glum Archives
Just a spoonful of sugar...
Posted on May 11, 2008 9:44 PM
Movies like Mary Poppins remind me of the good ole days. Especially the "Step in Time" dance sequence aloft the rooftops with the chimney sweepers. Oh how I enjoyed this scene, I'd watch it over and over again, wondering how such maneuver’s could be done. Also wishing that I could do such on neat architectural rooftops, with my shoes that made tapping noises.
I think this is where my obsession with loud shoes originated. Ever since I was a child, whether a shoe made noise or not always influenced my decision. If the shoe made noise, of course I had to have them, but if they didn't I'd search until I found a pair that did. Others laughed at me, my mother was aggravated with my persistence to find such a shoe, but to me all that mattered was my love for that sound.
Even now, I enjoy the clanking of my heels on the pavement. Music to my ears.
No smoking in the Waiting Room.
Posted on May 15, 2008 6:22 PM
It's really starting to seep in that Dave and I just might not work out after all. Four and a half years of waiting is tiresome and I just don't know how much longer I can do it. Grant it, there was a time period where Dave worked nothing but nights, I worked nothing but mornings and on Dave's nights off, I attended my night classes. As hard as that was, we made it through.
Now our schedules pretty much work in sync. Dave works all mornings with the occasional work day that lasts until 7:00 PM (NO WEEKENDS!). My schedule ranges from 7:00-3:00 or 11:00-7:00 with the exception that every six weeks or so it's my due turn to close Friday and Saturday. I see no flaws or excuses for why we only see each other once a week, and not even that sometimes.
So...
Spending time with each other only occurs when it's convenient for Dave. Forbid I have plans, I get sarcastic remarks like "Oh, now you have a car you don't know me anymore" or "Oh, now that you have a car you have friends now."
Double standards I assume, Dave can be too "busy" for me but I have to be the one with no life waiting around for spare time!
P.S. The 21rst is Wednesday next week, our 5th anniversary. If Dave remembers, he may have just saved us after all.
BUT...
If he forgets, it will be the straw that broke the camel's back.
Karma won't choose my curtains
Posted on May 24, 2008 7:49 PM
I've been pox'd!
Waking up the past few mornings to the sensation of chugging acid the night prior, ungodly body aches, and severe physical exhaustion. Plus, I've been sleeping my days away, much like today. Came home from work around 4:00PM and didn't wake up until about 15 minutes ago (i.e. 7:30PM). Why? Why must my body do this to me? Is it really necessary, body, to sleep for nearly 4 hours.. during the day.. on a Saturday.. when it is nice out?!
I must check my Karma logs because I really don't believe I did anything wrong in the past 72 hours to deserve such treatment. Maybe it's a curse. Maybe one of the crusty, smelly old people placed a pox upon me for my sarcastic remarks over their two cent over-charge or about them smelling so... stale. It couldn't be because of my constant thrive to expose people's idiocy! But boy do I love making people feel stupid.
Anywho.
Maybe it's because of my guilt and the fact that I haven't told my mom what color curtains I want for my room. I haven't told her of my plans to move out yet. Not sure what's holding me back. It's quite possibly due to the lack of oxygen to my brain because of her desperate grasp around my throat! That woman is holding on for dear life, no way will she let me go to be left alone with her husband. We, children, are her life and I'm the last one left. See my predicament?
P.S. Note my failed attempts to look cute when going out, here and here. Double fail!
Ignorant bliss
Posted on June 9, 2008 4:37 PM
I enjoy the time spent with my mother, and my mother alone (when she hasn't spun into her unpredictable, and highly annoying mood spins that just make you want to spork her to death). Moving on. John, my oh-so-loveable, step dad, and I say that in the highest sarcastic way, went away for the whole weekend to the Poconos. Bliss, I say.
My days were spent roasting my balls off. Saturday and Sunday, I shed a combined 20lbs in nature's all-natural sauna - aka Kennywood on a 90 degree day and an outdoor-event bridal shower on a 92 degree day. Not really, but I wish, then I really wouldn't have mind spending such days in the blazing heat. Though this conversation knocked my socks off.
Me: "It's so friggin' hot, I'm sweating my balls off!"
Him: "You don't have any balls."
Me: "Well duh! That's because I sweateded them off!"
Him: *silence*
And...
My nights were a fun-filled sleep over in my mother's room that ended in falling asleep to Sex and the City. Oh, Monday came way to fast and reality decided to bitch slap me when I came home from work today and saw the dreaded luggage sitting on the living room floor. It was home! *Cue in scary, twilight music*
And so be it
Posted on July 3, 2008 9:25 PM
My absence is due to my antivirus expiring; with hackers, and virus-creator-people (aka mothers of the doomed computer bugs) that are out there, a minute connected to the internet can't be trusted. Conveniently, the kitchen computer had to go kurplunk as well, leaving me all alone with the boredom of reality. I caught myself sometimes sitting at my computer, typing nonchalantly as if I had internet and carrying on conversations with my imaginary bloggers. It was pitiful.
Thankfully my step father put the fire in Geek Squad's step and alas the kitchen computer is back up and running. I no longer have to rely on my cellphone as the only connection to my dearest internet with the worries of paying the overcharges. Tweeting from a cellphone is no fun when I can't see other's tweets and or reply to my tweets.
But I do have to fear the discovery of my blog. The very fiery pits of hell will emerge if my mother ever found out what I reallythink!
Fin.
And to whom receives the Loser Award
Posted on August 6, 2008 6:20 PM
Apparently blogging every day, or every other day, or even a couple of days a week is a lot harder than it appears.
I applaud Rachel for having joined Blog 365. Even though she is but a month behind, her blogs are still daily. Something I cannot do and I label myself a failure. No scratch that, I remove the "Failure" label and plaster a big "L" on my forehead, because really people, I am but a mere loser with nothing at all intriguing going on in my life. Nor do I have the ability to make a normal day of working and holding my bowel movements UNTIL the end of my shift to avoid contracting some unknown form of vaginal disease from my job's bathroom, appear interesting. Was that at all interesting to you? Thought not.
Lamesauce.
Running on 'E'
Posted on August 16, 2008 7:22 PM
The reason why my tweets have been scarce or 99% of the time, from my cell phone. The reason why I was the epitome of a walking zombie. The reason why Red Bull became my breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The reason why sleeping pills were bought in considerable amounts.
I give to you, my time card. Read it and weep.
This does not conclude my working streak. I've been working since Wednesday of last week and my next day off isn't until Tuesday. I refuse to count the consecutive days of work.
I've never felt so physically drained and looking forward to the significant amount of money I'll be receiving from my pay check can't even cheer me up right now. Seriously.
Curiosity killed the cat
Posted on August 18, 2008 10:05 PM
Well I fell into temptation, so what kind of person does that make me? As horrible as I perceive myself because of it, I give myself kudos for being a big enough person to admit it to whom it would hurt the most. Honesty was much appreciated and a big deal was not made of it as what I fabricated in my head.
Getting into the gory details will make me think of it once again, beat myself not only physically but emotionally over it, and once again vomit. I am done vomiting, I am done with my panic[slash]anxiety attacks... I... am... done.
Use your imagination.
Reality's cruel
Posted on August 26, 2008 8:29 PM
I've only heard how "talented" I am from family members and, or close friends. Also from those who think pink text goes well with orange backgrounds and others whom never said anything negative about anyone else’s work. Should this positive feedback really be put into consideration? I'm beginning to doubt so...
Obviously I am not that talented and not that good if employers keep choosing other designers over me. 'Cause really, their opinions are the only ones that matter right now. It's all "We appreciate your interest in our company but unfortunately we've chosen another candidate to join our team," bullshit. Some even personalize it by given me pointers on what to do next time. No thanks!
I wish they'd just say what they're really thinking.
Ummm... no thank you, you suck!
Your advice will get me no where. I am but a poor designer whose only received pity from employers. Nothing I can do will magically poof talent into my system.
I give up world, you have won.
My comfort zone just got uncomfortable
Posted on September 9, 2008 8:17 PM
I shamefully admit to looking for my non-existent life manual again for that small sense of hope of its existence and its power to tell me what to do in a situation like this...
I'm afraid that I can't stop my life from taking this drastic turn towards a different direction. There's no controlling it, no fighting it; I'm in a car with no steering wheel, just a gas and break pedal. That's the only control I have - how fast this change is going to happen.
Until I can admit it to myself, that's when this change will take place. Until then I say, comfort zones are misunderstood. Their real message should be:
"Come get comfortable with me, but don't get too comfortable because then you'd have over-stayed your welcome."
You know what really grinds my gears?
Posted on September 18, 2008 4:23 PM
I shall dedicate this entry entirely to my crooked teeth; solely for the purpose that every time I look at a picture of myself I can't help but hide my teeth with my tongue in hopes that nobody notices such crookedness.
The origin of such crookedness was because as a child, I had this fear of severe agony when pulling out my loose teeth. Needless to say, when it was time for my front teeth to come out, I would never pull them... I would let the new tooth grow in while the old one was still in. Thus causing the new tooth to come in crooked.
Though such a gap wasn't as apparent as it is today, and all the blame goes to my dear old wisdom teeth. Forcing room so they sit comfortably at the back of my mouth; having no care that it pushed all my teeth together, creating such a gap that I can now stick my tongue in between.
*le sigh*
P.S. You know what really grinds my gears? Spelling tongue, toungue. I refuse to change it for the mere pleasure of laughing at myself. Indeed.
You can't stop a freight train
Posted on November 13, 2008 2:59 PM
Vacation! [part five]
(I decided to break this into two entries, because they are two irrelevant things and to be put in the same entry just doesn't make sense.)
Like I said, what had started off as a good day drastically went down hill. Today was the day of my step dad's ex-wife's / step sister's and brother's mother's funeral.
Not a mere couple of days ago my step dad, John, received the news that his ex-wife, Bunny, had suffered a brain aneurism but had survived. After the grueling (what I assume to be) 8 hour surgery, it wasn't looking good for Bunny; half of the right side of her brain was completely dead and the whole left side of her brain was damaged. If that wasn't enough for Bunny, she had also suffered not one, but two strokes during surgery. As the days rolled on, the doctors couldn't get the beats-per-minute of her heart to go up, and they ruled it as a heart attack that probably caused such a slow beat.
With such brain damage the doctors said Bunny will never have her motor skills again. That being she will never have the capability of talking, chewing, eating, or swallowing at that fact. Bunny then, eventually slipped into a coma and at that point the whole left side of her brain completely died and that's when my step family made the wise decision to take her off life support. She died Sunday, November 9th, 2008.
I couldn't help but be ripped back to the day my father died, I was flooded with memories of that dreadful day because it was also a Sunday. I had also woken up, came downstairs, and received such horrid news.
My heart went out to my step sisters and step brothers because they were there for me when I lost my parent. I was going to be there for them and their loss because I know how it feels, I know what they are going through, hopefully my support will help them the way their support helped me.
Though... A part of me did not want to go to the funeral home. I did not want to enter that room with that casket and have not a doubt in my heart that, that is my father in there, dead. I could see it all again, I remembered it all like it was yesterday.
That dreadful Sunday where something had abruptly awoken me from my slumber. Something that made me go downstairs just to receive the word that my father had died. The horror and the guilt, the sadness and the pain, it all felt exactly the same as it did that day. I remembered retreating to my room, never to come out. I remember sitting in my chair, staring blankly out the window as my hands wrote a poem. A poem to my father and about my father. A poem that had finally admitted that I loved my father and not hated him the way that I used to scream so. A poem that had released me of all my guilt. A poem of forgiveness. A poem of apologies. A closure.
I remember going to the florist where I broke down in tears because I was picking out the floral arrangements that were to be exhibited in my fathers casket! His fucking casket, because he was fucking dead and I couldn't even tell the florist what name to put of the banner. Dad? Daddy? Father? He was never a dad to me! The anger, the anger just rushed in my veins but then quickly overcome by guilt. I remember all the emotions that always seemed to hit me all at once like a freight train.
I remember going shopping with Dave because I had not an all black ensemble and even if I did, I wasn't going to wear it to my father's funeral. I wanted an outfit that I was never going to wear again. An outfit I can hide away in my closet as the outfit I wore to my father's funeral. A simple task, or I had thought it was. I couldn't do it, I couldn't pick out the clothes that I was going to wear to my father's funeral! It was all so surreal, like a dream, but not that day. That day, reality hit me... hit me so hard that I was on the floor of JC Penny's sobbing my eyes out.
I remember my desperate search for a newspaper to see my father's obituary, to see if it was all true or just some sick nightmare. It was not.
I remember the funeral. I remember how nice of a day it was and how I longed for the rain. I remember hating the sun, and hating God for having such a nice day for my father's funeral. My father just died, the world should not rejoice in the sun but mourn because I had just lost my father. He's dead and it was not raining.
I remember the room at the funeral home. I remember the surreal look of my dad. How doll-like he looked, so fake, like it wasn't real. I remember how boney his shoulder's were, the hair on his head, the mole on the side of his forehead. I remember his hands, those big, strong hands, with that broken thumbnail... they never changed. I remember that sweater he would usually wear for proper events, those black slacks, and his dress shoes that weren't so "dress" anymore because they were covered in scuff marks, dulled out, and torn a bit. I remember remembering those shoes for as long as I could remember. I remember the hat he always wore that laid by his hands. I remember the pictures that were lined up in his casket. I remember the mints we snuck into his casket, that we hid under his blanket, because he loved those mints, they were his favorite. I remember the flag because he was a soldier. I remember the two flowers that laid on his lap; one from Auron, his grandson and one from his passed godchild, Amber. I remember the stone that sat at the edge: "When someone you love becomes a memory. That memory becomes a treasure."
I also remember how hard he felt. I remember not believing that that was my father, lying in a casket before me. I remember never leaving his side because it appeared as though everyone was ignoring him. I remember everyone chit-chatting with their backs turned to him, but not I. I stood there, I kept him company. I remember the promise I had made to him and how I have faltered on them already. I remember the forgiveness I begged from him, that I still don't feel it.
I remember going to his apartment that had already been cleaned out by family. I arrived too late due to work. I remember the feeling of having no closure 'cause I did not see the way he lived. I wanted to see how he lived. The couch, the dining room, the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom, I wanted to see it all but everything was gone! All that was left were marks on the carpet of what used to be there.
I remember the Miracle Grow that was under his sink and how Tina told me that he was excited to bring her tomatoes! I remember the canned soup, the vegetables, the appliances. I remember going into his bedroom and his barren closet and picking out a striped, button-down shirt. I remember my father always wearing button-down shirts, I have not a memory were he wasn't in a button-down shirt. I remember picking through his belongings, desperate to grab hold of memories. I remember all the “I want this” and “I want that.”
I remember the rain finally coming. The gray clouds, the emptiness. I remember driving away from his apartment. I remember finally realizing that he's gone. He is gone forever.
Putting all selfishness aside, I went to the funeral home. I grunted and I bared the pain in my family's eyes because I know what they're going through. I hugged every last one of them and whispered softly into their ears, "I know." That's all I could say, nothing I could do or say will make them feel any better. I was not going to ask how they're doing because I know. I wasn't going to ask if they're going to be alright because I know. I do know, all I could do was hold them and comfort them the best I could. All I could do was be there for them.
And that I did.
