Monthly Archives: July 2008

No such thing

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This morning I discovered there is no such thing as gas station etiquette. I stop at the same Exxon/Dunkin Donuts combo station every morning for the essentials–coffee and a bagel. (I won’t buy gas or cigarettes there; that Exxon is way too expensive.) There is this little “island” in the front of the pumps that I usually park next to, because I hate when people who aren’t getting gas take up a pump spot so I try not to do it myself. This morning I almost went for a pump spot, thinking that I might end up getting out of there faster because there was someone else parked in the other “island” spot in front of where I wanted to park. Of course my pump-hog-hating conscious got to me and I parked in my usual “island” spot, then headed into the Dunkin Donuts for my necessaries.

Inside of the store, two blond girls with straight and shower wet hair were flirting with the guy behind the counter. Yeah, I won’t lie, he is good looking, but they were giggling like twelve year olds, and I have a feeling they were probably eighteen or maybe seventeen. I stared at their hair, thinking how awesome it must be to have been born with straight hair that can get wet and won’t unleash itself with a vengeance in the humidity. (If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’ve got viciously curly hair.)

Bag and coffee in hand, I went back outside. “In my next life, I want straight hair, dammit,” I thought to myself. “And look, that guy is gone so I can get out.” Just as giddy as the girls with the straight hair, I opened my car door and my jaw dropped as some guy pulled in front of me from the exit side of the gas station.

I used some choice words, but of course the dude couldn’t hear me. “I could kill you,” I told him through my windshield. Another car was to my right, in the pump spot where I had originally wanted to park. I had two choices: I could sit and wait for someone to come back out and move, or I could attempt to back out and leave through the entrance. Of course, that would involve other drivers being nice enough to not use the entrance. Which was so not happening.

After trying fruitlessly to back out, I saw the pump spot guy come out of DD and sighed in relief. He would move and I wouldn’t be late for work after all! I lit a cigarette and waited. Waited. And waited. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The ass who had blocked me in came out and put his stupid car into reverse. Like the awesome, patient and forgiving person I am, I cut him off and left the gas station before he did. HA. So there.

I’m not the only one

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I knew I wanted to do something different for NaNoWriMo this year, since I finished last year. I knew I wanted to do it on this blog, just ’cause I can.

I have attempted a few times to write a memoir, and several people have asked if I have written one or would write one. I had sort of given up on the idea, but now I think it’s time to share my story. After reading and hearing other people’s stories, and sharing some of my story on Rising Above Radio, I want to share my own. I want others to know they are not alone. I’m scared to death of doing this, but I want to.

So, for this year’s NaNoWriMo–aka National Novel Writing Month–I’m going to write a memoir, on this blog, every day adding a little more to the story. I think I will probably change everyone’s names, including my own, just to make it a little easier for myself to talk about it. I think I’ll probably write about it in the third-person, past tense as well, just to make it a little easier. It scares me to death to share these things, but I’m going to do it. I mean, it scared me to death to talk about my battle with self-injury on internet radio, but I did it and got so much positive feedback and so many thank yous that I see it as totally worth it.

Plus, it will gain me a second year of winning; I’ll never get writers’ block! I think I’ll start going through my old journals and blogs soon and start outlining things. I just need a title now, and it always takes me forever to come up with these things. D:

Edit: Would it be totally lame if I called it Perpetual Smile?

I think a face is dawning

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This weekend was amazing. It’s just too bad that you can’t convey sarcasm through the written word.

Thursday – Left Burn Notice night early because my boyfriend was throwing off those bad mood vibes.
Friday – Did girls’ night until about 3 am
Saturday – Went to a wedding I didn’t much care about and witnessed the death of hundreds of butterflies.
Sunday – Got into the first really big fight with my boyfriend and totally. fucking. lost.
Today – Got stung by a wasp between my first and second finger on my left hand. My fingers are numb. :D

If you had a better weekend than I did, go to hell. I’m totally kidding. I wanna hear all about it. (:

Edit: On a totally random note, for the last few days my left cheek has been twitching every so often. It’s kind of ironic, since Dad always teases me saying I’ve got tourette’s (I always say the most random shit out of nowhere). It’s such an odd feeling. Anyone ever experience this?

I’m here to remind you

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I had the weirdest dream. I was working in a grocery store, and there was this section of carts in the back of the store. In one of the carts–aisle 9, row 11 to be exact, hahaha–were this little blond boy and brunette girl. They were no older than three and, like you always do in dreams, I knew they had been left there. So I went to who I’m guessing was my boss in the dream and reported them. He said he would call DCF or whatever and I said I would take care of them in the meantime.

I headed to the back of the store again and ran into two old friends from high school. We’ll call them Greg and Tom. I jumped up on Greg and almost knocked him over. “You’re an asshole,” he said, laughing. I also gave Tom a hug, which is weird because in real life I can’t stand him. We started playing with those Nerf dart guns and tackling each other, hahaha. I told them I was looking for the kids and we made our way back to the carts, but the kids were gone. And of course, that’s where I woke up.

I don’t know why in hell I would dream about Greg and Tom. I haven’t seen either of them in probably a year, and Tom terrifies me. I also have no idea why I was working in a grocery store and why I didn’t get fired for playing Nerf gunslingers. Still, I occasionally miss Greg and sometimes wish Tom weren’t such a dickhead–er, I wish he hadn’t beat up my friend “Marissa” when they dated.

Going to the chapel

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Edit: I was really cranky when I wrote this last night, so I sound a lot bitchier than normal. I’m not taking it down, though; it’s pretty amusing. (:

I’m in such a mean mood right now, lol. I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s because of the butterflies. I’ll get to that in a minute, but first, the pictures I promised!


You can’t tell that my hair is red in the second picture, but that’s because the lighting in my bathroom is lame. I’m wearing a dress because I went to a wedding tonight, where butterflies where killed because two people who barely know each other thought it would be fun to get married. (I’m bitter because the bride gave me a dirty look when I said congratulations to her. I have no idea what I did to her, hahaha.)

Anyway, on to the butterflies. As we were taking our seats before the ceremony began, one of the hostesses from the restaurant was handing out these little white folded pieces of paper. She said they were butterflies and that we were to release them at the end of the ceremony. My first thought was that they were fake butterflies, but no–they were real monarchs trapped inside of these “envelopes”.

Yep.

To top it off, Sandy’s was dead (there was butterfly blood all over her “envelope”), Tyla’s was dead (it wasn’t moving), and mine had a hole in its wing. Sandy and Tyla got theirs replaced before the ceremony began, but when we all released them, they sort of just flopped to the ground and hopped away instead of flying into the sky.

Yeah.

I’m probably going to have nightmares about dead butterflies now.

Anyway, the wedding was okay and I really hope that the bride and groom are happy. I guess it doesn’t really matter how long you know each other, right? As long as you don’t kill butterflies?

I learned an important lesson, though, and it’s this: I have no idea if I actually want to ever get married. Part of me was like, man this could be me someday. The other part was, man if only I could just have kids and not get married. Like, find a sperm donor or something. I am so freaking indecisive.

I just know that I will not have monarchs in my wedding.