Things I have searched for on the internet today:
- 30 Rock quotes
- Alec Baldwin (here's a fact that will blow your mind: he used to be hot! Who knew?)
- The Beetlejuice movie
- Batman
- Remember the Titans (I watched this yesterday. And a few days before that. And one time twice in the same day.)
- Lyrics to Shakira's La Tortura and Garth Brooks' Calling Baton Rouge
- Rosetta Stone*
- Craiglist part-time jobs
- Summer school classes
- University of We Just Raised Our Tuition's History Department admittance requirements
- My bank account statement
- Horoscopes
- Whores**
- Pie
That last one was right before lunch. I don't want you to think I have a whore-pie connection in my mind. Although if I was a working woman I might demand payment in the form of money and/or baked goods. That's how much I love myself...and pie.
My searches today pretty accurately reflect my life at the moment. A few searches for relevant and important things, like classes and jobs, but mostly overshadowed by things I'll never need for any reason whatsoever, like checking to see if Garth Brooks still tours. Answer: no.
*I'm going to be honest: I'd sell my first-born for Rosetta Stone. I'd probably even throw my second-born in for free because I'd be so amped I got a free Rosetta Stone. The less effort I have to put into learning another language, the better.
**I'm not just randomly searching for whores in the greater Tucson area. I was reading this article and things kind of got out of hand.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Because majoring in lightning rounds wasn't possible.
I'm KV and I'm majoring in something kind of ridiculous: history.
I should clarify by saying that I don't think it's ridiculous. History has always been a fascinating subject to me. Maybe it's because I always read it like a movie script. Hold the phone, the Aztecs thought Cortes was the god Quetzalcoatl? And he didn't even correct them but instead used their beliefs against them, formed alliances with other native tribes and decimated their empire? This stuff practically writes itself.
However, I'm a firm believer that you can't invest in a future if you don't know your past. History got a lot of things wrong, but it also got a lot of things right. I like knowing where I came from.
The problem with majoring in history is there's no definite job you can do after you graduate. If you're majoring in pre-med, for example, you go on to medical school and eventually become a doctor. Elementary Education majors go on to teach, political science majors go on to be lawyers or judges and philosophy majors go on to do a lot of drugs and read a lot of Hunter S. Thompson. It's just the way the world works.
The majority of history majors go on to teach it. I don't really want to do that. I've spent the last sixteen years in school and the last thing I want to do when I graduate is go back and teach punk-ass kids like myself. I don't care how many blazers with sewn in leather elbow pads I get to wear or how many wine and brie socials are included. No Dead Poets Society in this corner, thank you very much.
To be honest, I don't really know what I want to do after college. And for now I'm cool with that. Maybe it's because I'm naive, apathetic or just blindly buying into the "whatever is meant to happen will" philosophy, but I'm not really worried about it.
What does worry me, however, is the judgement I get from people when this exchange happens:
Stranger: Are you still going to school?
KV: Yeah.
Stranger: What are you majoring in?
KV: History.
Stranger: How neat! Are you planning to teach it?
KV: Not really. Teaching doesn't really interest me.
Stranger:...Well, good luck.
That's neat? Good luck? What the fuck does that mean? Just because I'm not majoring in saving the world or business economics doesn't mean that I'm going to graduate, live in an old refrigerator box beneath the underpass and fight bums for food.
I once had a co-worker tell me that majoring in history was "whimsical". It's not like I'm studying fairy dust or elves; it's history. Past civilizations, cultures and people are not whimsical. The people of yesteryear (actual year between the 3rd and 4th centuries) would rise from the grave and curse the holy hell out of this place if they heard that.
I don't know why having other people judge what I'm studying irks me. Maybe it's because I sometimes feel selfish studying something like history. It's completely self-indulgent, but nothing else interests me as much as it does. So screw it if I don't have a job planned out where I can use it, if I'm going to be paying 20 grand a year for college, it's going to be in a subject that I like.
I figure worse comes to worse, I can make a living traveling the world with a band of gypsies. Or befriend the philosophy students, read a bunch of Kafka and smoke a lot of weed. Win!
I should clarify by saying that I don't think it's ridiculous. History has always been a fascinating subject to me. Maybe it's because I always read it like a movie script. Hold the phone, the Aztecs thought Cortes was the god Quetzalcoatl? And he didn't even correct them but instead used their beliefs against them, formed alliances with other native tribes and decimated their empire? This stuff practically writes itself.
However, I'm a firm believer that you can't invest in a future if you don't know your past. History got a lot of things wrong, but it also got a lot of things right. I like knowing where I came from.
The problem with majoring in history is there's no definite job you can do after you graduate. If you're majoring in pre-med, for example, you go on to medical school and eventually become a doctor. Elementary Education majors go on to teach, political science majors go on to be lawyers or judges and philosophy majors go on to do a lot of drugs and read a lot of Hunter S. Thompson. It's just the way the world works.
The majority of history majors go on to teach it. I don't really want to do that. I've spent the last sixteen years in school and the last thing I want to do when I graduate is go back and teach punk-ass kids like myself. I don't care how many blazers with sewn in leather elbow pads I get to wear or how many wine and brie socials are included. No Dead Poets Society in this corner, thank you very much.
To be honest, I don't really know what I want to do after college. And for now I'm cool with that. Maybe it's because I'm naive, apathetic or just blindly buying into the "whatever is meant to happen will" philosophy, but I'm not really worried about it.
What does worry me, however, is the judgement I get from people when this exchange happens:
Stranger: Are you still going to school?
KV: Yeah.
Stranger: What are you majoring in?
KV: History.
Stranger: How neat! Are you planning to teach it?
KV: Not really. Teaching doesn't really interest me.
Stranger:...Well, good luck.
That's neat? Good luck? What the fuck does that mean? Just because I'm not majoring in saving the world or business economics doesn't mean that I'm going to graduate, live in an old refrigerator box beneath the underpass and fight bums for food.
I once had a co-worker tell me that majoring in history was "whimsical". It's not like I'm studying fairy dust or elves; it's history. Past civilizations, cultures and people are not whimsical. The people of yesteryear (actual year between the 3rd and 4th centuries) would rise from the grave and curse the holy hell out of this place if they heard that.
I don't know why having other people judge what I'm studying irks me. Maybe it's because I sometimes feel selfish studying something like history. It's completely self-indulgent, but nothing else interests me as much as it does. So screw it if I don't have a job planned out where I can use it, if I'm going to be paying 20 grand a year for college, it's going to be in a subject that I like.
I figure worse comes to worse, I can make a living traveling the world with a band of gypsies. Or befriend the philosophy students, read a bunch of Kafka and smoke a lot of weed. Win!
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Pop Quiz
What are college kids doing with their paychecks?
A.) Blowing it on two-for-one drink specials every Thursday night.
B.) Bribing Sallie Mae loan services to forget our number.
C.) Saving it up to go to a university we can't afford.
D.) Buying blow from Shifty Petey on the corner.
E.) Forgetting all the debt we've collected during our time in college and spending it all on concert tickets.
Answer: Mother-effing E. Suck it, Sallie Mae!*
*Seriously, if there's any way you could forget my number that would be spectacular.
A.) Blowing it on two-for-one drink specials every Thursday night.
B.) Bribing Sallie Mae loan services to forget our number.
C.) Saving it up to go to a university we can't afford.
D.) Buying blow from Shifty Petey on the corner.
E.) Forgetting all the debt we've collected during our time in college and spending it all on concert tickets.
Answer: Mother-effing E. Suck it, Sallie Mae!*
*Seriously, if there's any way you could forget my number that would be spectacular.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
This fire is out of control.
This is going to be a glorious morning. Do you know how I know? Because it's Fire Guys morning. What's Fire Guys morning, you ask? Why do I keep asking you so many questions, you wonder? You didn't realize you were in for an early morning quiz, you say? Oh you.
In the line of work I do, I see my share of firefighters. They're a large part of the organization I work for. You know that stupid stereotype where women will see a firefighter and completely lose her mind? It's preposterous and, frankly, offensive. I want to set the record straight: it's most definitely not a stereotype. It's true life, baby. Real as Aretha Franklin's love of powdered donuts and "look at me" hats.
Is that a bear claw I see?
If you are a woman and you don't at the very least get a hot flash when you see a fireman then your ovaries are plotting against you. Get that checked out.
Unfortunately, the fire guys only come in occasionally because this is an office, not a forest. There aren't as many fires to be put out here.
Today is one of the mornings where the stars aligned and God said, "Bring the dudes," and for whatever reason, there are fire guys around. There's one standing at my desk right now. Swooooon.
Ahem, focus. So earlier I was minding my own business at my desk. Doing a little typing, sipping a little tea and completely and totally groping myself. It's laundry time so my choice of clean bras has been a little limited. I was forced to go with one that, as it turns out, is trying to strangle my boobs into submission. I had one hand in my shirt, trying to mediate the fight between breast and bra when a fire guy wanders up.
"Uh, morning," he says. Strike one.
I try to play it cool, like this guy didn't just watch me get to second base with myself.
"Hey, good morning," I say. "How's it going?"
He is beautiful. He has a sort of Roman haircut going on, like Russel Crowe in Gladiator minus the body armor (unfortunately). He's young, maybe a few years older than me. He's got a trimmed beard (hello, would you like to father my children?), muscles and a killer smile.
"I'm going to be in the conference room all day," he says. "But I was wondering if you had any Tums? My stomach is killing."
It's because it's trying to tell you that you're madly in love with me. Listen to your body, cute Fire Guy.
I scramble around my desk for Tums. Scramble is putting it nicely. I tore up every first aid kit, every drawer and every shelf in my area. All the while I'm trying to make small talk in the hopes that Fire Guy will realize that I'm hilarious and witty and he wants to elope with me.
"We have 5 first aid kits, one of them has to have Tums right?" I say.
He chuckles. Score. "I hope so. I think I just had too much coffee; had to get up early."
"Oh yeah, what office are you from?" I say.
"[Town four hours away]," he says.
"Oh lame," I say. I was about to say that if he moved to Tucson, he would never have to drive anywhere except over to my place, when I opened a cabinet and a glass vase fell out and shattered. Strike two.
"Shit," I say. I turn to face Fire Guy and he is giving me a look that says, "I didn't know our company hired the mentally handicapped."
"Sorry, but I think we're all out of the good stuff," I say. "You might check with Safety Officer down the hall. That guy has all the good pills." I laugh at my own joke and Fire Guy offers up a pity smirk.
"Uh, alright I'll go check," he says. He lingers for just a second, looking at the digital picture frame on Desk Mate's desk. I start walking towards another drawer to find something to clean up the broken glass with when I tripped on a loose piece of carpet and have to use a fan to keep myself and my dignity from crashing to the floor. Strike three.
Fire Guy was nice about it and pretended like I didn't just feel up the fan. Oh wait, I already felt something up this morning. That joke is tired.
I think it's best to observe the Fire Guys from a distance, lest I make more of a fool of myself. They may fight fires for a living, but they can never extinguish the fire in my heart. Or my pants. Maybe I should get that checked out.
In the line of work I do, I see my share of firefighters. They're a large part of the organization I work for. You know that stupid stereotype where women will see a firefighter and completely lose her mind? It's preposterous and, frankly, offensive. I want to set the record straight: it's most definitely not a stereotype. It's true life, baby. Real as Aretha Franklin's love of powdered donuts and "look at me" hats.
Is that a bear claw I see?
If you are a woman and you don't at the very least get a hot flash when you see a fireman then your ovaries are plotting against you. Get that checked out.
Unfortunately, the fire guys only come in occasionally because this is an office, not a forest. There aren't as many fires to be put out here.
Today is one of the mornings where the stars aligned and God said, "Bring the dudes," and for whatever reason, there are fire guys around. There's one standing at my desk right now. Swooooon.
Ahem, focus. So earlier I was minding my own business at my desk. Doing a little typing, sipping a little tea and completely and totally groping myself. It's laundry time so my choice of clean bras has been a little limited. I was forced to go with one that, as it turns out, is trying to strangle my boobs into submission. I had one hand in my shirt, trying to mediate the fight between breast and bra when a fire guy wanders up.
"Uh, morning," he says. Strike one.
I try to play it cool, like this guy didn't just watch me get to second base with myself.
"Hey, good morning," I say. "How's it going?"
He is beautiful. He has a sort of Roman haircut going on, like Russel Crowe in Gladiator minus the body armor (unfortunately). He's young, maybe a few years older than me. He's got a trimmed beard (hello, would you like to father my children?), muscles and a killer smile.
"I'm going to be in the conference room all day," he says. "But I was wondering if you had any Tums? My stomach is killing."
It's because it's trying to tell you that you're madly in love with me. Listen to your body, cute Fire Guy.
I scramble around my desk for Tums. Scramble is putting it nicely. I tore up every first aid kit, every drawer and every shelf in my area. All the while I'm trying to make small talk in the hopes that Fire Guy will realize that I'm hilarious and witty and he wants to elope with me.
"We have 5 first aid kits, one of them has to have Tums right?" I say.
He chuckles. Score. "I hope so. I think I just had too much coffee; had to get up early."
"Oh yeah, what office are you from?" I say.
"[Town four hours away]," he says.
"Oh lame," I say. I was about to say that if he moved to Tucson, he would never have to drive anywhere except over to my place, when I opened a cabinet and a glass vase fell out and shattered. Strike two.
"Shit," I say. I turn to face Fire Guy and he is giving me a look that says, "I didn't know our company hired the mentally handicapped."
"Sorry, but I think we're all out of the good stuff," I say. "You might check with Safety Officer down the hall. That guy has all the good pills." I laugh at my own joke and Fire Guy offers up a pity smirk.
"Uh, alright I'll go check," he says. He lingers for just a second, looking at the digital picture frame on Desk Mate's desk. I start walking towards another drawer to find something to clean up the broken glass with when I tripped on a loose piece of carpet and have to use a fan to keep myself and my dignity from crashing to the floor. Strike three.
Fire Guy was nice about it and pretended like I didn't just feel up the fan. Oh wait, I already felt something up this morning. That joke is tired.
I think it's best to observe the Fire Guys from a distance, lest I make more of a fool of myself. They may fight fires for a living, but they can never extinguish the fire in my heart. Or my pants. Maybe I should get that checked out.
Friday, March 20, 2009
R-r-r-rewind.
This weekend rocked my face so hard I didn't have time to blog about it. It had everything a weekend should have: snow cones, gut-punching laughter, tennis elbow and money winning. I just hit rewind so we're taking a (rather long) trip back in time.
Friday night I was psyched to have no plans. It was an insanely busy day at the office, a day that followed in the footsteps of the four days previous to it. The week decided that it was going to be a crazy bastard and throw everything my way. No time to file? Here's 50 things that need to be copied, collated and filed by the end of the day. There were so many people at my desk that I was considering opening a small bed and breakfast on the side. I would've called it I Need A Break(fast). Which is probably why I don't have a bed and breakfast. But I digress.
All I wanted to do Friday night was put in my time at the college track, rent a movie, change into pants with an elastic waistband and call it a night. I texted my pal Deezy to see if she wanted to join me at the track. She gave me a call a few minutes later.
"I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go on a date with me?" she asked. "We could maybe go walking and then grab some appetizers and then maybe see a movie."
Food? Movies? Lady date? It took me a grand total of five seconds to say "hell motherfucking yeah!" before heading over. When I got to Deezy's place, she said she had a surprise for me. I was instantly excited. Deezy is the type of lady who is the epitome of spontaneous. I've always been intrigued by that, so when Deezy says "surprise" it usually means that she has something that will make me squeal in delight and/or poo myself with excitement. I mean, what? I don't poo my pants.
Awkward.
Deezy, as always, delivered the goods. She took me to a raspado place by her apartment. A raspado, for my non-Mexican, non-Arizona living folks, is a snow cone but made with real fruit. It's like a Mexican Diet Coke; not really healthy for you, but it tricks you into believing it is. And this place was legit*. It was a shabby little building on the side of the road in the ghetto part of town and everyone there spoke Spanish. I even ordered my shit in Spanish because I wanted to fit in. The signs were hand lettered on cardboard and the inside of it smelled like fruit. I got a little something called a mangoyada, which was mangos, lime and chamoy. Holy God, it was delicious. The raspado burst into my mouth and held a fruit fueled rave on my tongue. My taste buds were flipping the fuck out.
KV: I'm so excited I can't even get it in my mouth!
Deezy: THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!
Friday night I was psyched to have no plans. It was an insanely busy day at the office, a day that followed in the footsteps of the four days previous to it. The week decided that it was going to be a crazy bastard and throw everything my way. No time to file? Here's 50 things that need to be copied, collated and filed by the end of the day. There were so many people at my desk that I was considering opening a small bed and breakfast on the side. I would've called it I Need A Break(fast). Which is probably why I don't have a bed and breakfast. But I digress.
All I wanted to do Friday night was put in my time at the college track, rent a movie, change into pants with an elastic waistband and call it a night. I texted my pal Deezy to see if she wanted to join me at the track. She gave me a call a few minutes later.
"I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go on a date with me?" she asked. "We could maybe go walking and then grab some appetizers and then maybe see a movie."
Food? Movies? Lady date? It took me a grand total of five seconds to say "hell motherfucking yeah!" before heading over. When I got to Deezy's place, she said she had a surprise for me. I was instantly excited. Deezy is the type of lady who is the epitome of spontaneous. I've always been intrigued by that, so when Deezy says "surprise" it usually means that she has something that will make me squeal in delight and/or poo myself with excitement. I mean, what? I don't poo my pants.
Awkward.
Deezy, as always, delivered the goods. She took me to a raspado place by her apartment. A raspado, for my non-Mexican, non-Arizona living folks, is a snow cone but made with real fruit. It's like a Mexican Diet Coke; not really healthy for you, but it tricks you into believing it is. And this place was legit*. It was a shabby little building on the side of the road in the ghetto part of town and everyone there spoke Spanish. I even ordered my shit in Spanish because I wanted to fit in. The signs were hand lettered on cardboard and the inside of it smelled like fruit. I got a little something called a mangoyada, which was mangos, lime and chamoy. Holy God, it was delicious. The raspado burst into my mouth and held a fruit fueled rave on my tongue. My taste buds were flipping the fuck out.
KV: I'm so excited I can't even get it in my mouth!
Deezy: THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!
If it were possible to marry, impregnate and spawn more baby raspados, I would've done it. Let's legalize that, America.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday some of my aunts and cousins came down to spend the weekend with us. It's always amazing to me that my cousins aren't the babies I remember them being. Suddenly everyone is 16 and pretty and muscular and knows everything about Ozzy Osbourne and Rhianna. And before you know it they're finding your phone, scrolling through your texts and asking why you say fuck a lot and asking what being drunk is like. Go ask your parents.
My cousins are awesome though. It's nice that they're older because I feel like we have more to talk about. I finally have someone to impart life advice to, like when I told my 16 and 14-year-old cousins that "High school should be fun. Don't spend it listening to Radiohead and writing shitty poetry." Take that all the way to the bank, kids.
But the real joy in Saturday was Cosmic Bingo. Yes, bingo. And let me tell you this shit is the greatest discovery I've ever made. Before you judge me and think, "So when did you turn 87 again?", you should know the tagline for Cosmic Bingo is "it's not your grandma's bingo". So suck it.
Bingo is hosted by a drag queen and there are drinks, food and music. Those last three are pretty much all the incentive I need to go anywhere. Usually Garland, M and myself are the only ones down to go, but this weekend we packed up and took my parents, my aunts, Garland's sister and her fiance and Tata. We've been plenty of times but have never won anything but the shaft and a sense of failure. The drinks help ease the bingo losses.
Saturday night was a different story. There I was, playing my bingo cards, following every number the caller called out. I had one number to go, O-74. And let me tell you, that bastard took it's sweet ass time showing up. Oh hey, O-74, glad you could make it to the party. Why am I sweating so much? No reason, just wondering if you were going to bingo rape me again.
But there it was in all it's glory. O-motherfucking-74. BINGO! I screamed it at the top of my lungs. Unfortunately, so did someones grandma with a breathing tube. Even though breathing tube, pink pantsuit lady edged in on my bingo winnings, I still collected $100 clams. A single, beautiful Benjamin was heading my way. In your face, Indian Casino. It only took me a year of -coming to bingo to win my money back. Eff. Yes.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
After Saturday's bingo excitement, Sunday was relatively low key. We headed to a street fair downtown. There were all your usual assortment of downtown Tucsonans: hippies, college kids, drunkards, wannabe revolutionaries and people like me, who just came for the snow cones.
And all I had to do was sell my soul!
After the street fair, Red and I headed to the high school across the street from our house to play some tennis. I should start by saying that I don't play tennis. Red has a friend who is teaching him, and when I found out about this I insisted that he teach me. We went out and bought the cheapest racket we could find. A tennis racket that, apparently, was special made by Thor for The Hulk. This racket will fuck shit up. It also gave me the urge to talk mean shit.
The phrase "Suck Penn balls!" was uttered more than once.
Fortunately, Red and I were the only ones who were on the courts so nobody could see how awful I was or how many tennis balls I had shoved in my pants. I might suck at tennis, but my right arm is going to be ripped. I'll look like Freddy Rodriguez in Lady in the Water.
Discounted tickets to the gun show sold here.
The weekend was great. Most weekends serve as a reminder that there's more to life than the work week and school. This weekend, however, blew my shit up and was like, "Fuck being depressed. Put the sucking on hold and have some fun." Thanks for being such a foul-mouthed joy, Weekend.
*I was wearing a band t-shirt that said Dios Malos on it. In Spanish, it translates to Bad God or something along those lines. There was a Nana in front of me who looked at my shirt, looked at me and then gave me a rather disapproving look. I could hear her thinking, "This bitch better be going to church after this." If a Mexican Nana isn't silently judging you, it's not a legit Mexican place.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
I never could get the hang of Thursdays.
I've been a bit lost as of late. But unlike the TV show, there's no Matthew Fox or guy who plays Sayid to save me with sexy glances or explain to me what the eff is going on with all this time travel debauchery (seriously Richard Alpert, you have to be at least 100).
No, when I say lost I mean I am completely and totally unsure what I'm doing with my life. I mean sure, I'm going to school, I work, I have a social life, but what's the point of it all? Why am I doing it and why does it all feel so unrewarding? The biggest question of all, though, is how do I come back from this? How do I get found again?
Answer: beats me. I don't know and I get the feeling that I'll never know. Some days I'm okay with that and other days it terrifies me so much that I feel like curling into myself and disappearing. On the latter sort of days, I usually end up spending all day staring off into space with a nice, solid glaze over my eyes. The type of look that makes people think, "Is she thinking really hard about something or is she just high?" Hint: sadly it's not the high one.
Fortunately, I have some friends and family who are nice enough to listen to the ramblings of a confused little girl. I get some good advice from them.
"It's alright to just go through the motions sometimes."
"Your job doesn't define you."
"You're 21. You're not going to have it all figured out now and you shouldn't expect to."
"Why are you giving all your power over to someone? You're better than that."
"Don't wear white shorts with red underwear."
I usually feel better after talking to whoever drew the short straw and had to listen my complaints. Sometimes, however, advice comes to me from a somewhat unlikely source: Rex Grayskull, iPod extraordinaire. I knew if I paid $300 for an iPod it would give me life advice. Win.
I was driving into work this morning, still a little upset from my recent vacation to the dark side and trying to remember if I had any gum in my purse (answer: no). Rex was going through his morning shuffle when "I Want To Break Free" by Queen came on. One of the things I've been trying to sort through is my dependency on others. I like my friends and family, but there are times when I think I have to be a (wo)man about things and handle my business without all the fuss. Freddy Mercury seems to have discovered that several years before I was born.
This looks like a dude who knows his shit.
After the song was done, I felt a little better.
I can handle this, I thought. Next up was the song "Piece of My Heart" by Janis Joplin. I've been a casual Janis fan and can't listen to her without the overwhelming urge to get shitfaced, wear flowers and punch someone int he name of women everywhere. Peace and love my ass. But this morning I almost did a fist pump in the air when she screamed/sang (scranged? seamed?) the part that went, "take it!" Fuck. Yes. My heart is indeed a little battered and kind of split and broken in a few places. And the majority of the time it hurts like a mother (not literally. Nobody worry, I'm not going into cardiac arrest, unless by "arrest" you mean "nap time"), but life isn't all puppies and rainbows or rainbows made of puppies. It blows a lot of the time. And cheesy as it is, it's enormously gratifying to get through the hard times and feel like I've one upped life just by manning up and getting through it. In your face, Life. Ball's in your court assface.
Janis and Freddy gave me some good advice this morning. I walked into work feeling better. Today, I will conquer my little corner of the world. Tomorrow I might be back to being mopey and terrified, but today, well today I'm going to win because I have to. Because today there's really no other way to live than by saying, "Fuck it, I'm going for it."
No, when I say lost I mean I am completely and totally unsure what I'm doing with my life. I mean sure, I'm going to school, I work, I have a social life, but what's the point of it all? Why am I doing it and why does it all feel so unrewarding? The biggest question of all, though, is how do I come back from this? How do I get found again?
Answer: beats me. I don't know and I get the feeling that I'll never know. Some days I'm okay with that and other days it terrifies me so much that I feel like curling into myself and disappearing. On the latter sort of days, I usually end up spending all day staring off into space with a nice, solid glaze over my eyes. The type of look that makes people think, "Is she thinking really hard about something or is she just high?" Hint: sadly it's not the high one.
Fortunately, I have some friends and family who are nice enough to listen to the ramblings of a confused little girl. I get some good advice from them.
"It's alright to just go through the motions sometimes."
"Your job doesn't define you."
"You're 21. You're not going to have it all figured out now and you shouldn't expect to."
"Why are you giving all your power over to someone? You're better than that."
"Don't wear white shorts with red underwear."
I usually feel better after talking to whoever drew the short straw and had to listen my complaints. Sometimes, however, advice comes to me from a somewhat unlikely source: Rex Grayskull, iPod extraordinaire. I knew if I paid $300 for an iPod it would give me life advice. Win.
I was driving into work this morning, still a little upset from my recent vacation to the dark side and trying to remember if I had any gum in my purse (answer: no). Rex was going through his morning shuffle when "I Want To Break Free" by Queen came on. One of the things I've been trying to sort through is my dependency on others. I like my friends and family, but there are times when I think I have to be a (wo)man about things and handle my business without all the fuss. Freddy Mercury seems to have discovered that several years before I was born.
This looks like a dude who knows his shit.
After the song was done, I felt a little better.
I can handle this, I thought. Next up was the song "Piece of My Heart" by Janis Joplin. I've been a casual Janis fan and can't listen to her without the overwhelming urge to get shitfaced, wear flowers and punch someone int he name of women everywhere. Peace and love my ass. But this morning I almost did a fist pump in the air when she screamed/sang (scranged? seamed?) the part that went, "take it!" Fuck. Yes. My heart is indeed a little battered and kind of split and broken in a few places. And the majority of the time it hurts like a mother (not literally. Nobody worry, I'm not going into cardiac arrest, unless by "arrest" you mean "nap time"), but life isn't all puppies and rainbows or rainbows made of puppies. It blows a lot of the time. And cheesy as it is, it's enormously gratifying to get through the hard times and feel like I've one upped life just by manning up and getting through it. In your face, Life. Ball's in your court assface.
Janis and Freddy gave me some good advice this morning. I walked into work feeling better. Today, I will conquer my little corner of the world. Tomorrow I might be back to being mopey and terrified, but today, well today I'm going to win because I have to. Because today there's really no other way to live than by saying, "Fuck it, I'm going for it."
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
I wonder if St. Patrick got drunk and sang along to Queen.
I was very excited to go out for St. Patrick's Day yesterday. I'm not Irish, but I do appreciate alcohol. I think that's all that's required in order to participate. And something about potato famine and civil war, but I don't know. I'm not a historian.*
Mostly though, it was my first St. Paddy's Day that I could go out to the bars like the rest of the drunkards. I was determined to make it a night to remember. And in many ways, it was.
My night ended up being a series of epic wins and epic fails and ended in my driving home sobbing while listening to classical music. Epic fail. Thus, I present to you my St. Paddy's Day re-cap.
Win
I felt pretty confident on my way out to pre-game at a friend's house. I found this awesome vest that I was pretty psyched to wear.
Fail
As soon as I got to my friend's house, I spilled Rolling Rock all over the vest.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
I have a co-worker who does security at the bar we were going to go to. It was very crowded, since it was A.) an Irish themed pub, B.) right next to the state university and C.) it is common knowledge college kids will do almost anything to get shitfaced and not remember their own names. However, my co-worker said he could get myself and my friends in no matter how busy. Score!
Fail
We ended up going to another, still just as crowded bar where I couldn't flaunt my street cred. Although this turned out to be a win in the end.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
We had to park super far away and I had to pee like nobody's business (seriously, it's none of your beeswax what goes on between me and my lady parts). You might think this should be in the "fail" category, but we stopped at a closer bar on the way to the other bar where the rest of our friends were to "use the restroom", and by that I mean we stopped to drink some green beer. Green beer, I should mention, that I didn't have to pay for.
Fail
After chugging my third glass of green beer, I felt my tummy do the "uh-oh, I think you might be puking at the end of the night" dance. I penciled in an appointment with Dr. Porcelain and his assistant, the bathroom floor.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
I only paid for one drink the entire night. My friends were awesome and bought me the majority of what I consumed.
Fail
I eventually ended up on the dark side. I had a very intense conversation with a friend about how much I want to drive into the sunset because it would be neat and there's the off chance I might catch on fire.
KV: I think catching on fire would end most of my problems.
Friend: Yeah, except you'd be on fire.
KV: I guess you're right. I didn't think about that.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
While waiting in the line to get drinks (for fifteen minutes! Christ!), a cute boy with green suspenders, a green t-shirt and a green top hat turns around to chat.
"Be honest," he says. "Is this ensemble too much?"
I instantly think yes, but it takes a man with rather large cojones to both wear suspenders over a t-shirt and say the word "ensemble" with a straight face. Also he is cute and I have been drinking and everyone knows that means I instantly wanted to make out with his face.
"No," I respond. "I think the suspenders add a certain amount of awesome while the hat says 'I'm Irish but not a dick about it'."
Did it make sense? No. Did the boy laugh? Yes.
Fail
The boy turned back to his group of friends and nuzzled up next to another gentleman. Damn.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
I met some friends of a friend who turned out to be hilarious, awesome people.
This exchange happened:
Boy: Hey, my name is Casey.
KV: I'm KV.
Casey: KV, that's a rad name.
Fail
The rest of the exchange went like this:
KV: Thanks! After Hurricane Katrina, every new person I met asked how I felt about it because my name so closely resembles Katrina.
Casey: That's weird.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
On the drive home, one of the new people I had met requested a sing-along.
"Let's listen to something by Queen or Selena!" she said. I think I told her I loved her.
Fail
I was so schwasted I botched most of the words to "Bidi Bidi Bom Bom". Seconds later, my Mexican card was revoked.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
On the way home we stopped at Del Taco to get some food. If your night of drinking doesn't end with Mexican food, then you're doing something wrong.
Fail
After my friend had dropped everyone off, I started crying and telling her how much I hate my life. I was so anxious to get out of her car, get away from everyone and drive home that I forgot to grab my food from her.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
I started the beginning of the night excited and optimistic, wearing awesome green jewelry and a sweet vest.
Taken super sneakily at the bank.
Fail
Like I mentioned, there was the business on the way home with the sobbing and the Bach. I came home, took off my pants, sent some mean text messages to some friends and called it a night. I woke up like I do most other mornings: having to pee and listening to my dog clawing at the door. Also I looked like someone put me through a trash compactor and smothered me in failure.
Nothing says I'm a winner in life like an oversized Rocky t-shirt.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Aside from all the fails of the evening, I did have a lot of fun hanging out with some of my friends. There was, admittedly, some grade-A bullshit that took place, but the alcohol seemed to make everything not matter as much. I'd say the Irish are on to something there.
*Lies. Although here's a smidgen of truth: I'm lazy and still hungover. Hungover blogging not so great.
Mostly though, it was my first St. Paddy's Day that I could go out to the bars like the rest of the drunkards. I was determined to make it a night to remember. And in many ways, it was.
My night ended up being a series of epic wins and epic fails and ended in my driving home sobbing while listening to classical music. Epic fail. Thus, I present to you my St. Paddy's Day re-cap.
Win
I felt pretty confident on my way out to pre-game at a friend's house. I found this awesome vest that I was pretty psyched to wear.
Fail
As soon as I got to my friend's house, I spilled Rolling Rock all over the vest.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
I have a co-worker who does security at the bar we were going to go to. It was very crowded, since it was A.) an Irish themed pub, B.) right next to the state university and C.) it is common knowledge college kids will do almost anything to get shitfaced and not remember their own names. However, my co-worker said he could get myself and my friends in no matter how busy. Score!
Fail
We ended up going to another, still just as crowded bar where I couldn't flaunt my street cred. Although this turned out to be a win in the end.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
We had to park super far away and I had to pee like nobody's business (seriously, it's none of your beeswax what goes on between me and my lady parts). You might think this should be in the "fail" category, but we stopped at a closer bar on the way to the other bar where the rest of our friends were to "use the restroom", and by that I mean we stopped to drink some green beer. Green beer, I should mention, that I didn't have to pay for.
Fail
After chugging my third glass of green beer, I felt my tummy do the "uh-oh, I think you might be puking at the end of the night" dance. I penciled in an appointment with Dr. Porcelain and his assistant, the bathroom floor.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
I only paid for one drink the entire night. My friends were awesome and bought me the majority of what I consumed.
Fail
I eventually ended up on the dark side. I had a very intense conversation with a friend about how much I want to drive into the sunset because it would be neat and there's the off chance I might catch on fire.
KV: I think catching on fire would end most of my problems.
Friend: Yeah, except you'd be on fire.
KV: I guess you're right. I didn't think about that.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
While waiting in the line to get drinks (for fifteen minutes! Christ!), a cute boy with green suspenders, a green t-shirt and a green top hat turns around to chat.
"Be honest," he says. "Is this ensemble too much?"
I instantly think yes, but it takes a man with rather large cojones to both wear suspenders over a t-shirt and say the word "ensemble" with a straight face. Also he is cute and I have been drinking and everyone knows that means I instantly wanted to make out with his face.
"No," I respond. "I think the suspenders add a certain amount of awesome while the hat says 'I'm Irish but not a dick about it'."
Did it make sense? No. Did the boy laugh? Yes.
Fail
The boy turned back to his group of friends and nuzzled up next to another gentleman. Damn.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
I met some friends of a friend who turned out to be hilarious, awesome people.
This exchange happened:
Boy: Hey, my name is Casey.
KV: I'm KV.
Casey: KV, that's a rad name.
Fail
The rest of the exchange went like this:
KV: Thanks! After Hurricane Katrina, every new person I met asked how I felt about it because my name so closely resembles Katrina.
Casey: That's weird.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
On the drive home, one of the new people I had met requested a sing-along.
"Let's listen to something by Queen or Selena!" she said. I think I told her I loved her.
Fail
I was so schwasted I botched most of the words to "Bidi Bidi Bom Bom". Seconds later, my Mexican card was revoked.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
On the way home we stopped at Del Taco to get some food. If your night of drinking doesn't end with Mexican food, then you're doing something wrong.
Fail
After my friend had dropped everyone off, I started crying and telling her how much I hate my life. I was so anxious to get out of her car, get away from everyone and drive home that I forgot to grab my food from her.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Win
I started the beginning of the night excited and optimistic, wearing awesome green jewelry and a sweet vest.
Taken super sneakily at the bank.
Fail
Like I mentioned, there was the business on the way home with the sobbing and the Bach. I came home, took off my pants, sent some mean text messages to some friends and called it a night. I woke up like I do most other mornings: having to pee and listening to my dog clawing at the door. Also I looked like someone put me through a trash compactor and smothered me in failure.
Nothing says I'm a winner in life like an oversized Rocky t-shirt.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Aside from all the fails of the evening, I did have a lot of fun hanging out with some of my friends. There was, admittedly, some grade-A bullshit that took place, but the alcohol seemed to make everything not matter as much. I'd say the Irish are on to something there.
*Lies. Although here's a smidgen of truth: I'm lazy and still hungover. Hungover blogging not so great.
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