Life After Graduation

TWO

2011-07-26T08:27:00.002-04:00

TWO DAYS TWO DAY TWO DAYS

I can't wait for leisure time again.

Things I Don't Have Time for Anymore...

2011-07-16T10:16:00.002-04:00

Dear readers,

I know you have been patiently awaiting my comeback into bloggerdom. The bad jokes. The crappy picture-taking. The unimportant and wholly uninteresting posts. These things are important. I know it. It's been a long, hard month without my blathering on and on about nothing. But the waiting must continue. I still have another two weeks full of scrambling to finish homework and falling into bed exhausted at night. You must attempt to enjoy your summer without me. How will you survive? How will you survive enjoying a beautiful, carefree summer indeed.

When I get my three weeks of carefree-ness, I shall be back! Dull life updates that no one cares about and all.

Love,
Barson

Day 15: Universe!

2011-06-20T16:47:00.002-04:00

Today was my first day of graduate school; ironically enough, today is also the birthday of West Virginia, which I find as just another one of the millions of reasons that the world is telling me I don't belong [really universe, really; today of all 365 days of the year TODAY is the birthday of West Virginia?]. The picture is of the one building I have classes in this summer; it is a windowless (but who needs natural light when there's fluorescence to burn our irises?), ugly, unadorned building, which the university has attempted to make more original with enormous works of art, and the much more modern, and ahead of the curve, escalators in lieu of any staircases (if you look carefully, I've captured three stair-eh-escalators in this picture).

Toto, I've got a feeling we're not in Morgantown anymore.

Day 14: Papa's Day

2011-06-19T21:57:00.003-04:00

Happy Father's Day! Today was a day spent getting beat down by the weather, playing cards, and all around dreading the first day of graduate school tomorrow. I'm not sure why I'm so nervous; my chronic feeling of Oh my God, I bullshitted my way here-I'm way out of my league is coming back to get me. Hopefully all goes well and people do not find me to be the unworthy girl I probably am...

(No, that had nothing to do with the picture. The picture has nothing to do with anything really; it was a present from my grandparents to my parents. And it's pretty. The end.)

Day 13: Irish Pub

2011-06-18T16:55:00.002-04:00

Today, I happened to find myself at PISA, where I used to play soccer as a kid. Much to my surprise, they added on and added a BAR into the gym. A sign inside informed parents that they would be able to watch any game they wanted on their TVs-because obviously watching your child play a sport is not as awesome as professionals playing their sport.

Day 12: Mama Says

2011-06-17T15:38:00.007-04:00

In my family's kitchen, we have a tile which we write reminders or nice things on to the rest of the family, which my two brothers or father promptly switch to something either illegible or to mean something else. Yesterday, however, when I came home from work, the tile said one word: "Asparagas." Not only was there no explanation, asparagus was spelled to more resemble flatulence and was written in HUGE letters, so I took it upon myself to edit the tile and incorporate my favorite veggie.

Day 11: Gotham City

2011-06-16T14:41:00.002-04:00

The gothic style Cathedral of Learning has always been an imposing structure, looming over the rest of office building Oakland. As intimidating the structure is on the exterior, the International Rooms manage to be warm, and I love to explore the building-especially when it's all decorated for the holidays. As many hoops there are to jump through to start grad school (I'm positive it's this difficult only because I'm a WVU student), I do adore the historic Pitt campus; the mixture of city (minus parallel parking) and open spaces next to historic buildings always takes my breath away.

Day 10: Mmm Beer

2011-06-15T23:07:00.002-04:00

For the first time in weeks, Boyfriend and I went to dinner. The middle drink is a Captain Morgan Rum Punch and a has a delightful summery tang that was perfect on a beautiful night in the 'Burgh. The Coronas were more of the same; there is nothing more ideal on a warm summer night than a Corona and lime-perfection.

Day 9: Tryin' to Ketchup

2011-06-14T22:51:00.004-04:00

The old Heinz factory is considered an eye-sore by many Burghers, despite the effort to spiff it up and make apparently fancy-pantsy lofts. However, I love the historical significance of the place. Yeah, so maybe it was a part of the factories which made Pittsburgh such an unhealthy place to live and covered the area with grime, but it's good to know how far we've come to make Pittsburgh one of the most beautiful and livable cities in America (of course I'm not at all biased).

Day 8: Deadly Sinful

2011-06-13T21:16:00.003-04:00

Fast food is the true reason that gluttony is a deadly sin. My organs have all kicked by this afternoon's splurge on this delightfully foul food. As I work at night and Boyfriend's internship is a 9-5er, we have a tendency to meet up for lunch, but he only has an hour so fast food joints have been our go-to; don't worry, I exercised vigorously to remove as much gunk as possible from my insides immediately after.

Day 7: Desiderata

2011-06-12T23:55:00.003-04:00

This blurry, and all together crap-tacular picture is of the title of my favorite poem, Desiderata, which I have posted in my room. As you certainly have already ascertained, I am about as artistic and as accomplished of a writer as a chimpanzee; however, the simplicity offered by Max Ehrmann's writing, not convoluted by allegory and metaphor, suggests a stark reality about life that is so frequently forgotten by too many. I found this moving work from Stumble Upon several months ago, which only proves that the internet isn't all brain-rotting material.

Here is the original site I found it on, but there are many other sites describing its apparent interesting history (oh yeah, history nerd) and reproducing the poem.

Day 6: So tired

2011-06-11T23:53:00.003-04:00

It's six minutes to midnight and this is the first time I've stopped moving since six A.M. This is my dog, Lana, who sleeps on my bed and hogs the bed like you wouldn't believe. If you wish, think up some creative "dog tired" joke; I'm too tired to be funny.

Day 5: Just Under the Wire

2011-06-10T23:56:00.005-04:00

Almost forgot-again, but whew didn't. I forgot my camera in the basement as I was planning on taking pictures on my run today, but I left it at home in case it rained (it did) and I am too lazy/tired to walk all the way down there so I am reduced to using my phone again. My cheap, plastic, collapsible bedside table (purchased for approximately $5) is spruced up to the best of my non-existent budget; the Mexican vase complements my brightly colored bedroom even without flowers, and the tiara was purchased for one of my college birthdays and fits perfectly on my bedside lamp to make it less utilitarian and more, well, pretty, not to mention brings many a college memory back (not pictured is a vomtastic framed picture of me and Boyfriend in NYC at Christmas last year).

Day 4: Born Runner

2011-06-09T12:52:00.002-04:00

My love of shoes extends farther than the average woman's fawning over stilettos; I can spend hours analyzing every angle, fit and design on every shoe I purchase, including tennis shoes. These guys are a year old (purchased after a particularly nasty game of flag football when the opposing team ripped right through the mesh on my old Nikes) and I have already put them through quite a bit; from outdoor hikes through mud to intense daily workouts to get in shape for Spring Break and another workout regimen I'm starting to get in shape for vacation in August. Every time I get a new brand of tennis shoe (originally Adidas, then Nike, now Puma), I swear I will never change to another brand and get a little sad when my old tennis shoes are worn out; I absolutely despise throwing them away, and these guys will be no different as I foresee their demise at the end of summer.

Day 3: Do you belong here?

2011-06-08T22:40:00.003-04:00

Disclaimer: today's photoblog picture contribution was taken on my cell phone's camera, so please excuse the quality; for the first time ever, I forgot my camera on my wanderings.

Today, as I was venturing into newly not-so enemy territory [read: Oakland] to get some of the apparently endless paperwork filled out for grad school, I decided to snap a picture of this bizarre and puzzling building. For the life of me, I cannot figure out the purpose of it, nor the business a medieval castle torrent has in a 21st century urban setting. I suspect it's for the beheadings of unworthy WVU students who have the gall to attend this rival institution, because clearly we're undeserving and under-qualified (Henry VIII/the Red Queen would be so pleased).

Belated Day 2: I'm Already off Track?

2011-06-08T00:19:00.002-04:00

For me, it can always be Christmas season; Boyfriend insists that an ideal job for me would be to open a touristy Christmas ornament store (can't say I disagree either)! The smells, the songs, the festivities, the hustle and bustle, the good tidings, and all-around feelings of happiness and excitement still evoke a feeling of child-like enthusiasm for the holidays in me; even my impoverished state and Fall semester finals do not jade my Christmas spirit. These lights hung in my apartment at school; at home, I am still searching for a way to hang my lights in my room so I can ding-dong merrily all year round.

P.S-I apologize I suck badly and am already behind on my photoblog and it's only Day 2. I honestly forgot I was supposed to do this daily. Oops. Plus, I only went to work today and didn't otherwise leave the house so the pictures to be taken are pretty finite.

Day 1: The Mermaid Sink

2011-06-06T08:47:00.003-04:00

This bird wash belonged to my great-great grandmother, and for as long as I can remember, I have loved it. To my childish eyes, the pristine whitewashed lawn decoration shone like a pearl, and the oscillated lip, complemented by the design along the basin, appeared as if it was made for a mermaid. Although we now use it as a flowerbed, its classic and unassuming elegance is still breathtaking and retains some magic reminiscent of my childhood.

Growing Up?

2011-06-05T23:38:00.002-04:00

Let's be honest here, after that particularly whiny post from earlier today about how meaningless my posts are, I have come to a separate conclusion. Not that my earlier stories are meaningful, either. They still aren't, I still know it, and I still acknowledge it. I still want to have a more purposeful, interesting, and largely relevant blog.

However, while I firmly believe I need to change this, I also firmly believe in baby steps. As a kid, I was always the girl who would cringe and balk at the prospect of launching myself into a swimming pool; the frigid waters be, uh, darned! I preferred to slowly, patiently, ease my body into the water, and stand idly getting acclimated bit by freezing bit to the temperature. The last plunge, getting my head wet, was always the worst part, mostly because I always dreaded it so. I suspect now will be no different.

That method is perfectly applicable to my blog. Regardless of my desire to have depth and become a talented, flowing writer, strength isn't something that blooms overnight. Thus, I have an intermediate step in place. Or rather, twenty-five intermediate steps in place before I shall focus solely on being deep and things of that nature.

In order to do so, I must regress. In such a way that, I must admit, I am following around my sister like I did as a child. I am joining her quest to make Life After Graduation: The Photoblog Edition throughout the month of June. I know that June has already been continuing around me while I was in an oblivious, purposeless writing funk, but late is better than never.

Starting tomorrow, I shall have a purpose (or at least attempted one) for dragging my Sony everywhere. The terms: one picture, three sentences per day for twenty-five days. My subjects will vary and be based upon whatever catches my eye wherever I wander that particular day. I will attempt to focus on something with meaning, or is at least worthwhile and isn't a picture of my television set because I didn't leave my house that day.

The hope is that over the course of this month, I can baby step my way into growing up and having meaningful, interesting, engaging things to chat about come July.

Tomorrow, I get my toes wet.

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia

2011-06-05T10:49:00.003-04:00

On a lazy Sunday morning, on the first day off I've had in many a day, I find myself sitting on the couch with my laptop on my lap, contemplating my blog. I have an obnoxiously high opinion of my writing, which I can only blame on my professor for my English 101 class I took Freshman year, who, numerous times, stoked my ego about how witty and funny my writing is. Oh, and that whole being a History major thang; my grades were based on term papers, I wrote like it was going out of style, yada-yada-yada. However, as time progresses, I have become a little bit more realistic, I realize that talented writing is only half the battle.

Anyways, this morning as I had my sickly sugary cinnamon bun creamered coffee (Heaven in a mug, I swear to you) in my favorite extra large mug, I was sitting on my back deck (easily my favorite place at home, even if it heats up to rival the surface of the sun on days such as today) reading a book my mother recommended to me, The Help by Kathryn Stockett. I am only 85 pages in on a 500+ novel, and I can't put it down. It's one of the best books I've read in a long time; far better than the usual gunk of chicky-brain-rotting novels I frequently read. Just to clarify: I do not read romance novels, but I do read books that are Sex and the City-esque, written by people like Candace Bushnell, Lauren Weisberger, etc. I read them because I am one of those people who are deeply affected by movies or books they read, and I am a cryer. So if I read a sad book or a scary book, it generally messes with my mood the whole day. I guess I never grew out of that as a kid: separating emotions about real things pertaining to my life or real events in the world, and emotions about fake things. Long story short, it's just easier to maintain my sanity if I read junk, and I'm comfortable admitting that. Judge away, audience of, hm, I'm guessing only Carinne (that little "how many views you've had" info, very telling).

ANYWAYS. The reason I bring up a lengthy discussion of my reading material is because a passage in The Help, not to mention the premise of the novel, is particularity striking. The setting, plot, but more so in any novel I've ever read, the perspective of the characters and their opinions on such events is startling. Even though it is fiction, the emotions and undoubted reality of the scenarios the characters are placed in is truly eye-opening. Books like these are why I want to be a history teacher. Such a poignant perspective of how life was shows not only how far we've come, but reminds us how imperative it is to keep moving forward and learn from the past, and not just drill facts and dates into children's heads and bore them to tears. If you make it real, everyone loves history.

Wow, I'm just hopping from one subject to the next without ever truly getting to the point. The point is, inspired by the passage I just read in The Help, that while I enjoy writing and find the little self-centered stories I write about amusing, it's junk. It's right along the lines of the chicky-brain-rotting novels I digest, with the exception that it's not very funny, try as I might to jest. The second half of the battle of being a very truly exceptional writer is meaning. A clever story about the attack of birds or a trip to New Jersey really does not have a purpose. I also apparently never grew out of my feelings of self-efficacy; I think that what happens to me is vitally important and everyone is as interested in my life as I am. Hell, this blog is dedicated to the things that happen to me as I transition back to living at home and becoming a graduate student. Me me me, is that all I talk about? Apparently so.

So if something I find particularly amusing or worthwhile in my own life to laugh about (tested out on telling the stories to other people in person, just in case), I will still attempt to work on my sense of humor and report the stories. As I work nearly every day and have no money, however, these stories are few and far between. The main reason of this post is that I am going to try and make this blog be more meaningful. More posts on relevant matters. Not necessarily politics or anything, but stuff that is important. I'm not really sure how this will go; writing about important things is not really my forte. It's worth a shot though, right? And worse comes to worst, I realize that I just can't transfer my interest in real or meaningful events via writing and I am a selfish, self-centered girl and I like to read and write about crappy, boring, un-funny events. And that will be how I will live, another ignorant American. God I hope not. PS-please don't think I don't know or care about current events; I try to stay up on important matters, I just rarely talk about them. I'm not sure if that makes me a better citizen or a worse one.

Also, do feel free to judge my writing as poor, my jokes as not very funny, and my opinions in general and about my writing laughably insane.

Jersey Is as Jersey Does

2011-06-02T07:40:00.014-04:00

Over the long Memorial Day weekend, I let my inner Jerseylicious self free. All big haired, bronzed, beach bummin', aviator-wearing, careless, Jersey girl me. Or my nerdy Pittsburgh-y version of that. Which includes big hair as in my red, curly, long hair swelling to its fullest extent from the heat and humidity, bronzed as in burned, beach bummin' for four hours next to a fifty-five degree sea, but, okay, I was wearing aviators and careless and experienced a weekend of new things.

Most importantly, no trip to Jersey would not be complete without a festival of alcohol. The New Jersey Blues and Wine Festival, hosted by the New Jersey Wine Growers Association, was the real reason Boyfriend and I ventured our Iron City selves across the state, through enemy territory (Philly-land), and landed dead-smack in the middle of Jager-ville. My sister, Carinne, recently went to every winery in the state and entered to win a free trip to Italy, which was to be announced at the festival.

The weekend was spent doing appropriately Jersey activities. Other than the wine festival, I popped my Jersey Shore cherry, walked down my first boardwalk, where we found ourselves surrounded by Zombies for the annual New Jersey Zombie walk (of course we pick the Zombie Walk day to go to the Shore), participated in a strongman game (not all big fatty arms me, that's laughable), found where Springsteen is from, and I found my very first starfish. And Carinne was rated 17 in the country in Buzztime Trivia. It was amazing. And that was just Saturday.

The wine festival was on Sunday and it was my first wine festival ever. Coming from a long line of winos, it's pretty remarkable I have never found myself at a wine festival. But, alas, it was true. Minus the overbearing heat (95 degrees and unbelievably humid. Insert sweat-like-a-dude here), the fest was quite enjoyable! There were tents upon tents of wineries there with all-you-can-taste wines for free. There was a cover you had to pay to get in, but my poor college kid self was ecstatic. It is pretty much the only place I did not take pictures over the weekend; I was too busy being happy about the festivities.

Not to mention the wines! As the heat was killer, the Sangria and sweet wines were life-saving. Unbeknown (is that a word?) to me, New Jersey is known for their blueberries, so the blueberry wine was a-flowing! I had also never had blueberry wine before, and I could not get enough. Delicious. I spent the afternoon in a gluttonous haze of hot weather, wine, and junk food while picnicking in New Jersey's Natirar Park, which is absolutely stunning. If you are in the area, I highly recommend going for a jog in the park. It is fantastic.

Afterward, we had a very enjoyable evening feasting on take-out Chinese food and Sushi. It was marred only by my extreme dehydration and my inability to remember the term "General Tso Chicken," as told everyone that I wanted, "Oh, I don't know what it's called, but it's my favorite chicken. I know it starts with something in the military..." If you never want to read my blog again, adios and I do not blame you.

Monday, Boyfriend, Carinne, and I explored historic Morristown, NJ just the tiniest bit. It is one of the most quaint, gorgeous, historic towns I have ever been to. I definitely want to go back and satiate my history nerd desire to explore the town and see the National landmark of the town Fort Nonsense (Oh, Jersey).

Boyfriend and I finished our weekend visiting one of his friends from school in West Chester, PA. We did not have enough time to explore the second historic town of the day (the suburbs of West Chester are on the battlefield of Brandywine Creek and is not far from Valley Forge. Actually, Boyfriend's friend's family home is on a part of the Brandywine battlefield. You have no idea how unbelievably jealous I am), but I was dying to explore. My nerdy history self was quite disappointed in the lack of exploration on this trip. However, I still managed to snap some unusual and interesting pictures of West Chester.

This is a statue called "Old Glory."

This is the second unusual building of the day. Morristown had a building for "Weights and Measures" that we did not know its purpose. This one is equally as mysterious. Farmers and Mechanics? Is it a secret club? If so, they need to work on their subtlety. What do they do in there? Discuss cows, hounds, and tractors? In which case, are lovers of country music allowed in?

This is the menu at a local restaurant in West Chester. Which is a suburb of Philadelphia. As in, the Philadelphia Flyers. As in, one of the Pittsburgh Penguins biggest rivals. I spy a Penguin on their menu. Not a Flyer. Unfortunately, I don't know who it is. It kind of looks like Miroslav Satan (look at those eyebrows-holy hell), but I really can't tell. Regardless, I am in awe of the epicness of the failure of Philadelphia.

And that was my Jersey getaway, not so much summed up as dissected and explained in excruciatingly minute detail, complete with a large amount of poorly taken pictures. I think I don't blog enough so my few posts are unreasonably long.

Fist pump.

This is a Story about an Ax

2011-05-24T09:46:00.004-04:00

But don't worry, there is nary a limb lost or blood shed.

This is also a story about boyfriends and how freaking weird they are.

As technically it is the beginning of summer here in Pittsburgh, my boyfriend decided he needed new sunglasses. This might be a little premature of him, as the only sun yet to be seen this year is a few brave rays of sunlight trying to best the thick downy cover of clouds that have settled in for the long haul. The story of the demise of his old sunglasses is a dull story in which the sunglasses in question may have been commandeered by and subsequently dropped and broken by a certain guilty girlfriend. Oops.

Anyways, in order to protect his eyeballs from the non-existent sun here, we went bargain hunting in the Poor College Kid's Mecca: Gabriel Brothers. You want mismatched clothing? You want brightly colored uncomfortable boots? You want cheap clothing with holes in them? You go to Gabe's. Yes, I have purchased all of those items before. I'm a fan of the themed parties, and off to Gabe's I go in search of a cheap costume.

So while I was wandering around the aisles, blissfully looking at hideous cheap clothing and bizarre shoes, perfect for stopping circulation to your feet, my boyfriend was trying on every and all pairs of sunglasses located in the store. After a rather long period of deciding between two markedly similar pairs of aviators, he finally made a decision.

As we were standing in line, and I was blathering about this that and the other thing, Boyfriend (unfortunately for him, calling him 'Boyfriend' is a habit I've had for years; it got to the point that all my best friends from college called him Boyfriend when he was around rather than his real name. He acts all embarrassed, but I know he is really flattered that five girls call him boyfriend.) stopped listening, as per usual, but for a more serious matter. He stood, transfixed, by the glowing set up before him. I glanced at him, and I swear I have never seen his face look more enraptured.

Lucky for him, I have a habit of carrying my little Sony camera everywhere. Not that I'm an avid, or even quality photographer, but just in case, I like to have it on me. What Boyfriend saw was the above picture. Dozens of glittering axes sitting in a cage, patiently waiting for some unsuspecting customer to make an impulse buy. Of a weapon. A bargain weapon at that. Your very own limb-cutter-offer, for the low, low price of $19.99!

As soon as Boyfriend could tear his eyes off of the sight making all of his manly man I-am-your-protector-grrr-ness going crazy, he turned towards me, eyes full of hope.

"Ohh no," I managed to get in before an onslaught of pleading and explanations took over.

"Please? Oh c'mon, why not? How cool would this be? I mean I could use it as protection from intruders. And I could go into the woods and chop stuff! 'Want a fire, honey? Well me and my ax will go and chop some wood!'" At this, he went over to the cage, plucked an ax out of the lot and held it in front of him as if it was the pick of the litter.

"And I've always said I want some suspenders," he continued. "This would be PERFECT to carry around in my TRUCK!" Steroid-infused men got nuthin' on him.

This exclamation led me to sing, "He's a lumberjack and he doesn't care," whilst jigging in the line. We were making quite the scene.

"I WANT this. For my birthday! Get this: you can even wrap it in ax paper!" He knows I'm a sucker for witticisms.

I finally managed to convince him that buying an ax when you don't have your own grown-up place yet would be pointless. And, if he really wanted an ax, he should go to Home Depot and buy a good one, not a Gabe's knock-off.

I thought the story was over. Until two days ago, when we met up with one of my best friends from from high school and her fiance to catch up and have celebratory shenanigans on our surprising successful completion of college. After several hours of chatting and reminiscing, Boyfriend poked me and hissed, "Tell them about the birthday present you're getting me! He'll understand!"

I began to recount the tale of the object of my boyfriend's desire, culminating with the showing of the picture on my camera. Male fiance looked at my friend and simply said, "Wow. Please?" After the girls stopped laughing and the men stopped high-fiving, the jokes about how necessary an ax is for one's life in the suburbs started.

The most convincing argument was, "So, there's an intruder in your house, ok?"

Between giggles, I interject, "What are they stealing?"

Glare. "Oh, I don't know. Stuff."

My friend: "Oh, no, not our stuff! Where's our ax?!"

"Exactly! That's the beauty of it! 'Oh, you're trying to steal my stuff? Meet my ax.' BOOM! Now he is disarmed. Yes. See what I did there? Disarmed? No more gun AND no more arm?" I do love those puns.

I do not understand men. Why is an ax essential to life, when you have no land in which to tend, is beyond me. But I do know that this ax thing is not over.

In Which the Birds Strike Back

2011-05-18T09:35:00.004-04:00

I have a history of hating birds. It’s a deep, all-encompassing complete loathing of those winged creatures. Where they are not feathery, they are wrinkly and scaly. They have beady little eyes and horrific, threatening beaks, and talons. Disgusting and the stuff of nightmares (Thank you, Alfred Hitchcock)

Not to mention, they do something called “molting.” Revolting.

My hatred of birds dates back to when I was pet-sitting a neighbor’s two dogs and bird when I was 12. I opened the cage to feed the bird, and suicide dive-bombed me and seized it's opportunity at freedom, squawking and screeching at me. As the beast did a victory lap around the house, I cried until my dad came to put the bird back in the cage. I never got over it.

Birds have never forgiven me either. While in Jamaica this past year, the hotel we stayed at had a couple talking parrots in cages. Neither bird liked me. Contrary to my usual state, I’m not just being paranoid, oh no. As I was walking to the beach one day to meet my friends, I stopped to talk to the chatty parakeet, Buddy. Buddy was not only not in a chatty mood, he was apparently angry. As soon as I stopped next to his cage, he climbed down from the top of his cage and started attempting to rush the cage where I was standing and spread his wings out to be threatening. Again and again and again. According to a hotel employee, he was angry about some of the colors on my cover-up. Delightful.

Again, birds and I don’t get along.

When I was two I once caught a pigeon. Maybe that’s why the dreadful accident of Monday happened. Karma, as I understand, can come back to bite ya.

I was in Oakland to get some forms filled out for grad school, and walking down Forbes Avenue, smiling at everything and feeling pretty damn good about life. Having some of my life figured out, even for the moment, is a nice change.

Anyways, I was walking near The O restaurant when I feel this whoosh feeling of air on my head. Instinct kicked in, and I ducked. In that instant, a pigeon flew from the heavens directly where my head was located a second earlier. My hair, which is a delightfully bright and obnoxious shade of auburn, which I love quite dearly is NOT to be treated as pigeon food. As much as those red-eyed devils may think so, I am not for eating. The monster landed on the ground and circled around, glaring at me with its one eye. I am still certain it was looking for a second opportunity to swipe a chunk of hair.

I could not suppress my little yelp of horror at this traumatizing event, and lifted my eyes to the two guys standing on this dreadful corner. My eyes were wide and frantic as I locked eyes with one of them.

OhmyGod, WTF, I mouthed to them, as I was still listening to the soothing sounds of Benny and the Jets via my iPod and couldn’t actually converse. They just gave me a disgusted “Ew,” look and offered no condolence. Chivalry is dead, I tell ya. Just now, as I type this, I remember I was wearing my WVU charm necklace. No wonder they gave me the impression that me and my kind are not welcome in Oakland. I’m not.

One of these things is not like the other; one of these things just doesn’t belong. What do you do when you’re the thing that doesn’t belong? And everyone and everything knows it and will do their absolute best so you know it?

You dance it out. Hello 1980’s rock music and Ray Bans!

Alma, our Alma Mater

2011-05-16T17:38:00.007-04:00

Get ready world: I am officially a West Virginia University graduate!

I had a very long and very interesting post all typed up this morning, but I saved it and I don't think blogs allow you to save posts and then go to a different page. After all that wasted effort, I really don't have much of a desire to re-type my lengthy interpretation of my graduation.

So I'll leave it to your imagination: thousands of young minds eagerly waiting for their turn to receive that hard-earned diploma, listening to the passion-filled speakers about our burgeoning futures, the charge to WVU's newest alumni to work earnestly, proud faculty and family dabbing their eyes as they see such an impressive class leaving their beloved school. The graduates seemed to glow from within...

In reality, it was long and composed mostly of the reading of every name, which may not seem like a lot, but in the largest college in the university, it took some time. The speakers, while very eloquent, were the college dean and an alumnus from 2005. To put it in perspective, last year the speaker was Bill Clinton. We're an impressive class, my ass. Most graduates spent the time texting and not listening. 90% of graduates were desperately hungover. Families started a cheering competition in which the loudest one just let their graduate know they were there. Cow bells were rung. It could have been worse, as the graduate sitting next to me pointed out, they could be playing vuvzelas. Well done not playing into the stereotype, West Virginia, well done. The crowd was so dense, I waved vigorously to a group of people who screamed out my name, hoping it wasn't some other graduates family who happens to have my name.

Honestly, it was a nice ceremony. The dean did a good job of speaking; keeping it short and sweet to give enough time to read the names. The charge to the alumni was fabulous; he indeed spoke poignantly and passionately. When I stood to change my tassel over to the left and was officially awarded my degree was the only time I was near tears and had to furiously blink them back to avoid mascara-filled disaster. Afterward, I met my family and friends at the Jerry West statue, which was a poor idea in itself. The statue was the only place I knew at the Coliseum. As it turns out, it's also the only place everyone knows at the Coliseum. I win. Pictures, pictures, pictures, hugs, hugs, hugs, congrats, congrats, congrats, and my career at West Virginia is over.

Relief? Sadness? Excitement? Let's go with an unfortunate conflicting hodge-podge of all three.

But the best was yet to come! I badgered, whined, pleaded, and bargained until I convinced a whopping 15 family members to go, including my boyfriend, my sister and her boyfriend, who had to drive ten hours in a day to get there and get home to Jerz for work today. I owe them. My family, as we were not staying in Morgantown for the day could not be bothered with the amount of traffic associated with graduation, decided to tailgate in the Coliseum one last time while we waited. We had fold-up chairs, cheese, crackers, pretzels, chips, and the most important ingredient: six bottles of wine, which we drank out of plastic goblets. We keep it classy. It was actually my favorite part of the day, just hanging out and relaxing; it was a nice change from the stress of the previous two days. I had a blast with my family; we know how to have fun.

All in all, it was a great graduation. The ceremony coupled with the celebratory shenanigans after (and a brief reprieve from the continuous rain plaguing this part of the country for what feels like forever) was the perfect way to say good-bye to my four years of relative independence.

Let's give a rah for West Virginia

And let us pledge her anew,
Others may be black or crimson,
but for us it's Gold and Blue.
Let all our troubles be forgotten,
Let college spirit rule,
We'll join and give our loyal efforts
For the good of our old school.

It's West Virginia, It's West Virginia
The Pride of every Mountaineer.
Come on you old grads, join with us young lads,
It's West Virginia now we cheer!
Now is the time, boys, to make a big noise
No matter what the people say,
For there is naught to fear; the gang's all here,
So hail to West Virginia, hail!
-"Hail West Virginia"

Three Strikes You're Out

2011-05-14T09:59:00.004-04:00

Two days ago, as I was casually playing online Drinking Scrabble with my sister, Carinne of Waffle Snob, she sends me an oh-too-familiar link.

My blog from high school.

I glared at the link, feeling my chest get tight, sweat beading on my brow from anxiety, my fingers twitching from fear. I clicked on the link...

Ok, so I just made that up. But I really did not want to read the musings of my angst-filled emotastic 17-year-old self. My memory of myself from high school is one of a shy, frizzy-haired, whiny, stereotypical teenager who thought my life was over every other day. Oh, who also, shocker of shockers, hated high school and everything associated with it. Spare me.

The last thing I wanted to do was deviate from my super-cool and not-even-almost-nerdy game of Scrabble and read: "Ohmigod, you will NOT believe what my bff Blah-blah-blah did to me yesterday. She hit on the guy I like, Wuh-wuh-wuh! She is SUCH a bitch! I cannot even BELIEVE we were EVER friends..." (Again, exaggeration. But only slightly this time.)

But, curiosity, as it always does, raised it's damn head again. I just had to click on the link. How else would I know just how miserable I truly was back then?

I clicked on the link, and was actually pleasantly surprised. I used commas, and semi-colons, and periods appropriately! Grammar! I occasionally used words with two, even three syllable words sometimes! Vocabulary! Best of all, there was not one "ohmigod," "totally," "like," or "my life is overrrr" to be seen! Dare I say it, I was borderline intelligent? Now, that isn't to say I was interesting; oh hell no. The content left something to be desired. I wrote quite a long epic post about walking my dog. And my last post was on my senior class schedule. Hardly the stuff of literary geniuses.

So that whole long post about nothing, means simply: I'm back! With a slightly more advanced grasp on grammar and a few more multiple-syllable words under my belt, and a college degree to boot. This blog will discuss what life has to offer after graduation.

More importantly, this blog will discuss what will happen in my life after graduation.

Let's play catch-up, shall we? And then I SWEAR I'm done writing this God-forsakenly long post.

As of tomorrow, I am a proud graduate of West Virginia University where I received my B.A. in History. Wow, I'm sure you find yourself thinking, what kind of loser gets a History degree in this economic climate? Right you are, reader! In the beginning of my senior year, despite my pretty good grades and several jobs so my resume is all spiffed up, I had no marketable talents to find a career. Nor did I particularly want to become some office drone, a la Pam from The Office.

Did some soul searching, and I realized what I want to do with my life, which included getting my masters degree. So I started the annoying, and grueling process to apply for masters programs. I started school as this major, and dropped out because, as previously noted, I was still a little too emotastic and self-centered at age 20 to want to try anything resembling a career. So I knew what I was in for. Still wasn't fun.

God, I love narrating my own life, don't I? Ok-skip forward a few months.

I am now going to the University of Pittsburgh for graduate school. I am going to Mountaineer Hell for this. I have accepted that fact.

So here I am, rejuvenated blogger, five years later. High school diploma, forthcoming college diploma, lotsa "Cheers, Beers, and Mountaineers!" chants ingrained in me. In the same place I left you. Living at home. Going to school in Pittsburgh. Talking about nothing for long periods of time. I've come so far.

Get a beer; you'll need it for this one.

My schedule!

2006-08-17T11:16:00.000-04:00

Ok so I finally have my schedule cause I dropped AP Econ and the school decided to ignore me so I had to go and get it fixed. For a while I didn't think I was going to have a lunch first semester, but I did. That makes me pretty happy. Anyways...

1. Lab/study hall
2. AP Bio
3. Spanish 5
4. AP Lit
5. gym
6. AP Calc
7. LUNCH! (finally, doesn't my morning suck?)
8. Honors Econ
9. Chorus

Leave a message on my IM or leave a comment if you have a class with me....I don't remember who all I have classes with...

I know, this post sucked, but this blog is pretty much dead anyways. But if something relatively exciting happens, you know I'll at least think about posting it.

2006-05-29T16:58:00.000-04:00

And I found myself sitting on two (one neon yellow and one neon pink) four dollar intertubes around a fire ring with no fire in it, humming absentmindedly along with "Funky Town," staring at a grey golf cart with flames on it with the inscription "It's Ducky Time!" written along the back end, in a place called Little Mexico, wondering how I got myself here.

We Parks like our little share of the country. We'll go camping every couple times a summer and have rootin'-tootin' good time. Little Mexico, however, is one experience that I will never duplicate. The place is is central PA, ok? The first thing you see when you pull onto Little Mexico Road (oh no, I'm not kidding, that's the road's real name) is a huge pen with, I'm not even joking, two emu/ostrich type things and a bull or a bison with huge horns (no one knew what it was) right next to a huge buchering store. Ironic, no? Other than that, the place looks pretty average, a lot of happy campers out for a long Memorial Day weekend with very limited technology (I was tethered to my cell phone with no bars hoping for reception the entire time) but they're ok with that.

The real charm of Little Mexico lies not with the bison, or emu, or even the sheep which look like they haven't been shaved for over a year which baa back if you baa at it (yeah, I was really bored.), but with what I shall lovingly call the Beerbelly-Mullet-Redneck-Die-Hard-Horseshoe Competition. As I sorta mentioned, there is very little to do while camping, other than rafting down the river in four dollar intertubes and walking back (which I did for about an hour), eating, sit by the fire, play Pinocle, play Sequence, eat more, and clean up. Needless to say, me and Aimee were super-bored (see sheep comment...), so when my dad and Steve, the other family's dad, whos family we were camping with, went to participate in a horseshoe tornament, we went over to cheer them on.

There were eleven teams of two and spectators (I never thought I'd see the day when there were two horseshoe pits with freaking bleachers next to it so people could watch. But I did. My dad's team was #9 so we had to wait a while. In the waiting time, we were amazed by all the strange assortment of people there. Having a beer belly seemed to be a requisite. Other than that, there was: a dyed mullet, an old man wearing a Confederate flag hat (central PA, people, it seemed weird to me), many shirtless guys, all with beer bellies, of course, and all were rednecks. Now, I'm not trying to be mean, because they were nice, except when we cheered for my dad and Steve because no one else was cheering for anyone they told us we were too loud...or maybe they were just annoyed because my dad and Steve were winning. Either way, it was a strange assortment of people. So we sat there for three hours, watching as my dad and Steve played a total of three games, and in the meantime, went for many a B-double E-double R-U-N, beerrun. In total, we figured that we brought my dad eight beers, while we brought Steve 12 (he was on his 7th when we started bringing him some. Then other people gave him some, and once the competition was done he had more. We thought he had somewhere between 20-30 beers. He was pretty smashed.)

So after the three hours of sitting out in 80 degree weather, me and Aimee were really burnt. So we demanded money for being faithful cheerleaders so we could go to Rita's. Being as we were the only ones with a licence who wasn't totally smashed, we were sent on various other errands too. When we got back, fully five hours after the competition started, we were told that the men just finished. They came in second and got nothin'. If they had won, they would have gotten a grand total of $24. Steve had nearly drank more beers than that.

Other than that, most of the weekend consisted of drunk adults (my dad actually said to Aimee,while playing a card game, who was jumping around because she was going to win, "Calm down! What are you doing, about to orgasm?" Yeah, that was good.), card games, bug bites, and being just all-around gross. Actually, more things did happen, like the time when I was getting out of the river from laying in my intertube for a long time into knee-high sinking mud where I lost a flip-flip. But that's a different story for a different time.

(P.S. I think I've made a record for having a blog this long and not making an entry...)

Friday the 13th

2006-01-13T15:05:00.000-05:00

So, a new post! It only took me, what, 20 days to the day? Wow, good one Alex! You can tell when you need to update your blog more (not that anyone is really a devout reader here) when you type in the website link in and the little box underneath it doesn't come up with the rest of the link when you're halfway through typing it like all your favorite sites do, like my e-mail and lame icon sights because I constantly need a new icon for AIM...I'm just weird like that.

Anyways, it's Friday the 13th ladies and gents! My personal favorite day in the 'weird days' category; like Groundhog Day, and Makeout Day, and Hamburger Day (which I don't know is actually a day but I bet it is), and you get the picture. I seriously love this day because while everyone else believes that today is the day most likely to die, fall down the steps, break a leg, arm, vase, etc, I consider this day lucky. And, no, I'm not just trying to be one of those 'I'm different from everyone else because I reject people!' sort of folks, I just like the day. Proof is that today in Lit, I won Vocabulary Bingo. I know, I know, 'So what?' you're thinking. But wait, it gets better. Not only did I win Vocabulary Bingo, I won Vocabulary Bingo...TWICE! Ooh la la. I did not end up winning the signed Hines Ward jersey, though...which is a pity because he definitely rocks my socks.

But this post will get better though, I promise. While we're on the subject of the Steelers, you know how Big Ben Roethlisberger's called that like that big clock tower in London is called the Big Ben, right? One of our Vocabulary words was allusion and one of the examples was Big Ben the man and the clock. Up until that point I honestly thought he's called that because he's a big dude, right? Like Big Ben, Little Alex? I seriously thought that. Then it made sense. I was one of those kids that do the loud, "Ooohh!" in the middle of class for no apparent reason except something just clicked. But this is when the story gets good (and if you don't like this one there's another one that should be better, but I royally suck at storytelling so maybe not). So last night at work, this guy came in with this huge duffel bag of Steeler stuff. T-shirts, blankets, hats, watches, flags, the list went on and on. And because it wasn't 'official NFL' wear it was super cheap. I bought a T-shirt for $5, and when you only have $6 total, that is a very good bargain. So I bought this shirt (I had no choice; all the rest were adult XL and L, and I barely fit into an adult small, this one was a kid size 14) that's black and it says 'Big Ben' and there's a picture of Big Ben the guy and Big Ben the clock and some of the city of London and it says on the bottom 'The time is now.' Clock, time, Big Ben. Get it? I felt pretty good that I actually understood the shirt before I bought it thanks to normally useless vocabulary.

And then, this morning, my bedroom is right across the hall from the bathroom. My dog's cage is in my bedroom, ok? Just to get the scene set. So I have the radio on in my room with my usual morning wake-up music (either a mix or My Chemical Romance currently) and I leave the room, turn off the light and shut the door so I can brush my teeth, right across the hall. My mum comes out of her bedroom and said, "Um, Alex? You realize that you left your radio on, turned off the light, and locked your dog in your room in the dark?" My dog was sleeping in her cage when I had left. My mum opened my door and gave me a mean look.

"Well, I did know about the radio because I'm just going to brush my teeth, I'll be right back, but no, about Lana, I didn't know. Sorry."

"Alex, let me tell you a story."

"Alrighty then."

"So my friend has a two-year-old, and you know how toddlers don't speak all that well right?"

"Uh-huhh..." I replied wondering where this was going.

"Well, his favorite toy is a dump truck. Except he cant exactly say dump truck. What he says is dumb f***." Ok, so I don't think I'm allowed to actually say what she said online but it rhymes with truck and starts with an f. Got it? Even I can figure this out, y'all (with all this 60 degree weather we're having, I'm an honorary red neck. Yee-haw.).

Ok anyways, my mom goes, "Alex, that's what you're being right now."

Oooouch. Like she was just kidding, but who wants to be called a dumb f***? Even less by your mom! I felt kind of bad about myself. But I still thought it was funny too. That's just the sort of messed up person I really am. So I told all my friends about what happened and they laughed and told me I was hilarious, and asked why this sort of crazy shit happened to me. 'Who else would it happen to?' is all I could say. And then we have to do comments(stand up in front of the class and say something...pretty much anything actually) in my Lit class and they all thought it was pretty funny too. So either I am really funny (someone even told me I should go into stand up. Right. They've never read my el suck-o blog-o) or people pity my life.

But that is my post for today and I'm wearing the Big Ben shirt that I understand and am cheering them on on Sunday (I know you will be too)...oh, yeah, someone came to school today with a Colts jersey on. Do they really want to get their ass kicked? Seriously, when in Rome do as the Romans do. And if you want to stay alive, cheer no one but the Black and Gold.

And we have a three day weekend and I only have to work Sunday night in all four nights which makes me pretty happy. But I've spent enough useless time of your life filling you up with stories that you didn't want to know already.

I would think of some clever thing to say in Espanol, but that would require being clever, which I'm sort of lacking in that area.

Dog walking

2005-12-23T10:47:00.000-05:00

Walking my dog is not only an experience; it is a lesson that will never be forgotten. Some is her fault, and most is mine. So my mom got mad at me because I was sitting in my room watching TV and not doing anything so she said either I had to clean my room or take the dog for a walk. I don't really care if my room looks like a tornado ripped through it or not, so out me and my dog went. Somewhere along the line, we lost my dog's normal leash. When I say 'we' I mean 'me' because no one else takes her for walks. But anyways, we're left with the 20 foot obnoxiously purple leash or the highlighter yellow leash the Humane Society gave us when we bought her. I chose the yellow.

So we go walking around the normal neighborhood and if anyone has ever walked a dog in the winter can sympathize with me, that it is easier to walk a dog in the summer, not only because it is too hot for the dog to pull on the leash but when they take four pisses in one person's lawn, the owner is oblivious. When the yellow stain on the otherwise white snow accompanied by dog tracks, hiding it is slightly more difficult. While Lana didn't pee four times in one person's lawn she did pee in four separate people's lawns. How dogs have so much stored inside of them, I will never know. But some guy did see her pee in his neighbor's lawn when my attention wavered due to one of those vulgar blow-up Santa decorations that people put in their lawns that they call 'cute.' So Lana and I were forced to dash away, dash away, dash away all. She also pulled and pulled and pulled until my wrist was red from her and she couldn't breathe normally, just gasping wheezing breaths of someone having an asthma attack.

unfortunately, that is not the worst. Considering how Christmas is two days away (and it's 43 degrees outside and it's supposed to rain on Christmas...what's this world coming to?) and most people have Christmas decorations up in every variation. Including those wooden white reindeer with those red bows. Five separate times, the hair on the back of my dog's neck rose (and so did the hair right before her tail, but not in between, my dog's so weird) and she dragged me to the side of the street so she could growl and bark at those strange creatures that don't move but might be threatening.

But, sadly enough, the worst is yet to come. And it is not Lana's doing. Considering it is Christmas and an excess of Christmas cookies and eggnog is constantly in my system, that might be the only explanation of what I did. So we were about half way done with the walk, and my arm is aching from constantly yanking Lana back from chasing wooden reindeer, licking the melting snow, eating the melting snow and the like. I wondered what Lana would be like as a guide dog. Maybe if I pretended I couldn't see, she would stop pulling and just walk normally. We were walking down a side road, not like there were going to be any cars or people or anything watching me, so what the hell right? Wrong. Way wrong. I shut my eyes, one hand still attached to my dog, and the other hand stretched out way in front of me, like...well, like a 17-year-old pretending she can't see. What I soon learned was that no one over the age of, um, 11 should do that because not only did a car come right at me and I nearly didn't see it, but a few little kids were out playing in their yard and they started stretching their hands in front of them and took robot steps with their eyes closed and then pointed and laughed. I, once again, ran away.

It was almost as embarrassing as the time a few days ago when my sister and I went shopping for my brothers at Kohl's and I somehow got lost in women's robes (how do I get myself in these situations) and thought my sister was right behind me so I started yelling, "Carinne. Carinne! Where are you?!" Until the 80 year-old saleswomen asked me if I was lost, sweetie. Then she walked away again and I thought I saw her and was halfway through saying, "No, dad didn't call us but I don't---you're not Carinne," when I realized it was not my maroon haired sister, but a middle-aged woman with a toddler who was laughing at me. Bad things just happen to me, what can I say?

But it's Christmas, and the Steelers are playing tomorrow so Merry Christmas to all!

Semaine Français

2005-11-17T18:09:00.000-05:00

French Week in Shaler Area is a sight to behold. Now, all of you Shalerites know how strange it is. Most schools would not call it normal to have pictures of girls drawn on the walls doing the Can-Can in fluffy skirts and having their hair tied back, which more looks like a flag than actual hair, nor is it normal to walk down the Language hallway to have huge (and when I say huge I mean like longer than a classroom huge) drawings of different shop-fronts from the main street in old Paris. Now, get me straight, I'm not bashing anything. If you think I'm making fun of the artist who drew (has drawn? Hell if I know; grammar and spelling are for pompous people) those Can-Caning girls, or the architect who painted the Moulon Rouge on the window of our cafeteria, or all of the shopfronts, consisting of Virgin Mobile Megastore, and some cafes that I can't even pretend to know how to pronounce, or Sephora, or of course, the Eiffel Tower, you're sadly mistaken, my friend. Anyone who has gotten a note from moi knows that art is not my special talent (I seem to be unable to give a note to a friend without one stick-figure with crazy-ass hair depicting anyone from myself, to a teacher, to anyone I have basically ever known. It's just what I do to spice up an otherwise boring-as-all-get-out note. If I could somehow put stick-figures in everyone of these posts, rest assured that I would.).

But the best thing to behold on French Week is that I do believe it started on a Wednesday (starting on the beginning of the week just makes too much sense, it's too easy to predict then), when I was casually strolling down the Lanuage hallway, trying to get to my Sociology class, when I passed Madame Maiser's room. Those of whom who do not have French don't know that Madame is about....Well I don't know, but she is not a young woman anymore. Walking down the hallway, staring at all of these huge posters of places you've never been to and not even heard of that seemed to have put themselves up overnight (because they did), and all of a sudden all you can hear is the Can-Can blaring out of the French room. Even that is, you know, copable? Able to be coped with? I dunno. Give me a break, it's a week before Thanksgiving (37 days until Christmas! I'm excited!) and all I seem to be able to think about is turkey and chocolate cake.

Anyways, hearing the Can-Can out of the French room is able to be dealt with, I mean, it is Shaler and stranger things have happened, I can tell you. Actually, I can't. I am unable to think of one semi-interesting/shocking thing that would make a random song coming out of a room seem ordinary. But anyways, what throws me for a loop is hearing not-quite-so-young Madame Maiser singing and dancing along to said song. My mouth drops open, and all I Can-Can do is laugh. I keep on moving and laughing, which turns out not to be the smartest move ever because I'm walking alone and people tend to stare at the girl who laughs for no reason.

Oh, well. All I can say is rock on to the French people, because they can pull it off. If Spanish tried it, no one would care nor help (I'm living proof of that. Ask me to help put up signs of famous Spanish/Mexican landmarks all around the school, you better brace yourself because you're going to be getting laughed at.), and no one really cares about Latin. I'm sorry, erm, Latin-ers, but they don't. The only reason anyone takes it is for the SAT's, am I right? And if Japanese people tried to put Anime people all over the walls? With all the Gothic and not-so nice people, and well, just un-cooperative people in Shaler(more specifically, me), I really don't think it'd wash. If I insulted your language, I apologize, because I know you're very attached to the subject you're learning, but it's only my opinion. Which is kind of why I started this blog. To whine about things that happens to me and tell strange things that don't always necessarily happen to me, but simply talk about it. Maybe I just started this to talk. That sounds reasonable.

Well, unless something absolutely amazing happens at work this weekend (I think I'm working all three nights again, what joy), I doubt I'll post again before Thanksgiving, and beware: at this time of year I go Christmas-happy. So for the next four weeks, my posts will probably all consist of something related to Christmas. I'm just that obsessed, and it happens. Anyways, have a good Thanksgiving to all and don't kill yourself playing a Turkey Bowl (us girls are too fragile to play...)

P.S. I still suck at Powderpuff. And if you didn't know, I think I posted this last time but I don't care, come support Juniors this Monday night, 6:00 on the HS Turf. Be there! Actually, you'll be able to pick me out because I was absent from school today and didn't get a jersey, so I'll be the chick who's sharing several people's jersey...For the total of like once I go in.

Anyways, Adios (I can't seem to be able to end this damn post)...Or should I say, Au revoir?

Powderpuff, baby!

2005-11-09T16:44:00.000-05:00

Well, it's that time of year again, ladies and gents. Powderpuff football! In last years fiasco, the Juniors got their asses handed to them when they lost to the Seniors 27-zippo. This year, us Juniors swear that it'll be different, I mean, can we can't out-do last year's Juniors...The only thing is, for as long as we can remember, all the Juniors swear that this year will be the year that changes things. This year will be the year that the Juniors kick the crap out of the Seniors, rather than the other way around. Last year, I sat in Spanish listening to all the Juniors brag about how good they are and how they're going to win, and we already mentioned the end of that game....But the point is, everyone's saying the same thing this year. All of my friends swear that we will end the curse, and we'll win, and I can't pretend that I don't say that, because it's all part of the game.

So, anyways. Today was the first practice. There are three practices for two hours. Do you expect us to be any good? I figure the Seniors are always better because they got three more practices than the Juniors...Even if it was a year ago. So I decided that I should be a receiver. Can I catch you ask? On a good day. Can I throw? God, NO! Any wonder I didn't try out for quarterback? I realize I'm fast...So if by some un-Godly chance the ball gets thrown to me, and , even more unlikely, I catch it, chances are I can out-run most people. It's the catching stuff that gets me. We learned the Hitch, Slant, and, well, I can't remember the other one, but it's the one when you fake down the sideline and I'm pretty sure it starts with 'F.' The Hitch and Slant I can do, but the other one? Oh, man. We were practicing them (along with which side you had to go on...That was confusing if anything ever was), and one of our coaches (all the Junior football players took it upon themselves to try to teach us), Marcus, decided that I should do the long one just so he could throw the ball down field to hit one of his friends. That was great. But our coaches were really nice. Todd told everyone they did good, even those who sucked *cough, me cough*, and gave a genuine effort to teach us the right thing. Marcus just kind of supported him and was a laugh. I told Marcus that I was not a quarterback after my attempt at throwing the ball back at Todd and all he said was, "I think everyone has figured that out by now." Just smile and nod...

Then we tackled defense. Ha! That was great. I am not someone who can tackle at will. I am not someone who can even try to stay with someone. It just doesn't work. That's all I need to say about defense. I'm an offender and that's that.

Actually, the most fun was when they threw the ball down the field and everyone had to try and get the ball. It always ends up in a huge freaking pile-up, when everyone just jumps on each other, really. Hence the name "Tackle the man." But I got there first, but being a munchkin, I sorta got picked up...And someone ran off with it. I was also the one at the bottom of the pile, getting there first. That was quite fun, let me tell you. It was sort of a negative.

But maybe everyone else is good. We're supposed to get equal time, but somehow the groups got put into 'popular' and 'not.' I was part of 'not.' Laz, the actual coach, said that we're all supposed to get equal time but when there's 20 receivers alone, it's just not going to happen. If I go in once, I'll be one happy camper. Someone said that there already was a list made up, and I'm sure I'm not one of them. It was made before the practice, and this just reinforced it. I promise though, I don't mean to whine. If you think I joined up because I was actually good, you're sadly mistaken. I suck and I know it. I'm just there for a good time.

But if you're bored on Monday the 21st, come out and watch us. We normally get a pretty packed house, will all the guys just wanting to watch girls play football and all the girls trying to see the Seniors get their asses whipped. Plus all the parents. But if you come, bring some dollars 'cause it costs something because all the money goes to Breast Cancer. So it's for a good cause. And if you do decide coming is the thing to do, make sure you bring a sign that is neon-pink with orange letters screaming, "ALEX PARK IS A BEAST!" Just kidding, but keep it in mind....lol.

Make sure you support the JUNIORS of '07 because we're great.

And some chocolate covered pretzels are calling my name so I'll give you another interesting story some other day!

P.S. If you know anything at football and are willing to coach a short, bad-catching Junior, leave a comment. Or just leave your support. Comments are always appreciated!

Open War

2005-11-02T16:43:00.000-05:00

I have declared open warfare on 1/3 up to 1/2 of my household. My father has decided that Spanish class is brilliant work, even through my mother and I insist that Isreal is, indeed, a nutcase. That, no matter how many times you say it, or try it, learning about how to put your suitcase in a baggage claim in a Spanish-speaking country, I will never care about the words dealing with an airport in Spanish. Never.

The whole point of this is that this weekend, the entire Park Clan is going up to visit my sister. And I'm not saying 'the clan' figuratively, oh no. My grandparents and my aunt and uncle are coming down with us. We're staying in my other uncle's house. The entire clan. Now, don't get me wrong, I love my family. It's just, I don't want to be driving down the Turnpike with an entire slew of cars behind us, looking like a bloody caravan. No thanks. I don't mind that they're coming, it is Carinne's birthday after all, but right now, more than ever, I wish I could take a vacation away from my family. Go to Mexico with my friends. If I had the money, I would definitely want to. Anyone want to pay the way for a girl to go to Mexico? Anyone? At all? Oh well, it was worth a shot.

You're probably wondering how Spanish class fits into all of this, hmm? Oh, it's good stuff. Well, because my father felt generous, actually he probably wanted to miss the traffic, he offered to get us out of school at noon. Now, the rest of the paragraph goes with the 'fortuanetly' 'unfortunately' book that everyone reads in second grade. Fortunately, I'm in Spanish at noon. Unfortunately, one of my brothers is in-between classes at noon and the other is in lunch. My dad said that he would pick them up first and me last. I told him to pick me up early, at 11:30 and I can go pick them up at the end of the period. Oh no. That would be the smart thing to do. The rest of the conversation gets very angry and ends with, "I've made my decision and that's final. If you want to argue anymore, Alex, I will only get angry."

"FINE! Fine! Make me miserable! Make me miss the only three classes I actually like! Make me suffer through the hellish class dubbed 'Spanish Four.' " (Ok, so I improvised here, but you get the picture.)

"If you want to go to those classes so much you can have a whole day and stay home for the weekend!" If I was intelligent, I would have said fine and proceeded to have a party after all had left. But, as all of you know, I am not smart. The thrilling idea didn't occur to me until I was driving Cameron to swimming, but I wish I was just a bit quicker. Like 45 minutes quicker.

So that is my tirade against Spanish, Ms. Isreal, and my father. But, oh no! The whining continues! It's like one of those bad movies, it just won't end. Anyways....

My little brother, the angel, as most of the world sees him, is a crapface. And that's being nice. He did not want to go to swim practice so badly that he would not drop it until I flipped out and started yelling. This is after the Spanish incident, of course. So my blood pressure is high enough anyways, add a whiney 12 year old who has the world at their beck and call. (Older siblings, don't the youngest ones on your nerves? Youngest ones, don't piss off the older ones, they will eventually get payback...somehow. Remember, our older brains can think of payback in ways you can't fathom. Ok, so we try but then you tell on us and we get in trouble again. Middle children, get out while you still can. You never win. Beleive me, I know. You're not their first baby, nor their last baby, you're just baby. And that's not good.) Then he called my parents so he could get his way. Wonderful.

Gah. I know reading about someone bitching is not so fun, but I had to get this out and all of my friends know how angry I am. Maybe anger management might be a good idea....I already tried screaming into a pillow. No result except my throat hurts. If you have any good suggestions on releasing my-family-is-driving-me-up-the-wall anger, please need a comment. And anything short of a long vacation to Aruba, I will be willing to try.

So until next time, I'll hopefully figure out how to put some pictures of my beautiful new car (which I'm already grounded from, cringe) and maybe this weekend. I just need to figure out how.

No title fits this

2005-10-23T11:12:00.000-04:00

So. This is not another one of those weird Alex's Life days. It's not at all amusing, but it's true. There's no other way than to just spit it out and state what happened. If you're not a fan of bad things happening, then I'd advise against reading this. Also, if it seems like I'm whining, I truely don't mean to, it's just really hard not to.

So, on with the show. Saturday morning, I was planning to go running with my friend Kelly around Hartwood Acres. If you remember, it was rainy and shitty out yesterday. It was damp and slippery, and all the leaves falling off the trees just makes it worse, especially when you're going around bends.

Well, I was on my merry way, singing along to the radio, driving along Butler Plank Rd, when I noticed that I was too close to the guard rail. I did the stupidest thing I have ever done in my life. I jerked the wheel. I can't tell you how many times my parents have told me that jerking the wheel is the absolute worst thing you could do, just easily move the wheel over. Well, if you jerk the wheel, it's slippery out and you're going around a bend, you will lose control of your car. I did. My car went headfirst into a telephone pole. The hood is bent, the airbags popped, the front grate fell off; I totaled my car.

Right after I jerked the wheel I knew it was coming. I started screaming like there was no tomorrow, and I could see that damn solid telephone pole straight in front of me, and knew I couldn't get away. It's a horrible feeling knowing that you're going into something that could hurt you really bad; you know the outcome when wood is against metal, and wood always wins. After the initial hit, I didn't feel anything. I think I went into shock. The impact of the crash didn't hurt at all, neither did the seatbelt when it dug into my neck and left a burn. I've heard that the airbags can do some serious damage, but I didn't feel anything. The first thing I actually felt is, "Get the hell out of here!" I ran out, and though it was raining and about 50 degrees, I wasn't cold...or feel the wetness.

It was the worst day of my life. It stunk like bloody hell in there. All the smoke from my ruined engine, the airbags, everything was just surreal. I could say that it was like a movie, but it wasn't. I jumped out of that car like I was on fire, and this man who was working on the Glenshaw Vally Presbyterian Church across the street from where I wrecked, ran over and asked if I was ok. I was crying and freaking out, wondering what in God's name my father was going to do to me, considering how I haven't had my licence for even a year and I've hit someone's car in my school's parking lot in our SUV and totaled my own car. My life was over. A very nice lady also pulled over, while I was calling my dad and offered to call the police for me. Both the lady and the carpender tried to console me and told me that at least I was okay, and that my dad would be happy that I was alive rather than my car(which technically is his car because he paid for it) was totaled.

We got one of those neon orange triangles out of my emergency equipment thing in my trunk to tell people to watch out. Of course, they slowed down and stared at me until I glared back so they jerked their heads away and pretended they weren't staring. Accidents bring out the best people and the biggest jagg-offs.

The police came, and were very nice to me, asked what happened, asked if I was okay. Even though I said I was fine, they called the medics just to be safe. They grabbed my licence and my insurance card (thank God I decided to run back to my room and grab my wallet that day).

My dad finally showed up about 15 minutes after the initial accident, because he was waiting for my neighbor, who is a mechanic to get ready so he could check out the car. It was futile, because my car is dead. I sufficiently killed it. Which my sister says is a good thing because she dispised that car anyways, and someone had to do it.

All in all though, I was incredibly lucky. I wasn't hurt at all, neither was anyone else, excepting the considerable crack I put in the telephone pole. It was very close too. If any of you have driven down Butler Plank, you know where the guardrail stops, there's a telephone pole and...the creek. If I hadn't hit the pole, I would have been in the creek, and possibly flipped over...and we don't need to go into the 'what ifs'.

All I know is that I'm out of a car, but I'm alive. I'd rather be out of a car and just shocked than hurt. I wish I could say that this has been a near-death experience, which it has, which would make me a better person and realize that I need to live life at it's fullest, but I don' t think it has. I'm just the same old Alex and I don't think I've changed at all. But I'm glad I'm not dead.

Devil shoes

2005-10-13T14:58:00.000-04:00

Today's story is one of those I-can't-beleive-I'm-her-friend-why-did-I-decide-that-she-seemed-normal posts. Oh get ready, it's fun stuff.

So. This morning, I woke up at the standard, six AM. I was getting ready to do the standard, a boring tee-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops. But no. I decide that I need to be preppy, I guess the word is, yank on the pink and white shirt with my black 'wink wink' shirt and a skirt. But, if you've ever talked to me ever, you'd know that I'm a shoe girl. I love new shoes, buying shoes, wearing high heels, envying over other people's shoes that I want, stealing my mothers really awesome high heels (my mom's over 40, she should be wearing sensible beige colored pumps with a small heel, but no. She wears the beastliest shoes known since Sex and the City, so I steal them...and give them back without her knowledge before she comes home from work hee hee), the whole nine yards. In a nutshell, I love shoes. So to make my outfit perfect, I threw on my 4.5-5 inch, blue, pointy-toed (which I was told a fancy word for them, but I can't remember what it was), slightly too big so my foot was sliding in and out the whole day shoes. I thought they were pretty dandy, and they just made the outfit. I was slightly more than a bit happy with my outfit, the hair and makeup are a different story; one, for the sake of causing mass fright, I shan't mention here, but if you go to Shaler, you've seen me and...well, let's just leave it at that.

So I get to school and nothing worth mentioning happens until right before second period, I had a double Physics (groan, Piv for 80 minutes followed by Zyhowski. Puke, puke, puke) and in-between periods, me and a friend were going to get some food because I was pretty darn hungry. Whenever I was sitting down, I would yank off my shoes and just go barefoot in the class. I never participate or move out of my seat so it doesn't matter really. But anyways, we basically needed to leave as the bell was ringing so we'd be back on time, not that it would matter, because Piv doesn't really care if we're late. But anyways, I was whining about getting my shoes back on because my feet were basically aching by then and then I had the brilliant idea: I just wouldn't put them on.

"EWWW! How GROSS! This floor is NASTY! Why would you want to do that?!?!"

"Have you ever worn shoes like this? No. I'm the crapface who thought it was okay, so I'll just carry my shoes and put them on when we get to the Titan Shop."

Walking there passed without incident until, "Where are your shoes?" I turned around to see some teacher giving me the highschoolers-are-discusting look.

"Right here." I raise my hand to show her Satan's shoes.

"Oh, I thought that you just decided not to wear shoes today. You do know that guys spit on the floor-right?"

"Yes, but I also know that my feet have never hurt so bad. So I would rather not wear shoes and walk on a dirty floor. I shower, it's okay." She gave me one of those weird searching looks, just to see if I was mocking her I think, and walked away.

So that was weird. Then I got to European History and someone said how cute my shoes were. My response? "They hurt sooo bad."

"They're cute though."

"I knooow, but they huuurt." I whined like a six-year-old wanting candy. Thankfully, they thought it was funny, and laughed rather than giving me weird looks.

By the time ninth period rolled around, I was limping like I couldn't feel my right leg, and stomping like I was out to kill each and every bug that would be so unfortunate to come underneath my beast of a heel. Thankfully, it was Chorus, and they have carpet in there and everyone with painful shoes take them off anyways, so I was saved...until the final bell rung.

I decided by that point, my feet were damaged enough anyways, so I took them off and started walking down the hall. I would have skipped except that skipping and mini-skirts don't mix.

This is the only pair of shoes that I can honestly say that if they 'accidentally' got thrown into my fireplace and burned, I wouldn't cry. Every other shoe, open the floodgates. I would throw them out, but I have a thing for shoes. Will I ever wear these again? Nooo. Should I throw them out? Yes. Will I? Noo. Why? Because I can't. I bought them, I'm keeping them until forced to be parted with them. Yes, that is how attached I am to Satan's shoes. Or all shoes for that matter.

But other than that, I've been in a super-Christmasy mood, watching Home Alone 2 yesterday and this morning (I used to be convinced I'd marry Mcally Calkin someday...then he got gross and greasy and wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole.) and currently have "It's beginning to look alot like Christmas" stuck in my head, which I just belted out for the whole neighborhood to hear while I was taking my dog outside. But it's not Christmas for another few months and there aren't any good Halloween songs (excepting the Nightmare Before Christmas songs) so might as well make the best of it!

Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree, for me. Been an awful good girl, Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight...

Fall festivities

2005-10-10T15:39:00.000-04:00

So my sister and her boyfriend came home for the weekend. Carinne had a whole plan for the weekend, including just about everything-from going to the Homecoming parade, visiting family, going shopping, and more. Let me tell you this: my sister was more excited to go to the parade than anything I'd ever seen before; my sister is band dork through and through. She told me that her and her friend already planned what instruments their kids will play what seat they'll be to if they become drum major or not. For that, I told her that my children are forbidden to play instruments.

But anyways, yesterday I woke up to my sister yelling that we were going to play pinocle and I had to wake up and play. Yee-haw. Actually, pinocle is a great game, definitely better than any other card game, mainly because you don't have to be a good lier to be good at it, but after me and my sister successfully beat the old folks (the parentals) twice, Carinne informed us that we were going to a corn maze. It turns out that it takes a good two hours to get seven people ready...just to go to one of those lame fall festivals. But finally we got out there, after a good half hour of me cramped next to my little brothers, one of which is not nearly so 'little' anymore. He's taller than me, and thats without the good four inches of hair, and he is one of those guys who beleives that his legs should be open all the way, the whole way, all the time. In a tiny car that we drove (why use the SUV with the room when we have my dad's little car that we can cram everyone in-yay!). So I'm in there completely smushed until I decide to be the horrible sister and tell him that if he doesn't close his legs and move over I will throw my little brother (who was sitting in between us) at him. Which started an entire fight which ended with my parents freaking out and me throwing on the headphones and blasting Fallout Boy at top volume and glaring out the window.

So we get there, and we were going to have a race: whoever can get out first...um, wins. Carinne's friend, Ellen, was suppossed to come but couldn't at the last minute so the even number (we were going to split up in groups of two) was completely screwed. So we had two groups of two and a group of three. We did the boring, pick a paper out of the hat and it ended up with Carinne and Dad, my mom and both my brothers, and I was with Dan, Carinne's boyfriend. For some reason, I don't think he likes me. I don't know why, I just don't. For one reason, he goes, "AWWW! I'm with Alex?!? Cam, switch me!" I know he was just kidding and that I have never won anything ever...but jeez-oh-man the ego is definitely down. But anyways, so we go in the corn maze, and I don't think I've ever seen Carinne so excited. She litterally sprinted in the maze yelling, "DAD! DAD!! Let's GO old man! Hurry yo' lazy butt up!" and ran in.

Me and Dan went in next, not nearly so thrilled, just walking. About 20 seconds in I hear, "I caught up to you!!!! " My little brother, Nate, apparently sprinted in just so he could catch up to us. "Can we pass you guys? "

"No."

"Aw, come oooon! You guys are soo slow."

"Bite me."

"Run, Dad, RUN! I can hear them! They're catching UP to US!!! WE'RE GOING TO LOSE!" I look up and I can see my father's head running down a path somewhere in front of us.

We get out of the 'maze,' if you want to call it that, because it was more of the cornhusk path than actual maze. You had no decisions, you just followed the path. But anyways, we got out of the maze, and Carinne was standing there, hands on her hips going, "Well, that sucked. MY high expectations was ruined. You didn't have to decide anything! You just followed it. I'm very dissapointed. It was a complete turn-around from the Carinne who was yelling at my dad only minutes ago to hurry his sorry butt up.

After that, there wasn't much else to do. Those fall festivals were only for like age 6 and under, and none of us were that. We did buy two bags of freshly-made kettle corn and that was, most definitely the best kettle corn ever. I'm eating some right now. Yum.

I wish this post was more interesting, because I know it's not, and it's not really all that funny either, so sorry, but I have so much homework to do, and there'll be something more entertaining all the way because the weirdest things immaginable happen to me, and if nothing does, well, that's when my good storytelling comes in (some call it lying, I call it storytelling).

So root for the Steelers tonight, plot to kill off European History forever and ask yourself why you got fake nails on because they're a mother to type with (this post took a half hour to write-and it's a short one! It should have taken 15 minutes...Oh, what I do to have pretty fingernails...)

So until next time, you're corn mazing, still European History hating, very very lame short girl. (Good God, I think that's my like title. I need a new one.)

P.S. If I made some spelling mistakes, sorry, my spell check thing won't work, which is why the last entry was so bad...oops! I need an editor...

PetCo'R'Us

2005-10-06T17:09:00.000-04:00

Ok, so this morning, as I was doing the morning ritual of which shoe should I wear that will make this outfit, my mother walks in. "Alex, we need you to go to PetCo. For a plant."

"Mum? PetCo's for, um, pets. As the name implies." I figured that she didn't get the allotted eight hours of sleep recommended by all and every health teacher.

"Well I know that! We need a plant to go on top of Oscar's fish tank." We have two beta fish, who I really think hate me because one of my favorite pastimes when we got them was to stick my fat mug up next to their bowls and stare at them. They'd get pretty freaked out and blow out their fins and puff up like a blowfish, which was quite amusing to a 14-year-old.

So, after school, I headed over to PetCo because I'm a good person, and my dad gave me $20 and told me that I could put the change for gas for my car instead of giving it back. Pretty awesome but really unusual, I just figure it's because today's my parents' anniversary (21 years, holy crap!) and he's feeling generous today. Or because he knew the chances of me giving the change back were slim to none anyways.

Back on track now, I get to PetCo, and I don't know if it's because I'm a huge pet-lover or what, but I walked in there like a kid in a candy store. Don't ask me why, it's just one of my little peculiarities that you have to deal with if you want to be my friend. I don't know what it is about pet stores, but I love it. God help me when I buy my requisite dog after I get my own place. Whatever money isn't spent on clothes and shoes, will be spent on my dog. Who cares about bills? They're overrated.

Anyways, I'm wandering around, acting like I'm 12, looking at anything and everything like I've never seen it before. I stared at the little cage of kittens until the little black one started staring at me, and I left. Finally, I get around to actually asking about what I came in there for. The plant-thing. So I go over to the person in the fish section, but, unfortunately, she's helping out this woman who cannot decide what fish to buy. Now, I'm not one to judge, Lord knows I'm horrible at decisions, but she spent 20 minutes deciding between two fish. Two. I nearly died. So, I finally get my plant. It took a good 30 seconds and I get in line.

Who's in front of me? Fish Woman and the Wee Ones. Now, for reasons I do not understand, the littlest one grabbed like a container of dog treats that were in a cylinder thing and went over to the Dog Bar thing, grabs a dog treat and starts smashing it was the dog cylinder. Her mother casually calls, "Honey, come on back over here! We're getting ready to leave!"

"No!" the little beast yells back. "I want to pound things." Now my shocked face has changed into one of those badly disguised cough-laughs. The poor man at the register either had selective hearing or was simply ignoring the little monster 'pounding' what he was supposed to be selling. Obviously the mother didn't care because they left soon after without her saying a word. Weird people in these here parts.

So, I got out of there, unscathed and was waiting for the light to turn green to turn on McKnight. McKnight at 5:00 is a fearsome thing. It was one of 'those' driving days, when everyone does something wrong and you're always stuck behind the old bitty with blue hair who believes that anything going over 15 MPH is un-Godly, you know those days. I was at the light next to Staples and Kohl's when after waiting for a good five minutes for the light to turn green, it finally does. A good three or four cars go and this old man from the lane to the right of me, who had a red light for some time, cut off the car in front of me. He just decided to go. I thought it was hilarious because this man must have been 80 years old and he's probably a few marbles short of a whole set. The car in front of me didn't see it quite the same way. He honked and flicked the bird, which made me laugh harder. I think I have issues. Then I was behind one of those 15 MPH old women. I was just turning on Seibert, and I thought maybe she drove a stick and needed to change gears. By the time we were next to that private school and she hadn't gone any faster, I realized she wasn't going to. And the crappy red mini-van behind me was tailgating me like it was my problem. How very annoying. Exciting day, hmm?

Well, this weekend is the either highly anticipated Homecoming. Everyone with a date looks foreword to it, everyone without it has to stand listening to everyone talk about their plans and their dresses and feel left out. I fall into column two of this weekend. Don't go around pitying me, because I did get a date, but stuff happens and I found myself dateless. Am I bitter? Well I was, but then I realized what would I rather do: dance my life night away listening to rap music to which I don't know the words and cheesy pop music to which I also don't know the words while screaming, "Oh my GOD! You look FABULOUS!" and "WHAT?...WHAT?...Oh...haaahaa...I SAID HAHAHAHA!!!...OH NEVERMIND!" or spend some quality time with my DVD player and some very high sugar foods? Plus, my dancing could use some work too. But my little brother's going to his first Homecoming ever. He's in eighth grade and he's going stag. One of the very few guys who will ever do that, and more power to him.

So I'm going to enjoy a nice relaxing weekend, doing very little. But I'm not upset-tomorrow's my first payday. I haven't gotten a paycheck for an entire month, and it's taking serious will power not to go shopping because I have no money. Also the older sister and the boyfriend are coming home for the weekend and I haven't seen them for a while so it'll be exciting. Actually, I think my sister is more excited to see my dog than me, and Dan could care less. But he's a Physics major and I happen to be doing not so well in that class, so he gets to listen to me jabber on about everything I hate about that class...Oh, what fun this shall be...Just kidding, I wouldn't do that!

But, I probably won't post for a few days simply because I have nothing to talk about, so have fun to all going to Homecoming, woot woot for all the floats that I don't enough school spirit to help out with, and yee-haw to everyone who's brave enough to face the freezing weather in those convertibles, driving down Mt. Royal, pretending like they're enjoying yourself.

So Happy Homecoming to all, and to all a good night!

Running is suchs a fun thing

2005-10-04T19:16:00.000-04:00

So, my writers' block has been officially killed. Woot. Now for the story of the day. Yee-haw.

I decided that running was the thing to do today. The last time I went running was a good two weeks ago. I have all these hilly back streets near where I live so I normally go "running" there. Running, for me, is aka run all the down slopes, run a good half-way up the up-hill slopes (if I'm feeling especially overacheiving, I'll run the whole hill, it's fun stuff) and jog slowly for some of the flat, huffing and puffing like I'm the big bad wolf. The rest, aka most of it, I walk. Slowly. Like I'm walking along in the mall, and that soccer mom in the mini-van full of kids isn't behind me, honking. My walkman is a wonderful thing. I turn an astonishing color of red, which is why I never get honked at when running. Yes, everyone, I look an amazing balloon hopping along, having a grand old time. The color is another reason why I run along the back streets, I firmly believe that the public should not be subject to such things as me lumbering along, pretending I'm in shape. Also, the only times when I seem to feel like running is when its at least 80 degrees outside, so I get really dehydrated and am generally glued to a water bottle for the rest of the night.

So, there I was, after running up the hill (yes, I did the whole thing, overacheiving is my thing today) walking away, gasping for air, and I walk past this house where a family is putting up decorations for Halloween. They have a little girl, and she was standing right in the middle of her driveway, staring at me like I was a new toy. She was probably only three years old, and the art of running seemed to mystify her. That made me giggle, which is always a fun thing to do. Then, I started running again, and passed a house where they have a dog, who was chained outside. It started barking at me, which nearly scared the living crap out of me because I was humming along to a Fall Out Boy song (to which I don't know the title because all of them are so long...Go look it up, it is) and that barking dog, set out the one in the house next to it, and the one across the street, and the one next to that...The moral of this story is that I was running down the street with a good four or five dogs simultaneously barking at me. It made me think either I was unwanted or I didn't smell too lovely (it was really hot out there!). Either way, it was sort of weird. But I saved the best for last! Today, it seemed, was National Middle-Aged Shirtless Men Watering Flowers Day. I saw a good eight middle aged men, minus a shirt or at least tank top, for crying out loud, some that were none too skinny watering the flowers. But I figure, if they don't care, more power too them. I could never do that. Most people are grossed out, but most people wouldn't have the guts to do that. It also made me giggle to see all the shirtless middle-aged guys watering the flowers next to the family putting out Halloween decorations. This weather's something, eh? I'm temporarily Canadian.

But I'm in for some good father-daughter bonding time, watching After the Sun Sets, with Bond, James Bond's Peirce Brosnan.

So, until next time, the out-of-shape, AP European History-hating, still short, attempting writing, person who is still emotionally attached to my glass of water for the rest of the night.

Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum

2005-09-22T19:24:00.000-04:00

Ok, so firstly, when I can't think of a title that pertains to what I'm talking about, I make something up. For example, today's title. It's a common thing, especially if I'm jumping around talking about everything to make something up. I do it all the time in e-mails. I think my favorite one of all time though was 'Chunky-dunks and Olympian chocolate cakes.' That was an e-mail title. Was I talking about either? Psh, no. But they saw the title and read it right away, which, in essence, is the meaning of an e-mail right?

So, now that that's all straightened out, on to today's topic, or for today, topics. So as an elective, I took Sociology. I wanted Word Power, but it was all taken, so I figured I could learn about everyone's personality dysfunctions, and tell them that they're screwed up. Jolly good fun. Turns out, if you want to analyze your friends, that's what Psychology, the study of individuals, is for. Not Sociology, the study of culture. Oops. But, I'm in it, and I've got to suck it up and deal. On most days, it's boring as all-get-out(which I really don't know what it means, but it's something about how bad it is) but today was an exception.

We're learning about culture, and how certain symbols mean something to a certain culture and nothing to another one. We got a paper with all the faces from AIM...And a few extras. Here's a few of my favorites:

%-} I think I've had too much to drink.

- : ( Somebody cut my hair into a Mohawk.

And, my personal favorite (if you haven't seen my profile):

+O:-) I've just been elected pope!

Oh, that's entertaining. I saw that and laughed non-stop for the rest of the period. Then, for the rest of the day, I went up to all my friends, demanded paper, and told them that I've just been elected pope along with my smiling face (it took me until the end of the day to realize that technically, if I've been elected pope, that little face is me. Weird stuff)...Or if they had no paper, I wrote it on a few arms as well. I'm just entertained too freaking easily....

Then, right after that class, I went to European History. Normally that class isn't horrible, but it's definitely not my favorite one. But today, we were learning about King Henry VIII. You all know him, six wives? Off with her head? Mhmm, him. If I wasn't very un-ghetto, I'd call him a pimp, but I'm short and Irish, I just can't go around talking like that. I'd get beaten up. Anyways, we were all assigned parts, and we had to research them and go in and tell everyone about the person. Well, my class has 13 people in it, so we got to double up. I was his last two wives, and because I was a queen, I got to wear a crown. It would have been more exciting if it wasn't really cheap, so it kept falling off my head, but not everyone got to wear a crown. So that just made my day better!

So, until next time, your---what would I be this time? Crazy title-loving, Sociology-loving, +O:-) I've just been elected pope!-loving, King Henry VIII-loving (is that all of it?) short girl.

And now, Survivor time. Ooh yes. Reality TV and me are TIGHT! Peace! Haahaa, just kidding. Did you really think I could pull that off? Yeah, right...Adios!

For every bad day, there's a good day

2005-09-20T18:06:00.000-04:00

So Monday was not a good day. I forgot that I had a Physics test on Tuesday, and we were reviewing stuff that I have no idea about. Then I go to Calc and we're doing Trig. Trigonometry, I tell you, is not for the faint-hearted...Or the bad-memory-ed, like moi. Sixth period, Spanish four, eventually rolls around, too. How do I explain what is Spanish four?

Last year, my friend Dustin, constantly made fun of me because I told him I was doing Spanish four. "What are you going to learn? Honestly! And with Shaler teachers, you probably aren't doing the right thing anyways. So why bother taking a pointless class that could be taken up with a perfectly good study hall?" I told him that I was an overacheiver thank-you-very-much, and I was sticking to my guns and toughing out Spanish for one last year. Another fabuloso (Spanish...Oh la, la) decision here, folks! Ms. Israel is the craziest bat in the high school, excepting Zyhowski. Both are entirely too energetic, and one speaks a different language. Now, I whine daily about how much I despise Spanish (it's right before lunch, and I swear the clock stops) and Dustin just sits back and laughs.

Anyways, in Spanish we're learning about artists. Everyday Israel gives a picture from a particular artist and the next day, the kid has to have a five minute report to present-all in Spanish. Now, if we got more than one night's notice, I wouldn't care, but we don't. Guess who got picked for one? And not only one-this picture corresponds with another so I got to do two! Lucky me.

Yesterday was one of those days when I just knew it wasn't going to be good. I just had that feeling, you know? Yesterday I had a call-in for work. I knew the chances of me going in were slim to none, but I just knew that I didn't have the time to go in (five hour shifts people, five hours! From four to nine! That's the whole night!) and that they'd need me. Of course they did!

I wasn't too upset over going in because I need the money like nothing else, and I figure everyone wants to work in a clothes store, it has to be fun, right? Hah. Yesterday was inventory. That's why they needed me. I saw a total of maybe five customers, so it's not like they needed customer service. What I got to do was so much better. I had to go around to every item in the store, and pull the price tag out so it's seen (okay, so it wasn't just me, everyone else was doing it too, but it still sucked.). And then The piles had to be super-neat too. Everyone at Abercrombie has OCD, I swear. The shirts have to be exactly three inches from the edge of the table, the little stickers on the shirts have to be lined up exactly (now who looks at that, honestly?), and here's where it gets really bad: the hangers have to be evenly spaced. What?!?! Who looks at things like this? I'm the messiest person you will ever meet, and this was killing me. I had the nearly irresistible urge to run through the store and just pull everything off the tables, but I didn't because I'm a nice person. After that, I got to go back in the stockroom and count all the tags of everything. They were all in shelves and I had to count a shelf and then write down how many were on that particular shelf. It was tedious, to say the least.

The exciting part of the day was that I got to go home at 7:45 rather than 9 (woo-hoo!) because we had eight people working, and zero customers. They basically said, "We don't need you, go home." So I did.

I spent from the time I got home until about midnight working on my Spanish project. And I still didn't finish it. I'm horrible at Spanish, every other word was looked up in a Spanish translator. I barely got all my other homework done, and just forgot about Physics and went to bed really really late.

Read the post underneath this one because it's all one post, but it was too long so I had to break it up...Oops!

For every bad day, there's a good day con't

2005-09-20T16:38:00.001-04:00

Today was a day that everything seemed to go right. I woke up this morning, dead tired, and asked my dad if I could please go back to sleep and skip my first few classes? "Um, what are you first few classes?"

"Physics."

"Don't you have a test in there?"

"It's more of a quiz, really, and I have a study hall tomorrow..."

"Okay, then." That was just about the greatest thing I ever heard. I collapsed back to sleep, and didn't wake up until 8:30. Yee-haw. I ate breakfast, straightened my hair, got dressed and was out the door at 9:35 (I know it seems like I take forever, but if you had the amount of hair that I do, and to straighten it? It's freaking scary. Before the straightener, I would have fit right in to 1985.).

So I get at school and get to park in the top lot. I was fairly excited with myself. Right when I walk into the building, the bell was ringing for in-between third and fourth period, at 9:42. I go into the attendance office, and give the secretary my note, and she goes, "Well, it's in-between classes, so you shouldn't need a note."

"My locker's like eons away from my fourth period, I would really appreciate it if you gave me a note."

"Well, alright then." She gave me a note that said 9:50 "to give me a few extra minutes." I was so excited. I spent the next eight minutes telling some people about how good of a day it was. It was pretty thrilling.

So sixth period eventually rolls around again, like it always does. I'm dreading it because me and public speaking are not friends. Never had been, never will be, and in another language? You're just asking for me to die. So I sit through two other people's reports, knowing that I, inevitably, will be next.

One of my friends told me to calm down, no one pays attention anyways. The kid in front of me (the shoe commenting kid) goes, "I'm going to pay attention!"

"Why would you do such a horrible thing?" I know I had the I-hate-you look on my face.

"Because then it wouldn't be me if I didn't." I kicked his chair, which turned out to do nothing because he's quite a bit larger than me.

After the kid finishes, my hearts going. I'm all nervous until..."Well, we just don't have time for the rest. We need to do verbs."

I was saved! I was practically dancing and bellowing the Hallelujah Chorus at that point. It was amazing. I was truly convinced that today was We Like Alex Day. It was a good feeling.

Then the Crapface (as I fondly call the kid who sits in front of me) goes, "It's your turn next," with a particular nasty smile.

"No, I don't. She said that I can go tomorrow." [big grin]

"You suck."

"I'm awesome." He tried to think of a comeback, but Israel screamed, "Silencio estudiantes!" and when I say screamed, I mean it literally. Every once in a while, she'll just screech a word, because "it makes you pay attention, and I'm trying to make it fun for you." Just another classic Shaler teacher.

I know this is really long, sorry, but I had to tell you my bad day turned good. So yee-haw for two hours' extra sleep and no Physics and Calculus all around!

Stupid Abercrombie!

2005-09-15T22:43:00.000-04:00

Ok, so I know I'm a loser (it's mentioned about every post, everyone should know this by now...) but I was thrilled, thrilled to go to work. I quit the grocery as soon as they said, "Come to orientation." I went to work and quickly informed them that today was my last day. One of the best feelings ever. Especially when I totally ignored their orders and had no fear because what could they do, fire me?

So two Sundays ago, I went to orientation, decked out in Abercrombie head-to-toe...Or, well, I would be if I owned more than two shirts and no pants or shoes from there. I guess I need to get up to scratch on the whole Abercrombie-clothes thing, but I have a discount now, and that should help. So anyways, I go in and they give the average, what to wear, jewelry, being on time, you know the drill. So we all get ready to leave, and someone asks when we'd start work.

"Um, well, they already made the schedule for this week, so just call in and ask for your schedule on Thursday." Well, we all know how that excursion worked out, so let's not go into details.

But, the main thing of the story was that today I had a call-in, aka call and if I'm needed, I go in, if not, bummer. I understand that the chances of me going in on a call-in are slim to none, but I try to remain optimistic, until I find out I'm wrong...And people ask me why I'm a pessimist, about my life anyways...If you're anyone else, I'm optimistic, if you're me, you've got issues.

So I have no idea what to say, and I'm not so excited over the fact that I have to call in because my voice somewhat resembles Minnie Mouse's on the tele. What drives me nuts is when those stupid tele-marketers call and go, "Is your mommy or daddy home little girl?"

I generally yell something along the lines of, "I'm 17 so go screw yourself!" Hanging up, and then feeling bad for being mean to a stranger.

Anyways (sorry, I can't seem to stay on track tonight to save my life) I call in sounding like a ten-year-old, "Um, hi, this is Alex Park...Um...I was told to call in today to work....So do you guys like need me?"

"Hang on." I was put on hold for a few minutes, listening to some overly bouncy weird dance mix, to which I nearly gagged all over the phone (I can't stand that music!) "Uh..We're over-booked already, so don't come in."

"Uhm, ok, thanks anyways!"

Oh, I was mad. I have zero money do to the fact of gas prices (ugh) and the fact that if I have cash, I'll spend it. So currently, I'm reduced to babysitting for my neighbors for like all of my Saturday. I'm excited...

Another year-long post

2005-09-13T15:11:00.000-04:00

So today's post is half a enter-Alex's-sorry-life story, but it's more of a I don't understand, and need answers post! First off, I want to say, I'm not questioning this to offend anyone; I just truly don't know the answer.

So, let's get to it. Guys wearing girl pants. I don't understand. It seems only emo kids wear them, but I can't imagine that it would be comfortable. They aren't made for guys, so you wouldn't think there'd be enough room in there for everything, would you? No one seems to know the answer to this problem, much like the one where you only have $20-shoes or purse? problem. I asked one kid and he had no comments on the situation...I waited for ten minutes for a reply, and no dice. Either he was ignoring me or had nothing to say on the subject. Another kid answered, but all he said was, "I don't know, I'm not emo, ask one."

I would ask one, except I've been branded as a 'prep' (when did this happen? I remember being second grade wearing a blue tie-dye Lion King shirt to school a lot) and I'm very afraid that they will either laugh at me until I leave (except I've rarely seen one smile, have you?) or they will threaten me with...Oh, I don't know...Something nasty, with big pointy teeth. So I just don't know. Again, I don't mean to offend anyone, if the guys who wear those do so for personal uniqueness, more power to you...I just don't have the slightest clue why. So if anyone knows the answer to this issue, please leave a comment amongst all the spam.

Now, to my pathetic life. So today was picture day. Where do I begin? Last year, I was standing in line, talking to one of my friends about how before I left for school that day, my mother gave me a really long lecture on 'smiling normally.' Apparently, I'm one of those losers who, when faced with a camera, will either immediately duck, or make a face that somewhat resembles me getting tortured, but not quite a smile. So, I'm talking, and it's my turn. The photographer heard me talking about my 'smiling dilemma,' and cracked a joke. I giggle, and CLICK. Holy crap, did he really just take that as my school picture?

"OK, next! Good job!"

"Was...Was that my picture?"

"Uh-huh..NEXT!"

I stumble off the stage in a state of shock. "That craphole just took a picture of me-laughing! With my mouth wide open! LAUGHING!" I mumbled to my friend. She's cracking up because she thinks this is another one of Alex's exaggerated stories, but oh, no. This is the honest-to-God truth. The pictures develop, and there's me, giggling like a geek. Of course, I couldn't get re-takes 'cause I came home, set the pictures on the kitchen counter, and went somewhere. While I was gone, my grandparents stopped by and took the liberty of taking their fair share of grandkid's pictures. So I couldn't return them with half gone. Horrible.

The year before that, my hair was only to my shoulders, and curled out. I looked like the 15-year-old version of Nancy Drew. And the rest of the pictures are too painful to go into. I was on the phone with my mother yesterday after I got home from school, discussing...Or, well, me moping and her cracking up, on how zero school pictures ever look normal. So, this is my last shot 'cause Senior pictures are different, I can't wait until I take those, and I think I did okay, so knock on wood.

The real issue was that I was walking down the hall today, and I walk past my English classroom. My teacher's in there and a lot of people I thought I didn't know. Little did I know...

"Oh my God, Alex?"

"What happened?!"

"When you walked past Frazier's room this morning, someone said something about how tiny you are and how big your shoes were and the whole class was laughing at you." With friends like this, who needs enemies? I was pretty freaking embarrassed (this out-shines the whole forgetting to take off the tag on my shirt fiasco of yesterday by a mile) especially because I didn't have English yet.

So, I was sitting in Spanish, telling a few people about my problem, and the kid in front of me turns around and says, "Did you just say tiny pussy, big shoes?"

I stare at him like he's turned orange. "Noo..I said tiny people, big shoes...."

"Oh, all right then. Carry on." And he just turned around and went back to what he was doing. People like that confuse me.

Ok, well this was entirely too long of a post, sorry again. I need to find a way to shut myself up. But until next time, the un-photogenic, short, with big shoes, and bad grammar, Alex!

A very long post, get excited!

2005-09-09T21:35:00.000-04:00

This is my second post in two days, I'm actually getting good at this stuff! So today my first debit card came in. It was very exciting. I don't know why exactly I'm so hyper about it, but it seems important. Before I forget go to Carinne's site and read the topmost post. Too too funny.

So today, I had to cash my last check (LAST CHECK!!) from Giant Eagle. I walk into the bank because my dad told me just to do that because I have no idea how to use the MAC machines. So I go up to the front desk, wait in line, wait in line, and wait in line some more. Finally it was my turn; the front desk guy, listens to me babble as I explain that I have no idea what I have to do in a bank, how to put this check into my account, or anything of the sort. After all my waiting, all he has to say is, "Go to the teller for that."

Me and my supreme knowledge of banking, big innocent smile, "The what?"

Big smile and a you're-short-and-stupid-I-pity-you-rather-than-despise-you look, "Follow me."

We go to the huge line that you would think would be in the front of the building, but of course it's not. I completely walk past the 'Enter Here' sign, and stand outside those little black rope-ish things that mark the line, looking totally stupid, until some man in the line felt sorry for me and told me that I actually need to get in the line if I wanted to get help. That was a pretty good job on my part.

Then, I'm standing in line, and because I have the attention span of around a four-year-old (and the spelling to go along with it, thank God for spell check) I'm texting some of my friends, and getting mean looks from this old woman behind me, God forbid having friends. So, by some luck, this lady comes out and asks if anyone in line was just cashing a check. It was fairly exciting.

So I go over there, feeling extremely happy over the fact that I know longer have to stand in the 20 minute long line with the screaming baby in it, and the lady goes, "Ok, do you have a deposit slip?"

"Um...I don't think so. Actually, I don't know what it is, so I just might...What is it exactly?" What it turned out to be was a little slip that you write how much money you're depositing and that's about it. The big trouble about this was the fact that Giant Eagle checks have to be the most messed up ever. They don't have a verification thing on the back, or any of those lines that normal checks do, nothing. It's just this gross brown-ish gray color.

Severe look, like I'm trying to cheat on a math test, "Is this a real check?"

And for that look, I plan on being fully obnoxious, "Uh-huh. They've given it to me every week for a looong time."

Then I felt bad because I think she was new because she asked for help from none other than Front Desk Man. He looked only too happy to see me again. After me screwing up several times (I believe that you should always get a few more chances in life, more often than not, I mess my first attempt up pretty awesomely), I finally got out of there in relatively good time.

My next stop was the mall. I was told to just call in for my schedule, but the problem was that in the handbook they gave us, there's about twelve numbers, all of them starting in 1-800. So rather than calling all of them and listening to annoying voice message people, I figured I would just go in. Considering I work at Abercrombie kids, I walk in there and all those who work there think I'm 14. I explain I work there and want my schedule. I get questioned the same questions by two different guys, and get my whopping schedule. I work once this week. Once. And it's a call-in. Which means that if they don't need me, I don't go in. And don't get paid. I left Giant Eagle because of too many hours, now I'm getting none. I need to find the middle man.

It's abso-freaking-lutely (Ok, so I saw someone on the show Sex and the City say 'absoultely' like that, only with a different 'F' word in the middle, and I've really wanted to say that, and yeah, I know I'm a loser. It works for me.) confusing, and sorry about the long post (those rare few who actually read this...) but it's Friday night, and I'm grounded (see previous post) and everyone else is out and I'm sooo bored. Just to make up for this mammoth post, I probably won't post for a while...But if I don't:

GO STEELERS!

No More Grocery!!!

2005-09-08T14:57:00.000-04:00

I'm so excited! Today I get to go and get my last paycheck from the Grocery. I finally got my job at Abercrombie (yee-haw!) and got out of there. That was one of the best days ever knowing I'd never work there again. Woot. So right now I'm drinking Mt. Dew, blasting some music and just feeling good about myself. It's pretty awesome.

Monday was another good day. Kennywood with some friends...I really think I could live on their bacon cheddar fries. Five times on the Phantom. Way too much fun. We were already planning on coming back for Phantom Fright Nights when we realized that it was nine, which is when we were supposed to be home...Not leaving, but in Shaler. My dad was worried 'cause the Kennywood neighborhood isn't too nice, but my mom is a complete other story. I wasn't too worried because people only mug cars that seem like they have money, and my holy '97 Malibu doesn't fit the description.

We got home 20 minutes later, which I thought was pretty exciting how considering how I went the wrong way twice (once I thought the directions were wrong so I went straight and didn't turn, and ended up pulling a U-turn and getting honked at. Oops. The next time, the directions didn't say to go left or right so I picked one and was wrong. So I ended up pulling into a field where a lacrosse team was playing (woot!) and having to ask directions. So it took about 45 minutes to an hour to get there and only 20 minutes to go home. Pretty freaking exciting.

Not too much else is going on except my older sister, Carinne, is doing Sorority Rush this weekend, so go to her blog and leave a comment of encouragement (I deserve a medal, I'm such a nice sister...)!

Well, I'll update when I have something exciting that happens or the creative writing jazz comes back.

2005-08-31T16:49:00.000-04:00

Well, school started on Monday and it already sucks. They have really gotten strict about the days off...Only 12 per semester and 24 in the whole year. They also have to get a note the next day. The discipline is freaking crazy too...Basically, if you sneeze the wrong way, they'll call the cops and get you in school suspension. It took Shaler this long to realize that if you suspend someone, you get a free day at home to sleep while everyone else has to come. So they changed it. Also, if you're late twice to a class, you get detention. TWICE! I can't for the life of me figure out why they're being so horrible, they're treating us like we're suddenly going to revolt or something...This is the school that only had like what? Four fights last year? Oh, boy! Big problem, that Shaler High.

Other than that I've been killed with homework...A few hours per night, and that's not a plus when you have to work four and a half hours. Having a job while in school really really sucks.
But on the plus side, my birthday's tomorrow! Yay! I feel old...So many people are like 'wow! You're going to be 17! Wow!' Weird stuff man.

Well, my family's having a birthday dinner for me tonight with the whole clan coming down, so I have to get back to pretending that I actually care about Calc or whatever else I have to do...

100 Facts

2005-08-18T11:48:00.000-04:00

Because I can't think for myself, I'm copying my sister, Carinne, and doing a top 100 facts

1. I'm 5 feet tall, but I pretend I'm taller
2. I work in a stinky old grocery store
3. I straighten my hair almost every day so now it's almost dead
4. I've only had my license for less than six months and I've already hit a car
5. I love to shop now that I get a weekly paycheck, and that check rarely lasts the week mostly intact
6. I felt really bad that I had this blog but no one commented, until I realized that I had it set that only bloggers could comment on it. Now I just feel dumb.
7. I believe that Cheez-Its should be a major food group
8. I think Shaler should outlaw senior projects before I hit Senior year
9. I have a major crush on Johnny Depp and Hugh Jackman
10. Most of my summer, when I'm not at work, consists of eating
11. The Clarks and Green Day are two of my favorite bands
12. My older sister is a sophomore in college and I'm insanely jealous
13. My dog sleeps on my bed and normally takes up the middle which makes it a huge pain in the ass to sleep
14. Because my dog sleeps on my bed, my room smells like dog and grosses everyone in my family out
15. My car currently is nearly running on empty and I'm scared to get gas because of the ungodly prices
16. I hate cooking and living proof is the burned ring on the countertop when I put a hot pan there
17. I also hate cleaning and my room is living proof of that
18. American Eagle is one of my favorite stores
19. I play no sports, but I did play soccer
20. I like football and hockey but baseball gets boring really quick
21. My favorite movies are Pirates of the Caribbean, X-Men, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and The Phantom of the Opera
22. My toenails are generally painted pink
23. My favorite color is orange
24. My little brothers drive me crazy which when Carinne leaves for school (tomorrow) I'm going to go insane
25. I am almost constantly online
26. I have a new obsession with texting too
27. I am a lefty, which surprises a lot of people...As if it matters
28. When the dog gets a bath, she shakes water everywhere so no one will give her a bath so I have to
29. I don't want school to start because I'm on question seven out of 24 of my summer assignment
30. I also don't want school to start because it's insane waking up that early in the morning
31. Cake is a serious breakfast food
32. Call me a dork, but I like the Harry Potter books
33. I have two fish and my little brother feeds them and gets really uptight when we go out of town on vacation or such, because he thinks no one will feed them and they'll kick the bucket
34. Speaking of kicking the bucket, a great old movie is It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. If you ever saw Rat Race, go see it, it's awesome
35. I can't grow my nails out and I can't figure out why
36. That one week in October when all the leaves change color is my favorite time of year
37. Christmas is my favorite holiday, with Halloween being a close second
38. I will admit it, I am a reality TV addict
39. If I was old enough to vote, I'd be Republican, but I don't argue about it like some people do in my class...They believe their life goal is to change everyone's political belief to theirs...I hope to God they never get in office
40. The only camera I own is on my phone, which might be a good thing because I'm prone to taking pictures of nothing in bulk
41. Today is payday and I'm off work, which means that today is the best day of the year
42. I mainly live off of popcorn and popsicles in the summer
43. I turn seventeen in two weeks exactly
44. School starts in ten days
45. I like shoes but I generally don't have any money left to buy them
46. I have a scar on each knee from the time when I was seven and raced my neighbor down her hill, fell and slid across her concrete patio
47. My feet used to be absolutely foul because I had warts all over them until they grossed me out so much I picked them off (I was a brave little kid...You wouldn't catch me dead doing that now)
48. I don't understand why people whine about doing laundry so much, you just throw clothes in there and watch TV when you have to fold them
49. My dog is as lazy as I am; she spends about 40% of her day sleeping
50. My little brothers have recently discovered the wonder that is The Sims and I have to kick them off daily, otherwise I'd never get on
51. Cap'n Crunch is most definitely my favorite cereal
52. My summer attire consists of Soffee shorts and various tank tops
53. I like skiing but I'm not very good...I tend to fall down a lot while all my friends (who are good skiiers) laugh and takes pictures of me lying down in my huge, puffy, purple ski jacket (I got it when I was like 14...)
54. Taking about said ski jacket, I have been told that I look like an oversize grape screaming and falling my way down the mountain
55. Most of my stories, except the really good ones, have to be exaggerated, otherwise everyone will know how dull I really am
56. Most of my friends get daily updates on the strange people who come into my store
57. I started reading the Da Vinci Code, but I got to like page 20 in two weeks and my dad said either I had to read faster or give the book to him...He's currently on page 23
58. Every time I start eating something my little brothers are there in a heartbeat to speed up the process...I swear they have a food radar or something
59. All around our computer (you can see I'm running out of things to say, I'm looking at anything to talk about) there are these rubber like weird people things where you cut out someone's head of a picture and place it in the picture spot and my person's really tall and I find that awesome
60. I tried running several miles and doing a lot of crunches back in June, all I got was sore thighs and people at work laughing at me every time I had to move cause it hurt so bad
61. I'm a big believer in vacation reading...Whether it's a novel or a magazine, its easy to get done
62. It's shocking, the month before school starts, people start to realize that there's only a few weekends left to party, so I had a party every weekend starting in the beginning of August and goes until school starts
63. Ever since I got my license, my parents have been using me as a sort of personal errand girl. They figure that when someone else can do it, why go yourself?
64. When my hair is curly the previous day and I go to bed with it curly, it's probably that my hair will be sticking several feet away from my head in the morning
65. I have a dog that recently jumped out the window of my moving car to go and 'play' with another dog...I thought the lady was going to sue me...She was sooo pissed
66. I drive fast
67. I drive a Malibu that is a gas hog
68. When I tan, it's more of a burn, then tan, then peel until I have a strange orange tint to my skin...Plus about a billion more freckles
69. My family thinks I am most likely to become a housewife when I grow up
70. They also think I have no common sense, which brought up the nickname 'Llama'-don't ask
71. My nickname from my friends is Eelix from a New York soccer team with an Alex on their team and that's what they called her and it drove me nuts
72. I sound like the obnoxious teenager that I probably am, saying "like," "seriously," "no, really!" "nuh-uh," and "honestly" all the time
73. When I was a little kid, I thought my life was a TV show and I was the announcer to all the games that me and my sister used to play
74. My goal for the end of the summer is to get my nose pierced, but considering how soon that is, it's probably not going to happen
75. I dye my hair red and in the sun it sorta looks like my heads of fire, because it's that weird copper color
76. I have been told that I look like Lindsay Lohan, to which I laugh
77. I have one of those annoying button noses which I've been told is cute, but I find highly un-cute
78. I am definitely a Survivor addict, as well as most of the reality TV on MTV (excluding Real World), Fear Factor, Sex and the City, and most of VH1
79. I don't like rap music, which is why I don't like MTV in the morning
80. I know just how much hair grows on your legs when you don't shave for a week...Which is hard to get away with in the summer
81. My middle name's Kay from my mother
82. I get pissed if people call me Alexis Parks, don't ask me why, I just do
83. I get bored if I try to tan for more than about 20 minutes
84. I talk on my phone a lot at work, but that's all I really talk on it, because otherwise I'm online
85. I love mashed potatoes, especially our school's and their gravy
86. I love getting dressed up in a skirt and nice shoes...It makes me feel good about myself
87. I've been told that I will be the shortest one in my family, excluding my mother, when my youngest brother starts growing
88. I was born in Wisconsin because my dad got transferred there for work
89. After spending six months in Wisconsin, we were then moved to Texas where I spent another six months
90. I don't know what my license plate says, but I don't really know if that matters
91. My car is really dirty, considering how I last washed it sometime in July
92. Like everyone else in the world, like roses
93. I wear a lot of pink which makes my sister call me a copier (yes, we are mature) because that's her favorite color and she's super girly-girl....Skirts everyday...Even while camping
94. We own a pop-up camper and went camping on Monday, well my dad and my brothers went on Sunday, me and Carinne went road-tripping Monday
95. I had to call in sick on Tuesday because I was camping, and I thought they were going to fire me because I sound normal, and how do you sound sick anyways? It's not the faint fake-sick everyone tries when they don't want to go to school, but I don't know what it is
96. I have a little bit of claustrophobia, at night when it's pitch black in my room, I get kinda nervous
97. I'm afraid of heights, which when I ride the Steel Phantom, whoever rides next to me on the way up the big hill, hears a lot of fun words
98. I used to be super-flexible doing all these weird stuff twisting my body and everything but no more
99. I have never gotten stiches, but my little brother makes up for that, having them several times
100. The only time I was even in a hospital is when me and my sister were fighting when I was like six, and I hid under my bed, and Carinne got a broom and started poking me and my arm fell out of its socket

That was really hard. Try it! After about 50 I ran out of things to say about myself...

2005-08-17T16:59:00.000-04:00

Road Trippin'.

Story behind the sign @ Carinne's. Don't have time for a real update now.

Also my links on the side of my page are lame. If you want your blog/site/photos on them please LET ME KNOW. Thankya.

My Schedule

2005-08-10T15:24:00.000-04:00

1. Physics-Pivarski
2. Lab-Pivarski
2. Study Hall-Zyhowski (groan)
3. Calc-Zyhowski (groan, groan)
4. Sociology-Dahl (First Sem.)
4. Gym-Erb (Second Sem.)
5. Euro-Theil
6. Spanish 4-Israel
7. Lunch
8. Am Lit Surv-Frazier
9. Womens' Chorus-Frederick

Leave your schedule in the comment box!!

Unemployment? I wish

2005-08-03T11:06:00.000-04:00

Ok, well a new update. I haven't done anything for a while, so there was nothing to post about. We went of vacation a couple of weeks ago. I got horribly sunburned, that turned into tan, that started peeling the day we came home so I couldn't show off my awesome tan to anyone. Awesome.

But anyways, either on Thursday or Friday, I got this paper from Giant Eagle that basically said that this was a warning. I had been late seven times in June (mostly five minutes, but the latest was eight) and they were mad. One more time, and I'm fired. Well, I can't remember if I was late in July, but if I was, then I'm sunk.

So I talked to my parents about all this. Hoping that maybe they'd say I could quit and then get a new job. Ha. I'm not allowed to quit, actually. How often does that happen? My parents forbade me to quit my job, until I get a new one. Hurray! I am half-ready to do what George Costanza from Seinfeld did in one episode. He did everything he possibly could to get fired from his job, including running in a skin-colored body suit across, I think it was, a baseball game. That'd be a sight to see. Me dashing in Giant Eagle in a nude body suit. Excellent.

In the meantime, I've been putting my application in everywhere. I really want a new job. If anyone knows where else I can apply, please leave a comment or e-mail me.

Made some Updates

2005-07-29T13:34:00.000-04:00

Does this pic make you hunnnnnngry? I'm starving. Mmmm. Cupcakes.

Carinne helped me make updates to my blog, lemme know what you think.

Also, if you want your blog to be a link on my site, leave me a comment with your site link and I'll add you.

AAAAAAAAAAAlex.

The Donald

2005-07-14T11:19:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, at work, there was this lady who had one of those un-Godly huge orders, like $200, that generally suck. But the really unique thing about this woman was her hair. It was the closest thing to Donald Trump's hair that I had ever seen. Exact color and everything. It was so similar, that if he came on TV today and said that he found his long-lost sister who is currently living in Pittsburgh, and showed a picture, it's believable.

The whole order, I couldn't help gaping at this woman's hair. I really wanted to ask if she was at all related to Donald Trump, but then I realized that if she was, she wouldn't bother with the 20-something coupons she brought with her. Apparently, I was the only one who noticed this because I talked to boy who was bagging for me right after she left and he didn't notice her hair at all, neither did the man behind her. Maybe I just notice things like that.

Then, the other day, the cashier next to me, I swear got a monk in line. It was some pretty cool stuff. He had on a long brown robe that are always in movies and stuff and I swear(okay, it might have been my imagination) that it was tied up by a rope. He was bald and had on glasses and, for some reason, reminded me of Ghandi. Seeing him and Ms. Trump make work unique, if not exactly fun, and at least there's a few good stories coming out of this too....

Top Ten

2005-07-07T20:52:00.000-04:00

Top Ten Reasons Why I Hate Swim Meets

10. You have to sit on a bleacher for two hours. Very close bleachers. My posture is horrible and I ran into someone's knees about 10 times
9. There are events that take a half hour alone because there's so many alternate heats.
8. Sitting two hours in horrible humidity so my straight hair becomes wavy and the little hairs at my forehead completely spiral curl and make me look really dumb.
7. I am one of four people (out of like 50) screaming my lungs off for my little brothers.
6. Am officially addicted to the ice cream they sell.
5. Being officially addicted to the ice cream, I can never eat it without getting it all over my t-shirt.
4. Having no money to get gas for my gas-less car, so I had to run there. And in doing so, realizing how bad I'm out of shape, if my tomato-red face didn't show it or anything.
3. My grandmother seeing a boy who she thinks is cute and having my mother saying that he's in my grade and her going, "Alex, I think you should get to knooow that boy better."
2. See another boy who's in my grade and my grandmother leans over my mom to whisper really loud, "Alex! That boy was checking you out!" The next time he walks by, "He did it again!"
and the biggest reason why I hate swim meets:
1. When I buy my ice cream, I'm licking away, having a great time, when my grandfather goes, "Alex, you have a really good tongue. Have you ever heard that before?" (In response to my there's-no-way-in-Hell-I'm-going-to-answer-that look, and my grandmother and mother and just about everyone around us on the very tight bleachers laughing) "Whaaat? I meant about her ice cream!!"

Honestly, the only good thing that happened tonight was that when I told my grandparents that I have exactly 80 cents for gas, they promptly forked over 10 bucks so I can get gas. That officially made my week...But considering how I spend the majority of my time at a grocery store, that isn't too great of a feat.

Entry to Annoy

2005-07-03T17:29:00.000-04:00

So my parents are having this neighborhood/family friends party and I'm bored to tears so I went online. I'm talking to a few people and my little brother comes into the room. "Why are you still on the computer?"

"Because I have people to talk to."

"Well I have to get a code for my video game."

"Beat it by yourself. I really think you can do it."

"Noooo, I caaan't. Allleeeexx!! Let me go on!"

"No, I have a life and I'd like to talk to people."

After this fabulous arguement, Cam just plopped his behind on the chair/footrest thing that is right next to the computer. And he would just lay there. Everytime I'd tell him so politely to get the hell out of my face, he'd just stare at me with his eyes half open like he was high.

This has made me go insane. I don't like people reading my conversations, considering their private, so the only reason this entry is here is so I can tell him I'm doing something important and he needs to leave and I can't get off the computer quite yet.

But now I have to. More neighbors have arrived, bringing their two little kids along with them and some more family friends. I think I'm going to go hide in my room.