Saturday, December 13, 2008

Dear Diary,

I'm going to use this post to unload my pithy, superficial, inconsequential teenage anxt, which is funny because it's been quite some time since I was actually classified as a teen. They are an odd species, though, aren't they?

  • With their: zomg r u 4 srs? no wei. k thx baiz. lolz. rofl. ttyl.
  • And their: h3ll0 do u th1nk 1 am cut3?
  • And their: hAHa haAH. omg. u r 4 WeirD. DOn'T u thINk ANymoRE?
  • And their: emo kid! preppy kid! band nerd! choir nerd! goth chic! noob. sheez.
  • And, my ultimate pet peeve, their: zomg Miley Cirus is so awesome *high pitched squeal* and i'm totally going to marry ALL the jonas brothers AND Edward Cullen even though he's a fictional character who is the SPAWN OF SATAN. And OH, EM, GEE, i'm totally gonna have Hugh Jackman's babies even though he's old enough to be my friggin grandfather. Jay Kay.

American teens are weird. But I rant. This post is going to be all of the anxt, none of the teen.

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I live in an apartment all by myself with two male cats. One is fixed, and the other pees all over everything, but there's nothing I can do about it now because I spend all my money on bills and the doctor. And I'm a teacher so I'm poor. But at least I have a job. Praise God for that.

Today I visited my family, which can be anything from a wonderful experience to the worst torture in my life, depending on my mother's mood. On the one hand it was wonderful because I got free food, some much needed clothes [also for free which is great because I HATE shopping], and other random items. The downside was listening to my mother's Spanglish insults, bashing my appearance, my apartment, telling me to throw away my cats and cut my hair. I tell her that both of my cats were rescued from the street and it would be unethical, at best, to just toss them aside; I also remind her I'm growing out my hair for Locks of Love and will be getting it cut to donate in the summer. She hesitates for a millisecond, nods, and then begins the argument from the very beginning, as though my justifications and explications had never even happened. Talking with her always goes a little something like this:

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Anyway, driving home was great because I got to see the wonderful full moon all the way home. I was half tempted to drive out to the beach tonight and just stare at it. However, I decided it would be too cold, and being a single female all alone out there in the dark with drunks coming in and out would probably not be the best idea. Then I thought of calling him and seeing if he wanted to go with me, but I was afraid it would be perceived as too romantic, and I didn't want that to chase him off. I did text him on the way home, though, and he called me back because he hates texting. He told me he wanted to hang out with me and work on some more music, but he's been working at the ports and will be going out of town in a few weeks with family for the holidays, and I'm working like a dog all next week... so there probably won't be a time for us to meet up again until next year. Ha, sounds so far away, doesn't it? By then our band should be meeting back up and working on our pieces, so it shouldn't be too bad. He said he'd call me tomorrow; we'll see if that holds true. From my experience, men have a different sense of time than women, and oftentimes don't find a priority in calling people back or keeping their promises, i.e. overcommitting themselves. Or maybe it's just a regional thing. Who knows?

At any rate, the beach would have been nice. Especially tonight.

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Maybe next time. Or next year. Or next decade. Oy vei. The drunks in my neighborhood have settled down their obnoxious yelling, so it must be time for bed.


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