I'm Not Even Being Sarcastic This Time!

Do you guys remember, way back when, when T.O.F.U magazine published an article that I wrote? Well, they've decided to do a book collecting the best articles from past issues......and they want to include mine! I'm pretty excited about it; it's nice to know that someone considered my writing good enough to be included in a "best of" anything collection. The only problem is that they want me to write an update to go with it and, unfortunately, I have made little to no actual progress in my life since I wrote the article. So yeah, I'm going to have to think up a way to say "My life is still a complete and utter mess" in a way that doesn't sound pathetic.

Also, I totally just realized that I forgot to link to the album for my Typhoid Mary shoot. Be sure you "like"

my sister's photography page while you're there!

Spiting My Face

I have a rather twisted relationship with my body. I often find myself thinking of it as a separate entity, or group of entities, which I am forced to live with but don't necessarily get along with. It feels sort of like my body is a bunch of unruly children I am responsible for. I end up thinking things like "God damn it, Left Leg! Why won't you stretch the way I tell you too?" or "Fuck you, Neck! Stop hurting for no reason!" Also, you know that saying "Cutting off your nose to spite your face"? Well, I come closer to taking that phrase literally than probably anyone else on the planet. At times when my body refuses to do or be what I want it to, I often make it do things it doesn't want to; just on principle. I imagine that most people probably skip working out, or at least take it a bit easy, on days when they are sick or injured. Not me though. I just think "Oh, I'm sorry, Body. Does your leg hurt today? Well then you shouldn't have slipped on that ice and bashed it all up! You hold that warrior two for an extra thirty seconds!" or "Poor Body, are you tired today? Well that's what you get for letting us get a fucking cold! Now drop and give me twenty!" I am a severely fucked up person. Just saying.

And This Time I Mean It

Well everyone, I am officially done with Goodwill. I really mean it this time too. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if I should have just walked out of there instead of working out a notice. If I had done that I would know, for a fact, that I would never end up back there. Right now, I know that if I ever get desperate someday I can always go back there. This is sort of a pattern in my life. I keep ending up in the same places over and over again because I know that I can. "Well, if this doesn't work out, I can always go back to that." Bullshit! That sucked! Why would I want to go back to it? I have begun to realize that there is something to be said for burning bridges. At least that way you know you will be making new mistakes instead of just repeating the old ones time and time again for the rest of your life.

That's Just Charming

Well, I made it through my two days of work with my fucking cold. It was not fun, but I survived and now I'm off for the next three days, yay! I actually felt a lot better today, but I sounded like complete shit. My voice decided that it would be really amusing to alternate randomly between deep and raspy, and super high-pitched and squeaky, and then to occasionally just cut out altogether. Then I tried to sing along with the radio, in the car, on the way home and gave up when I found that it was so bad that it hurt both my throat and my ears. I really hope what happened last time I had a cold doesn't happen this time. For whatever reason, I got a cold, it went away, then I proceeded  to sound like I had been smoking since I was five for upwards of a month.

I kind of sounded like her, only worse. 

Well, First I Got Up and Had a Piece of Toast. Then I Brushed My Teeth

I sometime really wish that I wasn't so good at pretending to be a nice person. I'm really not all that nice. Most people probably don't believe me when I say that, but I swear it's true. I have just gotten very very good at faking it. The problem with this is, people like to talk to nice people. So, the fact they I act like a nice person causes shit-tons of people to decide to tell me everything about themselves. Worse yet, the only time I interact with people is when I'm at work; and when I'm at work I need to, you know, work! I get all of these customers, mostly old people who I feel really bad for because they apparently don't have anyone else to talk to, telling me their life stories while I'm trying to do my fucking job. I usually try to stand there and listen to them, despite the fact that I am ridiculously busy (because I have to pretend to be nice) but you just can't get some of these people to shut up!

Look Into My Eyes......... or, Better Yet, Don't

There are certain things in life that, no matter how hard I try, I just don't think I will ever be any good at. Unfortunately, some of these things are just normal, basic, human things. One of them is eye contact. Supposedly, it is one of the best ways (possible the only way) to make a connection with someone. It is this incredibly important things in our society and I just can't do it. When I try to, I just end up looking the other person in the eye for about half a second and then freaking out and looking everywhere in the room except at them.

When I try to make eye contact with someone, I feel like fucking Hypnotoad. 

Remember Me

I have been really amazed at how many customers at Goodwill still remember me, even though I haven't worked there in over a year. So far, I have worked three days and every day at least three or four people have made comments like "I haven't seen you in a while" or "Where have you been?" or "You're back." To be fair, some of these people are in there nearly every day, but it still seems weird to me that something about the way I put their used clothes and old knickknacks into bags was worth remembering for a year. It's kind of nice though.

Let Them Wonder

Yesterday, my sister bought a couch for her new apartment, and today my dad and I went to help her pick it up. She doesn't actually get to move into the apartment just yet, so we had to bring it to my dad's shop to store it for her. Well, my dad's shop is a bit....um....full. So we had to lift the couch up and sit it on top of a table. Yeah, I don't know, it wasn't my idea. Anyway, I got my end of the couch up to about eye level and then it tipped off of my left hand and slid down my bicep before coming to rest on the table. So now I have couch burn running from my shoulder to my elbow. It's not terribly obvious right now, but I have a feeling that it might be somewhat impressive tomorrow. I would be rather interested to know what sort of explanations people will come up with when they see it. They will be all.....