tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8843555116257787782024-03-05T22:53:40.187-07:00The Blog Of No Unifying ThemeEnjoy!purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.comBlogger526125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-70022288607399904212011-08-13T01:21:00.001-06:002011-08-13T01:21:07.868-06:00Oh yeah. I have another blog.But I still don't have anything to say here!purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-86912122677046669632011-04-07T06:13:00.000-06:002011-04-07T06:13:09.132-06:00Long silence!Wow, I didn't realize how long it'd been since I'd written anything here. I guess I just haven't felt like I could express the stuff spinning around in my head. There's plenty of it, personal and family drama and work and life decisions, but trying to sum it all up is an exhausting prospect.purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-55933216653830174712011-01-26T23:05:00.000-07:002011-01-26T23:05:49.058-07:00Self-confidence.I used to be cripplingly shy, and have absolutely terrible self-confidence. Like the non-existent kind. In the last few years I've gotten a <i>lot</i> better. Especially in the shy department. In fact, I love telling recent acquaintances that I used to be quiet and didn't talk. They're speechless!<br />
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And in the self-confidence department, I'm pretty damn good too. I don't think I'm capable of everything, but I don't think I'm incapable of everything. I think I've struck a pretty good balance between realism and optimism in terms of what I'm capable of.<br />
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There's one area, though, where I have absolutely zero confidence, and that's when it comes to men. There are a lot of reasons for it. My weight, for one: I know there are men who dig the fatties, but I think there are more who don't. Then there's my relationship history: totally dysfunctional. And my families' relationship histories: not a successful marriage on either side. There's my quirks: I have three cats, I don't want kids, I don't want to get married. There's my feelings on sex: not going to happen until a long time in to a relationship. There's my enjoyment of being alone: I <i>love</i> living alone, I <i>love</i> having space to myself, and I <i>love</i> not having to tell anyone where I'm going to be every minute of the day.<br />
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I'm sure that somewhere, maybe even close by, there's a man I'd be attracted to who likes fat girls, doesn't want marriage or crotchspawn, loves cats, is willing to be celibate, can respect my privacy, and is patient enough to deal with me working through my unhealthy relationship issues. But I wouldn't even know where to start to look for him. And I certainly don't know if the cute regular customer at work who inspired this post fits. Or how to flirt with him to try to find out. Or if I'm even really ready to try.purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-84351903381734834102011-01-18T08:00:00.000-07:002011-01-18T08:00:42.475-07:00Hoping, hoping ....Got my W2 and my 1098T. Now I just need my 1099. I put in the basic info from my 1099 just to see what happened .... if I get even half of what my overall estimated return, I'll be happy.purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-15992680702437789752011-01-11T05:29:00.000-07:002011-01-11T05:29:47.636-07:00Good for nothing.I've been really struggling lately. I'm sick of my job; I'm sick of never knowing how much I'll make, and having my ability to pay my rent depend on if the jackass at table 30 wants to tip tonight or not. But at the same time I feel so trapped. Because the thing is ..... I'm really not good at anything. At least not anything that makes money. It's pretty depressing. And it seems pointless to stop serving just to work at another job I'll be mediocre at and will probably hate as well.<br />
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I'm just feeling sorry for myself.purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-72099046533896841132011-01-05T21:18:00.000-07:002011-01-05T21:18:59.271-07:00The F word.There's a certain word that, any time I say it, everyone in my vicinity cringes and looks away as if I had just admitted I like to bathe in the blood of aborted babies. It really mystifies me, because it's a very simple word, and it's an entirely accurate descriptor for me. Fat. Fat. That's all. Just fat.<br />
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This has happened twice lately, both in conversations regarding jeans. I had to buy new jeans for work before Christmas, because my old ones ripped and my newer pair was really uncomfortable. I didn't want to shell out the cash for Lane Bryant jeans, so I tried Target, Kohl's, and Wal-Mart first. And that reminded me of what for the part six years I've gone straight to LB.<br />
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I was telling a good friend of mine this, and she suggested I go to Old Navy. "Can't," I said. "I'm too fat." She started, looking away, and started insisting I couldn't be too large to shop at Old Navy. I just laughed and told her their jeans in-store stop at size 20, which is four sizes too small for me. She continued looking very uncomfortable.<br />
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Yesterday, someone was talking about Kohl's and how "wonderful" it is. I mentioned that I tried to get jeans there before going to LB, and the bartender (who's about a size 14), asked me "Why do you shop at Lane Bryant?!" From her tone I'm guessing she went in once and was horrified by the prices, since she has cheaper options.<br />
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I kind of blinked at her. "Because I'm fat a girl."<br />
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She immediately stopped making eye contact and started making disagreeing sounds, clucking her tongue, pulling that "you're not fat" crap. I laughed. "It's true," I said, "these are size 24 jeans." Everyone around me continued looking horrified that I would say that about myself. They're seriously less horrified when I make jokes about bondage and sex toy sodomy.<br />
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And even though I know that society has added all sorts of connotations to the word "fat", peoples' reactions still amuse me. "You're not fat" -- <i>really</i>? What part of me isn't fat? My hair?purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-2830866389145377472011-01-04T05:52:00.000-07:002011-01-04T05:52:20.158-07:00Thank god the holidays are over.Not all of my holidays were back, but my dad's horrid girlfriend making me cry on Christmas was not a high point. Of course, I also finally told my dad I don't want to be around her, and he said he doesn't blame me and he understood. Which is a far cry from his statement a year ago that if I didn't want to see her, I wouldn't see him! So hopefully things will be better from now on.<br />
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I also got sick on either side of Christmas, which was awesome.purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-87778015949193387772010-12-20T04:27:00.000-07:002010-12-20T04:27:45.406-07:00Thinking so much, saying so little.I've been in such a weird, sad mood since I got home from my trip. I feel all abstracted, out of sorts, like there's something big processing in my sub-consciousness. No idea what it is, though.purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-59218569840078936332010-12-01T14:15:00.000-07:002010-12-01T14:15:15.218-07:00I'm sad to say, I'm back.My trip was incredible, for so many reasons. I met a lot of great people, saw a lot of great things -- not touristy things, generally, but just everyday things I loved -- and I saw my Norwegians four times, from the second or first rows. But now I'm home, and depressed. Sigh.purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-21612428114695256922010-10-27T02:08:00.002-06:002010-10-27T02:08:33.513-06:00My life is hilarious.I got over the cold from my last post -- in record time for me, in fact! -- and then on my way to work I stopped at my dad's work. I was still angry with him, and I stormed out of his office and directly into a steel beam. My first concussion!purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-62289355865206047432010-10-19T14:24:00.001-06:002010-10-19T14:24:09.163-06:00Screw you, immune system!I knew that working two jobs, especially the kind of hours and the kind of conditions in a haunted house, was going to wear me down. So I started drinking extra water, eating more produce, getting as much sleep as I could. I really tried to take care of myself.<br />
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And I got sick anyway. Godfreakingdammit.purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-7757184906952033162010-10-19T14:22:00.000-06:002010-10-19T14:22:10.307-06:00Safer vehicles for drivers with disabilities.<em>This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of <a href="http://socialspark.com/metrics/click/disclosure?slot_id=506342&url=http%3A%2F%2Fnmeda.org%2Fconsumers%2Flocate-a-dealer%2Fdefault.aspx" rel="nofollow">NMEDA</a>. All opinions are 100% mine.</em><br />
<br />
I hope this doesn't come across as insensitive, but I've always wondered where people with disabilities get cars they drive with hand pedals, etc. I've never seen a dealership for them, or advertisements for them. And I didn't know about <a href="http://socialspark.com/metrics/click/post?slot_id=506342&url=http%3A%2F%2Fnmeda.org%2Fconsumers%2Flocate-a-dealer%2Fdefault.aspx" rel="nofollow">NMEDA</a>, a non-profit organization that promotes safer transportation for the disabled. They don't sell anything themselves; instead they certify dealers to offer safe vehicles that meet National Highway Traffic Safety Administration Guidelines. Additionally, their Quality Assurance program is THE nationally recognized accreditation program for the Adaptive Mobility Equipment Industry.<br />
<br />
I've never been a caregiver for someone with a disability, but my mom works as a CNA, so I've heard her talk about some of the difficulties, especially regarding transportation. I know she's cared for a lot of elderly people who had lost their independence because they had no transportation; it's nice to know there's an organization like NMEDA who can help people in those situations. It's especially nice because I know there are plenty of unscrupulous people who would sell vehicles personally or over the Internet, and those vehicles may not be 100% safe. It's difficult enough to judge if an average vehicle is safe, or if you're being ripped off; I can only image how difficult it would be to try to discern if an adapted vehicle is safe or not.<br />
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<a href="http://socialspark.com/metrics/click/disclosure?slot_id=506342&url=http%3A%2F%2Fnmeda.org%2Fconsumers%2Flocate-a-dealer%2Fdefault.aspx" rel="nofollow"><img alt="Visit my sponsor: NMEDA" border="0" src="http://socialspark.com/metrics/view/post?slot_id=506342&url=http%3A%2F%2Fsocialspark.com%2Fimages%2Fdisclosure_badges%2Fdisclosure_badge_grey_three.png" style="border: 0;" /></a>purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-7841779520429564262010-10-19T14:08:00.000-06:002010-10-19T14:08:23.635-06:00Thinking more about this thing with my dad.I'm getting more and more angry with him. Not about the fact that he won't help me with my trip -- I told him I could do it without financial help, and I can. But I'm pissed off that he's trying to control me! He started out by asking if I was sure I wanted to do this with the "terrorist activity" in Europe; when I said yes he interrogated me about why, and said I shouldn't go alone and that I would be a target. Because apparently anyone walking down the street in London would know and/or care I'm American?<br />
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And then when I told him it was what I wanted to do, he said "Then you are as stupid as I thought. Goodbye." Then the next time he started berating me about being irresponsible, and asking why I didn't save the money and be ahead for once.<br />
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So basically, he tried to logic me out of it, then he tried to scare me; then to undermine me and convince me I'm too stupid to handle it; and then he moved on to trying to use money as leverage. Wonder what he'll try next.purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-31815931116950071352010-10-19T14:01:00.000-06:002010-10-19T14:01:21.615-06:00Not as exotic as I was planning ....<em>This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of <a href="http://socialspark.com/metrics/click/disclosure?slot_id=509012&url=http%3A%2F%2Fbit.ly%2F8Y74PL" rel="nofollow">Geile Leon</a>. All opinions are 100% mine.</em><br />
<br />
When my father was berating me about my trip to England, he started listing all sorts of places closer by that I haven't been to, and asked why I didn't go there instead. He doesn't know the trip is centered around a certain band -- he'd be even more pissed! I just shrugged and said I'd never really been interested in anywhere near home.<br />
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Although I do have to admit it's slightly tempting to take a more luxurious vacation somewhere close by. I could go a couple of states away and for around $300 spend two nights at the <a href="http://socialspark.com/metrics/click/post?slot_id=509012&url=http%3A%2F%2Fbit.ly%2F8Y74PL" rel="nofollow">Hilton Promenade at Branson Landing</a> or <a href="http://socialspark.com/metrics/click/post?slot_id=509012&url=http%3A%2F%2Fbit.ly%2FcHfuIV" rel="nofollow">Hilton Branson Convention Center Hotel</a>. They have this "Fall In The City" package that includes show tickets, dinner, attractions, etc. Or there's a shopping package, and they do have the Tanger Outlet Mall there, and god knows I love to shop. I could run away to Missouri for a few days and spend all my spare cash, not worrying about pinching pennies or train fares or how to pay rent when I got back. I could go to lakes and theaters and museums and still be in my little American comfort zone.<br />
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Too bad I already have a plane ticket. And a couple of concert tickets. And an obsession. Oh, who am I kidding, I wouldn't take Branson over England. But it does look like a fun place if you don't have an obsession with Morten Harket.<br />
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<a href="http://socialspark.com/metrics/click/disclosure?slot_id=509012&url=http%3A%2F%2Fbit.ly%2F8Y74PL" rel="nofollow"><img alt="Visit my sponsor: Enjoy an exhilarating weekend getaway in Branson! " border="0" src="http://socialspark.com/metrics/view/post?slot_id=509012&url=http%3A%2F%2Fsocialspark.com%2Fimages%2Fdisclosure_badges%2Fdisclosure_badge_grey_three.png" style="border: 0;" /></a>purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-12662377298633237552010-10-15T03:29:00.001-06:002010-10-19T13:32:08.858-06:00Hard to think about.One of our managers at the restaurant was killed in a car wreck last week. I didn't know him well; he was new, and I'd only worked with him a handful of times. Once the initial shock passed, I wasn't very upset, until I read in the newspaper that the cops suspected alcohol was involved.<div><br />
</div><div>That reminded me of all the times I worried about my dad drinking and driving, as he did consistently when I was a kid. I thought about all the times that I would be huddled in bed, waiting for him to come home, wondering if he was just late or if he had had an accident. I was already feeling emotional that day because of other things, so it really was bothering me.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I had to stop to see him on my way to my evening job, and all I wanted to do was give him a hug and tell him that I love him. But before I could do that, he jumped my ass about my trip to England and started berating me about how dangerous and stupid and irresponsible it was, and that he wasn't giving me any money for my trip. Then he dismissed me without even saying goodbye. I started sobbing, and he thought I was trying to butter him up about it; when I told him what I was actually upset about ... he continued to be an ass! Basically he said people die, there was no reason to be upset, I hardly knew this person, I was being foolish, he doesn't drink and drive anymore so why was I upset. I tried to hug him and he just stood there, hands on his sides, elbows sticking out, and looked at me.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I cried the hour and a half to my job; then some more after I got there; then some more on the way home. A week later and I'm still <i>so</i> angry at him! </div>purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-75146309147244910702010-09-23T04:24:00.003-06:002010-09-23T04:36:21.239-06:00Why couldn't they just run off to Vegas.My father is getting married.<div><br /></div><div>I am less than thrilled about this, although I managed to hide it. Luckily my grandmother didn't erupt into tears of joys and screechings about wedding plans -- she was very calm as well -- so my lack of response wasn't as out of place. I couldn't bring myself to say congratulations or I'm happy for you, because the words just burned like acid in my throat.</div><div><br /></div><div>I want to be happy for my dad. He does seem happy with her, I guess. But I've been through this before. He was engaged before, and broke it off. And the pattern seems to be repeating. Similar time frames; just got a puppy together; and this new one is starting to try to interfere with his relationship with me just like the last one did.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's not a big deal -- yet. At this point he's just made a vague statement that I have to buy my own car insurance because it's "causing a problem" between them. I can't imagine how, other than her being pissed he spends money every month on me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Whatever. My concern is this: if they do get married, how can I sit and watch the ceremony? I know my parents have been apart for years, and my mom is re-married. But she got married and didn't tell me until it was done, I didn't have to sit through the proceedings. I don't know if I can do it.</div>purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-4247414933177124222010-09-23T02:33:00.002-06:002010-09-23T04:23:27.788-06:00I am never more than ten seconds from Twitter.<p><em>This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of <a href="http://socialspark.com/metrics/click/disclosure?slot_id=489852&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.boostmobile.com%2F" rel="nofollow">Boost Mobile</a>. All opinions are 100% mine.</em></p>I never understood what people were talking about when they said Facebook was an addictive timesuck. And then I got a Facebook account, and now I check it incessantly, from home and from my phone. Even though mobile Internet is expensive. I can't help myself! I love it! And <a href="http://socialspark.com/metrics/click/post?slot_id=489852&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.boostmobile.com%2F" rel="nofollow">Boost Mobile</a> has a monthly fee for all the Facebooking your face can handle--so I can send pictures of every stupid road sign I see to my wall to annoy, I mean amuse, all my friends. And I can Twitter every random thought I have, because I know thrilling my deliberations on life are. Or, if I'm being responsible, I can do updates for the company I'm doing social media work for. Yes, I get paid to Twitter. *cyber high-five*<br /><br />And then, when I inevitably forget to pay my bill because I'm a blonde, I can use their <a href="http://socialspark.com/metrics/click/post?slot_id=489852&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.boostmobile.com%2Freboost%2F" rel="nofollow">Re-Boost</a> options to pay online, or in person, or even with a text from my phone. They have automatic payments too, although I personally forget those are coming out of my account and end up with ridiculous bank fees.<br /><br />I realize that at some point, in the far distant past, I didn't have a cell phone. And then I had a phone but not text messaging. And then text messaging, but not internet. Then I got internet on my <a href="http://socialspark.com/metrics/click/post?slot_id=489852&url=http%3A%2F%2Fplans.boostmobile.com%2Fblackberry.aspx" rel="nofollow">Blackberry</a> and that was it for me. Oh, I tried a couple of times to turn off my mobile internet service, but eventually the craving for Facebook or my e-mail got me. Hello, my name is [redacted], and I am a mobile internet addict.<br /><br /><a href="http://socialspark.com/metrics/click/disclosure?slot_id=489852&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.boostmobile.com%2F" rel="nofollow"><img alt="Visit my sponsor: Reboost" border="0" src="http://socialspark.com/metrics/view/post?slot_id=489852&url=http%3A%2F%2Fsocialspark.com%2Fimages%2Fdisclosure_badges%2Fdisclosure_badge_grey_three.png" style="border:0" /></a>purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-54299316261437972422010-09-22T01:29:00.002-06:002010-09-22T03:52:28.212-06:00I would never have believed it.<div>Right now, I'm technically unemployed. I quit my waitressing job in order to get my 401k money -- no other way to take my a-ha trip, and yes I do know exactly how responsible that is. I have a freelance job doing social media for a friend's company, but that's not a "real job".</div><div><br /></div><div>The interesting thing is that in October, I'm going to be acting as a zombie in my friend's haunted house! WTF? Me? I've never thought I had any acting talent; I never thought I'd have anything to do with haunted houses. Mostly I never thought I had any acting talent. And I didn't audition; they just needed a zombie and stuck me in there. But they said I was great in the trial run this weekend. Of course I also screamed so much I screwed up my voice, so that could be a bit of a challenge.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also never thought I would quit a job just go to see a band, but you know what? The idea makes me SO happy! I have a second row and a third row ticket; so that's 2/10 shows covered. I'm not sure if I'll make it to all of them, but I'm sure going to try.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-81667578260261802332010-09-07T17:41:00.002-06:002010-09-08T04:46:43.386-06:00So damn frustrating!I'm never having a 401k again! At least not until I have a Real Proper Job. Having one now is just so much torture. I can't get my money unless I quit, but of course if I quit I'll have to spend a chunk of said money on bills because I quit! Gah! My life would be so much easier if I didn't have this overwhelming obsession with a-ha. <div><br /></div><div>Ha! Nah, I love loving them. It would be easier if I still had credit cards, or if I hadn't made a million other incorrect decisions over the years. But that's life, right? No point in "what-ifs". All I can do now is go forward and make the best decisions I can in the moment. I've gotten better at that as I've gotten older, but sometimes I still end up lying in bed at night freaking out about the past.</div>purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-5237213244456066832010-08-27T15:17:00.002-06:002010-08-27T15:39:28.034-06:00Merry-go-round.<div>The last few weeks I've felt like I've just been spinning around, carried around in a circle around the same point. Some of it is just exhaustion -- between the heat and horrible allergies, plus a lot of random extra shifts at work, I feel like I haven't really slept in weeks. But a lot of it is waiting in limbo. I was waiting for a second job, waiting to find out if I got money for school, waiting and waiting.</div><div><br /></div><div>Wednesday I got a lovely shock. Although my financial aid appeal was approved, I didn't get enough money to cover even one semester due to be near my federal loan limit. At first I thought, no big deal! I'll just keep looking for a second job, keep trying to put together the funds for a trip to the UK in November.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then I found out that if you drop your classes after the first day, you have to pay 25% of tuition! WTF! So I was absolutely panicking. I could either drop my classes and pay a fuckton of money for nothing, or stay in and end up with a massive bill at the end of the semester. Fabulous.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was going with option two, especially since I found out there were a few extra sources of money I could get--but I won't find out about those until it would be too late to drop out entirely. But I was seriously unhappy. Between the financial concerns and my depression related to not getting to see a-ha again because of this mess, I was very unhappy.</div><div><br /></div><div>I went to my classes yesterday, and it just felt <i>wrong</i>. It felt like the wrong thing to be doing. It wasn't because I was bored, or even the depression. It just felt .... scratchy and uncomfortable. And then I found out that if I keep a measly one credit class, I don't have to pay the 25% tuition. I do have to pay for that credit out of pocket, but it's still less. I can go back in spring, knowing exactly what I'll have for funds.</div><div><br /></div><div>And of course, that has the side effect of maybe I can still see a-ha. Which definitely makes me feel happier.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then I was woken up this morning by somebody here to shut off my natural gas. So I've jumped on to another merry-go-round, of finances. At least it's a slightly different view.</div><div><br /></div>purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-72389654390478157852010-08-14T00:52:00.003-06:002010-08-14T00:52:51.636-06:00I'm still alive.I just don't have the energy to write anything at the moment. Too much and yet too little happening.purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-53848359347533022772010-07-26T02:32:00.002-06:002010-07-26T02:45:39.361-06:00Decisions, decisions ....My dad is going to Lake Powell in September. I haven't been in five years, and a week in the sun and the water sounds like a great idea. Of course, there are several problems with that scenario ... if I'm in school, do I take of a week? Could I? If I'm not, could I take the time off from the other job I'll hopefully have by then?<div><br /></div><div>And either way, do I want to set back my fledgling a-ha fund by $600? The lake will be there next year .... after twenty years of going, it's unlikely my dad will suddenly decide not to go anymore. And after the misery that was the last trip there, I swore I'd never go again, actually. But that's part of why I want to go -- to erase the bad memories of last time.</div><div><br /></div><div>But a-ha won't be around next year. So I guess there's my answer!</div>purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-31603379397632616552010-07-15T10:01:00.003-06:002010-07-15T10:09:54.181-06:00Less than a month, less than a month ....Thank GOD my bastard neighbors are moving.<div><br /></div><div>I got up to let my dogs out and make sure my car would start since it wouldn't last night; one of them started barking so I let her in. The other start barking while I was getting dressed, so it took a minute to get to the door. She came in, and a few seconds later I heard a huge crash - loud enough and hard enough it shook the walls. It sounded like someone had slammed their back door with ridiculous force.</div><div><br /></div><div>I headed outside to test-start the car, and I was halfway across the lawn when I heard them fighting. I didn't hear the words, but it sounded like she was trying to talk him out of something and he was yelling back. And then I heard him yelling at me.</div><div><br /></div><div>At first he was polite. Ish. He said something like "when you let your dogs out tonight, can you leave the door open so they can come in so they don't bark and wake me up?" I guess I didn't respond quick enough, because there went the politeness. "It gets OLD, every damn night, 12, 1, 3:30 in the morning!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"I'll try to keep them quieter," I said. My brain was still all fuzzy from sleep, and I was struggling not to snap at him because for god's sake, it wasn't even midnight last night when I let the dogs out and their living room lights were on--and he was the only one home, his roommate's car wasn't there. I've been careful to keep them quiet at night, for the most part.</div><div><br /></div><div>Again, apparently my answer wasn't satisfactory, because he started hollering some more. I repeated that I would try to keep them quieter; he shrugged as if I was leaving him no choice and then informed me he was going to call the sheriff if it happened again. Then he went back inside. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was so pissed it took me a full minute to get my car door open, I kept not being able to unlock it. If two barks wakes you up, then buy some fucking earplugs, jackass. My dog only barks because THEIR dog comes to the door and jumps up in the window when she's out! Okay, so I can see how it could be annoying--as I said, last night it looked like he was still up so I was less cautious. But to threaten to call the sheriff over it? <i>Really?</i> This is the same guy who started <i>screaming</i> obscenities at their dog in the middle of the night last week (we were talking about ours cars getting broken into; their dog was running loose, my dog nosed the door open and they started fussing at each other a bit). </div><div><br /></div><div>Now I'm kind of plotting what sorts of noises could be made at any hour that he couldn't blame on me. I hope the extra noisy car I'm driving right now wakes him up, for one. I'd purposely set off the smoke detector if it didn't freak out the dogs so much. </div><div><br /></div><div>He's just a jackass and a bully, and I am counting down the days until they leave!</div>purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-61072763391891338252010-07-10T02:54:00.002-06:002010-07-10T03:16:58.078-06:00Nope, not a flicker.I held a coworker's month-old son today. Third time I've seen the baby, but the first without his mother, who gives off a vibe of "don't touch my kid" combined with a "what the fuck is this thing" attitude. Very odd.<div><br /></div><div>Anyway, his daddy brought him in today, and I asked to hold it. It's just What Chicks Do when there's a baby around, right? So he handed me the baby, and I very carefully supported his head and all, and after about a minute I handed him back because he was fussing. And as usual, I didn't get even a distant flicker of those gushy feelings it seems like all other woman get. His little toes and fingernails and his baby skin and his soft mop of hair didn't trigger any of that maternal crap in me. Which is normal, for me. Sometimes I just like to check. I am 28, supposedly something should be ticking by now, right?</div><div><br /></div><div>I also have belatedly realized that I asked if I could hold "the little bean." I meant bean like "human bean", which is what my family always says. He probably thought I was being racist since he's Mexican. Oops.</div>purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884355511625778778.post-65766525290241076362010-07-01T15:46:00.003-06:002010-07-01T20:28:36.542-06:00Considering my path.I have so many things I want to do in the next year or so, and I feel stuck because I don't know what to focus on or what to pursue.<div><br /></div><div>For example, I'm two semesters away from finally finishing my damn degree. Assuming the school will give me money again, it would make sense for me to stay that course. It's another year.</div><div><br /></div><div>But my Norwegian boys are retiring, and I'd just about kill to spend November in Europe following them around. Yes, I know that's vaguely pathetic. But dammit, I want some more adventure in my life! Doing that would require blowing off school for at least a semester -- and a second job, which I have yet to acquire (rejections are stacking up though).<br /><div><br /></div><div>But I also have an itch to move to California -- I was just so happy by the ocean! And it might be time for a change. And naturally, that presents a whole bunch of complications. I should probably finish school first while I still have in-state tuition here, plus I need to save up money.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>The most logical thing to do would be to forget going to Europe, go to school, then move. But I'm so fucking tired of living according to logic! I want to do something fun, something wild, something that lasts longer than a weekend. I've spent the last ten years being responsible, and I'm <i>tired</i> of it. Obviously I can't abdicate all my responsibilities, but just for a little while ....</div><img src="http://www.debsimonphotography.com/images/amur_tiger_snow_angel.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 432px;" border="0" alt="" /><div><br /></div><div>So right now, I'm looking for another job, and I'm doing the necessary paperwork to try to get money for school in case I don't find one. But if I do ... well, I'm going to go to Europe and see the things I missed out on the last time (which is just about everything), as well as my Norwegians. It may not be the most logical, responsible path, but it's what feels like it will make me happy.</div><div><br /></div><div>There's no reason for the tiger picture, btw. Other than I was looking for a video still and that came up instead, and I like it! Who's a cute flesh-devouring kitty-kitty?</div>purplegirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02952678339075163056noreply@blogger.com3