You know, I appreciate you standing outside in the bitter cold, working for a cause in which you really believe. What I don’t appreciate, however, is YOU getting all up in my FACE with that stupid binder/clipboard of yours, trying to desseminate all the facts and horrors compiled in your shiny little brochure and gather whatever personal information you need from me.
1. I’m listening to music. Partly because I need to get that song out of my head by listening to it at least 20 times in a row (which never works but hey, I never learn), but mostly to avoid people like you. And you can see that I’m listening to music because my earphones and the wire connecting them to my iPod (product placement WHAT!) are white, thus totally contrasting with my black down jacket that contains many dead birds. Point is, I stuffed my ears with things that emit sound so that I can actually not hear you instead of merely pretending. See that hand in my pocket? It’s turning up the volume. It means get away from me.
2. I’m not looking at you. When did my eyes ever meet yours? Never. I don’t want to look at you because it would somehow be an invitation for you to talk to me, and, in case you haven’t been following, I don’t want you to talk to me. Plus I’m sure you people have some hypnotizing powers, because I always see someone stuck in your invisible tentacles with a pen in hand, scribbling stuff on your binder/clipboard.
3. Not only am I not looking at you, but I’m also frowning. At you. Indirectly. In any case, it’s a meanie face. Don’t come near me.
4. I’m walking uber fast. Am I in a hurry or am I just trying to get away from you? Next time you see me, ask yourself that question. Actually, don’t bother; it’s either one or the other, so either way I can’t and/or don’t want to talk to you.
And despite all this, some of you folks just never learn! Do you do that at bars and parties, too? Jesus jumping up and down…
I don’t care about babies/pandas/polar bears (I actually happen to hate polar bears) enough to stand out there and freeze my ass off in the cold with you. That’s YOUR job; I’ve got mine to do. And, for your information, people who really care don’t wait to be asked on the street by some nagging stranger before giving money; they seek out charitable organizations on their own. Like I do. From the comfort of my home, where it’s rarely below freezing… because, you know, when you ask me to save polar bears in the bitter cold, all I can think of is how nice it would be to have their fur wrapped around me at that very moment.
I forget how much I hate the morning commute in the winter–with men in their big coats and grumpy faces, women in their big coats and grumpy faces and two+ bags, me in my big coat and grumpy face and huge backpack, and the heat on the train that makes me gag and suffocate… And I left my phone at home.
You know, if you’re gonna hold the door on your way out for people on their way in, don’t look at them impatiently, don’t tell them to “come on,” just–just don’t fucking rush them. So you saw me coming from thirty feet away; good job! Well fucking spotted! But who the fuck told you to hold the door for me? I’m limping because my foot hurts; not because I think it looks cool to walk that way. It’s fucking freezing–below freezing–and yes, believe it or not, I DO want to get inside the building as fast as I can. But my foot hurts, my blood’s probably all smeared on the inside of my boot, I only had four hours of sleep, and you’re holding the door on your own free will, so no, I will not “come on” to keep your freezing dumb ass from holding the door too fucking long. Sorry, pal; if you’re too stupid to let go, you’re gonna have to endure the bitter cold. Shouldn’t you be wearing something warmer? Like, I don’t know, a coat?
Moving on to people and elevator etiquette. If you’re too fucking lazy to move your ass a couple of inches over and press the button to your floor, don’t wait until the last minute to say, “Can you press 2 please?” We already passed the first floor; what the fuck were you waiting for? Were you just too shy to say something? I can tell it took a lot of courage to utter those few words! Close call, wasn’t it? You were lucky, though; if you had asked me, you would have ended up riding all the way to the eighth floor before getting back down to yours. That’s right–I’m as much of an asshole as you are.
And on that note, I’m gonna go throw up.
They’re the cutest prickly things I’ve ever owned. I have yet to find names for them, but I was originally thinking about “Weebl” and “Bob” (from Weebl & Bob). Cute names for cute things, no?
Weebl and Bob (we’ll call them that for now; you decide which one’s which) are the closest things to pets at the moment. Mom and I were considering betta fish (it’s about time, our respective bettas passed away a while ago now) but–eh, you’ve gotta feed’em and change their water and blah blah blah… A royal pain in the ass if you ask me–for now at least.
My Lil’ Monsta gave me a lil’ scare the other day when it suddenly stopped working…after I dropped it! The blue wheel lit up when I tried to turn it on, but the screen remained dark. I tried accessing recovery mode, looked for answers online, but all was in vain. Until tonight! I decided to give it one more try before calling the SanDisk hotline (help desk technical support thing, if that’s what you want to call it) and lo and behold! It turned on! I somehow managed to enter recovery mode, but then it started giving me shit so I disconnected its ass from my computer. Now it’s decided that it would turn on and stay on, so it’s happily charging. How capricious! Sigh, technology.
I’ve decided (in the last twenty four hours) that I will take up a hobby–a real one, not one of the bullshit hobbies like “watching movies” and “listening to music.” No. I’m already doing that on a daily basis, and believe when I say that, while those are two very entertaining activities and very efficient at passing time pleasantly, they are by no means as satisfying as arts and crafts, or playing a sport (I do go to the gym three+ times per week, but that doesn’t count).
So! I think I will start making bracelets. With yarn. I’m talking quasi-mass production of yarn-made bracelets here. Then maybe I’ll try my hand at jewelry-making, perfect my hand-sewing, refine my knitting… so much to be done, so little time!
Oh, and I suppose I ought to get a job somehow. Something more reliable and permanent than, say, my current gig (that I’ve had since my freshman year in college). I already know where I want to apply (there’s only one job I’m interested in at the moment) but my resume is not ready. NOT. READY. I feel like it’s got a long way to go (because I like things to be perfect) but I think it’s just about done. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore; forgive me, it’s late. I just have to sort out some minor details in my ‘work experience’ section, and that’ll be it. I’ve even got my e-mail “cover letter” crafted.
After that, I guess I should move on to finish my statement of purpose for school next year. I have my mind set on this, so I’d better not fuck it up, but something in the back of my mind keeps telling me that I’m still not certain. I don’t know, do I really want to go that way? Sounds ideal, really. Everyone says so. My mom says so. I think I say so as well. I probably need to sleep on that–I’ll do that in a minute.
I believe I also wanted to bitch about people on the train. Please, if you’re not gonna get off at the next stop, or even at the stop after next, don’t stand in front of the doors like you’re about to jet out of the car. Just sit your ass down; there’s no shortage of seats. Sit. Your ass. DOWN.
I’d better hit the hay now if I want to get up early and watch Quantum Leap tomorrow morning.