Study sessions are no place for Miley Cyrus.

Why the fuck am I listening to such terrible music? The *hell* is wrong with me? I’m pretty sure I’m not on any illegal drugs right now. There is no excuse for Miley Cyrus at 1:30 AM unless there is some heavy drinking going down. I AM AT DENNYS DOING HOMEWORK AND LISTENING TO HORRIBLE FUCKING MUSIC AT 1:30 AM. SWEET. LOOK HOW ROCKIN’ I AM, EVERYONE.

...

Eh. Bit of an angry re-entry into blogging regularity, but I’ll make up for it in a day or so. I’ll blog about fairies or something like that. Glass-half-full types of things. Right now, I feel like someone pooped in my head.

Is a shitty feeling.

.... ha.

BACK FROM THE DEAD. I work at a fruit stand now. Go me.

I know. I wanted to blog at least a few times a week, but apparently I suck at regularity. My “time of the month” is whenever God wants to fuck up my workout schedule. Just for funsies I cramped up for an extra week this month. It was awesome. Those “Turbofire” workouts are so much better when you can’t lift your legs without spraining your ovaries.

Anyhoo.

Am cold. I work at a fruit stand. It’s not completely outside, but it’s missing a wall and has a massive walk-in cooler that takes up a full quarter of the store. Awesome in the summer. Kind of like living next door to Antarctica in the Fall. I’m pretty happy there is basically no fruit left besides apples, pears, squashy tomatoes and pumpkins- there’s nothing left in the cooler to go hunt for. I’m starting to enjoy that crushed look people get when I get to tell them their entire day is ruined because “I’m sorry, we don’t have any plums left.” THEY’VE TURNED LEFT FOR NOTHING! THIS FRUIT STAND IS A LIE!

Oh, by the way. We don’t have any plums left because I ate them all. You can have an apple, though. Mmmm. Hollow substitutes are delicious.

...

P.S. Also, I think I have pink-eye. Or eye cancer. Jesus Christ, this is a fun day. I’M DYING OF SOMETHING STUPID.

Nobody laugh at me.

Meh. Not like I really needed mine anyway.

YEE-HAW!

BREAKING NEWS: BRAS CAUSE BREAST CANCER!

New studies! Scientists! Toxins! There is research backing this!

`

"three out of four women who wore their daytime bras to sleep contracted breast cancer"

- STATISTICS

Saggy tits? Blame your parents!

- New Jersey College of Medicine (a REAL place!)

http://www.chetday.com/breastcancerandbras.htm

*THE MORE YOU KNOW*

Just because I CAN, doesn't mean I WANNA

I need to shut the hell up. For some reason it really bothers me when I'm the most outspoken one in the room- I feel like I'm talking too much. It's like that idea that there's always someone in each class who just keeps going on and on and won't let the class progress because the world will cease to exist if they don't get every little thought out of their heads. I feel like I border on being that person, even though I try only to contribute to what's actually being said, and I try to make sure there's absolutely no one else who wants to say anything before I raise my hand at all. I'm not that bad of a public speaker- I don't get twitchy or sweaty, and I've never been prone to fainting or even getting a bit light-headed. Being in front of a group of people makes me uncomfortable, but I'm usually okay about it- I've always kind of thought being in grade 10 drama class was the height of any public embarrassment I'll ever experience, so why get upset about sharing an actual opinion or reading off a piece of paper at the front of a room? It can't be any worse than improv-ing something so awkwardly even the teacher feels bad for making you go on stage. I honestly think people who do stand-up are some of the bravest people in existence. I've got a friend who started doing it recently, and he's brilliant at it- I'd love to have that kind of stage presence. Somehow I always end up feeling bad for saying anything. Although I've heard that might be why comedians are so good at their jobs- because they already know how much everything sucks, and they give up on silly things like feeling bad about it. That's a frigging awesome way to look at everything. But I still hate saying things in class. I'm too suspicious of everyone in the room to trust they're not willing me to shut up silently, and I'm too insecure to not care about it at all. Apparently my head is still in grade 5.

... like pregnancy, but without that awful baby-part.

WHAT?!

It should not be possible for someone to eat an entire 2 lb bag of baby carrots in half an hour. Seriously, who the hell gets "carrot cravings?"

... and am now feeling a bit like a bloated rabbit. Because of fucking CARROTS. THE HELL?

This is why I don't keep peanut butter around. Or soy cheese.

High-five for honesty

.... "Smells like an expensive hooker!"

http://inmusic.ca/news_and_features/gagas_blood_in_her_new_perfume/9c18cd2f

... dear baby Jesus. Please, just stop. There are few things I want on my skin less than Lady Gaga in liquid form. Actually, I can't even think of anything right now. Maybe acid. Or napalm. I'm half-hoping this is one of those celebrity "Oh, haha, aren't I funny and witty. Look at the wacky things I say!" moments.

I should come up with my own perfume. (All the cool kids are doing it)... I'll call it "Innocence," because each bottle will be made with the tears of a hundred virgins. It will also cure cancer.

I can't blame vodka, so this is Lewis Carroll's fault.

UPDATES ON THE STUPID:

I`ve got a paper to finish, other papers I’ve yet to start, an inbox full of angriness I’ve been avoiding, two midterms I’ve forgotten the dates of (but am probably already fucked for), a horrible niggling feeling that I’m forgetting a whole bunch of other things all equally important and scary, and all I can get my sleepy little head to wrap around is whether or not Value Village has any brown hats. Oh, and the massive crush I’ve apparently developed on Andrew Lee Potts in the last three days.

BROWN HATS.

In Soviet Russia, Lewis Carroll blames YOU

I think maybe I need to replace “ridiculous” with “stupid.” And maybe add a smack in the face, because-really- who the Christ purposely forgets about a midterm because their brain works like a retarded squirrel and it’s easier to pretend I’m researching fairy tales when all I’m really doing is re-reading “Alice in Wonderland” and looking up costume props on Ebay than it is to click on a few things and figure out when I have a test scheduled for.

BECAUSE I’M RIDICULOUS, THAT’S WHY.

I’ve also been worrying a bit about the amount of crazy laziness that goes on in my head lately. I think if my brain were a person, it either took way too many drugs and lives in Super Mario World, or got a concussion and speaks in Russian 40% of the time, or developed its own special kind of ADD because it got bored reading about dead British people and heard twitchiness gets better drugs. It’s a special kind of ridiculous. I’d patent it, but it’s completely useless for anything besides wasting time and worrying medical professionals. And it’s COMPLETELY DESTROYING MY GOOD INTENTIONS.

LIKE VODKA. VODKA ALSO DESTROYS GOOD INTENTIONS. VODKA AND LEWIS CARROLL.

Melatonin, my ass. And your valerian can go straight to hell.

It is 3:40 am, and I am still. Frigging. Awake.

Again.

You know how sometimes you hear about people who have such bad insomnia or who's sleep schedules are so messy that they apparently survive on energy drinks, coffee, the combined energy of everyone on the internet, and a tiny shred of hope of one day (night) getting more than two or three hours of sleep all at once? They're in the same category as people who've crippled both legs and an arm, or accidentally burned their house down, or just had a really stupid car accident because they forgot they couldn't drive properly... you hear about them and feel better about whatever ass-tastic situation you were complaining about, because at least you're not THAT bad.



Yeah, well you're morbidly obese, so there. Nyeah.



Well, fuck all those people. I'm one of them, so I can say that. I also may or may not have had that car-situation happen to me recently. Which may have been somewhat related to the sleeping situation, now that I think of it.

...

So that's my realization for the night/morning. I am a huge fucking insomniac, and it is now a fairly serious issue being that on average I fall asleep between 5 and 6 am, wake up at about 9, and usually twitch awake in between there a few times just in case I was in any danger of getting proper rest. *headdesk*

I think I deserve a block of chocolate for this shit. Last meal, my ass.

they're people too, apparently

One of the people in my English class just called my prof out on hanging out in seedy whore-bars/strip clubs. He admitted it.

Awesome.

I bet somewhere up the gene pool, one of my relatives was a sloth.

The day is piss. TOO MANY THINGS. WHY'S SO MANY THINGS? *cries*

I feel a bit distressed about this. I have a to-do list so long it looks like one of the essays I'm supposed to be writing. I've taken procrastinating to a whole new level of professionalism. There's a book there somewhere- "How to Avoid Things Forever" or "The Art of Zen-Lazy," or something like that. 

Okay, so since I've basically destroyed all hope of getting things done in a timely manner, I'm accepting that they never will get done in a timely manner, and therefore I need to lower my standards and get them done in a pathetically UN-timely manner. I'm giving myself until 3 am, which seems untimely enough since that's normally when I'd either be asleep, cursing my inability to sleep, or giving up on sleep entirely and making hot cocoa and watching movies instead.

Here's my list. I'm calling it my SHITLIST, because it is a list of shit I need to do (or else my head will explode everywhere, and I'll probably cry because that's one more thing I need to clean up besides the entire fucking kitchen. Oh yeah, I need to clean the entire fucking kitchen).

1. Clean the fucking kitchen. All of it- microwave, countertops, floor, sink, etc. Make it sparkle, bitch.

2. Finish the vocab list for anthropology, and have a look at the essay questions. Print out a few copies for other group members.

3. Burn three movies and two computer games to discs.

4. Write draft copy for film image analysis assignment.

5. Call ICBC (can't dodge them forever...)

6. Read over Kid Lit. essay and figure out thesis, stories to use, etc. Make outline.

7. Muffins. Om nom.

I call it "dumpster scrap-couture"

Warm fuzzies, guys.

So a while ago I bought a really ugly shirt. It had potential, so I hacked the shit out of it with a pair of scissors. It was still ugly, so I cut off the sleeves, too. Then it wouldn't even stay on. I was going to sew some proper straps on it, but c'mon. I'm fucking lazy. So I took one of the sleeves and just kind of half-ass tied the back of the shirt into a bunch. Then it was kind of cool-looking, except it's crooked and frayed and makes me look like I shop in a dumpster. Also I can't bend forward, because it kind of falls open and shows most of my chest-area. 

So I wore it today, with a matching bra underneath (from far away I look half-decent). I kind of have a soft spot for clothes that I've basically destroyed.


After I went to the gym, I was standing in front of the mirror trying to brush the mess out of my rat nest hair, and some girl came up and asked me where I bought it. She seemed to think it had come from some kind of boutique somewhere- somewhere "really expensive." 

And then when I told her I'd gotten it by accident in a bag sale at a thrift store and then cut it into bits, she was all shocked out of her head, and raved on for a bit about how "creative" I am. 

Hee. *blushes* See? I'm not a crazy slob. I'm "artistic." 


Awesome.

Hey, that table was *comfy*

This stump has more energy than I do

Man, I am *not* feeling well at all. I can’t even remember what I did today. I have a vague feeling it had something to do with books, and that at some point I felt pissed because the Asian grocery store was out of bean sprouts (because life ends when that happens), but other than that- zilch. I tried to go for a run a few hours ago, and made it about half a useless hour before every muscle I have just kind of decided to throw in their collective towels. I probably shouldn’t feel too crap about that, considering yesterday I put in a heroic 15 km, but I kind of hate it when workouts totally fail like that. I didn’t even have enough energy to do yoga- it was that ridiculous. I took a break, then went and read a book in the other room for a bit... when I started falling asleep on the table, I figured that was it. So I guess this is my “off day.”

Frigging stupid. That is all I have to say about this.

IF I WANT TO DRINK POISON, I WILL FIND A GODDAMN WAY. Because I'm resourceful like that.

VENDING MACHINES ARE SPITEFUL, CRACK-DEALING MONEY-GRUBBERS, AND I HOPE THERE'S A SPECIAL HELL FOR THEM TO BURN IN.

I try to be healthy. I really do. I mow fruits and vegetables like a starving rabbit, I exercise regularly, I avoid overly processed foods and I drink maybe once a month, if that. I don't have an awful lot of bad habits, although I've cultivated a few to perfection. So with all that trying-to-be-healthy bullshit, I feel like when I need to do something minor and awful to my health, I'M FUCKING ENTITLED.

It's not like I'm talking about crystal meth. I'm pretty sure that's not a "once in a while it's okay" kind of thing. But seriously- once every once in a special while, when I'm about two seconds and three eye twitches away from having to be carted off by people in white coats, I feel like there are worse things than having a can of diet coke. I realize that probably makes me an awful kind of hypocrite, considering all the "no preservative-chemical-evil" crap I usually live by, but sometimes I really. don't. give. a. shit. At all. And I'm okay with that.

SO WHEN I WANT TO DRINK CHEMICALS OUT OF A CAN, IT IS NOTHING LESS THAN PROOF THERE IS NO GOD TO GIVE ME A VENDING MACHINE THAT WILL EAT THE ONLY QUARTERS I HAVE AT TWO IN THE FUCKING MORNING. And then beep mockingly at me. Until I leave. SAD AND POISON-FREE.

No god.

Which is why I ended up driving to the 24-hour pharmacy 20 minutes away like a crack-addled Pepsi-junkie and buying the shit out of some diet Dr. Pepper. Showed that quarter-stealing bitch. I got *two* bottles.

Now that my corner of the world is at peace, I can write the last of my essay.

... what?!

I might be spiteful, but you are a douche-faced monkey without a treadmill. EAT IT.

I found the best motivation for staying on a treadmill- impatient douchebags circling the fucking thing just WAITING for you to hop off so they can steal it. Fucking ARGH.

Seriously, is there NOTHING else in the entire fucking ROOM that you can do? You just HAVE to stand RIGHT FUCKING THERE and lift your puny little weight every three minutes or so to pretend you have a reason for staying? There is no other place for you to sit and watch TV than the gym? THERE’S A STEPPER IN THE BACK, ASS-FACE. A FULL RACK OF WEIGHTS. A *LOT* OF MATSPACE. LEARN HOW TO ADAPT, YOU SLACK-FACED MONKEY.

I see your running shoes. I know you want to use the treadmill. I know it’s the only reason you dragged your Nike-wearing ass down here in the first place. And I normally have horrendous amounts of guilt about taking up equipment, particularly the treadmill, if I even *think* anyone else might want it. In those cases, I will ask them if they want it and probably will limit my own run to about half an hour, tops. Even if I’m having a particularly bad day, as I was yesterday (seriously, the entire day was a waste of effort. My major accomplishment was buying groceries at three different stores and finding a box of popsicles which had actual fruit juice in them (which was entirely devoured two hours later). I will, with a huge amount of effort, dredge up the last wee speck of human decency hiding in my subconscious and ignore the fact that I *really* wanted to use the treadmill, and that I kind of got here first. I know there’s only one, and that it’s inhumanly fucking cold outside. Sometimes exercise brings out, if not the best, at least the somewhat nicer side of me.

Of course, sometimes it brings out unholy fucking evil and makes me want to choke people with exercise bands. Depends on the mood.

WHICH WILL NOT BE HELPED IF YOU STAND AROUND HUFFING AND WATCHING TV AND NOT EVEN PRETENDING YOU ARE DOING ANYTHING BUT WAITING ANGRILY FOR ME TO GIVE UP AND LEAVE. COMMON COURTESY, DOUCHE-HOLE. GO DRINK SOME GATORADE AND LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.

So instead of doing half an hour, I did an hour and ten minutes out of sheer spite. My lungs started shrivelling up around 40 minutes, and I’d been feeling like a bag of poop before I’d even gotten to the gym (and bags of poop generally aren’t very efficient runners), so I wasn’t planning on anything epic. I’d been giving it a bit of a rest for the last half-week or so as a kind of thank-you to my joints for holding up so well so far (also so they don’t give out completely anytime soon), so I wasn’t really going to run the entire time- I even brought my laptop along to do one of those “Insanity” workouts in the back half of the room. But then I realized how much Douche-Monkey wanted the treadmill, and how rude he was being about it. From then on, it was kind of a game- like, “Let’s see how long you’re going to stalk around getting pissed off before you snap.”

For the record, that game is HEAPS of fun, no matter how tired you are.

After an hour and ten minutes, I felt like I’d given it enough of an effort. I’d run through most of my rage at that point, and was just feeling bad for him. I’d definitely ruined his workout- there was less than half an hour left before the gym closed, at best, and I’d stolen the remote for the TV and left it playing “Jersey Shore” right in front of his face. I figured there wasn’t much else I could do to him. Of course, as soon as I hopped off he jumped straight on. It took him about five minutes of standing around looking annoyed and caveman-dumb jabbing at the buttons before he figured out how to start it.

So my workout went well- I pissed off a monkey, got in an awesome run, and watched the first half-hour of Jersey Shore (which is hella entertaining no matter how much it makes me want to throttle the people on it through the TV screen).  I’m calling that a win.