June 26, 1999

First thought: I don't care who the party is for, if the people throwing it do not know who you are, the least you can do is RSVP. Hmph.

Second thought: Ouch. I hate bruises.

Third thought: I'm going to stop numbering my thoughts, it's annoying even me.

I got my job. Yay, I suppose. I start at 8 in the morning on Sunday, and have a whole orientation thing to go to at 9:30 on Saturday. I'm happy that I now get to go count money at the zoo every day and then get paid for it; I'm pleased that the room in which I do this job is completely air conditioned; I'm even alright with the fact that there are only about ten people in this department, so I'm going to be identified as a definite new comer. The only problem is- I now have to go to work. Ugh. A summer without 2 am internet experiences will take some getting used to. Then again, maybe it'll be fun. Yes, I'm sure I'll have fun.

So, anyway. I've been openly swearing my filthy little mouth off for a very long time. The words: bastard, shit, ass, bitch, hell, asshole, damn, and sonofa... Not only do I spit them out in front of my friends, I recite them to my parents on a regular basis. The other day I realized how terrible I had become when I nonchalantly screamed for my nine-year old brother to kick someone's ass when my parents were in perfect hearing distance. Ah! And then I occasionally take pains to filter them out of my conversations, like when my grandmother is in the room, and I can't believe how much effort I'm taking. It's so disturbing. My list of acceptable vocabulary has changed so much, it's alarming. I've got to change, because you know one day I'll say one swear word too many and I will be yelled at so ferociously by my parents I would not want to be in the same house, let alone the same room, as my mouth.

Another fault: I'm totally slacking on my schoolwork. Yes, I have only one A-, and the rest A's. Yes, my GPA actually went up from first semester and is now at a smile-inducing 4.490. But, I'm slacking so heavily. Three B's on my finals. One in math, one in AP (although that always makes me grin sheepishly, it's so funny that that actually happened), and a B+ in English (which is exactly what happens when you say "pish, mrs. cassens- it's English!"). I'm not number two in my class anymore; I can assure you of that without actually knowing it for a fact. Hats off to Brian, I suppose, but do you know what this means? It means that since the evil boy is taking two AP classes next year and I'm only taking one, I will not be able to overcome him and regain my beautiful status. Ah! That's horrible, and it's all because of the A- in math. Damn Trigonometry. So next year I suppose I'll have to 'apply' myself. Perhaps I'll be ready to do that kind of thing then, but at the moment it sounds exceedingly unappealing.

Tonight I feel like I'm spinning out of control because of the preceding paragraphs. "Supposedly perfect" does not take well to contradictions, I suppose. Pish, I don't care.

You will not believe this if you know me, but I think I"ve actually tanned over the fast few weeks. Or at least, I've gotten a half shade darker, which is the equivalent of a tan for me. Everyone else is walking around with these beautifully dark limbs, and I have a peeling nose. The only consilation comes in the fact that for some reason I feel they are one step closer to skin cancer because of it.

Oh! I've redone my bio page-- the storyline is mostly different, and there's pics! Yes! Go see it!

And there was this weird thing going on with my guestbook where you could only view about two or three entries until for some reason it just stopped showing it, so I completely re-did that too. It's different now, and all previous entries are gone. So if you want to, please sign it again.(or for the first time)

Drivers Ed is not fun. I don't understand the concept of stickshift- I keep asking myself "Why do it manually if you can just get it to do it for you?" As of yet, no answers, but this confusion is not helping my grade. I don't like the teacher either- he's a member of the baseball cult in our village, and that just doesn't sit right with me. Of course, Tony says that I'm a cult sister, so I might be rebelling against my own kind with this dislike. Hopefully they'll find it in their cold hearts to kick me out, but we can only hope.

This evil little child just rang my doorbell. He held it for about ten seconds. Normally this wouldn't piss me off, but our doorbell is not a happy ding-dong. It's a distinct buzz, like a school bell at a lower pitch. Freaks the dogs, scares me when my mind is wandering, and really grates on the teeth. You can hear it from outside, so there is no reason for the little turd to ring it for so long. I had half a mind not to answer the door.

On July 13, the WB will be showing the season finale of Buffy. I heard from Seth that there are no guns in it, so number one, the newspaper source I got my contrary information from is wrong, and number two, I'm much happier about my little obsession.

Star Wars update: so far, I've only seen it three times and Matt is disappointed with me for this. Of course, I'm also the one with the lightsaber and knowledge of the series that comes from somewhere other than the movies. So, pish. Anyway, after my third time I got to thinking, admittedly in a soap opera kind of way, about the second movie. The way I can see the whole anakin loves amidala and then the obi-wan cannot train the little child storylines coming together is this: Obi-Wan actually falls for Amidala. She's smart, part of the resistance, obviously kind to Jedi, around him all the time, their ages seem to work better, blah blah blah, etc. While he's doing this, though, Ani and Ami are falling in love. The two Jedis get into this whole conflict, causing Obi-Wan to really screw up Anakin's training. In the end, the poor princess stays with her dark lord and anakin once and for all turns against the good Jedi. I got this odd idea while watching all the looks Obi-Wan gives the princess in the first movie, and the looks he has when talking about her. I can totally see it. I'm not sure how much I'd want to, but it's totally there.

Alright, I want to end it here. There's just not much more to add. Quote comes from Liz Phair. I think it's called Mary, from Exile in Guyville (which i completely appropriate!):

Help me, Mary- please.
I've lost my home to thieves.
They bully the stereo and drink.
They leave suspicious things in the sink.
They make rude remarks about me.
They wonder just how wild I would be.
As they egg me on, and keep me mad.
They play me like a pitbull in a basement! and for that
I lock my door at night. I keep my mouth shut tight.
I practice all my moves; I memorize their stupid rules
I make myself their friend.
I show them just how far I can bend
As they egg me on, and keep me mad
They play me like a pitbull in a basement! And for that
I'm asking you, Mary- please.
Temper my hatred with peace.
Weave my disgust into fame
And watch how fast they run to the flame!