apparently I just like to destroy my taste buds.
What brings this to my attention is that I have a giant bag of these delectable objects next to me on my giant chair.
There is some dispute over the possessor of the giant chair in my house. My father seems to think it is his. But much like a cat, I own everything secretly and he just doesn't know it.
My father is a reasonably predictable man. He likes order (obsessively) and cleanliness (at least HE flushes the toilet) and he likes to watch the news for two hours from 5-7 PM. Every day.
Which means that I get the massive chair until he sits down for 5 hours to watch the news and/or Westerns.
Of course he's also predictable in the fact that he gets up from said massive chair from time to time... in which time I leap up from my place on the big green couch and throw myself into the warm spot he left behind.
This is the point that he and I begin to have problems. I will fold myself up happily in the spot to watch the news... and he will return from whatever he was doing. This usually results in the following conversation:
Dad: "You're in my chair."
Me: "Yes I am."
Dad: "Get up."
Me: "But I'm sitting in it."
Dad: "I don't care, I want to sit in it. It's my chair." *rattles glass of ice*
Me: "But I don't want to get up."
Dad: "Get. Up."
Me: "But daaaaad~"
Dad: "Up!"
And then I will be forcefully ejected from my giant chair, only because Dad is much bigger and stronger than me... and I assume that if I don't give him my seat he will sit on me... which he has done before when I refused to get up.
It hurt.
He's heavy.
Now I'm sitting in MY chair with a bag of Cheetos. I'm not allowed to have candy or soda anymore. Not that this stops me very often from eating candy but I certainly have tapered off of soda. So I have been forced into junk food. Cheetos, Lays, Fritos, Doritos... and Easy Mac.
Which may not actually be junk food. Easy Mac is the staple food for a college student, isn't it?
It is an irrefutable fact that Cheeto Puffs are the greatest junk food of all time. It doesn't matter if you're a Cheeto junkie or just a bored college student with a love of cheese, they are always wonderful.
Me? I like to lick off the cheesy stuff before I eat them. I don't know why, apparently I just like to destroy my taste buds.
What brings this to my attention is that I have a giant bag of these delectable objects next to me on my giant chair.
There is some dispute over the possessor of the giant chair in my house. My father seems to think it is his. But much like a cat, I own everything secretly and he just doesn't know it.
My father is a reasonably predictable man. He likes order (obsessively) and cleanliness (at least HE flushes the toilet) and he likes to watch the news for two hours from 5-7 PM. Every day.
Which means that I get the massive chair until he sits down for 5 hours to watch the news and/or Westerns.
Of course he's also predictable in the fact that he gets up from said massive chair from time to time... in which time I leap up from my place on the big green couch and throw myself into the warm spot he left behind.
This is the point that he and I begin to have problems. I will fold myself up happily in the spot to watch the news... and he will return from whatever he was doing. This usually results in the following conversation:
Dad: "You're in my chair."
Me: "Yes I am."
Dad: "Get up."
Me: "But I'm sitting in it."
Dad: "I don't care, I want to sit in it. It's my chair." *rattles glass of ice*
Me: "But I don't want to get up."
Dad: "Get. Up."
Me: "But daaaaad~"
Dad: "Up!"
And then I will be forcefully ejected from my giant chair, only because Dad is much bigger and stronger than me... and I assume that if I don't give him my seat he will sit on me... which he has done before when I refused to get up.
It hurt.
He's heavy.
Now I'm sitting in MY chair with a bag of Cheetos. I'm not allowed to have candy or soda anymore. Not that this stops me very often from eating candy but I certainly have tapered off of soda. So I have been forced into junk food. Cheetos, Lays, Fritos, Doritos... and Easy Mac.
Which may not actually be junk food. Easy Mac is the staple food for a college student, isn't it?
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Bathroom Rules
Dear College Students,
Assuming that you attend this school you are most likely female, and above the age of 16. So my question to you is this: why is it that you STILL don't know how to use the TOILET!?
Did you live in a barn? Maybe your tiny boondocks house had and outhouse instead of running water? Because otherwise this is inexcusable!
When I hop into the community bathroom I expect some cleanliness... I don't expect to see the remnants of your bodily functions in the TOILET BOWL!
Do you SEE that big shiny bar? See it? SEE IT!? When you push down on it the water in the bowl goes WHOOSH and all that yucky stuff goes away!!
Imagine that!
If someone took the time to create such a simple waste disposal system one would think that you would be able to handle it, but obviously that is overestimating your abilities.
Now, we need to come to an accord, barn dweller.
I would like you to flush your poo down the toilet. That is what the shiny porcelain thing is there for! To flush that business! Not to leave it sitting in there for someone else to find!
It may be getting close to Christmas, barn dweller, but this is the wrong kind of present!
So I am setting some ground rules:
1. You will flush the toilet. (Instructions to follow.)
2. You will check to make sure everything has gone down.
3. You will wash your hands. Since if you can't even flush the toilet I'm sure your hands must be filthy.
If you cannot follow these simple rules then I will have to revoke your toilet rights and relegate you to a litter box.
Thank you,
Morgan
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Assuming that you attend this school you are most likely female, and above the age of 16. So my question to you is this: why is it that you STILL don't know how to use the TOILET!?
Did you live in a barn? Maybe your tiny boondocks house had and outhouse instead of running water? Because otherwise this is inexcusable!
When I hop into the community bathroom I expect some cleanliness... I don't expect to see the remnants of your bodily functions in the TOILET BOWL!
Do you SEE that big shiny bar? See it? SEE IT!? When you push down on it the water in the bowl goes WHOOSH and all that yucky stuff goes away!!
Imagine that!
If someone took the time to create such a simple waste disposal system one would think that you would be able to handle it, but obviously that is overestimating your abilities.
Now, we need to come to an accord, barn dweller.
I would like you to flush your poo down the toilet. That is what the shiny porcelain thing is there for! To flush that business! Not to leave it sitting in there for someone else to find!
It may be getting close to Christmas, barn dweller, but this is the wrong kind of present!
So I am setting some ground rules:
1. You will flush the toilet. (Instructions to follow.)
2. You will check to make sure everything has gone down.
3. You will wash your hands. Since if you can't even flush the toilet I'm sure your hands must be filthy.
If you cannot follow these simple rules then I will have to revoke your toilet rights and relegate you to a litter box.
Thank you,
Morgan
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Sororities and Harry Potter
Harry Potter is coming out soon. If you haven't already figured this out: I'm a huge nerd, and Harry Potter is probably my favorite thing in the entire world.
In fact if I could make an entire blog about Harry Potter I totally would, but I feel it would become a little redundant after a while.
Anyways so my goal for the next two and a half weeks is this:
Re-read all seven Harry Potter books and watch all 6 movies.
Considering how much free time I have, this won't be hard.
Except here is the problem: I would rather do these things than do homework. :) I wish Harry was here so he could just magic my homework done. (Not that they could do that in the HP universe, it's just a nice dream.)
This strangely leads me into my next point of interest. I am going to spend tomorrow night with a sorority in Kansas City who I may be recruited for.
Now if you know me, you know that I have wanted to be in a sorority more than anything else in the entire world. I just love the idea of sisterhood and having a huge family and lots of friends. For some reason I've just never had those things.
Plus I feel like sororities can actually give you a step up. Some pretty famous and powerful people were in fraternities and sororities.
I'm hoping going to UMKC will be a whole new beginning for me. I keep looking for new beginnings and I've never yet had a fresh one. This one feels like it will be. I'll be in classes with people I don't know, on a campus I don't know... it will be completely different from Stephens. I'll have anonymity and I'll be able to be myself with such a variety of people.
I feel like this school is trying to smother everything individual about me.
I'm crazy, I like to play video games, I like to read Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. My favorite book is The Hobbit and I play Kingdom Hearts II on a regular basis. I like to watch football and baseball and I tend to scream at umps and refs that make bad calls.
And for some reason... all those things make me a weird person here.
So you can't like fashion AND video games? I can't know the rules of football AND shop on Modcloth?
Who says?
In fact if I could make an entire blog about Harry Potter I totally would, but I feel it would become a little redundant after a while.
Anyways so my goal for the next two and a half weeks is this:
Re-read all seven Harry Potter books and watch all 6 movies.
Considering how much free time I have, this won't be hard.
Except here is the problem: I would rather do these things than do homework. :) I wish Harry was here so he could just magic my homework done. (Not that they could do that in the HP universe, it's just a nice dream.)
This strangely leads me into my next point of interest. I am going to spend tomorrow night with a sorority in Kansas City who I may be recruited for.
Now if you know me, you know that I have wanted to be in a sorority more than anything else in the entire world. I just love the idea of sisterhood and having a huge family and lots of friends. For some reason I've just never had those things.
Plus I feel like sororities can actually give you a step up. Some pretty famous and powerful people were in fraternities and sororities.
I'm hoping going to UMKC will be a whole new beginning for me. I keep looking for new beginnings and I've never yet had a fresh one. This one feels like it will be. I'll be in classes with people I don't know, on a campus I don't know... it will be completely different from Stephens. I'll have anonymity and I'll be able to be myself with such a variety of people.
I feel like this school is trying to smother everything individual about me.
I'm crazy, I like to play video games, I like to read Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. My favorite book is The Hobbit and I play Kingdom Hearts II on a regular basis. I like to watch football and baseball and I tend to scream at umps and refs that make bad calls.
And for some reason... all those things make me a weird person here.
So you can't like fashion AND video games? I can't know the rules of football AND shop on Modcloth?
Who says?
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Christmas, Driving and Voting (Not at the same time.)
First. Happy November! I didn't say it yesterday but today I decided to. Do you know what this means? This means that IT'S THAT MUCH CLOSER TO CHRISTMAS!
We are currently only separated from Christmas by one nationally recognized holiday.
(Not discounting Ramadan or Hanukkah. It's just that if I count them then I will be sad, because that's too many holidays! So for you, other world religions, you also only have one nationally recognized holiday before your holiday too... you see we get Christmas Break, not breaks for the other ones because as of 2000, 78.5% of the United States is Christian, and then there are a lot more who celebrate Christmas who are agnostic or atheist because it's a Hallmark holiday as well.)
Okay now that was a rant! Anyways, so one national holiday. Christmastime is my favorite time of year. I know it's silly to be talking about it now! But my Christmas spirit picks up once it gets to October. :) You don't understand how much I love Christmas.
It's the time of year where I spend the most time with my father. Who is the only family member I ever have around.
This is what Christmas means to me:
Christmas = decorating Christmas trees, getting presents, being with my dad, Christmas traditions like The Nutcracker and A Christmas Carol, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, Donovan's Reef and many more...
All that, plus the birth (celebration of the birth anyways, he was born in the summer) of my Savior! Wow! That's one awesome holiday for me!
Of course it also means that my bestie bestest best best friend will be here (hopefully). :))))
I started thinking about all this when I was driving to Columbia today after voting. (I'm registered to vote in Kansas City still so I had to made the trek back!) I hate driving back, it's so long, but thinking about how close we are to Christmas just made it worth it.
I'm transferring at the end of this semester.
It hurts my heart to think that I'll be leaving this place. I love it here. But I think that it will be better for me in the end to transfer.
I don't have many friends here. And while having one good friend is better than having a bunch of shallow friends... I feel like I've gone back to high school, everyone is catty and horrible to each other... and I'm not like that.
Anyways, I was driving back Monday morning (I've made two trips to KC in the past 48 hours) and I saw a deer on the side of the road.
I watch him and he watched me, it was like a stare down and the only thing I could do was scream:
NO BAMBI NO! DON'T RUN OUT INTO THE ROAAAD!!
That's my story for the day.
We are currently only separated from Christmas by one nationally recognized holiday.
(Not discounting Ramadan or Hanukkah. It's just that if I count them then I will be sad, because that's too many holidays! So for you, other world religions, you also only have one nationally recognized holiday before your holiday too... you see we get Christmas Break, not breaks for the other ones because as of 2000, 78.5% of the United States is Christian, and then there are a lot more who celebrate Christmas who are agnostic or atheist because it's a Hallmark holiday as well.)
Okay now that was a rant! Anyways, so one national holiday. Christmastime is my favorite time of year. I know it's silly to be talking about it now! But my Christmas spirit picks up once it gets to October. :) You don't understand how much I love Christmas.
It's the time of year where I spend the most time with my father. Who is the only family member I ever have around.
This is what Christmas means to me:
Christmas = decorating Christmas trees, getting presents, being with my dad, Christmas traditions like The Nutcracker and A Christmas Carol, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, Donovan's Reef and many more...
All that, plus the birth (celebration of the birth anyways, he was born in the summer) of my Savior! Wow! That's one awesome holiday for me!
Of course it also means that my bestie bestest best best friend will be here (hopefully). :))))
I started thinking about all this when I was driving to Columbia today after voting. (I'm registered to vote in Kansas City still so I had to made the trek back!) I hate driving back, it's so long, but thinking about how close we are to Christmas just made it worth it.
I'm transferring at the end of this semester.
It hurts my heart to think that I'll be leaving this place. I love it here. But I think that it will be better for me in the end to transfer.
I don't have many friends here. And while having one good friend is better than having a bunch of shallow friends... I feel like I've gone back to high school, everyone is catty and horrible to each other... and I'm not like that.
Anyways, I was driving back Monday morning (I've made two trips to KC in the past 48 hours) and I saw a deer on the side of the road.
I watch him and he watched me, it was like a stare down and the only thing I could do was scream:
NO BAMBI NO! DON'T RUN OUT INTO THE ROAAAD!!
That's my story for the day.
Monday, November 1, 2010
SQUIRRELS!
I have always wondered why they put a giant wall of windows in classrooms.
I have ADHD. Giving me an open window with trees and grass and squirrels is a terrible idea, you expect me to choose which is more interesting to look at?
You, professor, or SQUIRRELS?
I think you know who would win.
Squirrels demand more of my attention. I have to focus in order to watch them coil their tiny bodies to jump onto the tree in the foreground of my sight. I need to pay attention in order to have a staring match with it as he clings to the side of the tree, moving his jaw back and forth like a rabbit with palsy.
You, on the other hand, stand in the same place and drone about fiction.
I know all about fiction. I read it... all the time...
Of course at least I can look at squirrels and other interesting furry creatures in your class, fiction teacher.
You are far better than economics teacher that prefers to stand at the bottom of a little, dark auditorium and talk.
HE TALKS.
I know this seems normal, oh, professors talk all the time.
But when you talk for 50 minutes straight in a dark, warm room... most likely I'm going to sleep. Because those are the conditions to make me sleep.
Do you honestly think anyone pays attention in your class?
Hmm?
Oh you're asking a question? We're all shopping online for shoes or a new coat or maybe a new way to remove you from your position as economics professor.
Me?
I spend all 50 minutes either sleeping or posting on this blog. Sometimes I even catch up on the sleep that you deprive me from when I have to teach myself what you fail to.
I have ADHD. Giving me an open window with trees and grass and squirrels is a terrible idea, you expect me to choose which is more interesting to look at?
You, professor, or SQUIRRELS?
I think you know who would win.
Squirrels demand more of my attention. I have to focus in order to watch them coil their tiny bodies to jump onto the tree in the foreground of my sight. I need to pay attention in order to have a staring match with it as he clings to the side of the tree, moving his jaw back and forth like a rabbit with palsy.
You, on the other hand, stand in the same place and drone about fiction.
I know all about fiction. I read it... all the time...
Of course at least I can look at squirrels and other interesting furry creatures in your class, fiction teacher.
You are far better than economics teacher that prefers to stand at the bottom of a little, dark auditorium and talk.
HE TALKS.
I know this seems normal, oh, professors talk all the time.
But when you talk for 50 minutes straight in a dark, warm room... most likely I'm going to sleep. Because those are the conditions to make me sleep.
Do you honestly think anyone pays attention in your class?
Hmm?
Oh you're asking a question? We're all shopping online for shoes or a new coat or maybe a new way to remove you from your position as economics professor.
Me?
I spend all 50 minutes either sleeping or posting on this blog. Sometimes I even catch up on the sleep that you deprive me from when I have to teach myself what you fail to.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Lord of the Rings Solution
Sometimes I wish I was in Lord of the Rings. Because if those guys have a problem they find a SOLUTION!
And it's usually a solution involving attractive men in plate armor and riding horses... sometimes involving lofty elves and stocky dwarves.
If Aragorn was with me right now... I probably wouldn't be writing this post... but if he were with me and I wasn't attracted to him I would have him solve all my problems.
Him: "You are having a problem with another young lady in your class?"
Me: "Yes I am. She called me stupid. And she's not a lady! She's a fat and ugly witch!"
Him: "Well I shall avenge your intelligence!"
And then he'd run off and behead her in some fantastic battle with 2,000 men.
Her true form would look something like this:
I drew that really quick, it's pretty good for a caricature. :)
For me, my problem is indecision. So if Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn wanted to come and tackle that problem for me... that would be wonderful.
When I start to think too hard about going to medical school, I start to wonder if there is anything else I can do.
I wanted to be writer, I wanted to be a filmmaker, I wanted to be a lawyer, I wanted to be a journalist, I wanted to do... anything you can think of! I'm pretty sure I've wanted to be in the Lord of the Rings movies (which are already made, but I can dream).
But for some reason I've settled on doctor.
I know a lot of my posts are about this, but Halloween seems an appropriate time to talk about this kind of thing.
Since it's the day where you pretend to be something you're not.
I feel like going to medical school will be like the battle of Helm's Deep. Work and reading will be on one side of the wall, the men of Rohan, and I will be like the Uruk-Hai, attempting to scramble over the giant wall so that I can finish off all the work I have to do.
And sadly if we're looking at it that way... Aragorn and Gimli and Legolas will not be on my side, they will be effectively fighting against me... which at this rate my metaphor is failing because now I'm losing. So I'm going to go and try and figure out a new way to explain this.
And it's usually a solution involving attractive men in plate armor and riding horses... sometimes involving lofty elves and stocky dwarves.
If Aragorn was with me right now... I probably wouldn't be writing this post... but if he were with me and I wasn't attracted to him I would have him solve all my problems.
Him: "You are having a problem with another young lady in your class?"
Me: "Yes I am. She called me stupid. And she's not a lady! She's a fat and ugly witch!"
Him: "Well I shall avenge your intelligence!"
And then he'd run off and behead her in some fantastic battle with 2,000 men.
Her true form would look something like this:
For me, my problem is indecision. So if Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn wanted to come and tackle that problem for me... that would be wonderful.
When I start to think too hard about going to medical school, I start to wonder if there is anything else I can do.
I wanted to be writer, I wanted to be a filmmaker, I wanted to be a lawyer, I wanted to be a journalist, I wanted to do... anything you can think of! I'm pretty sure I've wanted to be in the Lord of the Rings movies (which are already made, but I can dream).
But for some reason I've settled on doctor.
I know a lot of my posts are about this, but Halloween seems an appropriate time to talk about this kind of thing.
Since it's the day where you pretend to be something you're not.
I feel like going to medical school will be like the battle of Helm's Deep. Work and reading will be on one side of the wall, the men of Rohan, and I will be like the Uruk-Hai, attempting to scramble over the giant wall so that I can finish off all the work I have to do.
And sadly if we're looking at it that way... Aragorn and Gimli and Legolas will not be on my side, they will be effectively fighting against me... which at this rate my metaphor is failing because now I'm losing. So I'm going to go and try and figure out a new way to explain this.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Lies
I told a LOT of lies when I was a kid.
And I can actually remember a lot of them. And some of them have the best stories behind them.
I think my favorite is this:
My dad told me when I was about 11 that we were Irish. Now I didn't know what this meant at the time. I mean I did... but for some reason I saw it as something special. Like not many people were Irish. (Pretty sure almost everyone has Irish in them, the Irish are like rabbits.) So when I entered a new school I decided then was a good time to try on my Irish heritage for size.
I was sitting in the locker rooms one day during 6th grade and I was talking to a couple of other girls... and we started talking about... something I can't remember what. Girls talk about all kinds of things in locker rooms... anyways I mentioned that I was Irish.
To which one of the girls asked, "What does that mean?"
"Well it means that I am descended from the Kelly Clan." I responded with perfect ease. I had researched the Irish pretty heavily after my dad told me about it... and by research I mean googled it.
Of course all the girls wanted to know what that meant, so I obliged.
"You see the O'Kelly clan ruled over Ireland for a long time, so I'm descended from a number of Irish royal families."
All of them were impressed with that. And asked what that meant.
"I'm a princess, my real name is Julia Morgan something something Bor'de'can Kelly [Insert Real Last Name*]." And thus began the rumor that I was an Irish princess.
I love to make stuff up.
The second of my favorite lies would have to be one my father caught me in.
Sometimes I think I'm smarter than I am. Or maybe that I'm more cunning than I am... or something, I haven't decided which of these is correct yet.
But this is one of those times.
In Kansas City it likes to snow. We'll go for months without snow or just a little spittle and then all of a sudden the gates of heaven open up and half a foot will drop. This time we had just returned from Mexico and I had started middle school again.
My best friend Victoria lived down the street from the school and I didn't know if I should go home with her since our vice-principal had said that we can't go home with other people without a note. (This was in the time before idiot children had cellphones. Or should I say "the time when idiot paranoid parents gave their idiot children cellphones".)
So stupid me asked if I could call my dad to pick him up because a bus didn't deliver children to my home.
My teacher thought I was stupid and continued to argue with me about whether or not a bus could deliver me home.
Of course what I mentioned was that we had moved outside of the district line, meaning that I would have had to go to a different school and my dad didn't want me to go through the hassle of switching schools yet again. (We had just moved back from Mexico in the middle of the school year.) So he was driving me every day to school and picking me up because a bus couldn't take me (of course I didn't start riding the bus until my Freshman year in highschool... and that only lasted a year).
That's when the poop hit the fan.
I hurriedly attempted to lie to cover up what I had said. I backpedaled, trying to explain what I had just said.
"I-I-uhm I mean... I need to call my dad because he's outside of the line." I tried to cover up... of course all I did was make more trouble for myself.
So I lied that my dad had kicked me out and that I was living with my best friend so I had to go home with her.
Now if you know my dad, you know that he would rather dissect himself than kick me out of the house. But this lady didn't know that.
And yet again I had to backpedal.
Eventually father was called, we got in trouble, and I'm pretty convinced my dad most likely locked me in my room for a week after what happened.
My third favorite lie, is not as elaborate. But it is elaborately convoluted.
Laptops were the coolest things in the world when they came out. And there was this girl, who we shall call... Megan... for now. And she and I had a bit of a rivalry. My dad was wealthy, her dad was wealthy we just couldn't help but compete.
She said she had two computers. One desktop in the sitting room and one laptop in her dad's office.
So I mentioned that I had five or six, and all of them were hidden around the house. There was one in my dad's study, one in my room, one under my dad's pillow, one under my bed, and one downstairs or something like that. In reality my dad and I each had a laptop. Mine was a dirty great blue Toshiba, which was the best at the time.
...let's just say that this came back to haunt me later in life... since girls are catty and they never forget anything. I was always trying to cover up for my not having a mom to take me shopping.
I mean certainly my dad took me to get clothes... but he's my dad. He has the same attention span for shopping that a goldfish has for... well... anything.
I would claim things I never could. In fact most people didn't know I didn't have a mother because I covered so well, I came up with stories about her and what she and I had done...
When in reality the only thing she had done with me is birth me.
Sometimes I think I fell into the same trap a lot of kids do. I thought that lying would get me attention. I thought that negative attention was the same as positive attention.
Which it's not...
EDITED (10/31): I realized this morning that I had cursed in this post! So I took it out! There should be no cursing in my posts!
And I can actually remember a lot of them. And some of them have the best stories behind them.
I think my favorite is this:
My dad told me when I was about 11 that we were Irish. Now I didn't know what this meant at the time. I mean I did... but for some reason I saw it as something special. Like not many people were Irish. (Pretty sure almost everyone has Irish in them, the Irish are like rabbits.) So when I entered a new school I decided then was a good time to try on my Irish heritage for size.
I was sitting in the locker rooms one day during 6th grade and I was talking to a couple of other girls... and we started talking about... something I can't remember what. Girls talk about all kinds of things in locker rooms... anyways I mentioned that I was Irish.
To which one of the girls asked, "What does that mean?"
"Well it means that I am descended from the Kelly Clan." I responded with perfect ease. I had researched the Irish pretty heavily after my dad told me about it... and by research I mean googled it.
Of course all the girls wanted to know what that meant, so I obliged.
"You see the O'Kelly clan ruled over Ireland for a long time, so I'm descended from a number of Irish royal families."
All of them were impressed with that. And asked what that meant.
"I'm a princess, my real name is Julia Morgan something something Bor'de'can Kelly [Insert Real Last Name*]." And thus began the rumor that I was an Irish princess.
I love to make stuff up.
The second of my favorite lies would have to be one my father caught me in.
Sometimes I think I'm smarter than I am. Or maybe that I'm more cunning than I am... or something, I haven't decided which of these is correct yet.
But this is one of those times.
In Kansas City it likes to snow. We'll go for months without snow or just a little spittle and then all of a sudden the gates of heaven open up and half a foot will drop. This time we had just returned from Mexico and I had started middle school again.
My best friend Victoria lived down the street from the school and I didn't know if I should go home with her since our vice-principal had said that we can't go home with other people without a note. (This was in the time before idiot children had cellphones. Or should I say "the time when idiot paranoid parents gave their idiot children cellphones".)
So stupid me asked if I could call my dad to pick him up because a bus didn't deliver children to my home.
My teacher thought I was stupid and continued to argue with me about whether or not a bus could deliver me home.
Of course what I mentioned was that we had moved outside of the district line, meaning that I would have had to go to a different school and my dad didn't want me to go through the hassle of switching schools yet again. (We had just moved back from Mexico in the middle of the school year.) So he was driving me every day to school and picking me up because a bus couldn't take me (of course I didn't start riding the bus until my Freshman year in highschool... and that only lasted a year).
That's when the poop hit the fan.
I hurriedly attempted to lie to cover up what I had said. I backpedaled, trying to explain what I had just said.
"I-I-uhm I mean... I need to call my dad because he's outside of the line." I tried to cover up... of course all I did was make more trouble for myself.
So I lied that my dad had kicked me out and that I was living with my best friend so I had to go home with her.
Now if you know my dad, you know that he would rather dissect himself than kick me out of the house. But this lady didn't know that.
And yet again I had to backpedal.
Eventually father was called, we got in trouble, and I'm pretty convinced my dad most likely locked me in my room for a week after what happened.
My third favorite lie, is not as elaborate. But it is elaborately convoluted.
Laptops were the coolest things in the world when they came out. And there was this girl, who we shall call... Megan... for now. And she and I had a bit of a rivalry. My dad was wealthy, her dad was wealthy we just couldn't help but compete.
She said she had two computers. One desktop in the sitting room and one laptop in her dad's office.
So I mentioned that I had five or six, and all of them were hidden around the house. There was one in my dad's study, one in my room, one under my dad's pillow, one under my bed, and one downstairs or something like that. In reality my dad and I each had a laptop. Mine was a dirty great blue Toshiba, which was the best at the time.
...let's just say that this came back to haunt me later in life... since girls are catty and they never forget anything. I was always trying to cover up for my not having a mom to take me shopping.
I mean certainly my dad took me to get clothes... but he's my dad. He has the same attention span for shopping that a goldfish has for... well... anything.
I would claim things I never could. In fact most people didn't know I didn't have a mother because I covered so well, I came up with stories about her and what she and I had done...
When in reality the only thing she had done with me is birth me.
Sometimes I think I fell into the same trap a lot of kids do. I thought that lying would get me attention. I thought that negative attention was the same as positive attention.
Which it's not...
EDITED (10/31): I realized this morning that I had cursed in this post! So I took it out! There should be no cursing in my posts!
TXTing
I used to text message quite a bit. In high school I once sent over 15,000 text messages in a billing period. Who do I have to say that much to?
Anyways. First you should know that I grew up in the age of the internet. I am the first of the "digital natives". Which apparently means that I am the first who has been in school where the internet has been a main source of information.
Though, if I remember correctly, my father and I had dial-up until I was... oh... 8? So until 1999? Which is probably when broadband came out anyways.
Anyways so I am a part of the generation that created "chat speak". Though the younger groups seem to think they invented it... which is false, since anything they think they've created, we used before.
Chat speak used to be cool.
When you were chatting... on the internet... on (I can't believe this) AIM. (Which was the big thing in middle school.)
Now for some reason people seem to think it's okay to use in their daily lives.
If I get a message from you that reads like this:
lyk i need u 4 1 minute. c u dere?
I will ignore it.
Despite the fact that I can read it, I shouldn't have to. If you were "LYK" dying then maybe.
Chat speak is one thing, but it's not English, and incorporating it into English is practically a sin.
Speak English!
Don't say "LOL!" instead of laughing!
WHO DOES THAT??
If I was talking to someone and they said "LOL" instead of laughing I would probably be so angry I would punch them in the face... or maybe go all Christian Bale on them.
So the moral of this story is:
If you're TXTing, it's fine, but if you ever speak to me in chat speak again, I will hit you... and it will not be a nice, soft warning hit. It will be a full on "break your nose" hit.
Anyways. First you should know that I grew up in the age of the internet. I am the first of the "digital natives". Which apparently means that I am the first who has been in school where the internet has been a main source of information.
Though, if I remember correctly, my father and I had dial-up until I was... oh... 8? So until 1999? Which is probably when broadband came out anyways.
Anyways so I am a part of the generation that created "chat speak". Though the younger groups seem to think they invented it... which is false, since anything they think they've created, we used before.
Chat speak used to be cool.
When you were chatting... on the internet... on (I can't believe this) AIM. (Which was the big thing in middle school.)
Now for some reason people seem to think it's okay to use in their daily lives.
If I get a message from you that reads like this:
lyk i need u 4 1 minute. c u dere?
I will ignore it.
Despite the fact that I can read it, I shouldn't have to. If you were "LYK" dying then maybe.
Chat speak is one thing, but it's not English, and incorporating it into English is practically a sin.
Speak English!
Don't say "LOL!" instead of laughing!
WHO DOES THAT??
If I was talking to someone and they said "LOL" instead of laughing I would probably be so angry I would punch them in the face... or maybe go all Christian Bale on them.
So the moral of this story is:
If you're TXTing, it's fine, but if you ever speak to me in chat speak again, I will hit you... and it will not be a nice, soft warning hit. It will be a full on "break your nose" hit.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Considerations
When you are thinking about doing something like changing colleges it always comes down to what it is you want to do.
Me?
I want to be a doctor.
I don't know what kind of doctor yet.
But a doctor.
Why do I want to be a doctor?
Well that's an interesting one. You see... I don't have a straight answer.
Perhaps it's the think I feel most comfortable with. I'm a tender heart. Which can be bad for someone who wants to be a doctor. I like to take care of people. Taking care of people makes me feel needed and it boosts my self esteem.
And being a doctor means you have the respect of anyone who meets you. They know how hard you worked to get there. Or how hard you should have worked anyways.
I want to be a doctor because it will make the people I love the most proud.
But most of all I want to be a doctor to show everyone that I can be anything I want to be. I was always browbeaten in high school, even my History teacher told me that I wouldn't be a very good doctor.
That makes you feel good? Doesn't it?
You high school teacher telling you that you can't do something.
It's sad really. Someone that you look up to telling you that you can't do something.
Anyways I'm going to prove him wrong. And everyone else wrong that said I couldn't do something.
Of course the most important reason is this: I want to. I want to be a doctor more than anything else in the world.
Me?
I want to be a doctor.
I don't know what kind of doctor yet.
But a doctor.
Why do I want to be a doctor?
Well that's an interesting one. You see... I don't have a straight answer.
Perhaps it's the think I feel most comfortable with. I'm a tender heart. Which can be bad for someone who wants to be a doctor. I like to take care of people. Taking care of people makes me feel needed and it boosts my self esteem.
And being a doctor means you have the respect of anyone who meets you. They know how hard you worked to get there. Or how hard you should have worked anyways.
I want to be a doctor because it will make the people I love the most proud.
But most of all I want to be a doctor to show everyone that I can be anything I want to be. I was always browbeaten in high school, even my History teacher told me that I wouldn't be a very good doctor.
That makes you feel good? Doesn't it?
You high school teacher telling you that you can't do something.
It's sad really. Someone that you look up to telling you that you can't do something.
Anyways I'm going to prove him wrong. And everyone else wrong that said I couldn't do something.
Of course the most important reason is this: I want to. I want to be a doctor more than anything else in the world.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Dear Neighbor Above Me
Dear Neighbor above me,
I have already had this problem with neighbor to the left of me and you and I are about to have a whole different problem all together.
I don't know what kind of pet you have in your room. However I suspect it is a baby elephant.
Either that or you really should stop drinking.
Because you are either throwing things against the floor or falling over said items and it is your body that is making the sounds from above me.
Now I will come up there and tranquilize your baby elephant if you'd like. Or perhaps I can tranquilize you. Or maybe I should just show you a proper weight loss system so that your gargantuan size can no longer shock me out of my doze when it hits the floor.
How is it, as well, that you know I am falling asleep when you throw yourself on the floor in another one of your infamous trantrums?
Are you watching me?
Are there cameras in my room, upstairs neighbor?
Do you wait until I look like I'm about to fall asleep, then suddenly throw your television on the floor?
If this continues I will have to take extreme measures, like one day you may return to feed you baby elephant and you will find it has been sold to the circus.
Or maybe I'll just take everything out of your room, thus solving the problem of you throwing things on the floor.
Or maybe you'll walk in your door one day after fumbling with your keys for a while and you'll find me in a state of sleep deprivation and mild insanity as I slap the shining ivory tusk of your baby elephant in my hand, preparing to beat you with it until you understand that YOU SHOULDN'T STOMP WHEN YOU LIVE ABOVE SOMEONE!
Hopefully one of the following actions will teach you not to make so much noise:
1. I will bang incessantly on the ceiling with my Swiffer handle until you cease your sounds.
2. I will bang on your door at odd hours of the night.
3. I will begin to scream out my window when I know your window is open, so that you know how upsetting your baby elephant is.
Thank you,
Morgan
I have already had this problem with neighbor to the left of me and you and I are about to have a whole different problem all together.
I don't know what kind of pet you have in your room. However I suspect it is a baby elephant.
Either that or you really should stop drinking.
Because you are either throwing things against the floor or falling over said items and it is your body that is making the sounds from above me.
Now I will come up there and tranquilize your baby elephant if you'd like. Or perhaps I can tranquilize you. Or maybe I should just show you a proper weight loss system so that your gargantuan size can no longer shock me out of my doze when it hits the floor.
How is it, as well, that you know I am falling asleep when you throw yourself on the floor in another one of your infamous trantrums?
Are you watching me?
Are there cameras in my room, upstairs neighbor?
Do you wait until I look like I'm about to fall asleep, then suddenly throw your television on the floor?
If this continues I will have to take extreme measures, like one day you may return to feed you baby elephant and you will find it has been sold to the circus.
Or maybe I'll just take everything out of your room, thus solving the problem of you throwing things on the floor.
Or maybe you'll walk in your door one day after fumbling with your keys for a while and you'll find me in a state of sleep deprivation and mild insanity as I slap the shining ivory tusk of your baby elephant in my hand, preparing to beat you with it until you understand that YOU SHOULDN'T STOMP WHEN YOU LIVE ABOVE SOMEONE!
Hopefully one of the following actions will teach you not to make so much noise:
1. I will bang incessantly on the ceiling with my Swiffer handle until you cease your sounds.
2. I will bang on your door at odd hours of the night.
3. I will begin to scream out my window when I know your window is open, so that you know how upsetting your baby elephant is.
Thank you,
Morgan
It's not often
It's not often that I think about things like this... but today my cat curled up under my arm as I sit at the computer. Sit at.
Really I'm not sitting at my computer, I'm stretched out on my futon with my cat tucked under my arm and my computer in my lap.
Anyways, I started to think about this:
She was 12 weeks old when I got her. Her life had just begun and I took her and she became mine.
Of course now she's a giant 17 lb cat, but she's mine.
She likes to snuggle, but only with me. She likes to play but she really only plays with me.
She misses me when I'm gone.
Most people don't think cats really care.
But for some reason mine does. When I leave to go to Mexico for a week or so Amber misses me like no other.
When I come back I can't get rid of her. I can't even go to the bathroom by myself because that is seen as abandonment by her constant-state-of-kitten mind.
I feel so terrible leaving her, but sometimes I just need to see my dad.
I wonder sometimes if this is what having a child would be like. Minus the cute fuzzyness and warmth.
If a baby came with fur and pre-fed then maybe I'd consider having one. Unfortunately for babies I think they're all together disgusting, plus I don't trust baby humans that can't speak English. I don't speak CRYING BABY, and honestly I don't want to.
Motherhood is overrated anyways.
If you have a baby there's a chance that the man will leave, and who the heck wants to take that chance?
Certainly not me.
So I'll just stick to my pets.
At least they're grateful for the affection I give them.
Really I'm not sitting at my computer, I'm stretched out on my futon with my cat tucked under my arm and my computer in my lap.
Anyways, I started to think about this:
She was 12 weeks old when I got her. Her life had just begun and I took her and she became mine.
Of course now she's a giant 17 lb cat, but she's mine.
She likes to snuggle, but only with me. She likes to play but she really only plays with me.
She misses me when I'm gone.
Most people don't think cats really care.
But for some reason mine does. When I leave to go to Mexico for a week or so Amber misses me like no other.
When I come back I can't get rid of her. I can't even go to the bathroom by myself because that is seen as abandonment by her constant-state-of-kitten mind.
I feel so terrible leaving her, but sometimes I just need to see my dad.
I wonder sometimes if this is what having a child would be like. Minus the cute fuzzyness and warmth.
If a baby came with fur and pre-fed then maybe I'd consider having one. Unfortunately for babies I think they're all together disgusting, plus I don't trust baby humans that can't speak English. I don't speak CRYING BABY, and honestly I don't want to.
Motherhood is overrated anyways.
If you have a baby there's a chance that the man will leave, and who the heck wants to take that chance?
Certainly not me.
So I'll just stick to my pets.
At least they're grateful for the affection I give them.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Pushing Buttons
It seems to me that I've been avoiding posting anything for a few days. I haven't really had anything funny or upsetting to talk about. Though I prefer funny to be honest. And yesterday... well yesterday I was working all day.
Which must seem strange to all of you who know me. ME? I have a job?
Funny joke.
I ran an elevator for 6 hours yesterday.
Yep.
I spent 6 HOURS in an elevator.
Haha. I bet you're laughing because you think I'm kidding. That's cute.
Basically I got paid over minimum wage to stand in an elevator and shuttle people from one floor to the next. I expected to get paid to watch the MU homecoming game... instead I watched the people watching the game...
The drunks, the Governor of Missouri, congressmen, businessmen, police officers, children whose parents have too much money... and basically all the "elites" of our country... and apparently one of the stars of Mad Men was there... but I didn't get him in my elevator, and if I did I don't know what he looks like so I wouldn't know anyways.
I was verbally harassed, backed into a corner, ignored and chided. People made fun of me, and teased me: asking what I had to do to get the job, what kind of training I needed, told me I was doing a good job...
All in all it was a patronizing experience.
All I could think was: "I AM A PRE-MEDICAL STUDENT!!!!!"
And suddenly I realized how many people I did the same thing to.
I didn't even think about it. It's not so much that I choose to be rude, when you make a joke, sometimes it's to lighten the mood, sometimes you're trying to keep things from getting awkward between you... but sometimes what you think is funny isn't funny at all.
In the first 3 seconds of meeting someone... you make a judgment of them.
You immediately decide whether this person is worth your time or not.
And someone pushing the buttons in an elevator for 6 hours obviously didn't seem like someone these people could talk to.
I had people talk down to me like I was some kind of retard.
Even when the governor of our fair state stepped onto my elevator he didn't even acknowledge THE VOTING AGE YOUNG WOMAN STANDING IN THE CORNER!
At least his bodyguards smiled at me.
I guess we know who isn't getting my vote this year.
I must just look like a Republican.
I mean did anyone ever think that maybe the reason I was standing in the elevator was because I didn't have to do anything but stand in one place and push buttons?
I really didn't. Standing there and pushing buttons, despite my aching feet at the end of the night, was the most fun I've had on a job for a while.
Anyways, the idea behind this rant is this:
The next time you see someone in a menial service position. Think about this: maybe they're there because they want to make money. Maybe they're not there because they're not good enough for anything else but because they just needed to do something with themselves.
And remember this: You are never too good to say hello or thank you to someone.
Especially if you are an incumbent Democrat this year.
Which must seem strange to all of you who know me. ME? I have a job?
Funny joke.
I ran an elevator for 6 hours yesterday.
Yep.
I spent 6 HOURS in an elevator.
Haha. I bet you're laughing because you think I'm kidding. That's cute.
Basically I got paid over minimum wage to stand in an elevator and shuttle people from one floor to the next. I expected to get paid to watch the MU homecoming game... instead I watched the people watching the game...
The drunks, the Governor of Missouri, congressmen, businessmen, police officers, children whose parents have too much money... and basically all the "elites" of our country... and apparently one of the stars of Mad Men was there... but I didn't get him in my elevator, and if I did I don't know what he looks like so I wouldn't know anyways.
I was verbally harassed, backed into a corner, ignored and chided. People made fun of me, and teased me: asking what I had to do to get the job, what kind of training I needed, told me I was doing a good job...
All in all it was a patronizing experience.
All I could think was: "I AM A PRE-MEDICAL STUDENT!!!!!"
And suddenly I realized how many people I did the same thing to.
I didn't even think about it. It's not so much that I choose to be rude, when you make a joke, sometimes it's to lighten the mood, sometimes you're trying to keep things from getting awkward between you... but sometimes what you think is funny isn't funny at all.
In the first 3 seconds of meeting someone... you make a judgment of them.
You immediately decide whether this person is worth your time or not.
And someone pushing the buttons in an elevator for 6 hours obviously didn't seem like someone these people could talk to.
I had people talk down to me like I was some kind of retard.
Even when the governor of our fair state stepped onto my elevator he didn't even acknowledge THE VOTING AGE YOUNG WOMAN STANDING IN THE CORNER!
At least his bodyguards smiled at me.
I guess we know who isn't getting my vote this year.
I must just look like a Republican.
I mean did anyone ever think that maybe the reason I was standing in the elevator was because I didn't have to do anything but stand in one place and push buttons?
I really didn't. Standing there and pushing buttons, despite my aching feet at the end of the night, was the most fun I've had on a job for a while.
Anyways, the idea behind this rant is this:
The next time you see someone in a menial service position. Think about this: maybe they're there because they want to make money. Maybe they're not there because they're not good enough for anything else but because they just needed to do something with themselves.
And remember this: You are never too good to say hello or thank you to someone.
Especially if you are an incumbent Democrat this year.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Dear Neighbor (Part 2)
Dear Neighbor,
I know I have asked you now in person to turn your music down a little. I didn't ask you to turn it off, I simply wanted to be able to hear myself think. Although you may not think that this is a valid reason for my asking you to turn your music down, your nasty look was not necessary.
I am leaving next semester, so look on the bright side.
Maybe someone more passive than even I will move in. Someone who will take your loud music and annoying dog sitting down.
However, if I ever see that look on your face directed at me again, I promise you there will be consequences.
I understand that college is a place to express yourself, but expressing an attitude towards your fellow students is unnecessary.
Thank you,
Morgan
I know I have asked you now in person to turn your music down a little. I didn't ask you to turn it off, I simply wanted to be able to hear myself think. Although you may not think that this is a valid reason for my asking you to turn your music down, your nasty look was not necessary.
I am leaving next semester, so look on the bright side.
Maybe someone more passive than even I will move in. Someone who will take your loud music and annoying dog sitting down.
However, if I ever see that look on your face directed at me again, I promise you there will be consequences.
I understand that college is a place to express yourself, but expressing an attitude towards your fellow students is unnecessary.
Thank you,
Morgan
It Gets Better
I have a lot of respect for the "It Gets Better" project. Now I'm not a part of the community myself, I'm a supporter I suppose. I'm an advocate for awareness if you want to call me that. But the It Gets Better project has been spanning the internet and now television channels.
It's a message.
To reach out to young people, specifically in the GLBT sector, who may be suffering bullying in schools and online. Now people are rather homophobic, and they believe that trying to keep their children from homosexual people will keep them from from ever becoming gay... but that is completely false.
Recent research has shown that homosexual men use their brains much in the same way a woman would, which explains their attraction to other men. Now I'm not saying this is faultless, and obviously it needs to continue to be looked into, but honestly if someone is going to be some one from the GLBT community then it's going to happen whether you like it or not.
And it should happen whether you like it or not.
Now I was bullied when I was a child. People don't really seem to care if it's a normal child being bullied. I would have to be lesbian for it to make the news. But I'm not. So no one really cared.
Of course that's the pitfall of being a white, straight woman.
Anyways, this is supposed to be about other people.
In primary school as well as secondary school I was bullied quite a bit. In middle school one of my classmates used AOL instant messaging (the hip thing at the time) to create a persona and told everyone in the school that I was, in essence, easy. That I wanted to fool around with the boys in my seventh grade class and basically gave me a bad name by insulting people pretending to be me.
No matter how HARD I tried, no one ever listened to me. No one in my class. Not even when I gave them evidence that I hadn't done any of the things nor had I ever wanted to hurt anyone or called anyone names.
And there were times where it seemed completely hopeless.
Because that followed me through high school.
Of course I wasn't completely innocent I suppose. I was a compulsive liar until I was a Freshman. But lying is quite common in grade school. I'm sure none of those students are innocent.
In high school I had almost no friends. For my Freshman and Sophomore years I honestly didn't. I had a boyfriend for a while. My first kiss. I hung out with him and his friends for a while. Then we broke up and suddenly none of them wanted to talk to me anymore. So I faded into the background. I had one friend left from middle school, Victoria, who is still one of my best friends.
Junior year turned around for me.
I met one of my best friends. Jen. She and I had been friends as Freshman. Well she tolerated me and I... tried hard to befriend her.
When we met Junior year we became fast friends. And she's still one of my best friends.
High school is hard.
Middle school is harder.
But it gets better.
IT GETS BETTER!
I promise.
Those first years are the most influential. You either sink or swim. If you sink, there is always someone there who can grab your hand and pull you up. You just have to be looking for them! If that person isn't a parent it could be a friend, it could be a teacher, it could be a counselor! If you don't look for help you can't get it.
But if you look for it, it's always there.
I promise.
It gets better.
It's a message.
To reach out to young people, specifically in the GLBT sector, who may be suffering bullying in schools and online. Now people are rather homophobic, and they believe that trying to keep their children from homosexual people will keep them from from ever becoming gay... but that is completely false.
Recent research has shown that homosexual men use their brains much in the same way a woman would, which explains their attraction to other men. Now I'm not saying this is faultless, and obviously it needs to continue to be looked into, but honestly if someone is going to be some one from the GLBT community then it's going to happen whether you like it or not.
And it should happen whether you like it or not.
Now I was bullied when I was a child. People don't really seem to care if it's a normal child being bullied. I would have to be lesbian for it to make the news. But I'm not. So no one really cared.
Of course that's the pitfall of being a white, straight woman.
Anyways, this is supposed to be about other people.
In primary school as well as secondary school I was bullied quite a bit. In middle school one of my classmates used AOL instant messaging (the hip thing at the time) to create a persona and told everyone in the school that I was, in essence, easy. That I wanted to fool around with the boys in my seventh grade class and basically gave me a bad name by insulting people pretending to be me.
No matter how HARD I tried, no one ever listened to me. No one in my class. Not even when I gave them evidence that I hadn't done any of the things nor had I ever wanted to hurt anyone or called anyone names.
And there were times where it seemed completely hopeless.
Because that followed me through high school.
Of course I wasn't completely innocent I suppose. I was a compulsive liar until I was a Freshman. But lying is quite common in grade school. I'm sure none of those students are innocent.
In high school I had almost no friends. For my Freshman and Sophomore years I honestly didn't. I had a boyfriend for a while. My first kiss. I hung out with him and his friends for a while. Then we broke up and suddenly none of them wanted to talk to me anymore. So I faded into the background. I had one friend left from middle school, Victoria, who is still one of my best friends.
Junior year turned around for me.
I met one of my best friends. Jen. She and I had been friends as Freshman. Well she tolerated me and I... tried hard to befriend her.
When we met Junior year we became fast friends. And she's still one of my best friends.
High school is hard.
Middle school is harder.
But it gets better.
IT GETS BETTER!
I promise.
Those first years are the most influential. You either sink or swim. If you sink, there is always someone there who can grab your hand and pull you up. You just have to be looking for them! If that person isn't a parent it could be a friend, it could be a teacher, it could be a counselor! If you don't look for help you can't get it.
But if you look for it, it's always there.
I promise.
It gets better.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Dear Neighbor
Dear Neighbor,
I understand that you woke up early this morning to take care of your obnoxious yappy dog that never shuts up, and I understand that sometimes you need a little cheering up because you fell prey to a little man that told you that you were getting a golden retriever and you received a rat instead of a dog, but this needs to stop. Yes, I'm sorry its brain is tiny and it can't understand NO! or SHUT UP! but now that we're past the "Your dog barks every day all day and drives me crazy" stage I should not hear anything but utter silence from your room.
However a disturbing aberration has begun. I have begun to hear obnoxiously loud music AND your barking dog (if you can call it that). You may WANT to show the world how terrible your taste in music is and cheer yourself up about your miserable existence but I do not want to hear about it!
It may not be QUIET hours, but here at our school we have 24 hour RESPECT hours. So if I wake up at 5 AM and drive to Columbia then decide to nap between classes, I should not be able to hear your music THROUGH MY WALL over my television, which I keep at a respectable volume to respect your ears.
I expect the same amount of respect from you. I choose not to listen to Avril Lavigne and Carrie Underwood for a reason and I do not appreciate being forced to listen to it while I am attempting to nap.
Also, if your yappy hairball continues to bark I will break down the door in my frenzy to strangle it with its own tongue. Then you can listen to the sad, emo music all you want and I can smile contentedly while you do.
You see, my cat doesn't make any noise. If she makes a sound she is requesting that I remove my shoe from her tail.
THIS is what she does all day:
2. Put it in its kennel and cover it with a sheet. Canaries snooze when they think it's dark... maybe rats do too.
I understand that you woke up early this morning to take care of your obnoxious yappy dog that never shuts up, and I understand that sometimes you need a little cheering up because you fell prey to a little man that told you that you were getting a golden retriever and you received a rat instead of a dog, but this needs to stop. Yes, I'm sorry its brain is tiny and it can't understand NO! or SHUT UP! but now that we're past the "Your dog barks every day all day and drives me crazy" stage I should not hear anything but utter silence from your room.
However a disturbing aberration has begun. I have begun to hear obnoxiously loud music AND your barking dog (if you can call it that). You may WANT to show the world how terrible your taste in music is and cheer yourself up about your miserable existence but I do not want to hear about it!
It may not be QUIET hours, but here at our school we have 24 hour RESPECT hours. So if I wake up at 5 AM and drive to Columbia then decide to nap between classes, I should not be able to hear your music THROUGH MY WALL over my television, which I keep at a respectable volume to respect your ears.
I expect the same amount of respect from you. I choose not to listen to Avril Lavigne and Carrie Underwood for a reason and I do not appreciate being forced to listen to it while I am attempting to nap.
Also, if your yappy hairball continues to bark I will break down the door in my frenzy to strangle it with its own tongue. Then you can listen to the sad, emo music all you want and I can smile contentedly while you do.
You see, my cat doesn't make any noise. If she makes a sound she is requesting that I remove my shoe from her tail.
THIS is what she does all day:
She SLEEPS! If you cannot arrange to have your rat sleep during the day so that I don't lose my mind and go on a seething, murderous rampage I will give you a few suggestions.
1. Benadryl works wonders. Give it two when it eats breakfast and it will sleep through the day... if not the rest of its life...
2. Put it in its kennel and cover it with a sheet. Canaries snooze when they think it's dark... maybe rats do too.
3. Beat it over the head with a shoe. This should guarantee at least an hour of silence. I can do it for you if you like.
Thank you for your cooperation and understanding,
Morgan
Aliens?
I woke up at 5 this morning and drove back to Columbia. 5 AM! It's like suddenly life hates me. Anyways on the two hour drive from Kansas City to Columbia I turned up my music and slurped my slurpy while thinking about something rather strange.
Why is it that people always talk about Aliens having four arms and antenna and all this business. If they survive on a planet like Earth wouldn't they have to make sense? I'm not saying they'd all look like humans but an Alien's arms couldn't support themselves without some magic or something unless they had shoulders to match their arms! And that just wouldn't work.
So it makes more sense to me that an Alien would be kind of like a human... if it's even that developed! People always talk about these super intelligent life forms and all this... but how do we know they're not just as glued to their rock as we are? What if they're just like us but blue and they're wondering why WE haven't come to visit them?
Maybe we should stop talking about aliens and start figuring out a way to go visit them? Apparently they must be just as lonely as we are!
Why is it that people always talk about Aliens having four arms and antenna and all this business. If they survive on a planet like Earth wouldn't they have to make sense? I'm not saying they'd all look like humans but an Alien's arms couldn't support themselves without some magic or something unless they had shoulders to match their arms! And that just wouldn't work.
So it makes more sense to me that an Alien would be kind of like a human... if it's even that developed! People always talk about these super intelligent life forms and all this... but how do we know they're not just as glued to their rock as we are? What if they're just like us but blue and they're wondering why WE haven't come to visit them?
Maybe we should stop talking about aliens and start figuring out a way to go visit them? Apparently they must be just as lonely as we are!
Sunday, October 17, 2010
An Ode to Weird Neighbors
When I moved into this house five or six years ago (I can't remember, my life runs in school years... so at the beginning of 8th grade... I graduated in 2009, and I didn't skip or miss any years. Figure it out! Go!) I never paid much attention to the house two houses down. (Called "Weird Neighbors" on my little maps.)
When we first moved in (we being my father and I) there was a family living in the weird neighbor house. Now to my memory there is a three car tandem in that house, yet there was always at least two shiny black sedans out front. And the only living human I ever saw come or go was a little Indian man who went running at 5 am every morning.
People came and went from that house all the time, but no matter how much you watched you would never see anyone getting in or out of the cars... now I was fairly convinced that there were either A) oompa loompas or B) someone akin to Susan Storm (if you're not familiar with the Fantastic 4 universe, she's the pretty lady that men don't think should be invisible).
Then one day... something miraculous happened.
A man running away from the police came sprinting through our cul-de-sac... and what should happen? But all of us gathered like Petunia Dursley to our windows, watching with fascination as cop cars SWARMED into the little area that Chinese delivery drivers can't even find... several weeks later the house was up for sale.
So the Indians moved out... and sold their house to people that were really not very abnormal at all. I mean being as I'm reclusive and I don't like socializing with other people because I prefer to live like Gollum, holed up in my house with my "precious" (my computer). Boy there are a lot of pop culture references in this post, huh? Anyways they moved in for all of a year I think. It wasn't long before they moved out.
So the most entertaining of these families moved in right after the veterans. We (being the creepy Petunia neighbors) watched with interest as they moved in. Turns out there was a rather strange bunch of people moving in... stranger than the others.
A fat man with one arm.
A skinny white woman (with both her arms).
A boy that looked like a cross between the two (with both his arms).
A girl around my age that looked more like the fat man. (She also had both her arms.)
And a number of... ruffians that came and went.
We had a theory that they were running a half-way house. They were pretty friendly. They would open their garage door at the beginning and sit out on the driveway together and laugh and frolic. (Or frolic as much as a one armed man can.) They weren't that bad. And like baby deer we slowly began to warm up to them.
Then that stopped. Suddenly there were too many cars in their drive way for them to do that. And slowly the garage door began to stay closed more often. Then the windows stayed closed more often, then the front door was no longer kept open...
About ten cars come and go from there, and suddenly I'm back where I started... wondering how this one armed fat man can make himself move fast enough to get out of the mixture of cars and into the house without being seen... I'm back to my original theory. They've either become oompa loompas or someone has implanted them with the ability to become invisible.
Of course these comings and goings suddenly became more unusual when my neighbors sold their house... and a SWAT team member moved in...
Now this cop I have not yet seen. His house is just as strange now as the Weird Neighbors. They're always buttoned up... and these two men come and go every once in a while. But I digress. Weird Neighbors began to come and go at weird hours of the night. Last weekend they had a moving truck backed into their drive way for no reason, the house isn't even for sale.
Now there are five cars crammed into the driveway that are constantly moving, sometimes it's entertaining to watch though, because there are some people in this world that can't drive and they try to back over the trees in their front yard...
Then this morning at approximately 1:15 AM (central standard time) it was practically Grand Central Station! Cars were driving in and out, speeding off out of the cul-de-sac.
I will never understand neighbors. I'm sure people must think I'm pretty weird. I'm a college student that only comes home on the weekends and otherwise the house is empty and dark... I can only imagine what SWAT Guy puts on his blog about me...
When we first moved in (we being my father and I) there was a family living in the weird neighbor house. Now to my memory there is a three car tandem in that house, yet there was always at least two shiny black sedans out front. And the only living human I ever saw come or go was a little Indian man who went running at 5 am every morning.
People came and went from that house all the time, but no matter how much you watched you would never see anyone getting in or out of the cars... now I was fairly convinced that there were either A) oompa loompas or B) someone akin to Susan Storm (if you're not familiar with the Fantastic 4 universe, she's the pretty lady that men don't think should be invisible).
Then one day... something miraculous happened.
A man running away from the police came sprinting through our cul-de-sac... and what should happen? But all of us gathered like Petunia Dursley to our windows, watching with fascination as cop cars SWARMED into the little area that Chinese delivery drivers can't even find... several weeks later the house was up for sale.
So the Indians moved out... and sold their house to people that were really not very abnormal at all. I mean being as I'm reclusive and I don't like socializing with other people because I prefer to live like Gollum, holed up in my house with my "precious" (my computer). Boy there are a lot of pop culture references in this post, huh? Anyways they moved in for all of a year I think. It wasn't long before they moved out.
So the most entertaining of these families moved in right after the veterans. We (being the creepy Petunia neighbors) watched with interest as they moved in. Turns out there was a rather strange bunch of people moving in... stranger than the others.
A fat man with one arm.
A skinny white woman (with both her arms).
A boy that looked like a cross between the two (with both his arms).
A girl around my age that looked more like the fat man. (She also had both her arms.)
And a number of... ruffians that came and went.
We had a theory that they were running a half-way house. They were pretty friendly. They would open their garage door at the beginning and sit out on the driveway together and laugh and frolic. (Or frolic as much as a one armed man can.) They weren't that bad. And like baby deer we slowly began to warm up to them.
Then that stopped. Suddenly there were too many cars in their drive way for them to do that. And slowly the garage door began to stay closed more often. Then the windows stayed closed more often, then the front door was no longer kept open...
About ten cars come and go from there, and suddenly I'm back where I started... wondering how this one armed fat man can make himself move fast enough to get out of the mixture of cars and into the house without being seen... I'm back to my original theory. They've either become oompa loompas or someone has implanted them with the ability to become invisible.
Of course these comings and goings suddenly became more unusual when my neighbors sold their house... and a SWAT team member moved in...
Now this cop I have not yet seen. His house is just as strange now as the Weird Neighbors. They're always buttoned up... and these two men come and go every once in a while. But I digress. Weird Neighbors began to come and go at weird hours of the night. Last weekend they had a moving truck backed into their drive way for no reason, the house isn't even for sale.
Now there are five cars crammed into the driveway that are constantly moving, sometimes it's entertaining to watch though, because there are some people in this world that can't drive and they try to back over the trees in their front yard...
Then this morning at approximately 1:15 AM (central standard time) it was practically Grand Central Station! Cars were driving in and out, speeding off out of the cul-de-sac.
I will never understand neighbors. I'm sure people must think I'm pretty weird. I'm a college student that only comes home on the weekends and otherwise the house is empty and dark... I can only imagine what SWAT Guy puts on his blog about me...
Saturday, October 16, 2010
I don't understand.
There is something I don’t understand going on in the world right now.
Which… if I’m really honest, and most of you are honest as well… there are a lot of things that nobody understands going on in the world right now…
But my point is this: I don’t hate gay people. Gay/lesbian/bi/pan/transgender… whatever. But I’m also a Christian, and Republican AND heterosexual.
I rather resent the fact that some people from the GLBT community group all people together. I mean fighting hate with hate only creates more hate.
And grouping all people together into the same group always causes trouble…
I think everyone should be able to marry whomever they want, honestly. But again it doesn’t matter to me.
I mean it matters to me that people are so close minded that they would taunt other children until they committed suicide… there’s something sick going on there. That’s something you can’t really blame on anyone. Unless they were really twisted I doubt most parents would want their children to drive other children to end their own lives.
I mean honestly I understand that it might go against your beliefs. And that’s fine that you have your own beliefs. But that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re right, after all, and isn’t the whole basis of Christianity not judging your fellow man? It’s not a human’s place to judge.
As long as you are a good person, who you love doesn’t matter to God.
Because souls transcend the confines of human society. Soul mates come in all shapes and sizes, all races and creeds… and all sexual preferences.
Socialization doesn’t affect your soul or your biological make-up.
So I leave you with this…
A strange experience.
It's a strange experience... Looking out a little window as you fly over the city you normally reside in, reduced to something resembling the Sims world map...
Suddenly familiar streets are reduced to something that reminds you of one of those foam models you made for your seventh grade geography class... you know the ones... where the trees are made of broccoli (or the little fake trees from Hobby Lobby) and the houses look like the monopoly game pieces.
It's like flying over a world of ants...
A world of ants...
Sometimes I wish I had a magnifying glass...
Then I could find all the people that have hurt my feelings...
What was that...?
Look at the pretty picture...
Things I hate.
This is fueled by my current dislike of the Mexican Airline industry.
I hate it when my hair starts to smell like hair, you know, when it doesn’t really smell like shampoo anymore. It’s that feeling you get when your shower quits working and you have to wash your face in the bathroom sink at school.
I hate TOURISTS! I understand that you want to come to Mexico, the place where I live, and see its beauty (or the beauty of the inside of the five star hotels) but /I/ do not need to see you squeezed into a pair of shorts and a shirt that give you a super-uber muffin-top. Nor do I need to see you walking around in a bikini that doesn’t fit your tatas. If your ladies are trying to untie themselves then your top is TOO TIGHT!
You know the little safety seals on bottles of… whatever? I ALWAYS cut myself on those! I don’t even know why! I must have a really thin dermis.
I hate airport security. Perhaps more than anything else.
I mean I understand that they’ve got out security in mind and blah blah blah BLAH! But I don’t need to have a strip search done every time I’m in line. It always seems to go like this:
First I get stuck in line behind the tourist that has never flown before. I don’t know HOW they do it, because honestly how many people have never flown before? I’m usually ready with my hoodie and my shoes off, ready to show that my Toms can’t possibly be hiding any bombs or anything. But the people in front of me are fiddling around with their converse or their steel toed boots or rollerblades or whatever stupid thing they are wearing and still wearing their jackets as they fiddle with that.
(People always seem to get their zippers stuck when they’re in front of me! So it takes forever to get their jackets undone because suddenly everyone in America has some mild form of mental retardation, mind you if the person actually WERE mentally retarded I would be less annoyed and much more understanding, but honestly, what are the odds that I would ALWAYS get stuck behind a mentally handicapped person?)
The next fun part is when they have to unpack their stuff. First they don’t even have their liquids in LITTLE BOTTLES, something that has been PROTOCOL SINCE 2002... then they have to throw a fit when the security men tell them to throw it away… a tantrum of sorts… are you really that attached to a bottle of shampoo?
Then they throw a fit because they have to unpack their laptops! Why don’t you just carry a carry-on like a normal person instead of an over-sized purse. NO ONE cares that you have to rearrange your overly useless purse to get it back in there… we just want to get on the plane!
It’s also always interesting to me that the people mentioned above always seem to be able to find a way to be LATE for their flights. They’re always screaming about how they’re going to be late.
This is why they say ARRIVE TWO HOURS EARLY!
I mean it’s pretty clear when you buy your ticket online. One hour for domestic, at LEAST two hours for international… am I the only one who is able to read who flies in this country?
I hate it when my hair starts to smell like hair, you know, when it doesn’t really smell like shampoo anymore. It’s that feeling you get when your shower quits working and you have to wash your face in the bathroom sink at school.
I hate TOURISTS! I understand that you want to come to Mexico, the place where I live, and see its beauty (or the beauty of the inside of the five star hotels) but /I/ do not need to see you squeezed into a pair of shorts and a shirt that give you a super-uber muffin-top. Nor do I need to see you walking around in a bikini that doesn’t fit your tatas. If your ladies are trying to untie themselves then your top is TOO TIGHT!
You know the little safety seals on bottles of… whatever? I ALWAYS cut myself on those! I don’t even know why! I must have a really thin dermis.
I hate airport security. Perhaps more than anything else.
I mean I understand that they’ve got out security in mind and blah blah blah BLAH! But I don’t need to have a strip search done every time I’m in line. It always seems to go like this:
First I get stuck in line behind the tourist that has never flown before. I don’t know HOW they do it, because honestly how many people have never flown before? I’m usually ready with my hoodie and my shoes off, ready to show that my Toms can’t possibly be hiding any bombs or anything. But the people in front of me are fiddling around with their converse or their steel toed boots or rollerblades or whatever stupid thing they are wearing and still wearing their jackets as they fiddle with that.
(People always seem to get their zippers stuck when they’re in front of me! So it takes forever to get their jackets undone because suddenly everyone in America has some mild form of mental retardation, mind you if the person actually WERE mentally retarded I would be less annoyed and much more understanding, but honestly, what are the odds that I would ALWAYS get stuck behind a mentally handicapped person?)
The next fun part is when they have to unpack their stuff. First they don’t even have their liquids in LITTLE BOTTLES, something that has been PROTOCOL SINCE 2002... then they have to throw a fit when the security men tell them to throw it away… a tantrum of sorts… are you really that attached to a bottle of shampoo?
Then they throw a fit because they have to unpack their laptops! Why don’t you just carry a carry-on like a normal person instead of an over-sized purse. NO ONE cares that you have to rearrange your overly useless purse to get it back in there… we just want to get on the plane!
It’s also always interesting to me that the people mentioned above always seem to be able to find a way to be LATE for their flights. They’re always screaming about how they’re going to be late.
This is why they say ARRIVE TWO HOURS EARLY!
I mean it’s pretty clear when you buy your ticket online. One hour for domestic, at LEAST two hours for international… am I the only one who is able to read who flies in this country?
Friday, October 15, 2010
If I had a cupcake...
People always seem to ask me that stupid question everyone dreads:
What are you going to do?
HUH? I don’t even have a degree yet! I don’t even have a PLAN much less a degree! Asking me NOW what I’m going to do with it is completely irrelevant since I don’t even have it yet…
(I do actually have a degree plan, not that that means anything... I'm a Pre-Med Biology major... I guess that makes me intelligent?)
I just want to SIT AT HOME and surf the INTERNET 8D
I think this is how Cat feels. Cat is my pet cat. Her name isn’t really Cat. I wish it was though.
Anyways… what was I talking about?
Oh well… I really like cupcakes… I even have a whole book about cupcakes and how to make them.
THIS is my favorite cupcake!
I would like it very much if you’d send me one.
PS. I also rather enjoy bento boxes. I've never actually had one but I think I would like to have one...
What are you going to do?
HUH? I don’t even have a degree yet! I don’t even have a PLAN much less a degree! Asking me NOW what I’m going to do with it is completely irrelevant since I don’t even have it yet…
(I do actually have a degree plan, not that that means anything... I'm a Pre-Med Biology major... I guess that makes me intelligent?)
I just want to SIT AT HOME and surf the INTERNET 8D
I think this is how Cat feels. Cat is my pet cat. Her name isn’t really Cat. I wish it was though.
Anyways… what was I talking about?
Oh well… I really like cupcakes… I even have a whole book about cupcakes and how to make them.
THIS is my favorite cupcake!
I would like it very much if you’d send me one.
PS. I also rather enjoy bento boxes. I've never actually had one but I think I would like to have one...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)