Hot Chick Shit

When I walked into the unoccupied stall I found the remnants of a turd on the seat. If it had been Number 1, I wouldn't have had a problem taking some toilet paper and wiping the seat. But Number 2 isn't something I'm so comfortable with. 

I began to wait, but could feel the tension in the bathroom, so I decided to give the other woman her privacy and take a lap around the floor.

I work in what is referred to as a "startup incubator." We're located on one floor together in what would otherwise be a relatively swanky office building. People who don't work on my floor wear suits to work, the people on my floor frequently look as though they came to work in last night's clothes. We don't interact much with the other companies, but we're familiar enough that I can look at someone and tell you which overflowing office (singular) they work in with a dozen other people. 

Space is tight, to say the least. This doesn't matter for the most part, except where the bathrooms are concerned. There is a single bathroom for close to fifty women to share. Two stalls. That's all we've got to work with and when that's narrowed to one stall due to one unpleasant person's error, frequent pee-ers are screwed. 

I drink a least two liters of water in the time I spend at work -- it's my solution for not being able to afford my Red Bull addiction. It's hard to be anything but alert when you have to pee all the time.

By the time I was finishing my lap around the floor The Hot Chick from down the hall beat me to the bathroom by about ten feet. Determined to not repeat the previous routine, I decided to wait patiently in the bathroom. 

After about five minutes of waiting, I realized it was going to be longer, and again I opted to give her privacy and take a lap. Upon my return, she was still there, so I took another lap. This went on for about twenty minutes and I went from checking after each lap to about every third. After the third lap or so people working from couches in the halls and common areas began to take notice and shoot me quizzical looks.

At this point I probably would have been better off leaving my building and making my way to one of the dozen coffee shops scattered around my building, BUT I didn't know The Hot Chick was going to take a deuce for twenty minutes. I mean, ten minutes -- sure, but twenty seems excessive for a work environment. 

The Hot Chick finally came out of the stall, just as I came in to check once more. We avoided eye contact and I was finally able to (ahem) relieve myself. I finished in the time it took for her to wash her hands. (I'm a fast pee-er, guys! Hire me!) She didn't leave though, she stayed and looked at herself in the mirror while I washed my hands. We left at the same time and exchanged looks that said I know that you know that I know that you just took a massive shit. 

The End of My Rope

I work in a really small salon. Aside from me there are only two other stylists, the owner and a girl my age who got her license last summer, and three receptionists. There's never more than four people working and we all contribute to all the menial tasks.

Lately, well since deciding to take a break from school and started working full-time in January, I've become obsessed with becoming busier. When I was working part-time it felt like I was busier, but with the same clientele and twice the hours, it doesn't quite feel that way anymore.

Business is slow most days and maybe once a week I'll be pleasantly surprised by a full day of walk-ins. I hate walk-ins. I'm a planner, I like knowing ahead of time what I'm going to do each day whether I'm at work or not. And I like to be busy. All the time. I don't deal well with boredom. For example, I am at work, right now, writing this instead of doing someone's hair.

I've been told that maybe I should look elsewhere, but I really love the people I work with. I couldn't ask for a better boss, and the girls I work with are like family, and I really want the salon to do well. Since becoming a full-time employee I've been trying to figure out what I can do to increase business. I've passed out fliers and coupons, "welcome bags," told everyone I encounter where I work - and I've created Twitter and Foursquare accounts. We've had a Facebook account, but it wasn't until recently that my boss made me an admistrator.

My boss' updates and mine can be very different. She may post something about a sale we're having, and then post again later that day about going to Lowe's to pick out pansies for the flowerbed out front. I hate the later of these. We're good at what we do, we shouldn't have time to update Facebook, let alone go shopping for pansies! No really, true story. I wanted to shoot myself in the head the day that she was outside weeding the flowerbed.

Explaining to her the benefits of Social Media and how we're not using it fully is difficult. She has never had a cell phone, she thinks the amount of time I spend on my Android is silly (though, if I was busy doing hair, I wouldn't have the time...). But the people with the silly smartphones, they're the ones that we want in our door. They're the one's that are going to check-in and tell their friends where they get their hair done.

I've asked her repeatedly to re-do our Web site as well. It looks like a MySpace page circa 2003, with the two-tone scrollbar and everything. Nevermind that the page is in no way user friendly and uses way too many words. It's all words. But not words used effieciently, the page goes on forever and is repeated and information is copied and pasted from product lines' Web sites - it's terrible, but she maintains confidence in our "web guy." This man was also kind enough to tell her that he wasn't "sold on Social Media" after she told him how I had started using it for the salon. Of course he's not sold on it, it's not profitable to him if one of her employees is doing it. Duh.

I've tried talking her into advertising with local publications, but the one she contacted didn't respond promptly or something and "it's expensive." Expensive is relative, and if you have to spend $500 on an add to get three new clients in, it will pay for itself.

Her idea of advertising is pursuing old clients, which is also important. I agree that clients should be rewarded for loyalty, but sending a postcard to someone every week just doesn't seem to be effective (because it's annoying). We get calls regularly from people asking to be taken off the mailing list, and I don't blame them. And the money we spend on that could be well spent on something else (like a pay-per-click add on fucking Facebook).

We ran a special where clients got a percentage off their serivce if they followed us on Twitter or "Liked" us on Facebook, it was somewhat successsful. It would be nice if we offered a discount for booking in advance, like before you leave the salon, like they do at every other salon everywhere, but nope. That would be an inconvenience? Or something..I don't know. I have absolutely no idea. But when you've been running a salon for 25 years, one would think you would be booked weeks or at least days in advance, no?

Sorry, this is all so disorganized. What do you do when you don't feel at all supported by your boss when you're trying to do something better for business? I'm at the end of my rope.

boobs aren't cheap

Today at work my co-worker, Abigail, and a client and I were discussing our lingerie. It started with shoes. Abigail was wear a cute pair of Asics Tiger sneakers and I have a pair too, but she paid $30 for her's and mine were $85. She got her's on sale, because she unlike myself, goes shopping to go shopping and only buys things on sale or clearance or at one of the Ross/Marshall's/TJ Maxx type of stores.

I have tried this type of shopping, but it doesn't work. My mother turned me off to it by taking me TJ Maxx far too often growing up. This isn't to say that I don't occasionally go to this type of store, I do, but find that they are only good for kitchen items and shoes and occasionally pre-screened DVDs.

Abigail went on to say that she had just bought a bra for fifteen dollars. I do not think I have ever paid less than thirty dollars for a bra, ever. I mean, I wore training bras for far too long (this is relative, people) because I had an aversion to "triangle bras." Why? I don't know, I suppose it was before I realized what support was and how important it is and that the uni-boob look is never good, though excusable while exercising.

Seriously, the last bras that I bought were all $50+ on sale! But then, I was also the only eighth grader with a C-cup. And it wasn't a "C-cup" it was an almost D-cup.

I have tried to find bras at these clearance stores; they carry decent brands, but they never fit me right or have my size. My mother, like Abigail, does not have this problem. She also would prefer to get a "good deal" and then complain about a top shrinking. Very rarely do I have this problem and most of what I have I wear for awhile. I have pretty much been the same size since I was fifteen and can still wear those clothes, though I have recently been getting rid of them because I never wear them. My taste has changed.

My mother grew up being poor. She literally lived next to the train tracks, I have seen the house, and it is only a couple of yards away from the tracks. She went to Rose's and always had a job. She is the hardest working person I know. And she is fairly frugal, but is willing to spend money on things that she deems "classy." She considers J. Jill to be classy, but still thinks that she's getting a good deal when she guys a shirt that shrinks after the first wash.

My mother's day post is coming soon, probably tomorrow. But I cannot not think of her whenever the subject of bras or boobs come up, as she has never had a problem with either and in turn teases me about my problems and frequently suggests breast reduction as a viable option, followed by "get those things out of my way." Thanks, Mom!

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.

-ap

It's really not that hard

I work next to 3 Monkeys, a local bar/sports-bar/bro-hangout. I do not particularly like the place, but it isn't expensive and it's convenient, so I order from there quite a bit. I usually get a pineapple pizza (they're small and I can usually make it last two or three meals) or a salad. Nothing too complicated. Though they don't have a "pineapple pizza" listed on their menu, instead it's a "monkey pie" with ham. I always specify that I do not want ham, only pineapple. Again, not complicated.

Usually we call and the wait is about fifteen minutes. So, we wait, pick up our food, eat - the end. Today my coworker and I ordered desserts - mousse and a brownie sundae. Over the phone they told us that it would be about ten minutes. That was fine, until I got there and waited twenty more.

The waitress that was "helping" me is tall, slim, has long dark hair and is quite a bit older than the rest of the girls that work there. She always manages to screw up my order. She can't manage to remember that it's only pineapple, and will give me ham, or there won't be any toppings, or there will just be ham, or it will be completely wrong all together. Tonight, she just made me wait. I am a very impatient person, and could have gone to Kroger's and bought a half-gallon of ice cream and a pan of brownies in the time that it took for her to scoop it into a styrofoam container. When I paid she asked if I needed change, and I of course told her yes. Then when I finally got my order, said thank you and started to turn around, she grasped the box and kind of squatted down as to be on my level and forcefully said, "You're. Welcome." Needless to say, I did not tip her, surprisingly for the first time.

I'm fairly certain that she complained about how rude I was after I left, but I don't feel bad. She sucks. The other customers suck, and all the waitresses are skinny-fat chicks who put out, a lot. It's the type of place that people who actually like Georgetown would go and be like "Oh, this isn't bad. TWO DOLLAR MILLER LITE! Hell yes!"

Beer + Donuts = Happy Valentine's Day!

I would just like to say that for everyone who has not met me, or had a conversation with me that was longer than an hour, you sorely have the wrong impression.

I went to my coworker's place. She and I always make plans and they always fall through, and since I'd never been I thought the polite thing to do - as I usually do when I go somewhere I've never been, or you know a party - I brought a case of Yuengling and because I had passed Krispy Kreme on the way I brought a dozen donuts.

I may not be the PBR-metal/hardcore-bike gang-lover that Richmond seems to be full of, and I may in fact be a complete bitch, goddamnit, I care about these fucking people that don't give a fucking shit about me.

(That last line may have been too honest, and I may regret it later.)

A certain guy last night based his opinion of me complete on the fact that I hate PBR (and most cheap beer) and listening to hard-core anything (that's not to say that I don't appreciate it, it's just not my preference). Later in the evening after I had danced, mostly by myself - Richmond dances less than DC, I managed to find myself in a conversation with this guy and a couple of others about the difference between being a nice person and a good person.

They all strive to be "nice guys" and I find the word almost repulsive. Nice is what you say about someone when you don't have anything better (or worse) to say about them. I find that nice people are boring, followers, people-pleasers, etc. Awful, right?

These boys believe that everyone should be nice. All the time. This is my beef with Richmond. It's the fact that I am incapable of sitting back, shooting the shit while getting oblitereated.

Good people do things without talking about them. I suppose they're humble, and while I'm not humble at all, I think that I don't go out of my way to talk about "good deeds." You all know or have known someone that has done something "good" and talked about it too much.

One thing led to another and we were onto first impressions and why they matter. I think they're everything, and well these guys disagree. (Is it apparent that we are complete opposites?) So then, why did I bring the beer and donuts? Am I nice, or good? I thought I was being polite, a topic that they had never heard of. And apparently it was pretentious. I just can't win, but then again, this conversation was in a group and didn't last more than twenty minutes. And when it was all over, they got free heart-shaped-sprinkled donuts. Sometimes I'm just too nice.

...because I'm awesome. Duh.

For those of you that aren't aware, I'm applying for several internships - State Department, NPR, Slate, DC City Paper, and of course, The Washington Post. I finished my application for the State Department back in December, and have been working on the NPR application for the past few days.

I feel like I should have done all these things before, but none of the jobs I've had (all three of them) have required a cover letter and/or resume. And it's not that writing these things is difficult, but tedious. I have no idea what a cover letter is supposed to look like, how long it's supposed to be, or what it's supposed to say - except that it's supposed to make you look good and you're supposed to flatter the reader a little bit. Mine was about five hundred words and included the sentence "Eww...You want to have sex?" I promise it made sense in the context.

I sent to a bunch of people (Christina, Mr. Brann - I'm talking to you) who did not reply. Luckily Mrs. Hailey and my dad had plenty of time to lend an open ear. And despite it being relatively casual, it was me. And so were the writing samples. I used a BYT review, an article I wrote for Ink about stripping and the blog I wrote after my car accident. When I faxed everything, it came to thirteen pages.

The next deadline is Slate, and I'll probably send the exact same things. I've thought and emailed about being an official intern for BYT, but the editrix has not gotten back to me about it. And it's not paid, though I wouldn't get paid at City Paper either, and I'm not sure about Slate. And assuming that they all want me (unlikely) I would obviously choose the one that paid the most, unless I get the one at the Post, in which case money is not an object. I think I would (and probably will eventually) sell my soul to Leonard Downie. It's really a shame he's not at the Post anymore, but whatever, I'm awesome, and if I can snag an interview with any of these publications I will have it in the bag. TADA!

I Like to Ride My Bicycle

I love my bike. It takes me everywhere. Literally. I spend at least an hour on it every day, sometimes two, and on average bike at least six miles. It takes me twenty to thirty minutes to get to work and that's about three miles, so I figure I'm going about a mile every nine minutes. That's slightly faster than I'm sure my running a mile time would be. But I'm excited because I hate running and I'm still getting cardio.

On my way to work on Friday, about halfway there, I got a flat tire. Now I've had flat tires before and not realized it, but because this one happened so suddenly, it was hard to miss. A piece of glass punctured the back tire. Lame. I was initially just going though a "of course this happened to me" phase before calling work and telling them that I would be late, which was fine because I didn't have an appointment for another hour anyway. But as I was walking, and hitting my right shin on my left peddle every few steps and then progressively tripping, I started thinking about how much I hate litter. I hate litter. It is disgusting. And in my complete self-righteousness I will tell you, I do not litter, ever.

I really do not understand why or how people can. Really? Are you really going to throw your McDonald's on the ground? In front of me? When there is a trash can not twenty feet away? Really? You are? Well, I just want you to know that God hates you and you are going to hell. Yes, please look at me while I flip you the bird and pick up your trash and walk to the nearest trash can. The other day I did that. I was locking my bike up in front of the student media center and a girl and what looked like her mother got in their car, which was right in front of where I was locking my bike. There was a trash can a few yards away, but the girl threw her fast food garbage on the ground, next to the car, as she got in. I picked it up and threw it away, all before they pulled out. She started yelling at me as her mother rolled up the window.

I am blaming everyone who has littered for my flat tire. If people would "have fun" recycling instead of throwing glass bottles around, this wouldn't have happened. But people don't think about that, and they don't think about their environment and how gross and dirty it is because of what they do. But it's not their fault... it's always their fault.

After I finally got to work I was able to run my bike over to Re-Cycle, a bike repair shop that is not quite two blocks from where I work, and get my bike fixed in time to go home. Then yesterday my back brakes weren't working. So, after I got to work I took it there again and once again they were able to have it done in time for me to go home. And while it's been irritating the past couple days, my bike is now in almost tip-top shape. And it was all done for twenty bucks, Richmond is so cheap.

If you don't get it, you just don't get it

As you all know, I work at the Haircuttery. It's not so bad, I'm used to being around people with different views than I have, but I never bargained for what I've found there. I also know I'm a snob and consider my opinions and ways of doing things quite a bit higher than other's; but sometimes there is no reasoning with people (aka convincing them that they are wrong).

At work last week on a particularly slow day three of us were in the back "reading" Elle and Glamour magazines. In them there is an add for Skechers with Tori Spelling in it. She looks weird, especially in those adds. This began a discussion that led to me telling the other girls of my hatred for Sketchers. Usually I'm around fellow haters (with the exception of my mother who thinks they're wonderful looking shoes but bad on her back), but unknown to me I was in the presence of people who actually like Everything about Skechers. I tried to explain that they are cheaply made (of plastic), have that horribly huge S on them, generally ugly, etc. but there was no reasoning. Then one girl started complaining about her back - this particular girl is cheap, very cheap, and overweight. If you wear cheap shoes with absolutely no support and carry a few extra pounds, in addition to being on your feet at work everyday, of course your back is going to hurt.

I've tried to explain to her several times that she needs to get inserts, to which she replys, "I have. I've bought those Doctor Scholl's ones." No, I tell her, you need to see a podiatrist and get custom ones made. She then complains about how much that would cost, but she's considering getting back surgery!?!?!?!?! Three hundred dollars on something that could help you a lot and avoid the surgery or thousands of dollars on an avoidable surgery. This is the same girl who tells me that she knows losing weight would help her but she's just so lazy. She has told me that she is lazy. AGH!

Moving on/going back, that conversation led to us discussing trailors, and me of course in my typical nature telling everyone that I hate trailors, too. Trailors are generally crappy, trailor parks are gross, and the people that live there aren't usually much better. I feel I can say this because I've spent plenty of time (not lately) around/in trailors growing up with family in the south where a double-wide is the standard of living. Ms. Cheapy apparently grew up in a trailor, and was now offended. I almost felt bad... almost.

The other girl with us could see where I was coming from but thought that I was being a bit harsh (haven't heard that before). I love this girl, she is one of the sanest people that I work with, exceptionally talented and should be doing so much better than the Haircuttery. And then she had to drop thie awful bomb on me a few days ago when we were discussing music. She knows that I go to shows fairly often, and asked what my favorite band was/is - that she's heard of. I told her the Killers. Her's is Nickelback. NICKELBACK! She thinks that his voice is one of the best of today, and that Brandon Flowers' voice is whiney! Whiney!?

I'm not going to waste my time explaining why Nickelback is the worst band of all time (and Creed, and Korn).

please watch this

Mary Poppins wannabe

Can you believe that there are people in this world that are paying me to watch their kids five days a week, all day long? Is that not one of the most absurd things you've heard? I don't think so, but there are many people that come to mind whose jaws would drop upon hearing that information.

It's only two kids. They're pretty chill, for the most part, if not a little over-dramatic; but that's to be expected of all ten and seven year-olds.

Today is day number four. Monday we went to the library and got them signed up for the county's summer reading program. Tuesday we attempted to go to their friend's pool in Herndon, but because of crappy directions (ahem, a misunderstanding) we ended up in Old Town Leesburg. And yesterday we went to the National Air and Space Museum and Ben's Chili Bowl. Today they cleaned their rooms and are playing Monopoly as I type this. We've had reading time every day. Amazing isn't it? It's lasted for at least an hour and fifteen minutes, today it lasted about two hours. My sister didn't believe me when I told her, but, and excuse my bragging, my kids are better (not that I've met the kids she nannies).

On the Metro yesterday, mine weren't the loud annoying kids asking stupid questions, they were reading, with the occasional comment. And walking around the city, they were wonderful - no complaints at all! We're going to try and go at least once a week, I hope. Yesterday we didn't spend nearly as much time in the city as I would have liked, and we had to get back so they could go to their Karate class, by Dulles Expo Center.

Luckily it's not my car that's doing all this driving (though it does get plenty of driving around) they've provided a Mazda Protege, that gets great mileage to boot!

The parents and I are still working things out as far as how much money they're going to leave me and the kids each week, and I'm still learning my way around this end of the county (Manassas is confusing, hence the reason I've stayed away from it in the past), but I can navigate DC, and if I have anything to do with it these kids will be city-savvy by the end of the summer.

These past few days have also got me to thinking about my babysitters growing up, and what I thought about them. I didn't like them for the most part. One in particular had the dirties car known to man and used plastic tablecloths. Her kids also would end up breaking my things, and they never replaced them, so I eventually had to resort to playing with their crappy toys (because she was wicked cheap!) that she found in other peoples trash. We would drive around sometimes just to see what people were throwing out. She was unfortunately exposed to this brand of frugality by my mom (my mom has since learned better).

Anyway, I always thought my babysitters were kind of stupid and I'm hoping that the kids I watch don't grow up to think badly of me. I'm going to try to give them the best summer they could have locally, and do things that would have been awesome, but alas I didn't have awesome, young, intelligent, city-smart babysitters - so I think I've got a good start.

When I take them to Karate, there is another nanny who I've talked to a bit. And let me just say, she doesn't have half the stuff planned that I do for this summer.

Amanda 2398473298432794, the rest of babysitters/nannies everywhere except for Mary Poppins 0.

Brainmush

I should probably be getting ready for work right now. Not because my scheduled hours start in ten minutes but because I came in last Thursday at one. Because I had the time to spare and could use the money.

That was a mistake.

After graduation, and before I start nannying next week, I've had these two weeks to do almost anything - if only I had a car. I made the mistake of telling my boss this tidbit of information, and she being the crazy nasal speaker that she is took it as, "Please have me work 24/7 for the next two weeks, I would love to do anything to please you." That is not what I meant in the least.

So I've been picking up extra hours. That would be all fine and dandy if we were understaffed, but she has hired four more stylists, and now we're overstaffed. And she still wants everyone there all the fucking time.

Last Friday when I so graciously came in at one, there were ten of us there, with nothing to do. Same on Saturday, and Sunday.

I understand that the salon has to work a certain amount of hours each month, but instead of saying hey, we're down this many hours this month, who can make up a few? she says, "I need you to come in at this time and stay until this time." And then she has the nerve to put those in as your regular hours, and she knows they are not.

I'm really growing to resent her, and the fact that when I'm there I feel like I'm wasting my time because the commission I'm making doesn't amount to what it would if we had people in the waiting area rather than stylists bitching in the back.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love what I do. I love doing hair. I just don't like not having clients, or having clients that have bleached blond hair that's naturally dark and curly, or clients that don't know what they're talking about, etc. People are so stupid. Sometimes I can feel my brain shrinking at work. I'm not kidding. I'm also not sure if it's the incompetence around me or the overabundance of trash magazines, or both. For some reason when I try to read anything intelligible at work I can't focus, but the moment I pick up InTouch I can't focus on anything else.

That guy from work

I cut this kid's hair the other day. He came in a few days later to get my card. I gave it to him, but made the mistake of writing my full last name. Not good. He went home and added me on Facebook. Now he sends me messages, telling me how much he likes his hair, that he hopes I'm doing well, etc. What's worse is that my current "status" says that me feet are recovering from this weekend, and he sent me a message inquiring about my feet and that he hopes that they're alright and that he'll pray for me.

People he has his favorite scripture listed in his favorite quote section. I'm down with other people being religious, but if you even glance at my profile, you know that I'm not. I hope this boy doesn't try to "save" me. That would be bad, veryvery bad.

I had a dream about this recently (so weird). He came in with his mom. He sat in my chair and as I started cutting his hair, he started "speaking in tongues" and when I asked what he was doing he said that he was giving me a blessing. Then his mom, who was sitting in the waiting area, stood up and started gibbering, too. We asked them to stop, but they didn't because they thought we were heathens and need the Lord, and so I didn't finish the cut and we escorted them out.

I hope this never happens.

One day they'll read about it and be like,"how did we not know about this?"

Never in my life have I been as busy as I have been in the past few weeks, as in to the point where I think my head is going to explode if I don't take care of the things I've been neglecting because of said busy-ness.

The past six weeks I have been working two jobs (the Chiropractor and the Haircuttery), going into the city just about every other night/day, going to school (most of the time), and somehow sleeping. And the past two weeks have been even crazier because it's the end of the year and Eddas needs to be done. So, I've been busy.

Did I mention that I've been busy? Because I've been like sooo busy.

It's unfortunate that I have no tolerance for boredom. I think my parents would appreciate that, but because I don't I stress myself out and then crash and clean my room ( today).

I like being busy. There's always something to do, somewhere to go, people to meet, etc. Sitting at home does not appeal in the least. Perhaps if I had a place of my own, I'd have people over, throw dinner parties, pretend to have money, the usual; a las, I do not have any of the above and thus must make due.

My parents always freak out when I'm not home because they have this constant need to know what Amanda is doing, Where is she? Who is she with? Why isn't she home? Who are these people? Why don't we know them? Why hasn't she brought them by the house? etc. Then, to help them feel better they feel the need to call me every five minutes from midnight to whenever I get home. Sometimes I answer, sometimes I don't. I tell them where I'm going, and who I'm going with, but they still flip.

If you read my last posts you'll know exactly what I'm talking about.

When I hear about my parents' youth, it's similar to mine, they went out with friends, worked a lot - wait, no, not according to my dad. If I try to tell my dad that he did similar things he says (I kid you not), "I was shooting people when I was your age in the jungles of Viet-nam, and on the weekends I was getting drunk at the local bar." Thank you Dad, that was most insightful.

My mom always went to the Ember's Club. I have no idea if this place still exists, but she always talks about it whenever I tell her about my escapades. And she was older when she went to it, all in all her experience is nothing like mine, not even close.

My dad on the other-hand, was a DJ, was in love with Ann-Margaret and is probably more like me than we're both willing to admit. It's a shame that he's "repented of his old ways" because if he hadn't then maybe we would "bond" over those similarities.

You're probably wondering what the hell this has to do with being busy. Everything.

I'm always on the go. Last week I went to two shows, was in the city four nights, and in a whirlwind of dramdramadrama. I know they had similar experiences and yet they don't want me to have them - or go "astray." Somehow music and venues have corrupted me, I think I've done it all on my own.

And today, I took a break. A much needed one before the busy-ness that will be the rest of this week really gets started.

I'm Alright

Today has been very stressful, mostly because I wasn't eating regularly and become very irritable when my blood sugar plummets.

I'll start with this weekend. All was wonderful.

Friday:

Went bowling with Ian (Glinka - best last name ever!) He's in a bowling league and a band, badass. My parents have not met him, they haven't met the majority of my friends and aquaintances - but what young twenty-something typically hangs out with eighteen-year-olds and would just love to have a sleepover where mum and dad are upstairs and baking up brownies? This isn't just in reference to Ian, he just happens to be the most recent. Anyway, the 'rents are upset because 1) I haven't been home much lately and, 2) they don't know anyone that I do - but while we argue about them not trusting me, they obviously do, because if they didn't they would attempt to do something ridiculous, like take away my keys or something else equally stupid on their part. I am the un-punishable child and now I'm eighteen and they're still trying, so cute.

Anyway, Ian and I went bowling, he won, because like I said before, he's a badass. We went on base (military) and unfortunately it closes at eleven, so we went to some diner in Arlington. I got home at around two-thirty. We talked, a lot, I haven't had one of those types of conversations in a veryveryvery long time AND more importantly, I didn't cry. This is a huge feat. I always cry. CONGRATULATIONS IAN, YOU ARE THE FIRST OF ALL MY FRIENDS TO HAVE A CONVERSATION LIKE THAT AND NOT SEE ME TURN INTO A BLUBBERY RED MONSTER! I'm glad we were able to finally hang out, it was long overdue and I've needed a good sit down lately.

Saturday:

I went to work at one, and missed celebrating Sara's birthday (another one of those young twenty-somethings), lame. I also missed hanging out with her today, I'll be making it up to her soon, I'm just not when yet.

I was at work until eight, and then drove down to Richmond to catch up with April - who's birthday celebration I missed the previous Saturday. As you can see, as far as birthdays are concerned, I'm a bit behind. I'm doing my best to catch up.

April is married to Steven, the brother of Jeff, the boyfriend of Rachel, the cousin of Erin, the girlfriend of Robert. Got it? Good. Everyone listed after April grew up together, and thus April (and Me) are the outsiders/yankees/snobs/etc. It's so ridiculous. I'm just going to give you the play-by-play:

Arriaval - 10ish
they are all in the multi-purpose room (I think it's supposed to be a family room of sorts, but this house is odd) playing pool - drinking
April shows me where I can put my stuff
we go into the master bedroom and chat while the rest remain in the MPR
I show her my prom dress, she makes fun of me for getting another poof skirted dress/skirt because they aren't the most flattering on me, but they are SO FUN! AND MINE HAS POCKETS! MY PROM DRESS HAS POCKETS!
we go back to the MPR and they're moved the dart board, but haven't put the protective board behind it, and I get a dart stuck in the wall
Jeff gets upset, but I'm quick to point out that I'm not the only one who's done this because there are several other similar markings and he didn't get upset about those
April and I eat brownies and drink milk while the rest continue being lame
We (me and April) attempt at pleasant conversation with the group, but they ignore us and seem to only be able to speak to each other when we try to talk to them
We turn on SNL, Jeff scoffs at it because it isn't funny, the rest follow suite and move to the kitchen
We are left in the MPR on a gross futon watching the biggest TV I've ever seen
Erin and Robert leave, Jeff and Rachel go to bed, April gets me a clean sheet and we discuss how gross the other one was (on the futon)
Steven has been in bed for awhile, April joins him and I continue watching SNL
It goes off, I watch Sex and the City
It goes off, it's raining, thundering and lightning outside
I hear Jeff and Rachel...
I fall asleep...

Sunday:

April gets me up and we all go to Millie's (a really cute diner downtown)
April and I try to make friendly conversation once again
We are seated, order, etc.
April tries telling a story and I am the only one listening
We run errands, and discuss her troubles
Go back to the house and rearrange the master bedroom
I leave to have dinner in NOVA with Marco's family, except they had already had dinner by six-thirty, and I ate fruit and cheese-its

April and I are pretty close. Very different, and did not get along eight years ago. I wish that there was something more I could do for her situation. But the more I think about it, the more I see the difference between city people and small town folk. In the city, we expect there to be different people, despite cliques, everyone is intigued by the new guy, from what I've noticed small town people aren't as receptive (I'm sure Mr. Brann will have something to say about this). April had a big, close, group of friends in high school and she's still friends, or at least in touch with most of them; she still manages to meet new people and... enjoys it. I haven't had that luxury, and I've come to appreciate it. If I didn't have such a variety of friends, I wouldn't be the person I am today, and I think we can all agree, I'm pretty much the shit.


*now, only because I'm anticipating some emails/comments/phone calls in regards to me hanging out with people so much older than me, I remind you to think of who I am, and the people I've been exposed to growing up - they were All, older than me, all of them, and somehow I've turned out alright, and managed to navigate DC successfully without having anyone threaten me, beat me, etc. (knock on wood) also, contrary to my mom's assumptions, I don't meet up with crazy old men, or anyone in general that I've met on the internet.

I Graduate in EIGHT weeks!

I should be at school right now. I should be in English, AP Literature to be more specific. And yet, here I am, at home, on my computer (my parents' computer) serfing for a laptop, writing this, listening to The Shout Out Louds, and discontent.

I should know where I'm going to school next year. Everything should be finalized. I mean I got the Hair Cuttery job, the nannying is looking good (it's pretty much done, I just need to sign something, but they need to write it up first), but VCU still hasn't responded and I haven't actually received anything from ODU, and today when I tried to log-on to ODU's "accepted" or whatever page, I couldn't.

When I called the admission office at VCU they told me that my application was late!? BY FOUR DAYS!? I believe they have something screwed up, but because I'm taking it easy today and not trying to ruin it by arguing with someone who hates their job (they would inevitably win) I said fine and asked when I should hear back, soon. Soon? How soon? Like next week? or two weeks? If I don't hear back "soon" it could be to late to respond to ODU. And while I could still go to CSU, it's pretty much out of the picture seeing as it cost money, of which I have none.

You see my dilemma.

Now, ODU isn't bad, at all. All of the housing is suite-style, meaning I won't have to freakout when someone walks in and sits in the stall next to me as I was pooping. I would risk this if I went to VCU, or really any other college for that matter, because most freshman housing sucks. While ODU isn't known for it's brilliance it certainly beats all the other school's I've been to with it's housing options. I may not be happy about going to school with multiple Michael Mann's or John Baham's - great guys, but seriously 1) Michael has been expelled, twice 2) John has told he horror stories of frat parties, and I'm not sure if I want to put myself in a place where I know that they don't care if their "brother" is dying in the backyard from alcohol poisoning.

I have yet to hear any stories like that about VCU, though Eleana does go there, and she was an advocate of "jungle juice" and while I hope she was joking, you just can't really ever tell with her. VCU has more of my type of people though, the self-proclaimed creative, intellectual types, more book stores, and more music.

ODU really wouldn't be horrible but going to my backup school because I never heard from where I wanted to go would be irritating. I don't want to go somewhere just because it's pretty much my only option. How pitiful. I may end up doing this. If I don't hear from VCU by the end of next week I'm going to ODU.

Whatever, enough of that.

I didn't feel like going to school today, and there's no way I can bring up my grades. I was going to do make-up/extra credit stuff today, but then my computer decided that Microsoft Word was for "administrator's only" and because my dad thinks that I'll watch porn if I'm an administrator he won't let me be one. You'd think he'd realize I'm eighteen, seriously, I can buy my stuff by myself, I can download it at the public library and just e-mail it to myself! Seriously DAD! I'M WATCHING PORT ALL THE TIME THAT'S WHAT I'M REALLY DOING WHEN I TELL YOU I'M GOING TO THE CITY, SCREW LIVE MUSIC! I WANT TO SEE STRANGERS GETTING BUSY! He's ridiculous.

So, I've done nothing productive today other than discover www.hulu.com a tv/movie viewing sight, though I didn't check to see if they had any porn, I'll do that later.

I don't have any good grades for this quarter 1) because I was sick for the majority of the quarter and missed eight days of school, 2) I'm lazy and didn't do all the make-up, and 3) I don't give a flying monkey arse about grades as long as I graduate, which I will (even if my mom thinks that it's unlikely, if Autumn graduated there's no way that I won't - Autumn thinks she's a lot smarter than me though, so if she reads this she'll think something to herself along the lines of "I had better grades than Amanda does..." it may be true, but considering what they are right now, that's not hard.)

My grades are shitty. I'm going to have much better grades fourth quarter to make up for the shittiness of third quarter, seriously, I am. It'll be a "fresh start" to a stale year.

Paying Dues

Today was pretty good. I went to a wine tasting with everyone from work (no, I didn't have any, though Kiersty kept offering her's to me), the food was good. I like these sort of things, or think I'm going to like them, not that I didn't like this, but I find that I'm a lot quieter around groups of people where I know some and don't know some. I know Dr. D and Kathryn, and Carol (sort of, she doesn't really ever make conversation and when she does speak she whispers), but they all brought someone (Dr. D's wife, Kiersty, Carol's husband - whose name I've lost, and Kathryn's aunt, Alice?). Overall I had a good time.

I don't understand what it is with me and being able to talk to all of these people one-on-one, but when you throw them together I shut up. I suppose it's how differently I interact with all of them and the different sides of me they all know.

I'm being over-analytical. (I'm sorry, if that bothers you, but then again if it did then you wouldn't be reading this.)

Moving on. I went to an interview at the Hair Cuttery. It went well, I got the job. I'll be working two jobs, for awhile, I'm not sure how long. I kind of want to stick it out at VFCHC until the end of May, but working six days a week is going to be a lot of work and no play. I'm very playful. I'll see how it goes at the Hair Cuttery for a couple of weeks and then decide, so we'll see.

Then, when I got home from all that, I checked my email and had a message from ANOTHER family on www.nannies4hire.com! She left me her number and said to call, so I did, AND I'M MEETING THEM TOMORROW! This family lives in Manassas (about twenty minutes away) and has a ten-year-old son, and a seven-year-old daughter, AND provide a car while I'm on duty. The other family I've been talking to has two daughters ages twelve and nine, but they live in Vienna (about forty-five minutes away). Both would be fun, but in different ways, so we'll see.

After all that one would think that I was having a pretty good day, they would be right, except it finally hit me; I'm going to be working ALL THE TIME, LITERALLY! I suppose this is what it means to "pay your dues." I guess I thought it'd be after college, but now's the time I have to save money for college. I need to save money. A lot of it. I hate thinking about this. I wish I could just skip this part and go straight to having a decent job that pays the rent of a cute one-bedroom, one bath, apartment in the city. I have a while.

So, if you don't see me for a couple years (or four) it won't be because I died (I hope), but because I will be slaving away and remaining poor.

I suppose in the end, it will be worth it, all the shows I'm going to miss, all the nights spent in instead of out, I suppose that all adds up, in my bank account, so I can hand it over to whichever college I go to.

Paying dues, sucks.