Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Shitty People

I am decluttering the clusterfuck that is my life. This mostly includes reevaluating relationships that I have, thought I had, and/or ended.

You may recall a certain Couch and Mr. Potato-head. Couch has decided recently to be an asshole, make new friends and abandon old ones, in short he is turning into one of those party people. I find it pathetic, and he doesn't like feeling judged by me. Which is fine, no one likes to be judged by their friends, but if someone is truly a friend, I expect them to be, in the words of Lester Bangs, "honest and unmerciful." (Yes, I just made an Almost Famous reference, and yes, I am uncool.) So, I haven't seen him in a couple weeks, so I guess he's hanging out with his new friends in new, trendy places. I am uncool, so I will be staying at the old places with the townies and regulars who are all as uncool as I am.

Mr. Potato-head. Oh, Mr. Potato-head. He has done this really obnoxious thing over the past few months where, if he sees me, or hears about me being somewhere, he feels the need to text me. I ignored it for quite some time. And then when he almost ran me over a few weeks ago, I started entertaining him by responding. He texted me in what I can only assume was a drunken state and acknowledged this fact. He did not apologize for it, just acknowledged it, which is to be expected from him as he doesn't not properly apologize for anything.

I crashed a party at Mr. Potato-head's house on Friday. I didn't think he'd be there, and he wasn't because he spends about as much time out of Richmond as I do. But seeing as his all of his roommates saw me, he of course mentioned it on Saturday. Please note, that while I find situations like this entertaining, I typically avoid them as to avoid seeming spiteful. I am not spiteful, but a party is a party and no one really gives a shit who's there after the cops show up.

Anyway, he's been trying to convince me to see him for awhile now, and I keep refusing. Until Saturday evening. I woke up from a four hour nap, hungry, and with a body that was punishing me for combining-things-that-ought-not-to-be-combined, and I texted him, and told him that he could meet me at Chipotle in ten minutes or Sunday morning for breakfast. He agreed to breakfast at 10:30 am.

I suppose I was overwhelmed with the Christmas Spirit, or some other bullshit, but I was feeling nice.

I arrived at 10:40 am. And after a series of text messages where Mr. Potato-head told me that I was being unreasonable and stubborn, I ate, and left and he did not come. Because, he had yoga, and friends in town, and wasn't at home, and had to run by his house and drop off a key, and if I could wait until one, he could meet me, and traffic is bad anyway, and he wanted me to change my plans to suite his schedule. I probably would have met him later, had I not had plans. But I like having plans, though I am not the most punctual person, this is something I am constantly working on, but if I don't have plans I am always willing to make plans. Because I am awesome and uncool and OCD and slightly paranoid.

So, he doesn't show. I should have known. But I think he gets it now. I think he finally understands that I think he's an asshole, and that I feel completely vindicated in saying so after each time he has failed at redeeming himself.

And I'm not stubborn or stiff, I'm merely decisive and tired of people treating me badly. And can maintain my dignity while eating breakfast alone at a table for two in a full cafe. Breakfast was delicious, by the way. And I had a boy who let an entire bottle of Dr. Pepper go flat for me because he listens to me and takes note of the small things that make me happy, in DC. There were also Wes Anderson films and making fun of GW girls. And what started out as a shitty Sunday turned into a Funday with someone who treats me very, very well.

Good riddance to shitty people. One day, when I am president of the world, I will have a special place for them, in Southern California. And Minnesota.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

I must suffer and cry for a longer time

I don't believe that black cats, or broken mirrors, or stepping on cracks cause bad luck. I am not usually supersticious. But as of October 5, 2009, something has happened. That day my thirteen month old Compaq computer fritzed out. It was exactly a monthy over warranty and fixing it would have cost the same as buying a new computer, so my daddy-who-loves-me bought me a Dell - the same computer I had requested a year earlier, but he bought the Compaq because it was cheaper...On that day in October my dad got a phone call detailing how upset I was (in addition to a thousand other things that had gone wrong that week). I proceeded to have a panic attack and sit on the loveseat for the next four hours.

Two weeks later my new Dell made everything better, until...

Halloween. I don't ever leave my Ipod in my car over night, and I never leave it visible in my car when I do leave it there. I have this weird feeling that I should never have all my "valuables" on me at the same time. Like, what's worse, getting mugged or having your car broken into? And if either happens, which is more likely? And how horrible would it be if I was mugged and had everything in my bag/car robbed and left everything in my car?

Anyway, Halloween, some friends and I parked and walked to a friend's apartment and I left my Ipod in my car, because I'm stupid and we hadn't been listening to it, and it was still in hiding, and I was preoccupied with a multitude of other things, like getting out of my blistering heels and into jammies. Though, I did make sure that all the doors to my car were locked. Fastforward to Monday morning when I discovered that my car had been broken into, and of course the Ipod was gone, as was the shitty adapter (I had been meaning to replace the adapter anyways). I spent the next few hours calling all the pawnshops, getting yelled at by the people that work in them (Really, you work at a pawnshop, who are you to judge me? Assholes.), and filing a police report. It ended with me on a friend's cathair covered couch watching christmas movies.

Then, last Friday, Black Friday, my brand new Dell Inspiron computer's hard drive went kaput. Six weeks. SIX WEEKS! That is how long I had it and it died. But, it was under warranty, and today I got the new hard drive in the mail, and was able to put in my computer myself. And let me say, Dell's technical support and generally how the company operates is so much better than Compaq. I still had to call Comcast to set up my internet, again, and the last three months have generally been a shit storm, but here's to hoping it's over.

Only some strange strike of horrible luck could explain this. I like to blame my Irish heritage.

And as a constant reminder of why something fabulous hasn't happened yet, the always wise Morrissey. This song fixes just about everything.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Phone People

Today both of my parents called me. I love them, but really, they call me all the time, and I don't like to answer because 1) my mother likes to tell me stories about people that I don't know or care about, 2) my father pretends that I am five years old, and 3) they both like to express their disappointment in my life.

My mother called me today to talk about the bill she got from my school and somehow that led to her and I arguing about my happiness? It was so bizarre? Who argues about that? Apparently we do, because as Pittmans, we are capable about arguing about anything whenever. It does not matter how trivial. We will argue about it. And nothing wakes you up on a rainy afternoon like an argument between you and your mother about your happiness.

She and I recently went on a drive while I was having a panic attack and during that time we discussed my depression. When I lived at home I saw a therapist regularly, and when I moved to Richmond we still had sessions over the phone regularly and then they became less frequent, and now I haven't spoken to her in about four months. My mom didn't like her because she felt that my therapist wasn't "doing her job" which, in my mother's point of view, was to use the Gospel (Mormon Doctrine) to help me cope. My therapist was Mormon, but very progressive and had she been what my mother wanted, I would not have gone. And manohman, high school would have been a lot worse.

My mother has failed to understand, for years, the importance of self-discovery. She never put much effort into and I as previously expressed, have put a lot of effort into it. And my mom decided that it was this mentality that causes my supposed unhappiness. I'm not going to go into the difference between being unhappy and general depression, but I am not the former. I do what I can to keep myself happy, and it involves being social, at places my parents do not approve of.

This combined with the monotony of money talk escalated into her accusing me of wanting all the wrong things, but an eventual agreement that we are different.

I know. Crazy.

But what she views as my being materialistic, I view as being stressed out about money, because all I want out of life at this point is to be financially stable. I understand that being a twenty year old, I am exactly where I'm supposed to me - still mostly dependent on my parents, in school, working part time - but it feels so far away, and it's so discouraging.

Amongst all the craziness I mentioned that I think it would be good if I took a semester off or went to the community college for a semester, because it might be less stressful.

My dad called me later and told me, "Amanda, you are staying in school, because if you don't you're moving back home and won't be on our insurance anymore." Thanks, Dad!

"Don't do drugs."


"Don't do drugs."

My dad told me not to do drugs. He has never told me not to do drugs. Drugs have never been an issue. Because I don't do them.

"Stay in school and don't do drugs."

How bizarre. My parents are so strange. For anyone who was wondering, this is where I get it from.

But thank God, a boy called. A non-crazy (this is very important as I have history of attracting the crazies) boy, who is my age (well, 21), a journalism major, works on his school radio station and student publications, has an internship at NPR, and was even the ed-in-chief of his high school litmag. I am pretty certain that we are the same person, he just happens to have a penis. But he lives in DC. DC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Why can't I find one of these in Richmond? Nevermind that, he has called me three times this week. THREE TIMES! and. AND! He has said at the end of each call, "I'll call you later." And then, he does. I swear, he has got to be some sort of anomaly. I didn't know that they still made males in this form. I'll be he's even the flower-buying type, and not to prove that he has money to burn (as a certain someone expressed to me earlier this week) but because it's a kind gesture. And he has major word vomit, much like my own. I can totally look past the fact that he just discovered Lykke Li because his favorite song from her album is my favorite song. Not the happiest of songs, but it's beautiful nonetheless.

And another one just because I love her and this video.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Nineteen, Once and Never Again

I have been twenty for exactly one week. It's really such a crap birthday. I mean, the only thing that makes it at all distinguishable is that I am no longer considered a teenager. Though I have never really felt like a teenager, and I've always looked older than I am - it's just all finally catching up with me. BUT I still can't drink in public or go to certain venues/events. Lame.

In reflection upon my nineteenth year, I have decided it was complete shit. Though, I have grown a lot in the past year, found out a lot about myself and all that other David Copperfield kind of crap. Richmond has had a lot to do with it to. I no longer hate this city, but I am much happier in DC as those who have spent time with me in both can attest.

I am a generally outgoing person, and meeting people that are worthwhile is so much easier in DC. I can go out on any given night there and meet someone new, and they'll be interesting, pursuing something they are passionate about and maintain a list of hobbies that keep them busy at nights and on weekends. Not to mention, the boys. The boys know how to treat a girl. Chivalry still exists there, and it's not passe, it's not old fashioned, it's traditional and not at all sexist.

When I go out in Richmond, it's usually to a party, and everyone there is there with their three best friends and they only interact among each other, but call it being social. They are the most unsociable people in the most social situations. Though, in their defense, most of them grew up in the Northern Virginia suburbs or the Virginia Beach areas and think it's "weird" to randomly start talking to the first person you see at a party. This works in DC, anywhere in DC. But imagine (humor me) that you are twenty again and that you are the only one that isn't excessively awkward, but because you're not, it seems as though you are. And then later when you mention it to someone they call you the awkward one. Richmond is awkward.

In the last year I have learned to be more tactful. This may surprise you, and in the company of those that I feel comfortable being myself completely I still say things without filtering them, but around those that I meet for the first time and in certain people equations and in certain public forums, I have learned to keep certain opinions and thoughts to myself. Though, for those that appreciate my honesty, they may notice my being more polite than usual and ask what I'm really thinking. Eleana does this a lot. She always acts shocked when I give her compliment and insists that surely there is something to criticize. There usually is, but I've been making a conscious effort to not be so critical. Richmond doesn't really allow or appreciate criticism. It has everything to do with how "open minded" everyone is. And that whole chivalry thing that still exists elsewhere, that would never fly here. Ever. I cannot count how many conversations I have had with people about dating that end with us wholeheartedly disagreeing about what is and isn't appropriate on a bonafide first date.

Being raised Mormon, I have been indoctrinated all my life about women's and men's roles in society. And while i disagree with most of what I was taught, I do believe that whoever asks someone on a date should pay for it, and I like it when a man walks on the street side of the sidewalk, and I like having doors opened for me. And flowers. (If there is anyone reading this that is unaware of how much I love flowers please read this and know that nothing in the world makes me happier than yellow roses.) Boys in Richmond are not straight. They are all slightly gay. All of them have had some sort of homosexual experience. And that doesn't bother me in the least, what bothers me is when I get flack for not being into girls at all. Somehow my lack of "experimenting" makes me less of a person. It's their indecision that irritates me. Many of my male friends have all been "celibate" this week and polyamorous the next. I have kissed one girl, and that was a friend who drunkenly, and quite literally, threw herself at me. And it was not something I enjoyed. I like boys.

And even the concept of marriage, I don't know that it's natural or that I even want to get married, though I do know I want to eventually have children, and marriage usually goes along with that. But I have had arguments with people who refuse to acknowledge that it works for some people and that it's not the most absurd concept they've ever heard of or been exposed to. Again, because I was raised in a Mormon household, I feel that I am more receptive to both points of view. It the whole being "open" to countercultual norms while being staunchly against things that are considered mainstream. Maybe it's just because I'm a journalism major, but I believe in trying to maintain objectivity in all things. While I certainly agree more with Keith Olberman than Glen Beck, I'll watch both. I even listen to AFR sometimes...but mostly for the nuts that call in to share a scripture they think qualifies the Iraq war or Obama being from Kenya.

Nineteen made me appreciate the middle, being the youngest and feeling old, but being naive. It gave me a lot of time alone to ponder and to realize that being self-aware is more important than most things. And while I'm naive about most things, I learned a lot of lessons this year, and I wasn't happy about most of them at the time. But, I wouldn't change it. Not in the least.

So, here's to Year 20. I think it's going to be better and bigger and more important than the last.

Thursday, September 17, 2009


(This was written in reference to the Sunday and Monday of this past Labor Day weekend.)

I mentioned awhile back that I was going to write a book about my mother’s side of the family. This past weekend, well Sunday and Monday, I started it. The research.

Growing up our family would go on what my parents called vacation, but was anything but relaxing. We would drive around North Carolina in a beat-up Plymouth Voyager with fake wood paneling around the side and visit my mother’s relatives. I am the youngest of the children in my immediate family and extended family, so visiting was never something I looked forward to, as it meant that I would probably be in the way, be bored and only have dogs to play with. All of my relatives have dogs. Sure, we would have a couple days at the beach, but mostly not.

So, understandably over the years I’ve developed this negative feeling towards North Carolina, except for the beach. And there are two types of North Carolinians, Beach and Mountains. My mother comes from a long line of beach-goers. And her hometown of Kinston is only about an hour, maybe two, from the beach.

Kinston used to be an industrial city. They had cotton, tobacco, Pepsi and Coca-Cola plants, a t-shirt factory and were surrounded by farms. Today it’s a collection of tattered, wood boxes that are this close to falling over, drugs and gangs. But among all of the ugly you can see what used to be. All the tobacco warehouses are still intact, but with broken panes and graffiti, the theaters now house other businesses or are closed, the old high school that my mother attended is now an assisted living home and the people that do live there don’t give a damn about making it nice. Among all of this are larger homes that resemble doll houses that once belonged to the wealthy, but like everything else the paint is peeling and many remain vacant or condemned.

My mother has two older brothers, one of which she has asked to write their family’s history, or at least their personal story of the three being raised by their aunt and grandmother. He, like me was a journalism major and later earned a master’s degree in English and was one semester away from receiving his PhD in English Literature. He doesn’t want to do it. So, I am.

My mother has relayed stories of her childhood to me and my siblings over and over for as long as I can remember. And earlier this year her oldest brother was visiting in Northern Virginia and I stayed up until about two in the morning listening to them reminisce about their childhoods. All of it. The good, the bad, and the parts that they would probably like to forget. It was then that I decided to do it. I’m not sure exactly why, but it’s something that I’ve felt I’ve needed to do since then.

And this is coming from someone who up until six months ago saw no reason to go to North Carolina unless there was a birth, marriage or death in the family.

And let me tell you, my mother’s side is all about those three things. This weekend proved that more than ever. The Mills’ liked having babies - my great-grandmother had nine of them, they liked getting married and in most cases divorced and then remarried, sometimes a few times, and they were obsessed with dying. I found a life insurance policy that my grandfather and his two sister bought when he was twelve. TWELVE. Twelve years old. And it only cost ten cents a month for a $1000 policy. And then there were the pictures of dead people and pictures of all the flowers that were sent to the funeral – apparently this is a status thing. I don’t really get it. But I’m trying to.

I made my first stop my first-cousin-once-removed (my mother’s first cousin) Robert Earl’s house. He and his wife, Judy, have known each other since she was fifteen and have been married forever. I have never really had the chance to get to know them. Robert Earl is several years older than my mom and so they were never close. But because they’re family they have invited us to everything and we have done the same. I went to their daughter’s wedding when I was about nine, and I’m pretty sure I had never met any of them before. However, Robert Earl’s mother, (pay close attention, things are about to get confusing) Evelyn, I have very early memories of. She is one of those old relatives we used to visit all the time. Her house was awful. She had lived in it forever and instead of moving along with all the other’s to the non-black parts of town she stayed and bolted her windows shut. And didn’t have air conditioning and didn’t let her animals outside. And it all smelled so awful and we weren’t allowed to touch anything, nothing, except for of course that dry rotted couches that she had for forty years.

Robert Earl need a lot of encouragement and seemed very hesitant about giving me too much information. I get it, he doesn’t know me, and my immediate family has a reputation among our relatives as “the Yankees” given we’re from the DC suburbs and don’t know how to operate a tractor. So, he started off listing all these places he had lived. It was an incredibly long list, and I finally had to stop him because I don’t care about that, I care about what happened while he was living in those places, what made them memorable. He started to open up some, but Judy was willing to divulge more information than he was. Thank God.

I had made plans to stay with a friend in Greensboro, but then decided it would be easier to drive to Grifton rather than drive the next morning. I still got lost, but it was nice being done that night. I had picked up a bunch of stuff at Robert Earl’s including a trunk that belonged to my other cousin-once-removed-Marie’s father, my great-uncle Hubert.

I never knew Hubert. My grandfather was the youngest of the nine kids and Evelyn, was number eight. (If this does become a book, I should probably not worry about names and just number everyone.) Hubert is the one that has the most going on as of right now. I’m not so sure Marie was as excited about finding all this dirt on her dad, but we know that he had lots of lovers before and after he got married, had at least one illegitimate child, and was an alcoholic.

One of this first things Marie said to me was, “you don’t come from money. You know that, right?” Of course I know that. My mother has spent her entire life making sure that we all had everything that she never did. Mills’ were tobacco and cotton farmers from Ireland and Scotland; all the men were alcoholics and most were in the KKK and the women sobered them up and pretended not to notice when they were off fucking everyone.

It’s making out to be a pretty good story. And my mom grew up with it.

*Mom, before you email me berating me for not saying “nice” things and using the F word, please be aware that I am doing exactly what I told you I would to – telling the truth. And it’s not always pretty.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

The Porn Stars Upstairs

When Jessica and I moved into our apartment in May there was a very quiet dude who lived above us with his two tiny dogs. The dogs were also very quiet. And because of all this quiet I was able to sleep during typical sleeping hours.

Then he moved out and a bunch of Asian chicks moved in. They are decidedly not the brightest crayons in the box. I have to complain to them about something weekly. It started with them "building a bookshelf" at midnight. Really. Apparently they missed the memo from suburbia: Be quiet between 9 am and 9 pm. Common courtesy. Learn it. Geez.

Anyway, they were also the cause of the leak in our bathroom. They didn't have a shower curtain going all the way around the inside of their tub. Odd, considering that Jessica bought three from the dollar store (or somewhere) to fit all the way around our tub as soon as we moved in. I had to ask to see their bathroom and asked if they would mind putting a curtain up on all sides of their tub. They obliged and the leak stopped. Huzzah!

But they're still really loud. And they're always having dudes over. Attractive dudes. Attractive, dumb dudes. Anthea and I have decided that all the noise we hear all the time and the explanation for their furniture always being in a different place (because I get to peek in every time they open the door when I ask them to stop doing whatever it was that they were doing) is that they are porn stars filming orgies in their living and dining rooms. Fetish porn. Fetish-tiny-asian-girls-with-cut-white-dudes porn.

Last night I stayed up fairly late. And every time Anthea of myself heard something loud and indistinguishable we would blame it on their "shoot." Well we finally wanted to go to bed, around one (which is late for a Wednesday night) and they were still being really loud. One would have thought that it would have stopped by that point, but I was so wrong. So I went up and knocked. The door opened a little bit, but not enough to see anything. Then someone closed it all the way and I heard scattering of people and whispers, including this gem, "Hide. It's the cops." To which I responded that it was just the girl from downstairs. Eventually some dude who does not live there answered the door and asked what the problem was. I explained that they were being really loud, that I had work in the morning, etc. to which he was apologetic. And they were quieter...for like fifteen minutes. Then the boys - three of them - moved to the stoop in front of my building, but more importantly outside my bedroom window. After my doorbell had been rung TWICE I went out and asked them to be quiet, again. On a fucking Wednesday night. They explained that it was their friend's 21st birthday and that they didn't ring our doorbell. I had to point out that he was LEANING against all of the doorbells! And when I asked why they didn't take their friend out to a bar, you know, as is customary on 21st birthdays (Hey! Everyone! I expect to be drinking for free in Richmond and/or DC for my 21st, and cupcakes should be involved, in return I will bake for all of your birthdays. Wait, I already do that, because I am awesome.). The more attractive of the three told me it was too late to go to a bar because they were closing, he apparently didn't understand that they should have taken her out hours before. What the hell?

So, I'm pretty sure they hate me. And telling myself that they're "filming" is starting to make me feel better. I just really hope I never meet a dude that's really into Asian chicks w/Bros porn.

Friday, August 14, 2009

eight going on thirty

When I was in the second grade the majority of the girls in my class were getting their ears pierced or already had them pierced. I wanted so badly to be able to wear the same sparkly studs as the rest of them, but in my family we weren't allowed to get out ears pierced until we were sixteen. By the time I reached fourth grade I had started making "earrings" out of copper wire that I had taken out of hard drives my dad brought home from work. I would take them apart (and attempt to put them back together...) and keep the copper wire. I had a LOT of copper wire. And I would put beads on it, braid it, etc and wear it as earrings. At first glance you wouldn't notice that they were fake and when I lost one it was easy to replace.

Around the same time they started selling magnetic earrings at Claire's. I had several pairs, but they hurt my ears and the magnets eventually lost their pull and would fall off. These replaced the copper wire, and by the time I was done losing those I was no longer interested in piercing my ears.

By the time I was sixteen I was afraid of needles and the idea of sticking one ALL THE WAY THROUGH MY EAR LOBE did not sound at all appealing. Though, I still spent too much time ogling over earrings at various stores. They're pretty, but so not worth the trouble.

Lately I kind of feel like my life is this attitude repeating itself. I can finally do things, and they don't matter anymore. I suppose everyone goes through this at some point, but I can't help but think that I'm experiencing it early, just like every other part of my life.

I mean it's a Friday night, I don't have to be at work until one tomorrow afternoon and I'm staying in watching Sydney Poitier movies on TCM. I should be out, I should be getting drunk and going home with people I'm going to complain about in the morning. But I have a keyboard to play, and books to read and shitty poetry to write, and tomorrow I will make a delicious breakfast for friends. Actually, my life sounds pretty good.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Steps to taking over the world

Yesterday my new roommate, Anthea, and I made a trip down to my leasing company's office to get her put on the lease.

I have not been involved with this at all until yesterday. My previous roommate, Jessica, moved out so dealing with the paperwork has been her deal. I wasn't aware that They would try to make me sign another lease with Anthea. We were under the impression that while sub-leasing was a breach of contract, that you could turn your lease over. So, Jessica was supposed to be able to have Anthea take it over.

Well, They "don't do that." And They are trying to make me and Anthea sign a twelve month lease that would push our move-out date to next August. Ugh. Apparently they only deal in increments of twelve months for all parties. Then another They informed us that we could sign an eight month lease for an additional $50 a month.

After talking to "my lawyer" aka Spencer's mom, and a my parents and a couple of others, I have been advised by all to go with what I was going to do anyway - not sign anything and not pay anything extra.

I spent last night and a good portion of this morning reading the Landlord Tenant Handbook for Virginia and my lease. And because they didn't inform us of all of their procedures for "if"-situations I am fairly certain that what they are doing is illegal. Dealing with things "as they come up" is hardly feasible.

And if our light fixture starts leaking again this month we are totally going escrow.

In other news, I called my cousin Robert Earl today. He is my mother's cousin and I will be interviewing him in early September. I am writing a book about my mother's side of the family. She has been asking her brother to do it for years but he doesn't want to. Understandably. Their side of the family has everything you love about Faulkner in it. All the uncles were in the Ku Klux Klan, alcoholics, infidelity, the whole thing. The aunts were all very polite women who cooked, cleaned and knew when to keep their mouths shut.

My mother keeps asking me if I'm going write "nice" things about her family, and I keep assuring her that I will write the truth. She is not comfortable with that answer.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Fucking Richmond

I would like to tell you a story. It's about a girl who is in college, working, attempting to have a social life, has no love life because boys suck, and often gets home late.

This girl is currently transitioning between roommates and paid her utilites last week. Of these, her cable and internet were included. But her carrier, Comcast sent her a statement that stated that she was behind in her payments, except, this was the first she had heard from them in months, even after calling the customer service people asking about her bills. They told her it was fine before this statment was sent, but whatever, she has intergrity, she knew that the bill needed to be paid and so she paid it.

Then about a week after sending them a check she get another bill saying that she is late, but her check hasn't gone through yet. So she tries to check everything out online, but their Web site keeps haveing "errors" and tells her to "check back at a later time." Awesome.

Then she notices flashing outside her window. So, of course she felt the need to know what was going on. She waslked outside and saw two police cars sitting next to each other, not doing anything, just two chatting policemen. Nothing odd going on, no one being loud, no one drunkenly walking home, nothing. So she stood on the sidewalk and watched them until the police officer in the closer car noticed her and they drove off.

The. End.

I can deal with people being loud outside. I can deal with hearing everyone drive by, but flashing lights when I'm trying to go to bed, not so much.

And Comcast is being stupid.

And my I had to call my land lord company today to tell them about the leak in my bathroom FOR THE THIRD TIME! They "fixed" it for the third time also. And the trash situation behind my building is getting out of hand. I sweartodgod that if thing don't start getting better around here, I will totally stage an uprising in my complex and sue those motherfuckers. Sure, it may be late, and I may be tired, but I am so over dealing with Richmond's bullshit. I get that companies that lease to college students take advantage of us, and I know it's my fault for not doing more research before I moved in, but that doesn't mean everyone has to deal with it. Mainly anyone who may rent with my company in the future. They already think I'm a nuisance for reporting everyfuckinglittlething, but I shouldn't have to, because it shouldn't be a problem. Kind of like how with my roommate I was always asking her to do stuff around the apartment, but wasn't so much mad that she wasn't doing it as much as I was mad she had to be asked to do it - like that, except with a rental company that makes bank off of poor college students who can't afford to live somewhere better. I am so serious about this. And I know that I'm taking on a ton of stuff this year, but this ahs to be done. Richmond needs a swift kick in the ass and who better to give it to them than myself?

Tuesday, July 28, 2009


As someone who grew up with military healthcare, I have to disagree wholeheartedly with the idea that the military has the best healthcare in the country. It is an HMO, it doesn't cover all types of care and it is fairly conservative - contraception, it's an issue, especially for those not married. Just saying.

So, last night when I was watching this video, my mother invited me to one of those Tea Parties that the conservative movement has been holding across the country. I am all for free speech, and freedom of expression and making your views known to your elected leaders, but I'm not going to participate in something I don't believe in, but I find it fascinating that my mother still feels the need to argue with me about things. Healthcare is a privilege and if socialize healthcare is the only way we can achieve this, then so be it. In a society where employers aren't always able to afford to insure their employees, and in a country where they already have a limited public system, it only makes sense to make it accessible to more people.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Bonding with Posh Spice

I am so annoyed. I'm writing this again because Blogspot had an error five minutes ago. Ugh.

Anyway, I am typically against posting my dreams but last night's was really over the top.

Part one.

I am in some small town, maybe Annapolis and I see a friend of mine *Allen standing in the street arguing with Victoria Beckham. Seeing as Allen is a friend and I am nosy, I go over to see what the fuss is about. I never find out, but Posh leaves him behind but takes me with her.

Part two.

She and I stop a restaurant to use the ladies room. She thinks I'm a nosy bitch (true) but likes me anyway. We bond over our love for The Long Blondes, The Cure and British Sea Power. Unfortunately this was not enough, she later ditched me at a gas station.

Part three.

Malcolm picks me up. In my car. (note: I was supposed to hang out with him yesterday and that didn't happen. I'm fairly certain that this is why he was in my dream.)

Part four.

Malcolm takes me to the Black Cat. Except the Red Room's bar has been replaced by the downstairs bar from DC9. (Feel free to converse about how pathetic it is that I have dreams about these places and know them well enough to distinguish lacquer in my dreams.) I'm fairly certain that it's my birthday, possibly my 21st because I am sloshed and dancing with more flail than usual. At some point it is time to go home, but I'm very ornery. Then at some point Chad (America) talks me down and either Seth or Malcolm (I can't tell them apart because they have the same body type and haircut) escort me home. To my apartment in Richmond. Except because it's a dream it's about a block away and the Black Cat is in the Fan (the neighborhood that I live in).


So, yeah. Um...what the hell was that? Why was DC9 involved? And since when do I have some sort of subconscious obsession with Victoria Beckham?

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Mr. Potato-head

So, this summer has been fun…ish. Totally. Funish. So fun that I am spending a Thursday night in my room with a flat bottle of wine and Florence and the Machine. I have turned my phone off and closed all the doors and have decided to address two of the male species. First, Mr. Potato-head and second, Gray.

Dear Mr. Potato-head,
As a rule I am usually a fairly easy person to get on with , given that whoever the other person is willing to deal with all my opinions. They usually are, but you, you have this thing where you like to address all of them and then tell me why, in your opinion, they aren’t valid. Most people take them with a grain of salt and don’t think any more of them.
It is my ability to be incredibly direct and honest to a fault that allows people to either love me or love to hate me. You, supposedly found yourself in the former category. I like these things about myself and find that in my being direct I don’t feel the need to deal with others’ inability to be direct. You are one of those people. As you may have noticed I have not talked to you for the past two weeks.
It is your complete dishonesty and indirectness that allows me to write you off without feeling the least bit sorry. Now, now, I have been more than accommodating over the past year in listening to what you had to say for yourself, I gave you who knows how many chances to redeem yourself, and you failed miserably. What’s more, is that you failed in being a friend. I may have wanted you as a significant other at one point, but that time came and went quite some time ago. Why you could not find it in yourself to be a friend is beyond me as I went out of my way to be yours.
Lying. It is not something that I choose to have as part of my life. Now, given I have lied before, to my parents. But you and everyone else for that matter will find that lying is not something that I do to anyone I know well or care about. I cared about you, and to a certain extent I trusted you, and you had to go shit all over it. You lied about petty, little things, that should not have mattered. Who you were with, where you were, etc. I was not your girlfriend, I didn’t have ulterior motives. I am curious by nature and don’t find it intrusive when I ask my friends what they’re doing. If anything I’m hoping that whatever they are doing is more exciting than what I’m doing and that they’ll invite me to join them. If you were say, driving to Roanoke to fuck your ex that isn’t my concern, but don’t claim to be hanging out in Richmond. Small things have a way of floating to the surface.
The majority of my close relations have encouraged me to do this for a long time. Some though have excused YOUR behavior, saying that it’s only because you’re so young. That’s correct, they wrote you off because you were so young, and for the most part they regard me as fairly precocious with my heart at the root of all that I do. You took advantage of that. And it is for that, that I am choosing to not include you as a significant part of my life.
Unsurprisingly enough, you have not offered an apology. Though I did ignore your calls and gchat inquiries. I wasn’t away, I didn’t have my phone turned off, I choose to ignore you completely, because I am tired of putting too much effort in to relationships, let alone platonic ones, where the other person simply doesn’t give a damn. And despite your words, yours actions have always spoken louder.


Friday, July 17, 2009

my friends are better than your friends

Between me and my roommate this morning:

Jessica: "That girl is coming to see the apartment again, really soon..."

Me: "Oh, does that mean I have to put pants on?"

Jessica: "Yeah, I did..."

Me: (putting on yesterday's clothes)

Jessica: "You don't have to put real clothes on."

Me: "I want to look somewhat presentable."

Jessica: "Well I've already met her, so I'm fine." (While wearing her jimjams)

I am going tubing on Sunday. I'm going with my gay friend, Markus. Usually I don't mention people's sexuality, race, etc, but...


Me: "Who else is going?"

Markus: (lists a bunch of people I don't know, but all are male)

Me: "Are any of them attractive, straight and will make out with me and aren't put off by my being significantly younger than them?"

Markus: "Pretty much all of them. I don't hang out with the gays - they annoy me. I don't generally hang out with ugly people. I'm highly judgmental. Can't speak to age requirements, but those kinds of concerns generally fade with beer and lies."

Do you see why we're friends? And to think all it took was a lot of bourbon and crying over our deceased pets.

And all this chatting reminded me of a conversation we had a few weeks ago.

Me: "Do you like bananas?"

Markus: "I'm a gay man, that's a loaded question."

I have yet to make him a banana cake, but maybe I'll do that this weekend.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

All Grown Up

Dear Internet,

I would like to start by apologizing for not being around for the last month, not that anyone reads this, but let's pretend. I have been exceptionally busy having a life which unfortunately doesn't leave much time for blogging. And I'm sorry to those that took offense at the above comment, but let's be real, non-bloggers constantly ridicule bloggers for not having lives, though, in out defense if we didn't have lives we wouldn't have anything to blog about in the first place. Now, if I had any sort of time management skills I would have a time each day or week set aside for blogging, but again, my life is insane.

I work. A lot. Like a ton. Like all the time. And when I'm not working I am typically driving or in transition to someplace else. Travel time takes up a good portion of my life also. My week, starting Mondays looks something like this:

Monday and Tuesday - Wake up and go to work at the Going Out Guide 7 am-5ish pm, from here I find someone in DC to put up with me for a few hours so that I can avoid my parents and all the uncomfortable questions my mother likes to ask me.

Wednesday - This is the craziest day of my week. It starts like Monday and Tuesday, but I leave at 1 pm so that I can be at work in Richmond at Images by 4 pm. Then I work until 8 pm. Then I have sister bonding time, otherwise known as being overly critical of the contestants of So You Think You Can Dance. Brownies are usually a part of this. I get home around eleven and pass out, hopefully after I've brushed my teeth.

Thursday and Friday - I get up sometime between nine and ten. Eat, obsessively clean my apartment and kill all bugs I see, tell someone about the bugs I just killed, put something presentable on and bike to work at noon where I stay again until eight. Thursdays I watch SYTYCD results.

Saturday - I work from 9 am-5 pm. This sucks, mostly because of the 9 am part. It often prevents me from doing all that I want to on Friday nights, or I just don't sleep.

Sundays are a toss up depending on whether I chose to dance in DC the night before, stay with my parents, or crash in the city.

So I work about fifty hours a week and drive at least ten and am on the metro for another five each week, and as you can seeI am going, going, going, all the time. Though, this is preferable to having too much spare time. I don't deal well with having to occupy myself and when I have free time it's usually spent nit-picking over stupid things.

The Going Out Guide, or for those of you that don't know what that is, I am an intern for Washington Post-Digital, or the website. I enjoy it. It gives me an excuse to look cute most days. Their dress code only states that employees can't wear sweatpants and shorts, so most people keep it fairly casual, but I like wearing skirts and heels and being dressed better than most of the people in the office. It's comparable to going to church with my parents in that I can usually count on being the best dressed one there. I won't even get into makeup, or the lack thereof and the ill applied makeup , that's a rant for another day.

I spend my time there fact checking and calling people and getting transferred to different people and after I've done this and eventually found someone to email me a press release with all of an events information, I put it into the calendar. Then I write a sentence describing the event, these are supposed to funny, but I'm not funny so I've given up trying to be. Sometimes I write a paragraph of two in addition to the "teaser" sentence. So, if you check out the Guide, and want to know about all the county fairs in the DC Metro area I will have put that information up. And let me tell you what, people that run county fairs do not have their shit together.

Throughout the day I spend a good portion on Gchat figuring out what I'm going to do that evening. It usually involves dinner and watching a movie/tv at someone else's house. I don't know why, but I just don't do well in the suburbs. I mean, I have to be doing something and if I'm not doing something I like to know that I could be doing something that is only happening a few blocks away.

I love my parents, but they don't do anything except watch criminal investigation shows. And it's difficult to have a conversation with them without them saying something like, "If you went to church...wouldn't happen." Boys for example, I can count on my friends telling me that their a waste of time, or agreeing with me that certain ones are assholes, etc, but my mother is quick to point out that I'm too abrassive, aggressive, intimidating, not sensitive enough, not soft enough, too confident, etc. And I'm always like
what? Did you just suggest that I need to be meek and vulnerable and passive? Because I can't stand those type of people. Well maybe you should try being nice. Mother, nice? Nice is a word we've been over. It's a word that is used when you don't have anything better or worse to say about someone. I hope that people have a stronger opinion of me either way... Our conversations go on like that, unless she complains about me not liking her. She says that. And I have finally started aggreeing. Yes, Mom, I can't stand being around you. But really, it's because she says stuff like that. I mean, really? It's so depressing.

My dad is a little bit better. He isn't as intrusive. And we've gotten to the point where we can talk more openly about what I do, even if he doesn't approve, I think he's finally realized that it's helathier for us to talk to each other than constantly argue about who or what is right.

When I'm in D.C., as previously stated, I'm out most of the time. But, when I'm in Richmond I stay in most of the time. My apartment is really starting to feel like home. I have finally hung things on the walls. It's nothing fabulous, but it certainly makes a difference. I still have tons of things that I want to do.

I spent last Friday cleaning and de-bugging. I cleaned every surface in the house except for those in my roommate's room. I made a special trip to the hardware store and bought boric acid and fly tape, for our roach and fruitfly problems. The fruitflys were a gift from my mother that accompanied a pineapple. The roaches came with the apartment. You may be asking yourself why my landlord hasn't done anything about this, let me explain, roaches own Richmond. They are everywhere. And because I live on a ground level apartment, they're probably worse.

After I cleaned out all of the kitchen cabinets, I mixed cocoa with the boric acid and spooned thin lines of it around the edges of all the cabinets, into any and all cracks, holes and spaces between the wall and floorboards. Then I shot Combat into many of the same cracks and sprinkled more of the boric acid mixture under the stove and refrigerator. The fly tape was hung and has mostly solved that problem, and while fly tape is gross it's also satisfying to see all the flies that are not interrupting my breakfast anymore. The roaches and other brown bugs are becoming fewer and I am feeling better about living here.

Of course keeping the floors swept and the dishes clean also helps. We do not leave dirty dishes in the sink ever. It's awesome. We eat our meal and then wash our dishes as soon as we are done eating. I had heard of this before and seen it take place growing up when I would have dinner at friend's houses, but never have I experienced it until now. Mind you, it is largely due to the bugs. They keep us motivated.

I could go on, but I feel that most of you probably stopped reading about three paragraphs ago.


Monday, June 8, 2009


Yesterday I got a call from an editor apologizing for all the confusion lately and with permission for first dibs on events that need to be covered in the near future. Of course, this was after I sent an email and refused to deal with a certain level of unprofessional behavior.

This person and I are also fairly good friends and we bicker like your grandparents. My sister, April, has been encouraging me to write them off for months and last night when I told her the good news she had an epiphany.

"Amanda, you're going to make it...."

"I know."

"You're ruthless..."

"I know."

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

why my summer is going to be better than your summer

"Are you nervous?"

"Not yet, kinda?"

"Well you should be, it's the motherfucking Post."

That was the conversation I had with my roommate sometime on Monday, after dinner? Monday evening was kind of a blur.

Michelle and Elizabeth came down for the weekend and we had a very lovely time. We saw 'I love you, Man' at The Byrd, and bought fake "glitter-girl" tattoos at CVS, and then went to sleep. Kind of lame, but we were really tired, and I feel like I was tired from staying up late on Friday (because I took a friend to see St. Vincent for her birthday). So we slept and then thrifted for most of Sunday. But not before we covered our bodies in fake tattoos. I had them behind my ears, on the back of my neck, on my hips, on my back, on my ankle, writsts, and of course one on my chest. So hardcore. We almost passed for Richmond kids, almost. At Goodwill Michelle bought five pairs of shoes. Five pairs. The fact that they had five, cute pairs of shoes in her size amazes me.

Afterward we made our way to Charisse and Sterling's to eat their food and ended up staying a lot longer and playing Rock Band for a few hours. We left around ten, and ended up hanging out at my friend Malcolm's house until Elizabeth started to fall asleep. So I took them back to my apartment and then walked back to Malcolm's to finish watching 'Alien' -- I didn't make it. I fell asleep within an hour after I got there and woke up in his living room where one of his roommates was asleep on one of the other futons. This is what college is supposed to be, right? Waking up disoriented? Yes.

I eventually made it home and after a hearty brekfrist we went to Belle Isle. They left around three and I stayed and read and managed to not get sunburned. This is quite the feat. I mean, I'm not going to be tan, ever, but I hate getting sunburned and sunscreen has become part of my morning routine. Also, my freckles are coming out and I am so excited. God, I am so vain. But really, I love my freckles, and am okay with being a narcissist.

Jessica and I had a very healthy dinner of grilled cheese and smoothies over a not-so-friendly game of Scrabble. I won thanks to the word 'perky', I got a triple word score and a double letter score with the K. The score was 205 to 188? I don't remember exactly what Jessica's score was. After that was the blur. By the time Spencer got to my apartment I was gone. And thankfully Malcolm moved my car, and Jessica didn't take pictures of me hula hooping.

Spencer left really early the next morning and reminded me to get up in time to make it to my interview. So, I got up around seven, and by eight I wanted to puke my guts out, but it didn't happen, so I showered and got dressed and attempted to look like I had it together, which I am thankfully able to do. And I made it to my doctor's appointment, on time, and left for Arlington around eleven. At this point the hangover had subsided.

I don't know what was with people on 95, but everyone was cruising in the left lane and I wanted to punch them in the face, but I pictured myself in a monster truck crushing all of them instead. By the time I reached Dale City my gas light was on, and I decided to stop by my parents' house, get some food and get gas on my way back to 95. I still had 45 minutes to get to Arlington, and I would have been fifteen minutes early if I hadn't missed my exit. I had to call for directions after I crossed the Memorial Bridge. So, by the time I got to the building I parked, and then I put money in the meter and then the meter decided to FAIL-out of order. So I drove to the next meter and the same thing happened, and while I was scrounging around my bag for change I dropped my notebook, and the cover broke. And some nice man told me that my car would be fine so I finally made it into the building.

I didn't have to wait long, which was nice, seeing as I was sososo nervous and doing everything I could to keep from fidgeting. The editor of the Going Out Guide and I made our way to a small room. I thought I was more prepared, but everytime she asked me something I blurted out another favorite thing in DC and how that related to the question, and somehow this impressed her. She seemed to appreciate my enthusiasm despite my shaking her hand for too long...yeah, I had a couple of those moments.

But I got it, and that's all that matters. I got the official offer-email today and my first day will be June 10th. The jist is updating the guide. So, if you want to know what's happening in Ashburn on August 7th, I will have come up with something enticing to say about it. TA DA!

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Abridged Version

This is my atempt to fill you in, without losing my breath.

1. I moved into my apartment.
2. We have bugs.
3. We do not have the internet or cable, and will probably not be getting the later.
4. I have been using the internet at work at every opportunity, because I am an addict.
5. I kind of like Richmond.
6. The day I finally got my bike back (it had been locked up outside my dorm forever) I got a flat tire. Story of my life.
7. I have still been going to DC at every oppurtunity.
8. I had planned on having a relatively boy-less summer, spend time reading/writing, but I do not feel that that is realistic any longer. It's the summer, let the flings abound!
9. My mom ended up paying the rest of my tuition. FAFSA did go through, but not in time for VCU to accept it. So, now I have to pay my mom back. Yikes!
10. I'm only signed up for two classes for next semester and am working on getting into a couple others that are listed as full.
11. I taught my roommate how to clean.
12. She was not happy about it, but has since learned to appreciate it.
13. Going to the grocery store has become one of my favorite activities. I go just about every other day.
14. My vinyl collection is increasing/improving slowly, but surely.
15. I bought the Ben Folds "Landed" single, with "Bitches Ain't Shit" on the b-side, and scratched the b-side. FML.
16. I have been reading and listening to jazz with my breakfast most mornings. Ahhhhhh...
17. I'm currently reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, and all of you are Basil Holland to my Dorian Gray. Though some may attempt to be Henry, you aren't, you are Basil.
18. The Washington Post called me yesterday and wanted to know if I was still interested in the summer internship for the Going Out Guide. I have an interview on Tuesday. And I feel like dancing more than usual.
19. I spend about half an hour after breakfast every day dancing and hula-hooping.
20. The guy with the Vespa that lives behind me is cute. The girls across the hall are loud and the lady with the baby always looks like she is going to cry.

*I HAVE AN INTERVIEW. ON TUESDAY. TO INTERN AT THE WASHINGTON POST. I don't know if you recall, but I applied for a bunch early this year and didn't hear back. So this is a very welcome surprise. I do not think there are words or actions that can express my excitement. And when they asked me if I spent time in DC and if I liked DC, etc. etc. I was like OH! MY! GOD! YOU HAVE NO IDEA! and then proceeded to explain my habit of going as often as possible as soon as I could drive. Anyway, even if I don't get it, being considered is awesome, and I still have time.

But, I am not very good at being grounded, and I have to get it. I'm Amanda. I'm awesome. How could I not get it?

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Fuck America's Financial Student Assitance

So, last semester I was able to pay for everything, no problem. Then this semester happened and work was slow, and I did not make as much money as I was hoping to. So, what's a girl to do? She fills out a billion forms on FAFSA and then wait for them to get processed and then get told that my dad hasn't electronically cosigned after waiting the ten days. So then I call him and tell him he didn't sign and he didn't relize he didn't do that. Then I go to the financial aid office every two days to see if it's processed. Finally I get to see a financial aid counselor who tells me I need to call FAFSA. So I do that and they tell me that my dad has STILL NOT COSIGNED. And then I get really angry because I think that he forgot. But he didn't and he got a confirmation number the first time, but he signs with his pin number again. I call FAFSA again and they say that it went through this time. Which is great, but it should have gone through over a week ago and now I have to wait another week and all the old ladies at the financial aid office keep giving me shit about waiting so long, BUT IT'S NOT MY FAULT! THIS ALL SHOULD HAVE PROCESSED AND I SHOULD HAVE HAD MY MONEY OVER A WEEK AGO! And now because it's taken so long, I might not get anything, and I missed my last bio quiz because I was dealing with all of this and thought that it closed tomorrow at noon and not today at noon.

This semester has been way worse than last semester academically, and not because I have a huge balance in my account I can't even register for classes for the fall. I may have to go to the community college for a semester to chill out and let everything get sorted out at VCU. Ugh, I am so not feeling it. Actually with the way things are going I probably won't be able to do that right now either, and I'm probably not going to get to Europe unless I somehow start making more money. I am picking up more hours in a couple weeks, and hopefully people will need wall paper removed?

At least Richmond is cheap. And I think this is what rock bottom is supposed to feel like, but I"m nineteen and while I know you're supposed to be poor in college, but really? I can't help feel left out of the loop when my best friend is studying abroad in Paris and another's parents pay for their school, and spring-break trip to Montreal and will be paying for them to go to beach week, and another who goes to school in New York City and doesn't work...I mean my parents to do help me out, but it's help, it's not everything, and I resent the fact that they help me out at all.

I wish I could be content going to school and not having a life outside of it, but I'm not, so this summer I'm going to try and at least be content in Richmond.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

I have six email addresses

After I helped my sister remove wallpaper from her new house a couple weeks ago, I decided that I was going to start a wallpaper removal business this summer. I mean, I was suprisingly good at it and I could use the money, and Richmond is probably full of ugly houses that could use my help. A couple days ago I decided to create a Craigslist post advertising my service, and I created a new Gmail account specifically for it. Somehow my login email address for blogger changed to the new one without my knowledge. And it's taken me two days to figure it out.

Sorry, I've been away. I'll catch up, probably tomorrow, when I'm not studying for my Biology final.

Friday, April 24, 2009


I'm an exceptionally vain person, I know, and sometimes I kind of feel bad about it, but then I look at the people around me and don't feel so bad for inheriting way better genes than them. I am consistantly irritated by the fact that the dudes that I am or have been interested in go for chicks that are not prettier than me. Sure, sure, I'm shallow, whatever, I get there is more to a person than how they look, but I'm a ten and these dudes keep going for butterfaces and fives. But can't they find chicks that are good looking and interesting, smart, witty, etc.? I'm sure it's possible.

And then there are the girls that think that they're a ten and are fours. Those ones are the worst. Oh, and they wear really cheap polyester dresses from Charlotte Russe, god, it's really awful. Will someone please explain this to me? I'm not talking about you're average skank who's some one time thing, I'm talking dating, like relationships, with saggy boobs and bad dye-jobs.

I'm sorry, I don't mean to be or sound like such a bitch, but this is part of that stupid "hating boys" thing I'm suffering through right now. I need to settle down in my apartment and then maybe socialize and find a nice twenty-something with a job, and because I live in Richmond, now, I don't care all that much what that job is so long as he has one. I suppose I can't really blame those boys for not going for tens seeing as my standards seem to be lowering. Ohdeargod, the black whole that is Richmond is slowly making me less, tense? High-strung? Snotty? Probably not, but I may learn to relax, and that might not be so bad.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

The Primary colors are one, two, three, red, yellow and blue...

When I was in the second grade my sister April helped me do a "science fair project," except it didn't really count because I was in the second grade and only the fifth graders' got judged. But we went through the motions about. I don't remember the hypothesis or question, all I know is that it was about color and what colors you use to make other colors. I knew my primary and secondary colors thanks to that song they made us sing at church when we were little, so I knew that yellow and red made orange, etc. The majority of the "project" consisted of us using flashlights with transparent blue, red and yellow wrappers on them and directing the light over each other on white spaces to see what colors were made.

Then in sixth grade we had to do a variety of of projects where we were only given primary colors but had to also include secondary colors, that we had to make by mixing the primary colors ourselves.

Anyway, I thought everyone knew the difference between primary and secondary colors. I was wrong. Last night when I got home from work Jessica was working on some sort of diorama or something, anyway, she was using playdoh to cover the bottom of it and using blue, brown and green to represent the ocean, beach and grass. When she ran out of blue she asked me what colors make it. I couldn't believe what she said until she went further, " it green and yellow?"


"Red and purple?"

"No. That's makes a redder purple."

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Blue is a primary color, you use mix it with yellow to make green or red to make purple."

"Oh, so what about red and yellow, wait, no, that makes orange."

"It'a primary color!"

"I don't know that that means!"

"You can't make it. You can't make red, yellow or blue."

"So I have to buy more playdoh?"


Wednesday, April 22, 2009

let's talk about that thing that makes you and you're mom really uncomfortable

Today I had to give a presentation in Focused Inquiry about a topic I've been researching for a paper that's due next Monday. I am usually late for this class due to my living on the other campus and the fact that parking is virtually non-existant. Because parking always takes forever, I decided to take the bus. I knew that it came at 11:56 am and that it was supposed to come every ten minutes. So, logically this means that if I get out there by 11:40 I should be able to get on the earlier bus. WRONG! Instead I waited for about twenty minutes for a very full bus. I was luckily able to squeeze in and was just as late for class as I would have been had I decided to drive. Ugh.

My topic was "hooking up culture" - SURPRISE! Because I don't talk about sex and sex-related things enough already. Just about everyone else chose some political issue, or some historical figure. I care about those things, and don't mind reading about them, or hearing people debate about them, but listening to a nineteen year old list off their sources mostly without an explanation of why they chose their topic or why I should give a damn (despite whether or not I do already) become monotonous fast.

Anyway, my presentation was...lively? I'm not sure exactly what the right word is, but the class was definitely paying attention, even if they were uncomfortable. I'm not really sure how I'm so comfortable with it, I mean my parents are Mormon and my mom likes to pretend that people don't have sex.

I'm thinking about changing my major to international affairs, or something. I would really love to travel around and talk to people of both genders and all ages about sex and safety, etc. I'm not really sure where I would work, obviously a non-profit, and I'd still like to write, so we'll see. Someone was telling me about NYU's Sexology graduate program. Definitely something I'm going to look into.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Dorm Life

This is why Jessica and I need separate rooms:

"Are you going to pick your pillows up?"


"It looks like you just threw them off the bed."


"And the room definitely smelled gross when I got back from class."

"Yeah, I was hoping I'd get back before you."

"You should have opened the window before you left..."

"...I did when I got back..."

"Are you going to pick up your pillows?"

"No, I don't need them right now."


"We can't watch this."

"What are you on?"

"My sugar was low, so I ate some cookies and some M&Ms and drank some water, and now it's back up."

"You're really hyper..."

"I know..."

"420 was yesterday..."

"I know...The Office!"

(shakes head in disapproval)


"Go move your car."

"I will when the show is over."

"God, my feet stink."


I think it's funny when I see dudes out with girls my age, that have given me or others shit, or complained about my accompanying others among themselves. It's this certain feeling of rightness, like dude, really? And you hate me because why? Oh, that's right, because you're a prick.

And of course my Favorite Person always sees me, but first avoids eye contact. FP will not look me in the eye for a good fifteen second. FP will look at everything around me, whether or not there are people. FP will then finally make eye contact and act surprised, as though they did not realize I had already said hello. We will then exchange polite small talk until one of us dismiss ourselves from the situation by claiming to meet someone or having something else to do. FP and I have many mutual friends and aquaintances, but FP has always maintained their distance. As a result, I find these awkward encounters amusing, while they seem more and more uncomfortable with each one.

Thursday, April 16, 2009


If you recall all the bitching I've been doing about boys and how I'm taking a break, blahblahblah... I haven't shaved in three weeks and I'm enjoying it too much. My roommate is repulsed by my legs and when we were at H&M I was trying on dresses and her eyes got so big when she saw my armpits. Luckily I'm not a very hairy person and what is three weeks for me looks like a couple days for other people I know. It's getting to be a bit much, I may have to do something about it tomorrow if I want to wear anything cute this weekend.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009


I find it interesting that people always claim to "hate drama," because that simply is not true. Without it I believe life would be quite boring.

Sometimes I feel like it would be nice if we could all be polite and pretend that we don't have a problem with whatever irritating situation we may be in, but at that point I become upset with the people that do do this as they are simply putting on a happy face.

My sophomre year in high school a bunch of girls (from church, no less) came to the conclusion that I was a slut. And they didn't like that I was always going to church dances with different boys and flirting and overall getting a lot of attention from a lot of fifteen and sixteen and sometimes eighteen year old boys. It wasn't until one of them was royally screwed over by one of the guys that had screwed me over that she (and her friends) realized I wasn't so bad afterall. Mind you I never had these problems as school because after my freshman year I made a point not to date anyone I went to school with. From my point of view I was a floater and was able to maintain my distance from any one clique. It's a shame I haven't been able to keep up with that outside of high school.

But then I suppose I prefer the tension and ambiguity and tall-tales that are shared at parties, between drinks and over bedsides.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

rainy days

I know I've been writing about how I can't wait for it to be May and to move into my apartment, but it's really all I think about most of the time. Today Jessica and I went to the apartment we will be living in. It is currently being occupied by two disgusting boys. They have a cat, I didn't see it, but I smelled it, and it smelled awful. This is why I don't want a cat. Jessica doesn't spend near the amount of time I do thinking about it, or planing color schemes I can't afford, or surfing the net for free furniture - or calling my mom about what things she'll be donating to our cause. I bought a receiver yesterday and speakers today and I can't wait to get an entertainment center (or similar item) and set it all up.

Today I asked Jessica if she had asked her parents about giving use stuff. She hasn't and said that she was pretty sure that her two older sisters were going to be getting a bunch of stuff. Lame. I'm kind of irritated. I wish she would get excited about something, anything. I asked her if she cared that the apartment wasn't going to be a reflection of her at all and she said that it's only three years. ONLY!? I've been going nuts living in the dorm because I don't have control over the color of the wall and how many guests I have at one time. But if she gets mad at me in July for the PURPLE WALL she will just have to deal.

After I picked her up today, we were sitting at a red light and I looked over and noticed a professor from last semester. It was raining and he was standing under an umbrella, and I wasn't sure it was him until he moved his umbrella so that I could not see him. We had a pretty good relationship,I considered him a friend, and still consider him a decent guy, but a fifty-year-old decent guy, with a girlfriend of four years. And everything was fine until he started hitting on me. I called him on it, explained that he didn't have a chance, he thanked me for my friendship, and we haven't talked or seen each other since - until today, when he obviously hid from me. This happened right before a girl got hit by a car. Or at least that's what I think happened. I didn't see it because me and Jessica were discussing his behavior and then we noticed that he was the first person pulling out their cell phone to help this girl. It's strange, the different sides of people.

(I'm sorry this is out of order)

After seeing the apartment we went to H&M. In the suburbs. I hate the fact that I have to leave a city to go shopping. I mean, I could shop in Carytown, but Eurotrash and Need do not sell things made for girls with boobs and an ass. I bought a new pair of black skinny pants (they're exactly like the ones I already have, but still have the sheen) and a white top and a teal sundress. These are the first clothing items I have bought this year. THIS YEAR! We're almost four months in and until today I had not purchased a single item of clothing. I think this is a first. I'm usually the type of person that gets a couple new things each month, but apparently my financial situation is getting the better of me.

Monday, April 13, 2009

I should eat something

Speaking of breakfast, I should eat some. Lessa mentioned that I looked like I have lost weight. And over winter break I had lost like five pounds, but I haven't weighed myself in a while, and it is possible that I may have lost more. But it has everything to do with my forgetting to ear until I start to fee light-headed. Like right now. I haven't eaten since about five yesterday evening. Saturday night I started to feel dizzy at Right 'Round and then I realized that I hadn't eaten since two that afternoon. I know you are tired of hearing me talk about my apartment, but seriously, once I get settled and have a kitchen with pots and pans and silverware, I am totally going to be that chick that makes huge meals on Sundays and then puts them in portion sized containters and eats them the rest of the week. Oh my God, I'm going to need to buy Gladware, and attempt three real meals every day.

the most important thing besides breakfast

I used to not understand why all my friends were down with hanging out with their families for long periods of time. I do now. I may still be the youngest and the butt of most jokes, but they really are all we've got. And it was wonderful seeing them yesterday. Ella's so tall, and loud and rambuncious. Archer is so quiet and timid, they are complete foils of each other.

Yesterday we all went to church, all of us. And because I forgot the dress I was going to wear I wore a hot pink Calvin Klein number that my mom "thought (I'd) like, but if you don't I can wear it" - it was a size too big and I looked like a giant Easter egg. I like hot pink, but not that much hot pink in one place, on one person.

Being at church is strange, there are so man new people and the old ones always ask about things they shouldn't. I just don't get it. I got asked if I was still going to church, and I'm not even going to walk around it, I'm not, but why would someone ask that when they know what the answer is and ruin a completely good conversation? The siblings, spouses and I left after the first hour to "help the Easter Bunny."

We played scrabble, team scrabble, except I'm not married nor do I have a boyfriend, so I was by myself. And I lost horribly, thank you Z, Q and J.

My parents came home with the grandkids about half an hour after we hid the eggs. Ella is very competitive and Archer isn't usually, but with some encouragement he caught up and even did the bragging song and dance when he found eggs that Ella had missed.

Dinner was relatively short, but fantastic. My mom told us how grateful she was to have all of us home and it was. It was really great. I see April and her husband Steven fairly often because they live in Richmond, too. But my brothers, hardly ever. Steven (my brother) is a pilot and he and his wife Lessa and their daughter Ella live in Arizona. I see Lessa and Ella more often than I see him because of his crazy work schedule. My other brother Joseph and his wife Laiene live in San Sebastain, Spain. I probably see them both twice a year, but hardly ever are they here together.

After dinner we sang April 'Happy Birthday' (her birthday was this past week) and played Loaded Questions. Have I mentioned that my family is big on board games? Because we are. I don't understand why people don't play them more often. When I get my apartment the eight-year-old in me is going to beg everyone that walks through my door to play Sorry!

Friday, April 10, 2009

True Story

My car is officially dead. How does that happen? Seriously, it lasted just long enough for me to park. There has to be a God. There is no way that shit happens by coincidence.

This morning I put more oil in my car. No luck. So I enlisted the help of another friend to jump me. No luck.

I could not make my life up. Most novels don't have the amount of drama and dad-to-day problems that I have.

I called Jess first to see if she could take me to get oil, she could but it was going to take a bit. I also felt the need to ask her how her job search is coming, and I don't mean to lecture her, but I really want to live with her and if she doesn't have a job then she's not going to be able to pay rent, and if she can't do that then I might need to find someone else to room with for the summer. She pointed out that it was much easier for me to find a job because I had a skill, and that's true, but I also spent two full days biking around Richmond filling out applications. And I gave follow up calls within the next week. So I can't help but be frustrated. Later I called April and she told me about having the same talk with a few of her roommates. It was never good, and they always resented her for it. Jessica is more proactive about school and I'm more proactive about everything else, which is why I have money (well, more than she does) and she has good grades (something I haven't had since the seventh grade).

Landis was the second person I called and he thankfully was quicker and was able to take me to get the oil. And we bickered as we usually do about the same stuff. But he brought up Brian. Brian and I went out a couple of times and for some stupid reason I thought he was actually interested in dating me, but then he didn't pay for either "date." And then Landis informed me that I looked like this chick that he and Brian had both dated before and that Brian was probably only interested in me because that. Anyway, Brian and I got into a fight when I was very drunk about how he "couldn't stop thinking about me" and I was all "dude, you didn't even pick up the bill" and he lectured to me about being old fashioned, blahblahblah. Apparently Landis and Brian were at the same bar and Landis was right. Then when I complained about all the guys I know just wanting to get in my pants Landis said that I should stop giving that impression. What? I've heard this before, but I really have no idea what I'm doing that does this. Someone explain. I walk around in jeans and shirts most of the time. And even when I go out I don't usually wear things that are particularly revealing.

Jason's sister was kind enough to attempt to jump my car. It didn't work.

I called Garrett, who used to be a mechanic, and he said that he'd come look at it tonight. He doesn't think it's the battery.

This is the thrid week in a row that my car has had something wrong with it. Whatever it is, it needs to be fixed by tomorrow at five so that I can see Beirut. There is no way I can miss that show. I have been looking forward to it for months.

Is it May yet? I need it to be May. And I need to meet people that have their shit together. Harry was right, boys and girls can't be friends. But girls are so cliquey, I mean, my roommate and I very rarely hang out with other girls and when we do, everyone breaks off into pairs. It's absolutely useless. I need it to be May. MAY! HURRY UP!

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Remember that movie 'Groundhog Day'? Yeah? Well...

Yesterday I spoke with both my sister and my sister-in-law about going to Kings Dominion today with the majority of my family. Each agreed that meeting when it opened (10:30 am) would be fine. So this morning when I left at a quarter after ten after waking up late and showering, I arrived to find that I was the only one there. April was still at her house in the West End and everyone else was about an hour away. I suppose I should have called someone to verify the time, but I already thought I was running late. And it wasn't so bad, I hadn't eaten anything yet and waited in Burger King. Everyone except April showed up around eleven thirty, because no one called her to let them know that they were getting close. My brothers cannot be counted on to plan thing efficiently, that's okay though, that's why they have sisters - three of them.

We had an enjoyable time. Ella, my niece is five and loves roller coasters, and my sister-in-law, Laiene (Lie-in-Ay - who is Basque) was at an amusement park for the first time ever. I'm not really sure how that is possible, she is thrity-one. I don't think I know anyone over the age of five, that has never been to one, but then I grew up a reasonable distance from three and she you know, grew up a reasonable distance from teh beach and the mountains. It was fun seeing her reaction in comparison with my nieces after we went on the Ricochet, the first ride of the day. Laiene was in shock and Ella couldn't wait for the next one.

I had to leave early to go to work. Lame.

After work, I parked and turned my car engine off, but leaving the radio on. But the radio didn't stay on. So I tried turning the car on. And it didn't turn on. I haven't checked the oil in at least three thousand miles and my car may need some more. Awesome. My phone is thankfully working again, but of course my car isn't. Seriously, every week! What is with the universe?

Instead of getting upset about it I watched some chick attempt to parallel park in front of me for a few minutes before I explained that she was doing it wrong. I don't know why people in Richmond don't know how to parallel park, it is not that difficult. I have spent a lot of free time at work observing the people setting out for happy hour attempt to park their SUVs on Main Street, it makes the time pass by faster, and is, you know, amusing. The chick explained that she'd never really needed to parallel park before and had just gotten her car. But the spot in front of me was huge andher car was tiny, and well, whatever, hopefully she gets it now.

Aside: The past four weeks have been absolute shit. I think I'm officially entering that stage of college where I stop shaving in an effort to consciously repel the opposite sex. Never in my life did I think this would happen. I have loved boys since I realized that there was an opposite sex, but lately they just keep pissing me off. Tonight I was discussing the way people communicate with a Myers/Briggs expert/consultant that comes into work. She didn't explain anything new to me, we mostly just bitched about how irritating it is when people don't seem to try to meet you in the middle when it comes to communication. Ugh, I don't want to deal with it anymore. There, I'm a stereotypical nineteen year old girl, and I hate boys.

Fuck my life.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

waiting for may

I am missing the Crystal Stilts/Comet Gain show right now. I am attempting to spend less time in DC and you know, am really low on funds. This whole being a poor-college-student thing is not working out for me.

I drove around all day on an empty tank, thankfully "all day" means no more than ten miles, so after work I finally filled up. The dudes in front of me had their bass turned all the way up. Really? At the gas station? When you're car isn't even moving? Douchebags. I hate that. In response to their obnoxious behavior, I decided to be equally obnoxious and blast The Long Blondes, if for no other reason than to drown them out.

When I turned around there was a homeless man who popped up out of no where who was complementing my music and of course asking for money. I awkwardly told him that I didn't have any change, and I didn't. I very rarely carry anything besides my debit card, and besides he approached me and that was a little nerve-racking.

Also nerve-racking (I'm pretty sure I'm spelling that wrong, sorry) is the end of this semester. It's going horribly. I just want it to be over and for it to be May already. And I want to know where I'm going to be living and I wantwantwant. I think I'm going to spend the first two weeks after I move in free of electronics, well at least no internet or outgoing calls and texts and just work on the apartment.

I've spent a couple days this week helping my sister take down wall-paper in her new house and just being there gets me excited about painting and decorating my place. As of right now, RIGHT NOW! I will be inheriting a bunch of stuff from my parents including, but not limited to: one coffee table, three matching book shelves, pots and pans, glasses, another "kidney" shaped table, a bed and dresser - all of it is at least thirty years old, except for maybe the kitchen stuff. This is in addition to the monkey chair and my desk and this really awesome lamp/pyramid table that I got from someone my mom cleans for. This is enough furniture form y bedroom and the living room. We really only need a kitchen table, a couch and an entertainment center cabinet thing (though there is one at Diversity thrift that I reallyreallyreally want). Dear GOD! I am so excited about this. And I'll have framed pictures on walls that I will have painted and my flower menorah, and then I'll have pictures to prove how awesome my apartment will be (that is way better than everyone elses).