Enough to make a girl profane.

I'm putting off the Dresden Doll ohmycodi'veseenthemlivenananananaboohbooh entry until a little later. I've got to vent. Just call me Ms. AC.

I don't know what to do. I feel like I'm in one of those EMO videos where the guy sings about everything wrong in his life. Well, right now, I feel like an awful lot of things refuse to be right.

I have a second job now. I'm working as a temporary secretary to the English department where I had my two year stint as a work-study in during school to help pay for my education...and food. You'd say, that's fantastic. Congratulations! You're making more money than Kohls and now you don't have to work at Kohls as often.

But nothing's ever that simple. To recieve something in this world it seems as if something has to be foresaken. The reason why I'm here (literally, I'm at work) is because someone close to me is not. She's not dead. She's not well, though.

Oh Cod! And everything's under a blanket. One of those blue fuzzy blankets where you can see the shape of what's underneath but no one's saying what it is! I need to say it! She's dying!

It's so hard to say. My throat closes in on the words. But it's easier than pretending otherwise. And, yet, it's not without the hope of her surviving that I say it but because it's a relief to get the voices in the back of my mind out. You keep them stuffed in for so long and they get anxious for it. And then you get depressed and cry for no reason at all. Or at least not a very good one. And you wonder why.

Also. The payment that I'm getting conflicts excruciatingly with my low-paying lesser hours Kohls job. I'm going to be eating off of dry limbs and berries by the time I get my first check from here at the end of November. Not that I don't love it here, but Cod, it's friggin' hard. Everything's so hard recently. I feel like I'm living in the cracks of a brick and I can't find the dern exit.

And, no, I can't get an advance on the check.

Then again, you'd probably find that true with most schools. So I don't blame them.

I need to learn how to play a guitar and get my hair in just that way where it's covering only one eye at a time dramatically and depressingly. Maybe then I'd at least make some money for my depressing state.

current picture: (it's not currently uploading pictures for me)

current mood: I'm not telling.

Trademark Security Warning, Styrofoam Misconception.

WARNING WARNING WARNING!

Put down that formerly styrofoam cup of coffee and pick up that generic foam cup of coffee! Silence your tongues, they speak not what it means! It is a verbal revolution against those who would dare whisper a trademarked name to inappropriate ends! Not since "Duck Tape" brand Duct Tape or "Band-Aid" brand sticky bandages with a little cushion for your cut in the middle has there been such an uproar.

On my journey through the internets I've not only found the correct spelling of the word "styrofoam" but I have found the company that's had to bear the burden of their product's name being spewed over foam less worthy of the label. I think I'll just let the words speak for themselves as I have no words to lament my sadness of the injustice brought to this nobel unrecycleable product!

http://www.dow.com/styrofoam/what.htm

Invented by Dow more than 50 years ago and identified worldwide by the distinctive Blue** color, STYROFOAM* products are the most widely recognized brand in insulation today. In the early 1900s, The Dow Chemical Company invented a process for extruding polystyrene to achieve a closed cell foam that resists moisture. Recognizing its superior insulating properties, buoyancy and "unsinkability," it was originally adopted in 1942 by the Coast Guard for use in a six-man life raft. That was the start of many other wartime applications by the Coast Guard and Navy.

Today, the Dow STYROFOAM brand includes a variety of building materials (including insulated sheathing and housewrap), pipe insulation and floral and craft products. But there isn’t a coffee cup, cooler or packaging material in the world made from STYROFOAM.
These common disposable items are typically white in color and are made of expanded polystyrene beads. They do not provide the insulating value, compressive strength or moisture resistance properties of STYROFOAM products. In order to protect the Dow trademarked name “STYROFOAM”, such other material should be referred to by the generic term “foam.”

I am not a peg. I do not need a hole.

currently: outraaaaaged!!!!

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Sanity-Check, Boredom-Double-check

I go on these blogging splurges where I post nearly everyday for about three to five days and then I take a haitus for nearly a month and then I post again. I don't normally have this much sane time where I'm not exhausted so that I can actually think but since I've gotten a temporary position in the English department of a local college I suddenly have constant access to a computer with internet and enough down hours to compose a blog or two.

I'm not really bored, here. Bored would be laying on my back with my legs drapped over the arm of my recline-chair with a million things to do but no inspiration to do them. That's my definition of pure boredom. Not just the lack of things to do but the apathy about things needing to be done that creates it. No, right now I'm just plain old lacking anything to keep me entertained.

So I'm entertaining myself.

This morning I accomplished fantastic feats. First, I replenished the office supplies. I washed a vase and the dry erase marker jar. I put dry erase markers into the dry erase marker jar. I put candy into the candy jar. I replenished the large rubberbands. I put more pencils in the drawer beside the dry erase markers. I picked up trash. I helped someone get into a teacher's office to retrieve their back pack. Their three thousand pound green backpack with a black strap that nearly pulled something in my arm, I'm not sure what. I don't even think I had anything in my arm that would have been pulled by the action if I hadn't picked up the pack. It created a muscle to be pulled. That's how heavy it was.

I'd forgotten how much of an ache (a literal ache) it was to be a student. To think I'll be subjecting myself to that again after spring semester and summer.

In other news, I'm going to Kohl's after I get off from here. We'll see how that goes. I'm not sure about this whole working two jobs kinda thing. But, after all, this job right here is only temporary. So it's not as if it'll last forever.

Time warp: Look who just packed student perceptions in less than five minutes flat! That's right. It's me. We can celebrate later with cheap red wine and cheddar cheese on trisquits.

currently: three and a half hours in

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Gorey, Hair B-Gone, and Evil Spock

Re: Gorey Ball

Where were you! You fiends! You...you...people who aren't going to read this! What was it? October fest? Beerfest? Fall break? You Saturday night whores, you were supposed to be at the Gorey Masquerade so I wasn't wandering around aimlessly in a peacoat, tights, and wool hat with a "Hello, My Name is: Hector (killed by thugs)" sticker on my coat. I didn't get lost in the old city in the middle of the night just to finally find my way to Market Square and be bored out of my mind! You pions! Where were you, partymakers of the night? Drunk off beer? Eating too much baclava? Being fall-y? Ya bastards and biotches alike!

But that's okay. That's alright. I talked about firefly and Joss Whedon with two fellow intellectual geeks. I helped a girl cure her hiccups. And I had awkward conversation. Bet you're jealous now.

Re: What hair?

I can't tell you how good it feels not to have hair.

Answer: Evil Spock
Question: What sticker is covering the scratch marks on the right side of my laptop computer?

Have you ever fallen in love with a gay man? Oh shush, yes you have, I don't care what gender you call yourself. I don't mean to be cliché. I don't mean to fit into a mold, but I think it's a constant in my life that I fall in lust...infatuation with gay men. Celebritywise we have my affairs with both Sir Elton John and not-so-Sir Alan Cumming. Non-celebrity wise...well...if I told you I'd have to kill you. No I wouldn't.

The thing is, I usually know in the first few minutes that, oh, they are not straight and (therefore) would not be interested in me. Sometimes I don't. That's okay. I'll cry about it later when I'm talking to my psychiatrist when I'm thirty and still haven't had a deep relationship with another human. But, the question is, what do I see in gay men that I prefer?

It's not a stereotypical thing because I've fallen for gay men who aren't obviously "gay." There must be some trait shared in the gay community that isn't stereotypical but, regardless, common. This has been an ongoing struggle. I've been called a hag, and a fly (a fruit fly, heh) by a good friend. I've also been attracted to gay men since I was a wee girl.

Maybe it's a forbidden fruit, thing. Or it's a safety thing. Attracted to gay men! Ooh, that means I can't have a relationship deeper than "girl, you look great in that shirt." (p.s. No one's ever said that to me.)

I also have another forbidden infatuation. W.E. Hill, my lesbian crush.. She is in a relationship right now. And because I have deeper feelings for her (oh, unrequited love!) I've failed to become a greater friend. It's one of those selfish, egotistical moves that makes it easier for me and makes her feel like maybe she's done something wrong. Or not. Regardless, I still like-like her and she only likes me. The cutie.

Ah, well. I think I'll just stick with being attracted to the transies, the gay "bois" and lesbian "gyrls" (written that way just to annoy someone who may or may not be still reading this neglected blog, yes, I was listening to your conversation).

currently: Bladder bloated

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