A Day in the Life

Summer has rolled around again and do you know what that means? I have time to read again! As a child, I hated to read; my mother would read to me as a young child, but as I got older, she would make me read for at least 30 minutes a night. I hated it! Most of the time, I just couldn't get involved or invested in the characters. But, now that I'm older, I do anything to try and read at least 30 minutes a night, especially when I'm taking 16 credits and working 30 hours a week. But, now that I'm only taking four credits, (still working 30+ hours) I have time to read again!

Well, when I read a lot, my mind begins to work a tad bit differently. I begin to narrate my life as if I am the author of a book and I need to vividly describe everything as if some non-existent person were reading it. Each an everything I do is described in my head in such great detail. Well, I believe it is about time that I let someone read my narration. This is a day in the life of me. This is Monday, May 23, 2011.

The most annoying noise that has ever been heard rung in her ears. She slowly turned in the small twin bed, that had too many blankets on it for a summer day. Summer was coming a little early here; some blame it on global warming, Rachel just figured it was Michigan, and you couldn't predict the weather here. She hit the snooze button on her cell phone and rolled back over. The dog from across the yard was barking again.

She just shut her eyes when the alarm rang again. This time she sat up. Fumbling to find her glasses, she stood up. The morning sun shown through her windows were much too bright at this ungodly hour. What time is it? She thought. Lifting her the watch from her dresser she sees it's eleven a.m. I slept in this late?! All the things she wanted to get done before work would have to wait. She fumbled for pants, remembering the look on her brother's face the last time she went downstairs forgetting them. Gliding on a pair of mens basketball shorts, she lazily walks out of her bedroom and down to the kitchen.

Her mother is pacing around. She was wearing an all black outfit, unusual from her normal bright hues.

"Who died?" Rachel asked.

"What??" Her mother responded kissing her cheek while screwing on the lid to her travel coffee mug. "I'm off to Aunt Donna's," she had forgotten that a question was even asked. "I've gotta borrow some jewelry for the wedding." Michael's wedding was coming up on Saturday. Rachel had bought a new dress, much to her mother's dismay. "Have you thought any more about the other dress for the wedding? I still think your new one is too tight."

Rachel went to the freezer and grabbed the waffles. "Well, if it wasn't too tight before, it will be now."

Brett ran around the corner. "Hey, Rach-face!" They did their secret handshake that they'd made up as kids.

"Hey big brother."

"Will you both be home for dinner?"

"No," Brett and Rachel had answered simultaneously.

"Ugh, well, I have to go!" Kissing them both on the cheek, her mother had left.

She sat at the table next to Brett who was eating a bowl of cereal. "I don't wanna go to work," Rachel moaned. Brett simply shrugged his shoulders.

"You know what you should do?" Brett asked matter-a-factly.

"What?"

"You should walk in, say 'I don't feel good!' Then throw a sandwich on the floor and scream 'I QUIT!'" Brett was always saying the most ridiculous things. Although they never seemed to make sense, it always put a smile on her face.

After scarfing down her waffles, (and the chocolate cupcake no one saw her eat,) she proceeded up the steps. She stepped into the bathroom. She sat on the toilet before even glancing at the mirror. Every morning was the same, she needed a moment to prep before looking at herself after waking up. You only look this bad because you don't have make-up on and your hair isn't done. No matter how hard Gardiner tries, bed head will never look good. 

She took a deep breath after washing her hands and looked up at the mirror. Oh God! It was bad. Her hair looked like it did when she was five and learned what teasing hair meant. ("If Dolly Parton does it, why can't I?") And she did have make up one. Last nights mascara was smeared along her face. Her eyes were bloodshot from leaving her contacts in too long.

She had to do something, she only had a little while to get ready for work. She splashed water on her face and wiped away any residue of  make up. She started to brush her teeth when a knock came to the door. She cracked the door to find Brett dancing. "Brush your teeth! Brush my teeth!"

Rachel didn't respond. They just held eye contact. After a moment, Rachel just slowly closed the door, still maintaining eye contact, until the last moment before the door closed. She finished brushing her teeth, then opened the door. Her brother was now gone. She walked back into her bedroom.

She stripped from her clothes and sat on her bed. Opening her laptop, she checked some social network page that everyone seems to be spending far too much time on. After checking on vacation pictures of people, Rachel barely knew, she closed her laptop.

She stood up, slid on a brand new soft-dyed blue tee-shirt and a pair of jeans. The jeans just looked all wrong. She slid on another pair, and although it didn't look good, it looked better than anything else she would try.

She continued getting ready, straightening her hair, which was getting too long. Her hair was just tickling the top of her breasts. It hadn't done that since high school. Once she finished with her hair (which still didn't look good, but was better than the birds nest it started out as,) she spread the paint that is her foundation across her face. She attempted to cover up the sorry attempt that was self tanner from the night before. It wasn't that she was looking orange, just dirty.

She finished her make up routine and glanced at her watch. 12:25?!?! Where has the time gone!? She hurried downstairs. She grabbed some microwave dinner and her book. She bolted out the door. The rain was pelting down. She shuffled into her electric blue Focus and sped off. Bernadette Peters voice rang out as Mama Rose from Gypsy.





Now I realize, my life is really boring. I have nothing else to really write about. So, that was...uhhhh, a morning in the life of me... I guess.*


*I exaggerated, but not on the things you think I did...

Textbooks, Bad Coffee, and a Bitch With a 'Fro

I have had a horrendous day today. I needed to have my own little therapy session about it, so I decided to blog, but ya'll get a treat, because this has picture.*
To start my day off, my alarm seem to fail at its job of waking me up. So, eight snooze buttons later, I realize my class is ten minutes. It takes me that amount of time to find a parking space, let alone get dressed, brush my teeth, maybe some make-up, clear off my car, get my crap together, and drive there.

Once I get there, I realize that I have not had any coffee or food. Trust me, caffeine or at least some sugar can go far in the morning. So as my professor blabbed on about Saint Thomas Aquinas, I tried my hardest to remain awake- and slightly failed. Then he showed us some Night Line and I really couldn't stand it. I just tried to focus on the light shining off his head and how strange his hands looked.

Once my class was over, I had some time to go grab a cup of coffee. I run to the cafeteria, and get a cup of joe. As I take the first sip, I resist the urge to throw it out. It tasted like shit. There is not other adjective to describe the utter madness that my taste-buds were subjected to.

After I toss the dirt mixed with water- I mean coffee. I go to my next class. Anthropology. Fun right? I guess, except my professor looks and acts like Mrs. Weasley from Harry Potter. You think that would be fun, but you just have a scatter brained twit. Anyways. She decided to inform me, with her unibrow scrunched and all, that I have the wrong textbook. Yes, the same textbook I have been reading and studying from. And yes, in the class that I have a test on in a week. It's also the same textbook that I rented for 80 big ones, meaning that I just threw that money away. AND I get to now drop another 100 on a new one. The most embarrassing part of it all, was how she was laughing through her god-awful smeared lipstick, while her man hands held up the right textbook. Can I also state, if she would have given me the right ISBN number, this never would have happened in the first place!!!

So, after this happens, I go home and find my old textbooks that I had to take to the bookstore to sell back. Some tall-ass woman, who never go the memo that neon jumpsuits and giant afro's were tacky in the seventies, let alone now, starts screaming at me because my book cannot be sold back. They are the old editions, even if they were good a semester ago. And even so, did she really need to go all diva on me, and cross her arms and get some attitude? Forgive me, I just needed some cash for my freaking books.

Okay, after I got home, more and more things got worse, but I don't have cool drawings/photos for those, so lets just leave it at that.
 I hope your day was better than mine. And now it's time for bed.


*Don't copy and paste them. They're copyrighted. Not really, I don't know how to do that, but if I did, they would be. So, let's just work on the honor system here. But, why would you even want to copy and paste them in the first place? Are you that weird? Not to insult my lovely readers or anything...

Don't, Don't, Don't Bite Your Friends!

I am a normal, healthy girl. I have some meat to me, but I am not obese. The holidays are among us and gah knows how many photos will be taken, so I want to lose a few pounds. I have already, but I want to lose just a few more.But, I have come to the realization, in my quest to be skinny, that friends make you fat. I live in a city that is often called boring, but we have lots of things to do. We have an ice rink, roller rink, parks, libraries, malls, yada yada yada. We also have an abundance of restaurants. So, when it's a cold, winters night, and you want to do something, where do you go? One of two places, if you are a member of the Clean Quarters:*a friends house or a restaurant. At our friends house, Eytukan of the Na'vi Tribe, his mother, Ellen Gellar, always makes us smoothies and bakes us cookies, basically feeds us everything in her house. Ellen is like a cool, non-robotic, non-evil, non-remote control version of a Stepford Wife, and I mean that as a compliment. Now, if we go to Carrie's house, we eat there. If we go to Sweet's house, we eat. So, let's head to a restaurant, and eat. They make me fat. 

Tonight, I went to Eytukan's house, and Ellen offered me cookies, brownies, smoothies, Bosco sticks, spinach and cheese filled pazones, and these little balls of chocolate filled with caramel rice crispies in them.  I turned them all down. Then we decide we want to leave. We have no where to venture to, so we go to this cute little Mom-and-Pop restaurant called Frank's. I got tea with rice pilaf that had this marinara sauce that I know was bad for me. I can go all day and be perfectly fine, but if I go out with friends, gah help me. Friends make you fat.

*All the cool kids have this awesome nickname for my group of friends, but remember, due to privacy and crap, this name is changed.

BREAK TIME!

Okay, so I was going to write another Creeper McCreeperson story, but first I thought I'd share something with you.

A good friend of mine, (who never reads this blog, so don't tell 'em...) posted this status four hours ago:

Anastasia Beaverhousin* thinks sprinkles are pretty much the greatest thing ever.


Let me explain why this wrong. Let's first examine what sprinkles are. They're made of sugar, cornstarch, vegetable oil, and food coloring.

Yummy.

Now, sprinkles have been described as life's confetti. I always hated confetti. Confetti gets everywhere. I went to a New Year's Party once, they had confetti. I found some in my toilet, three weeks later. (The party was not at my house, and it was not before I sat down...) Sure they make things look pretty- for half a second! Then they just lay there. Sure, thrown in the air adds a bit of glammor, but if they get wet, they stick to everything and then whatever color they were to turn that color. I don't like seeing purple pee! It ain't right.

Back to sprinkles. They are practically tasteless. They never all get on what you want, ya know? Your counter always has some that spilled on it. So you scoop your hand and slide it into your other, but you feel bad wasting it, so you put it on your cake anyways. Then when someone says their pretty frosting tastes a bit salty, you should just brush it off, and hope that they didn't get any of that cat food residue that was laying on the table before you started frosting.

Ten Ice Cream Toppings That Kick Sprinkles Ass
10. Chocolate Syrup
9. Carmel
8. Whipped Cream
7. Frosting, (Oh yeah, you should try it.)
6. Cherries
5. Fudge
4. Hot Fudge
3. Strawberries
2. A Candy Bar, (of your liking.)
1. Melted Peanut Butter


Sprinkles suck.

*Remember the whole name change thing? Was that Obvious enough?

Creeper McCreeperson: Pastor Dan, (also featuring Lying McWeird Face)

My Intro to Sociology course turned out to be Intro to Social Work. This class has taught me only one thing: I don't want to go into Social Work. It is (klakfkjdflf) interesting. The people I have met in the class are (lfhdsajfkldjf) interesting. The first day of class, we had to interview one member of the class for forty five minutes, after which, we would report what we learned. This creeper girl was desperate to be my partner. We walked to the hall and before we even sat down, she started telling me about how her brother is schizophrenic, how she was raped, I think by multiple people, along with what she told her rapists. She told me about how her dad died and what she did to cope. I feel really bad about all of this, but I sat there in shock. I really didn't know what to do. When it was time to interview me, what did I have to say? My favorite color, food, movie, oh and TV show! I told her about how I probably watch too much Sex and the City, Castle, and Bones. She told me about how she loves Teen Mom. Now I hate that show, but I didn't want to be mean, so I just said, "Oh yeah, I've seen it." After she asked me if I had a "boo?" I assumed that was a boyfriend, and I told her no, that I prefer to just go on a few dates with guys not get into relationships. Please note the key word, prefer. As in, I choose to be single. 

Time to report to the class! Of course she wants to go first. She tells the entire class I'm a sociology major who wants to be on a jury. (What?!?) She tells them that I've never had a boyfriend, (not telling about how I don't want one right now,) and that all I do is watch TV. At this point, I say aloud, that I do go out and that I do have friends. People giggle, then she continues. She tells the class that we both love Teen Mom. This starts some intense discussion about how bad this show and how negative it is for kids to watch it. My teacher began lecturing to me about how I shouldn't watch this show, THAT I DON'T WATCH! When it was time for me to talk about my partner, what could I say? She was raped... Yeah that'd go over well.
Oh first impressions.

Okay, so this date I had not very long ago was with an agoraphob*. I didn't realize it was a date. I was kinda trapped into it. He is from my Social Work class. I call him Pastor Dan, not because his name is Dan, but because he wants to be a pastor, and if you have ever seen Raising Helen you'll probably know my reference. Let me tell you something about Pastor Dan, he has NO game, what-so-ever. He leads me to believe that we will studying, when instead he turns it into some "date." We go to our college cafeteria, (classy,) and he begins to start some kind of banter. At least, I think he thought it was banter. Really he was just calling a loser and a transvestite with a man voice. Flattering in what way? He also told me that I have pretty eyes, but hearing me speak kind of over-shadows them. He said, I talk too much and with a man voice, it makes it even worse. He told me about how not too long ago he couldn't leave his bedroom for months because of his intense fears. He still has some issues with leaving. As y'all know, I'm a psych major. I know how debilitating that can be. I hope someday I can be trained in helping people with this, among many other disorders, but when comes to a first date, gimme a break. He told me about how he's the "Son of God, like Jesus' brother." Direct quote. And he wasn't saying it in a, "We are all brothers and sisters of Jesus," kind of way. He was saying it in a, "I'm the next messiah" kind of way. Yes, an agoraphob who wants to be a pastor and says he's Jesus' brother thinks I'm a transvestite. Hmm. 








*Agoraphob; Short for Agoraphobic: verb; Fear of open spaces, large crowds, being alone in public situations. This often restricts people to a single place, such as a home, and in extreme cases, a single room.

Creeper McCreeperson: Briefcase Boy

Last year, I was in an English class. There was this guy who was in my class. He had that bad boy look. Dark hair, tan skin, tattoos, five o'clock shadow; the whole works. The only thing, (at first at least,) that I thought was weird was that he carried a steel briefcase. He would also pull out mango's and eat them. Yes. A mango. If you have ever seen the show Sex and the City, you will realize how strange this is.* But besides that, he was hot, and he had a personality. He was smart and funny. Seemed great.

One day, he moved his seat from the other side of the room to right next to me. My lucky day. We were reading our papers aloud in a small group for it to be critiqued. He and I started writing notes about how bad it was. We got flirty and blah blah blah, he gave me his number. I took it, thought that I would wait a whole two days to text back, because Allah knows I have better things to do with my life than to text the hot guy in class, or at least, that what I wanted him to think. Basically, after the longest two days of my life, we start texting. Everything was great... So I thought.

After a little bit, I ask, "How old are you?"

His response?

"Guess." Ahh, HELL NO! Red flag! Red flag. If a guy plays this game, he's old. But, my naive heart didn't want to believe it. "No, just tell me." I don't want to play games, I just want a guy to be straight forward. He responses with a question, "Well, how old are you?" I thought I'd give a hint, going back to childhood with, "I asked you first." After way too many back and forth texts he finally admits, he is twenty-seven. Mmmhmm. I was eighteen at the time. I decided I should lie so he would back off more easily. I told him that I was only seventeen. As I waited for a text that was full of shock and embarrassment that he was going after a minor, (even if in reality I wasn't, I was close enough,) he just texted back, "Well, 10 years ain't that big of a difference."

AHH FUCK NO! Nope. Not doing it. Not taking part of that, child molester! I responded with, "Well, this makes me uncomfortable," and he just thought I was stupid. How do I know, because he then tried to convince me that he was lying and he was only 21. Nope. Not falling for that one, buddy. He continued to text me for a little while longer, because he wanted to be "friends." He even invited me to hang out once. What was his idea of hanging out? I quote, "You should come over to my house, we can lay on my soft blanket by the fire, as I read to you from my favorite book and you listen to my favorite radio station by candle light. We can share a nice big bottle of red wine."

I flat out responded, "I don't want to date you. And I'd like you to stop hitting on me." The funny part is in his response: "I wasn't hitting on you. I just thought that'd be fun for two friends! Get over yourself."

BAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!! Poor old man, did I hurt your ego? Sorry, why don't you find some old lady at the home who is a little more your speed? Maybe one who's wheelchair has a motor! Ohhh!

Anyways, after all that, the class got awkward. Once, we were both late for class, I was on an important phone call with a friend in the hall and he was just late. He saw me, winked and went into class. My prof, who loved me, asked where I was, and Briefcase Boy answered for me. But, later I found out that he designed women's gowns out of leather. I died laughing. Learned my lesson. Well, not really. But I have yet to trust another person with a briefcase.




*The episode, Hop, Skip, and a Week to be exact. The episode where during jury duty, a man pulls out a mango from his briefcase. Same thing. Just as weird.

Creeper McCreeperson: Intro.

I am an avid user of Facebook. I've been on numerous social network pages, but none seem to compare to the glorious Facebook. It connects me to people who I would otherwise never be connected to. It reconnects me with old friends. A good friend of mine throughout high school was talking to me on Facebook Chat. She was venting to me about the idiocy of her ex-boyfriend. This friend has dated some real numbers, but then again, so have I.

This is an introduction to the weirdest guys I've even gone on a date with/ been creeped on by. This will be a multiple posting blog. Ladies, be prepared. If you have any better stories, feel free to comment, I'd love to hear them. And fella's, take note. Don't ever act like these guys!

Are you ready? Here we go...