In the past week I’ve…
Gotten a parking ticket
Stepped on glass (it’s still in my toe)
Burnt my thumb
Burnt the roof of my mouth to the point that it blistered
Hit my head on free weights
Gotten locked out of my house
Been pooped on by a bird
Exposed myself to a professor
Royally hacked off my eyebrows when the light went out as I applied the wax
Spilled hot tea on myself
Cut my hand on my screen door
People have always had problems remembering my name, which is fine and all seeing as how I am just as terrible with names as they appear to be, but when someone called me the wrong name today I was pissed. It isn’t that they forgot my name, it is who forgot my name.
Last Tuesday I got an email from a former professor saying that his colleague needed a graded ASAP as the one she had lined up was “Un-American” and could not grade for her. I guess by that they mean she had problems with her visa, but I have no idea. Anyway, I decide that even though I am already talking a pretty hefty schedule, this person needed help (and I need money) so I said I would grade for her. Let me tell you, that was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve made so far this semester. When I went to meet with her she seemed totally normal, well, at least until she told me what she expected.
She wants all of the homework for her math class graded not by accuracy, but by process. Great and all, but there is no key, so she wants me to go through and do each problem myself, count how many steps it took me to do each problem, add up the total and then that’s what I would be basing the grades off of (my total divided by their total x 10, as she only wants it out of 10 points. Also, I am to take a full point off if they do not use graph paper). Ok, this seems doable, but she didn’t want it to end there. She handed me the homework and each packet was huge. Each student had a minimum of 12 sheets of paper used for the 13 sections that she assigned. Ok, so that’s a lot of paper, and there are 20-something students in the class, so this should only take me a couple of days (when combined with the 10 chapters I have to read for History and Political Science and the two papers that I have to write) as I have to first do the entire math assignment before I can start grading. I grab the papers and start heading out when she tells me that she wants it by 8 a.m. the next day. Ummm… this bugs me for several reasons. 1) It’s already 4 and I have a shit load of work to do in preparation for my tests the next day. 2) Her class isn’t until 11, but she wants me to drop off the papers at 8 a.m. (even though I don’t have to be on campus until 10) because she doesn’t want to have to walk back to her office in between classes. 3) That’s a lot of homework problems that she would like me to do before grading for her. I mean, the kids got several days and I get a couple of hours… on top of going through each and every one of their problems step by step.
Now, if I was in “dire need” of a grader I don’t think I would be extremely demanding about what I want. I wouldn’t make the grader come in at 7:30 just so I didn’t have to walk back to my office, and I definitely wouldn’t make it as complex as possible. You know what else I wouldn’t do? Forget her name. I went in to drop off the papers and saw she was with a student, so I waited outside her door (out of sight) so as to not disturb them. After a minute or so I hear “Amanda!” coming from her office. I know she’s in there with a guy, so perhaps she could be talking to me? She calls out the name once more and I peak my head around the corner and look at her quizzically. She then informs me that she has no reason to talk to me if I am just dropping off the assignments and that I can be on my way. Ummm… okay. Oh, and also, there will be another assignment for me to pick up, but she may go home after her classes, so she’ll just leave it outside the door for me. Whatever.
I’m just pissy in general, really. In the past week I’ve burned myself (on accident), been pooped on by a bird (while at school), and stepped on broken glass, which is still lodged into my toe. I’m taking two 4 unit classes that were designed to be taught in 6 months, that my professors have condensed into 6 weeks for summer session. The problem is that they still want us to do the reading and coursework for the regular session, so I have several chapters to read nightly along with constant tests and papers. The professor I am grading for knows my schedule. I kind of figured she would be a little considerate of my schedule when it comes to grading, but clearly I am wrong. Seriously though, I am thinking her previous grader may have made up the whole ‘problems with her visa’ thing just to get out of grading for this woman.
Bleh. I am off to have a chat with my counselor to see what the hell I am going to do about classes if I end up going back to Sacramento . It messes up my transferring plan as each school has their own requirements. God I hope I can still transfer to Sac State … I just want to be done with all of this.
Also, Matt is in Sacramento for 6 weeks doing an internship for a marketing company that he wants to work for. I am super excited for him, but at the same time not. I’m trying to be loving and supportive while secretly stewing over the fact that his project manager happens to be a girl he and I used to fight about all the time (he was an idiot and let me know he was attracted to her, and then would lie about hanging out with her. This is HELL) and hoping that perhaps she drops off the face of the earth. I tried having the “talk” with Matt last night to see what our plan was (we’ve been together for 3 ½ years and lived together for two) and basically he wants to live together, but doesn’t want to discuss anything else. Dude, I’m not asking you to propose to me this moment, I just want to know it’s in the cards. AND I don’t even want to get married at this time, which he knows, as I would want a two year engagement. Whatever. His whole answer was vague and that was obnoxious. So, I’m currently living alone, which I hate, and working my ass off for school and grading. This is the best summer ever! I’m over it. I really think once it cools off (it’s been 90+ here, and I don’t have AC) I will be in a much better mood. I hate the heat, though to be fair, at this moment I hate everything.
Most of my friends are guys… this is one of the reasons why:
Guy Friend: I would do you.
me: awww!
thanks
if I wasn't totally involved, I would probably let you
because, really, that's what friends are for
Guy Friend: I like how you think.
After that we resumed our regular conversation. Then, later in the convo…
Guy Friend: I would not do that.
me: may as well
I'm not very good at not doing the things I shouldn’t
Guy Friend: You shouldnt fly to seattle and be my whore for a night.
me: LOL
Anytime I feel bad about myself I look back to the guy friends I’ve had for 8 years and realize that there will always be someone out there who would be willing to have sex with me. And you know what? That’s nice to know.
I’ve gotten emails asking me to describe what I was like before I became boring, so I thought I would share a story with you. Gathering around kiddies, it’s story time!
When I was 19 I worked at a bank with a really cool woman, Alyssa. She was a few years older than me and married, so I would periodically hang out with her and her extremely hot husband. Well, one night they invited me out with them and the three of us went to this Podunk bar in the middle of nowhere. When we showed up, Alyssa and I were looking hot, and seemed to be the only women, so naturally all the men started hitting on us. Alyssa’s husband was with us, so most of them left her alone and came after me. I swear, I never once had an empty glass. As soon as one got halfway down, someone would buy me another drink. I have absolutely no clue what I was drinking, or how much, but it was enough to make the toothless men turn into Brad Pitt’s unattractive brother, which, let me tell you, was a step up. Anyway, about five drinks in (from what I am told there was at least one rum and coke, a long island iced tea and something called cosmo shooter in that mix), a couple of other women show up and immediately begin asking me to go home with them.
Now, most of what I am about to tell you was told to me at a later time, as I recall very little about this night, so I’ve had to rely upon second hand testimony. Apparently in between singing songs on the Karaoke machine that I had no idea I knew, I was being hit on by these two women. After about half an hour of both of them playing with my hair and feeding me compliments, one of them leaned in and kissed me. Naturally, I kissed back. At that time I was a kissing whore, so if any mouth got within a few feet of mine, it was a potential kissing mate. Anyway, I’m making out with this woman when Alyssa’s husband came by and scared away the ladies. I asked him why he told them to get lost and he replied, “Megan, you were kissing that woman very passionately, which is great, but she’s like 300lbs and older than your mom.” Ick. So that was interesting. From what I am told I had a blast… that is until I became violently ill.
On the car ride home I started feeling super sick and knew vomiting was imminent, which I told Alyssa. We pulled up to the house and she told me to go ahead and puke in the bushes, but I refused to do so until her husband was inside the house because I was too embarrassed to throw up in front of him. The moment I heard the screen door close I let out a vat of vomit on their bushes. I had never felt so good as I did when I had finished. After that I went inside I slept on their couch… or their trampoline, I’m not sure. The next morning I was beyond sick, too sick in fact to leave as I puked every few minutes and lived half an hour away. They were nice enough to let me stay while they both went to work (I felt terrible for staying) as we had no other options. After several hours of puking and praying I would die, I was ready to go home.
When I walked outside to my car I saw the most amazing thing. The bushes were dead. No joke. A three feet radius around where I had vomited was all dead. I have no idea how that is even possible, but it was an incredible sight to see. Luckily, they had plans to remove the bushes, so I didn’t feel like too much of a shit for killing them.
Poor Bushes. They never saw it coming.
Well tonight was interesting. In my quest to get into shape, I adopted a workout buddy. He and I work out at the gym three days a week and in addition to that, we get together whenever the mood strikes us. Around 8 pm I decided that I was hot (It’s high 90s, no AC) and bored, so I asked workout buddy (WB) if he wanted to go to the gym. He said he did, but that he wasn’t available until 9:30, and seeing as how our gym is stupid and closes Fridays at 9, we would have to go for a walk. I didn’t really feel like carrying around my gargantuan key ring, so I left my front door unlocked. So, after our 2 mile walk (it was still 80-something out) WB and I decided we would like to put our feet in the pool. When we got there we encountered two really sweet, really drunk adults who assured us that they would be leaving soon so that the two of us could get “intimate”. WB and I were a little freaked out about this as we had just met on Monday, but whatever.
The couple, Jan and Darcie, were super sweet and the four of us talked for a half hour or so before the pool lights shut off. Apparently, the lights turn off at 11, so the four of us were left scrambling in the dark for our things. Jan and Darcie couldn’t find their keys, so WB and I stayed behind to scour the area for them. After locating them, J&D (Jan and Darcie) invited us to their place for a drink. They seemed like a totally sweet couple, so we went. After about an hour or so of socializing and being fed rum and cokes, WB and I decided that it was time to leave, so we all exchanged numbers and said goodbye. WB and I went our separate ways and when I got to my apartment I saw that the porch light was off, which was a bad sign as I had left it on. I started to panic because I lived on the second floor, had no keys, no phone and no idea how to break in.
I opened the screen door and tried the doorknob; sure enough it was locked. Shit. So I began knocking and ringing the door bell. A few minutes pass and I hear nothing from inside the apartment other than the echo of my futile attempts. Shit. What in the hell am I going to do?!? After a few more minutes of more and more aggressive attempts, I decided it was time for plan B. I tried to remove the screen from the front, but it turns out it was quite sturdy and I couldn’t see any way of removing it without breaking it, and honestly, I don’t have enough money to replace it. That and I really don’t want to have to deal with my landlords. So, I moved on to plan C.
The landlords have friends that live on the other side of the complex, probably less than a quarter mile away. At this point I have absolutely no idea what time it is, and the only hope I have is that these people are awake and/or open the door and have a key to my apartment. On the way there I spotted a naked woman briskly walking to her car. I wonder if she was having the same kind of night that I was. Anyway, I get to their apartment and all the lights are out. Shit. I am out of options, so I ring the door and someone I’ve never seen before answers the door. After explaining my predicament, he told me I had one of two options. 1) I could stay there (which was sweet, but every sleepable surface was taken and I really don’t know these people that well… and could you imagine trying to explain that to your boyfriend? Oh, well, I got locked out, so I just spent the night with the guys… no) 2) The guy would wake up someone who knew me. I asked him to wake one of them up and promised that I would buy everyone in the house a beer. Luckily, one of the people had a key to my place, so I was able to get in… and only a little after 1 a.m. I feel bad because I had promised to call Matt (he’s away for 6 weeks for an internship) but clearly that all got a bit sidetracked. I called anyway because I don’t like to break promises and unsurprisingly, he did not pick up.
All this just added to my growing frustration with life as it seems that at every turn something goes wrong. Whatever. I am over it and I am sweaty and I am in need of a shower!! I’ll write later about what has been going on in my every day life, but I figured I would fill ya’ll in on what went on tonight. Hasta homies.
My mom’s been sick with god knows what, but refuses to do anything about it other than drinking half a bottle of Nyquil each day. The day she got it, she told me to wake up early (8:30, which is early when you go to bed at 4) so we can go to the gym and attend a Hula class. So, that morning I woke up early, got ready and went into her room where she tells me she doesn’t feel up to going. Whatever, that’s fine. I think that was Monday or so. Anyway, yesterday I got up at noon and went into the kitchen to get some water where I encountered my step dad. He laughed at me and mocked me for sleeping in so late, but seeing as how I’m on summer vacation and there is nothing to do, I don’t get why I should get up earlier. Anyway, I was a little pissed (especially as the day prior I had gone to the grocery store and spent $80 of my own money to stock their house with food and what not) so I went back to my room where I stayed for a few hours. Later, when I finally emerged, my mom gave me crap about sleeping until 4. I asked her if Steve told her that he saw me awake, and dressed, at 12 and she told me he hadn’t. She then insinuated that she was disappointed because she had wanted to go to the movies, but thought I was asleep. Fine. Last night she tells me to wake up early so that we can go to the movies. I went to bed at 4, got up at 10. This time, I went to her room and asked if it was okay to shower and get ready, and they told me that we had two water heaters so it would be fine. So, I went back to my room, showered, shaved, did my hair and makeup and looked up movie times. After I was ready to go I went and found my mom and she informed me that she was just too sick to go. WTF? Why didn’t she say anything when I went in there at 10? I was pretty pissed especially because she has continually made plans and then cancelled last minute. I don’t care if you’re sick, but don’t make plans with me. Don’t tell me that we’re going to go see a Van Halen cover band on Friday and then cancel and hour before. That’s bullshit.
My favorite thing after that was when I left her room, step dad tells me I need to do all the dishes… none of which were mine. Fine, whatever. It pisses me off that because she is sick I have to play the roll of mommy and wifey by going grocery shopping and cleaning everything, not to mention taking care of the dog who just got fixed. They begged me to come and now I’m being told that it is my job to play hostess to my brother, his wife and their four kids (all under the age of 6) when they come tonight. Did I invite them? No. Do I want to entertain them? Definitely not seeing as how my brother and his wife think that when they come to visit it is the host’s job to watch their kids while they go off and have fun. I’m not a fucking babysitting service. Unless you want to come home to children who have pierced ears or who have been knocked out with Dimetapp, don’t leave them with your disgruntled sister.
I’m mad, I’m stuck in the middle of BFE (bum fuck Egypt) and the only thing people have to say to me is some kind of demand or critical remark. This is ridiculous. I know my mom can’t help being sick, but she has to see something wrong with making plans knowing she is going to have to break them, or demanding that I play hostess to eight people. If I sleep then I get to hear some remark about it, if I watch tv then I get disapproving looks… what am I supposed to do? There is nothing to do here, really. They live on 5 acres 20 minutes away from the nearest activity and at least an hour away from anyone I know. My options are pretty limited and I really hate driving the pathfinder that everyone calls a ‘death trap’, so I’m pretty much stuck here playing nurse and maid. Whatever. I get to go home in three days. I can handle this. I’ll just stay in my room and lock the door so as not to be bombarded with what I’m doing wrong and a list of things I need to do. You know what, I don’t mind helping at all. But as soon as someone tells me it’s my ‘job’ to do all these ridiculous things (like rearranging furniture or grocery shopping when there’s someone totally capable of doing it: My step dad, who actually lives here and can afford groceries) immediately after ridiculing me, well, that pisses me off. People who know me know I would do anything you asked of me, but as soon as you take advantage of my generosity then I get pissed.
Fuck. Whatever. I’m over it.
You know, I think I would be less mad if I wasn’t dealing with my dad and his shit. He told me last night that the reason he was being such a dick to me was my fault. Anytime I asked him a question he would turn it around and accuse me of being a bitch or not caring. I asked him why he cancelled the insurance (“is there a reason why you cancelled the insurance?”) and he goes off on me about how I don’t care about his family’s financial situation and on and on. I’m pretty sure I’m not the one who QUIT MY JOB without a backup one. He decided that he’s so amazing and should flip houses for a living. He made $80k in November alone and now he’s deciding between rent and insurance. WTF? I’m 22, I should not be a better financial planner than someone twice my age. I’m just sick of having disappointing people in my life. That’s all he’s ever been to me; one big disappointment after another. Fuck him, seriously.
Bow-chicka-wow-wow… I dunno, ignore it. Last night my mom and I went to see Made of Honor and the theater was packed full of silicone stuffed, bleached Barbie dolls who were heading off to see Sex and the City… which I am totally going to see, just when fewer Miss. Worlds are around. Anyway, the parade of pretty got me thinking about something. Do silicone boobies drop when you get old? Creepy right? But I couldn’t help but picture this perfectly spherical mass sliding down the wrinkled body of an eighty year old like a depressing avalanche. Really. My generation is going to be quite a spectacle when we are puttering around in our nursing homes. Just picture it, the pink track suites, fuzzy bunny slippers, dentures that resemble grills, tramp stamp tattoos (that totally resemble a poop when it used to be a butterfly) and fake tits knocking at our knees. I’m quite excited about it. Really, I can’t wait.
I went wine tasting with my ‘rents a couple of days ago and I learned two things about myself. 1) I cannot hold my liquor, especially if I haven’t eaten at all prior to the consumption of several wines. 2) I really need to be a wine reviewer as I’m incredibly descriptive once I get a few ‘samples’ in me. I believe I said to my step dad that “this wine is quite aggressive. It feels like it wants to rip out my tongue and beat me with it all the while laughing maniacally”. Really, I did. I’m not sure why no one cut me off, but I think it has something to do with the fact that my likeability increases with each drink. Speaking of, I’m pretty sure I haven’t gone a day without a drink since being at my parent’s house. My mom believes in wine (and hard alcohol) and my stepdad believes in all forms of liquor, especially expensive wine and/or beer. I can’t say no. They’re putting me up for a few weeks, so I shall partake in their liquor that is much better quality than the shit I have back home. It was quite cute when my mom laughed at me when I inquired where her Cuervo was. Whatever. It’s nice to know that I can continue on with my drinking a half bottle of wine (while dancing on my couch as I sing enthusiastically into my bottle like it is a microphone and I’m giving a concert) without being judged. Lord knows I love my bottle karaoke.
Speaking of, we’re going to go to a bar that serves a drink called a Golden Cadillac and requires we bring a male escort so that we do not get gang raped by hillbillies in overalls. I still cant believe my mom moved out into the podunk village. Awesome house, but everyone in this area is a little… slow. To tell you the truth, I kind of love it. After the movie we went to Applebees to grab a drink (cuz that’s what we do) and to split something to eat. After a while I realized that we were easily the hottest chicks around and I was sporting unwashed hair half-hazardly thrown into pigtails and a sweater. (my hair wasn’t thrown into a sweater… you know, I’m not sure why I don’t just delete and rewrite my sentences… I just don’t. Instead I carry on in some lame ass monologue as if no one else can read this. I’m a freak. Jesus) It was interesting to go from the worst dressed in the theater to the hot stuff of family dining. That’s right bitches, I’m the playboy model of the hot wings. Feast your eyes on this!
You know, I really need to sleep. It’s 3 a.m. and for the past two hours I’ve been watching youtube videos. I should really stop doing that because I watch all these funny people and then for some reason I think I am funny by association so I walk around making corny jokes for two days and make a fool out of myself. In other news though, I got attacked by a huge fucking moth the other day. It was like it was on speed! It flew freaking fast all over the room until it decided that it needed to fly by me, so I ran flailing across the room screaming trying to flee the flying creature. It must’ve been quite a sight. Luckily, I have been moved into a room of the house that has a screen on the window, so I will no longer have large groupings of winged insects coming at me. The downside is that I am now on the first floor, so I had dear chilling outside my window all last night. It’s really hard to sleep when you hear footsteps outside your window… especially while sleeping in the death room. That’s right ladies and gentlemen; I am sleeping (once again) in the room where he put her. (If you have no idea what I am talking about, look back around January and you’ll find something about it.) I can’t help it; I love the room to death. No pun intended… seriously. I promise I didn’t sit here for an hour thinking of a way to work that in, though now that I think about it, it would totally be something I would do. Honestly though, as you can tell by the level and quality of writing on this blog, I don’t put much thought and/or effort into anything. Yes, this is my natural ‘talent’ and by ‘talent’ we all know I mean ‘rambling psychosis’. Good times. Seriously though, I should be off. I need to do a million things in the morning including washing my clothes because my mom’s dog peed on me. How much of a Megan thing is that? Who else does this happen to? Kind of funny story though. My mom’s cute puppy, Mel, jumped onto my lap and somehow her paw got caught down my shirt (seriously. I think my breasts are a giant black hole) and so I tried to free her from my gargantuan mamories and for some reason she backed up, yelped and the peed on my leg. My breast have been known to frighten small children (ya right, I’m like the wet dream for babies who are still nursing, and for that matter, all teenage boys) but I was unaware my breasticles frightened puppies. I’m ashamed.
