Yes, there is a reason why guests smell after three days

I’m so bloody tired, the mere thought of doing homework makes me want to puke. But with a paper (well, an essay) due tomorrow, a test tomorrow, two big papers due next week and my poli sci midterm also next week, i have to get cracking. I’m not sure how I’m doing it, but I’ve been channeling kethryvis, so fingers crossed it’s all good.

So, I’ve discovered just how much I love my personal space.
Like if space were a man, i’d marry it. Call it george, pet it, etc.

You don’t come over to someones house and bitch about well, everything. If I tell you something such as do not leave my bathroom trash can on the floor as one of my dogs will get into it and smear bloody tampons all around the house, please do what I ask. But no, that was apparently too bloody fucking difficult. Also, if i ask you if you want something from the store, because you’ve known me for a zillion years and you know I drink non-fat milk and eat lowfat/healthy foods, don’t complain when i ASK YOU WHAT YOU WANT FOR DINNER AND YOU AGREE TO WHAT I PROPOSE, STOP BITCHING THAT WHILE IT IS GOOD, XYZ IS WRONG WITH IT. The list went on and goes on.

And it wasn’t just my guest, it was my brother too. My god, my teeth are on edge I’m so pissed off. Yes, I do understand I do not have a job, but I DO work a lot getting these good grades, they do not come easily even if they are level 100 and 200 classes. And you know what else, stop picking on me. Stop making fun of my choices of reading material, music selections, food selections, and DVD selections. the fact that I have faster bandwidth and computer than you do. Stop getting pissed off if you ask me a question that has relation to the Internet and I do not know the answer. Or the fact that my apartment is nicer than yours, that my car actually does not need to be jumped in the morning and that I have enough gadgets support a third world nation. Just because I have something, say OH A TiVo, and I TiVo something for you, this does not mean you can come over when you want, eat my food, and expect to hang out here all afternoon. And stop bringing your fucking dog over here and calling my dogs bitch dogs. Yes, they are 18lbs a piece, but you know, this is THEIR home, and I don’t need your wild beast fucking with them in THEIR home.

I’ve fucking had it with people taking advantage of my generosity. Jesus christ on a fucking pogo stick.

Lets see what else:
Well fuck you to my mother, who, while doesn’t have a job and can’t seem to comprehend that while volunteering might just go against her at her review for SSI, is paying one of my aunts MONEY to clean her apartment. You don’t have a job. The woman is 59yo, let her get money somewhere else.

Fuck you to Paul for calling me up and blaming me for all his problems as to why all the people in NoVa (who, apparently and btw hate my guts) no longer speak to him and everyone is so ‘boring’ and ‘old farts’. Or something.

Fuck you to the ex Danny who states and I quote “I put my life on hold for you”, which I nearly laughed myself out of my chair, really, because you can’t get any funnier than that. And yet who seems to think that since I’m back that I’m now just a “Yahoo IM Booty Call” away. ahaha. Sure buddy. What the fuck ever. Hell would freeze over.

What else, oh well fuck you to boy-who-lives-across-the-sea. It seems, he likes a girl, which is fine. They went out on Valentines day, which is also fine. What is not fine is that we had this huge discussion about the probability that if one of us started dating that we would try and maintain our friendship, and now he’s back to ignoring me, again. Right. Who the hell was I fooling? Myself apparently (plus that super secret dream that i had feverently wished you were going to drop to one knee and declare your love to me was just that, a dream. hahaha. boy i’m so rich i kill myself). And we just had this fucking big discussion three months ago and you know, the whole point of being friends is that it IS a two-way street.

and fuck you too to the internet. Recently found someone I’ve been looking for for nearly four years now and now I’ve realised maybe sometimes it’s better to just leave things as they are — in the past where they belong.

BAH!

mother, may i

my mother called me this morning to let me know what was currently going on with her since she had moved to Port Huron. She still gets a bit giddy with the realization that she see’s an ad on television for Port Huron, she thinks to herself how wonderful it would be for her to live there and then reality strikes that she does live there.

Mumsy is becoming the belle of the ball, being the second youngest resident in the independent living apartments she is currently residing in. She goes out, she plays poker, she goes shopping, she’s always on the go. She was lamenting to me that she no longer feels productive anymore and i had to keep reassuring her that she was getting along just fine. I then thanked her for being so damn impatient, passing that trait on to me and making me the anal retentive person that I am today.

A prime example is after we had moved everything yesterday, Alvin and I were in my bedroom unpacking my books. You can tell a lot by what person first unpacks after they move. The three things I was worried about were:
a. coffee machine/grinder
b. the teddy bear I’ve had since i was 3
c. my book collection

Alvin offered to help stack the books into the huge bookshelf i have, when i declined and said no, my anal retentiveness wouldn’t allow it. I couldn’t find the one big box of books i had that i had in my “current reading pile” but started reading About A Boy again by Nick Hornby, after telling Chris it was a load of poo. Well it was a load of poo, but it was a year ago when I read it (after finishing High Fidelity and deciding that the main character was me) and who knows?

Maybe I was wrong.

So far, I haven’t been wrong.

We have no gas and thus nothing to heat up the water heater and we can’t cook. Last night I had to have a shower and stood there under the freezing cold sprays.

rhubarb

man, i need to stop writing these things late at night. I’m getting mahself all confused.

On Sunday, my friend Keth came by packed with her Final Fantasy game, an extra controller to pick me up to head to Andrew’s and Godmomas new place in San Jose. The meeting was a bittersweet one. We met to congratulate Andrew and Gunilla on their new apartment and to say goodbye to me.

I find it hard, in some strange and broken way, to come to the realisation that this week will be the final week I will be in the SF Bay Area. I sat talking with Caroline (Cathleen’s sister) the other night about my 2.5 years here, and in many ways, I can’t quite come to grips with knowing that what I’ve put myself through. I know, personally, that looking back through my discussions with her, that my own life seems so damn ridiculous. How you may ask I know, personally, that if someone related to me about what I’ve been through and what I’ve seen right back to me, I would have said “man, that chyk is on fucking drugs. she’s not trustworthy, independent nor is she even really COOL.” However, ones own assessment of themselves seems to be way harsher than reality. We had a fairly healthy debate about women in technology (ironically, it was four women and two men at the shin-dig) and my basic stance is this: while i believe in the fight for equality for all sexes, women need to stop bitching about what is “owed” and start proving that they are worthy of their own due. I cannot take feminism seriously as long as those who claim to fight for “women” end up reading Cosmo, Vogue and other mags when they are done at the end of the day. ’nuff said.

On that note, i actually got packed this evening — man — three boxes worth of crap and i haven’t hit books, CDs and clothing. I can’t believe how much toys, knickknacks and overall crap i’ve accumulated since i’ve been here.

———–

you know how it is. you start looking at one friends webpage, which means you go to another and yet another. fortunately, i knew two of the people and knew of the third.

two of the pages i quickly skimmed were of course journals. not to the extent of which i have written, but, journals nevertheless (how cool is it to say that i have entries going back to 1996?). Since I knew of the persons, at one time, fairly intimately, it seemed strange to read their entry and feel — nothing.

Not strange perhaps, but more of an “gosh, they got what they wanted — why can’t i?” kind of feeling. not one of jealousy per se, but one of “why is it always THEM that gets the goods and not me?” kind of deal.

Last night on the phone, Paul babbled for some time about music and how it affects us. The strange ironic part of the conversation was that earlier in the evening, Justin and I were on our way back from running errands and I was grooving to NiN’s new cd (which, ironies of ironies CDNow finally shipped two weeks AFTER and I had already went and purchased the cd since I had never received it). I loved watching the back windshield pound to the beat of the bass of “Even Deeper” and Justin looked at me and said “I just don’t get it.” I replied “Don’t get what?” and he said “Music. This does NOTHING for me”. Justin knew, since the beginning of our relationship nearly 2.5 years ago, that music was a huge HUGE mainstay in my life. I used it for many reasons. And there are songs — some of which I’ve stolen from people I’ve met and some i’ve conjured on my own, that makes sense to me. I need the music in my life in order to survive.

but that is not the point and neither is this really.

lately i’ve been feeling detached. i toyed today with ideas of things and nothing. and i’ve been spending like mad (3 lipsticks, 2 pairs of shoes, boots, 4 pairs of pants, 3 shirts, 4 pairs of tights, the checkbook is hurting!). Most people spend their cash on hardware — i look to outfit my wardrobe. I heart being a girl.

I am not copesetic on everything right now. in fact, i’m choosing NOT to think because it’s so much easier than thinking. It hasn’t dawned on me that i’m leaving in 2.5 days.