So, news about the bank. It's actually not bad news for once.

#1. I got a pay raise! Whoa! Well, not really, the starting rate for new tellers went up so as of August 15, I'll be getting 50 cents more per hour. Yay for progress!

#2. This guy,Alex, got moved up to something like a manager or whatever, and so now he has the power to keep the radio on while we all work. Which does wonders for passing time. When there's nothing really to look at or do, you can always pay attention to the song that's playing. It's also funny to hear Jonathan complain about pop stars, I actually don't think he dislikes them as much as he says. Every now and then someone will walk past me singing along, and it just makes everything seem a little more friendly. Even if it is just the radio.

#3. Somehow, I made two sales today. I have no clue how that happened. I guess I got credit for two sales, which, hey, that's fine with me. Some guy wanted to open a business checking account, so I just put my name on the referral and pointed him in the right direction, and when he decided to open a CD, I got the credit too. Maybe that's what everyone does. Either way, it will make people stop yelling at me for not selling stuff. At least for a while.

Yeah, that's about it.

HAHA!!



So I don't know, I find sacrelige to be funny. Is that spelled right? Sacrelige? Sacrilege? Whatever.

So this has been very strange. I'm on kind of a weird Coffee Bean Ice Blended high right now, sort of adding to my general mood swingy-ness. And yet I'm really tired. I thought I'd get new pants since I got paid (yesterday), but I just really can't bring myself to spend $50 on pants. It just doesn't seem right. I think that the most I'd spend on a plain pair of black slacks is $40. Of course I'm being totally unrealistic. And I need pants, I'm just not a good shopper. In fact, I'm a very bad shopper. I get tired easily, and I think that all the sales people are watching me and resenting me when I leave empty-handed. I think I am also a little cheap, and really, some things are just ridiculously overpriced. And not practical.

The big trend now seems to be insanely bright colors and weird, asymmetrical shirts with lots of hanging wisps of cloth and bunched-up-ness and off-the-shoulder stuff...like the New Kids on the Block side of the early 90's. Just not practical. It will go out of style SO fast. And unfortunately, every store carries only that kind of stuff. Except Ross and thrift stores, but their clothes are also back in the 80's and early 90's...but not at all in any form of cool way, just synthetic blouses with bug designs and shoulder pads. Or Jordache jeans. (GOD, I can't believe those were EVER popular!)

Anyway, I got discouraged and went to the Body Shop and got lip butter and two (TWO! 2!) skin blotter pack thingies for ten bucks. (Really, they usually cost a lot more.) (Especially since they are Tea Tree.) It's nice to buy things for myself sometimes. I'm not really one to buy things for myself when I'm sad (or I'd be broke), but as long as I was unsuccessful in the pants area, I felt like I needed some material cheering up. And, of course, an Ice Blended. Cuz why not. (Decaf, of course.)

So now I'm here again, hoping someone chatty will sign on. Oh, my dad's online. Wait, I'm just going to see him tomorrow. Eh. I guess I'm the only Friday night, doing-nothing lame-o. Yay me. I should probably change out of my work clothes. So I can forego washing it yet another day as it will not seem dirty if I remove it now.

It's amazing how some days I really hate all people, just every natural, inherent human aspect, and then the next day I'm just like, eh. Whatever. Humans.

I feel as though I have been gutted.

So I thought I'd be all cool and leave that as my Post For The Day, but actually, I am just not that cool. At all.

I am so fucking lonely. There must really be something wrong with me that I can't be alone ever without feeling totally abandoned. And I do feel totally abandoned. Bryan had a long break at the Bowl today (I did not work at the Bowl today), and I thought that he'd at least call me to hang out with "the gang" on their extended break. Apparently fucking not. He thought I'd be busy. When the hell am I ever busy? When the hell do I ever not broadcast my plans for the day from the goddamned rooftops? I never keep anything from him, though maybe I should because I realize that I am really fucking lame.

REALLY REALLY LAME.

And I really don't give a damn if anyone gets upset by my post. I am very hurt. I think I shouldn't be, and it is probably really irrational of me to feel so hurt and left out, since it's not like I am surgically attached to him or anything. Though I might as well be. GODAMMIT I HATE that I am like this. I HATE IT. I have absolutely nobody to talk to about this excpet my parents who are just going to recommend some stupid measures that I know I'm never going to take because I am lazy and lame and wallow in self pity. I'm sure everyone who is on break is happy that I am not there because I'm so fucking lame. Maybe they hate that all I do is complain about how I hate my job, and get paranoid about people hating me. The only people that don't seem to be sick to fucking death of me are the people I am not going to see. Or talk to. Because once I do, they'll be sick to fucking death of me.

Okay, so maybe I don't know a goddamned thing about anything.

Sometimes it seems like the only person who's ever consistently happy to see me is my rat.

Oh dear. I hope I am not a tiring LA person.

Work sucks. But you all knew that. I won't get into it.

So I am having a really hard time with the fact that nearly all of the people, my friends, that I have grown very close to and who I enjoy spending time with very much are moving away very soon. It makes me very sad. I also know that my friends (no offense) who aren't moving away, I will not spend as much time with them on a regular basis, like I did with those who are moving away. And some, I won't spend time with at all, cuz we've just drifted apart. It's very difficult for me to get used to this.

The big ones are Melissa and Bryan. Melissa, although we don't talk on the phone often and we'll sometimes spend a few weeks not seeing each other at all, is probably the closest I've come to a best friend since Charlotte (boyfriends don't count). There have been many times in which I have phoned Melissa up at 11:30 or later, and I would just drive over to her house and we would talk for a few hours, sometimes about really important things that are really weighing upon us, and sometimes about the most ridiculous crap and that's okay too. So even though she will come down a lot, it won't be the same.

Bryan I just can't deal with the reality of not seeing him every day. Since maybe last April, I haven't spent a single day without seeing him. I know this sort of makes me sound clingy and needy and perhaps stifling, and maybe it will be better for me when he leaves. But that is the hardest change I have to deal with.

I never get tired of seeing Bryan. It will be so weird that the only contact I have with him during the week and many weekends will be by phone. And not in person. I will probably drive up to see him a lot and bring the rat babies a sometimes (their cage is humongous), but what about those lonely Wednesday nights? I can't even imagine.

So now that I have bared (borne?) my soul openly, I must seem really pathetic to some people, and I guess I don't care. I'm a sad sack. I'm utterly codependent and pessimistic. I don't think that I will make any new friends that I will be willing to see often that I don't already know. And those that I already know are leaving. And it grates harder and harder on me every day as it becomes more real.

Ariana, are you avoiding me?

Ariana is also leaving, like in a week, and I know this may be something like a final goodbye, end of an era, because I know something about our personalities, and we won't correspond regularly, we'll never phone each other, and we may email once or twice, but it will never be a real correspondence. We will probably keep tabs on each other through blogs and OKCupid. And this is reality.

It also seems a shame that my fantabulous day off that I spend with Samantha will be only one of very very few, since she is also leaving. It is a sad thing, though I am not sorry, that I have made a new friend who is leaving.

So I think I should just say fuck it, quit my bank job, look for a new job upstate (do we say that about California? Probably not) and hang out with the people I miss the most. Screw Valley College, I can go to Cabrillo College...oh wait. That requires MONEY.

And we are back at square one.

Me with the job I hate.

So my shower is really weird in that it is always hotter than the dial indicates it should be. So when the handle is in the middle, it should be about 50% hot/cold, meaning a perfect warm, depending on your tastes. On my shower, it's still really really hot with the hande in the middle of the dial. So I have to twist it all the way over to the cold half of the shower dial for it to be perfect warm, but because it's so hot and I don't want to take a hot shower, I turn it even further onto the "cold," so it'll be lukewarmish. And then I have the best shower after a hot morning.

However, I have the same dilemma as last time, I have to leave for work shortly and I want to blog about stuff. So I guess I'll do it later. Sigh.

This must be brief as I hve to leave for work post-haste and fill my car with gas before I do so. I mean before I get to work, not before I leave. I have no gas pumps at my house.

Anyway.

The Science Center exhibit was SO everything I ever thought or hoped or expected, and more. Y'all should see it. Don't eat first. That's Body Works at the Science Center, like in Exposition Park (near USC). They have student prices. Should. Not. Be. Missed.

I love my cat and he is insane. I have new bite/scratch marks on my arms and hands.

I also pinched my fingertip between two VERY strong magnets and it HURT LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER! And now I have this weird red empty-looking mark on my digit.

It is also quite hot. The bank was way boring today. I did, however, get a whole bunch of rolls of quarters, which I am usually lacking and have to bum some off of all the other tellers.

I'll expand on this all more later. I am still late and still have no gas in my tank.

And yeah. I never want to see another horse anus again. Ever.

Heeh. I think this photo is quite amusing. Houdini likes the sink very much.




So anyway, the Honey Bunches of Oats with Peaches was in the freezer, which is not strange, since there are ants in the house and they get everywhere. What I didn't know, but that my brother told me after I had eaten my first bowl, was that when he took a bowl, the ants got in, so they put the box in the freezer to kill the ants that now lived inside the cereal. Hah.

So on my second bowl. I figured since I hadn't noticed any ants the first time, it would be okay. Hah. My second bowl had many an ant carcass in it that I scooped out and threw away while I was eating. Which is really gross and I really only ate the whole bowl because it seemed a waste of cereal and milk not to. But I felt a little weird afterwards, and haven't eaten any more HBO with Peaches since.

Man, I thought today was Thursday so I was so excited to be almost done with the work week before my day off on Friday. But I was utterly disappointed to find it was actually Wednesday. Man. And the day went by so slowly, it draggggedddd......

Ugh. And I misplaced a check for $500 that I cashed. Which may or may not be a really bad thing for me. And yet in the back of my mind, I kinda sorta maybe hope that I get fired for something like that. Just so that things will be a little easier. Maybe.

Anyway. I am bad and still not in bed. Although I should be since I do have work tomorrow, but tomorrow is definitely Thursday, meaning that the day after is Friday and I will have it off and I can run and play. Oh! And fun actually starts Thursday night when I see a midnight showing of Donnie Darko: The Director's Cut at midnight at the Arclight. Which should be fun. See? I'm following my movie's to watch list. Except I might have missed the boat on Supersize Me and Baadasssss!. But there's always Netflix for that.

So, I should wrap up my online doings and go to bed. Or at least lay in bed and read. Until I realize that I am being very irrational and should sleep. Okay. Let's move it. Go. Go. Go.

brain pain

I 'ave a splitting 'eadache. (with accent)

That one's for you, Marie, in the land of the Antipodes and presumably drag queens that scale rocks.

Actually, I think I'll watch that movie right after this.

I really love blogging. I am such a writing kind of person. But I really have a hard time writing things that aren't my stream of consciousness thoughts. That's why I never outline my essays and it only takes me about 15-20 minutes to do the first draft. I have to sit down and write the whole thing in one gasp. I take notes, but everytime I try to pre-write a paragraph or two, or organize my ideas, I can hear myself speaking them, and I hate the sound of my voice when it's been played back my answering machines or tape recorders, which is the only way I know how I sound. And I just annoy myself. I have not as yet had to write a very very long paper, like 50+ pages, but when I do I think I'll shit myself, because it's so out of my personality to pre-arrange and plan what I'm going to write.

Anyway, yeah.

So yesterday Bryan and I saw Personal Velocity which is three stories about three women in various stages of their lives and they sort of come into their own kind of, the point being that "everyone has their own personal velocity," as Parker Posey's screen-dad says to her. However, I really don't know if I liked it. I definitely liked parts, and I definitely didn't like others. Like the camera work was kind of jumpy and choppy which works sometimes, but sometimes it just looks like the director wants a gimmick. The acting was good, but there was narration over the action that told of the characters' thoughts, and I don't know if it was really necessary. I mean it was nice to know what they were thinking, but it also seemed like the narrator was reading from the book that the movie was based on. Which is sort of annoying in itself.

Anyway, I have managed to get Friday off from the bank so that I can actually do something that's not work. No Bowl, no bank, just free time to sleep in and wear something outside of a uniform or dress code. And unless plans change, Samantha and I are going to see a nice disgusting exhibit at the Science Center museum, which should be good fun. Man, I haven't done anything extra-curricular in the day time in several months it seems. I have most surely become a night owl.

I have a headache fo realz. I will drink some water, take an aspirin (ibuprofen, acetaminophen, or similar), and then watch The Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert, in honor of Marie who is in said Southern Hemispeherean continent of Australia (actually, it wasn't said, was it), and is having a bad day. Or night. Or whatever it is in Australia.

And maybe some cookies for dessert. If I can only find something to eat for dinner. That is not hot. As I am hot and have no interest in sweating more profusely than I already am. Which isn't that much, but it's a lot for 9:30. Maybe some Vichysoisse. Yeah right. I'll probably end up with a bagel and cream cheese which I always end up resorting to when I have nothing else to eat and don't feel like cooking. Or spending money. Or changing out of the orange shorts I'm wearing. (I am!)

Anyway. Yeah.

PS Oh and hey, I write long posts too. And I'm damn proud. And Marie, I always read the whole thing.

Oh. Man. I just shaved my legs for the first time since....a very long time ago, maybe last year. If feels really nice. My pants are all smooth and slidy. Nice.

My stomach is very full of Honey Bunches of Oats with peaches. THAT is some good cereal. The best cereal ever has made an exciting addendum. And it's mighty tasty. The original HBO with Almonds is amazing, Honey Roasted kind is super delicious as well, but for a while I was concerned, because I thought that the HBO with Strawberries was a disappointment, as the flakes weren't as delicate, and everything seemed to be sprayed with extra-sweet pink frosting to match the extra-sweet freeze-dried strawberries that just got stuck in your teeth and didn't fully rehydrate.

However, the HBO with Peaches is great. The flakes are still not as delicate as in the original and Honey Roasted, but the flavor of peach is not as sweet as strawberry, so it's a mellower taste, and the peach bits don't get stuck in your teeth. Though they are also freeze-dried and don't fully rehydrate, but more so than the strawberry. So overall, Peaches gets an A+ from me.

I am just not going to bother with the HBO with Bananas since I don't like bananas in anything or freeze-dried or anything, I only like them fresh, alone, and slightly firm.

So that is my cereal post. HAH! Post cereal! That's who makes Honey Bunches of Oats! How lame am I?!

Oh, but something else...Kraft owns Post. Which is sad. Kraft I fear is one of those conglomerates that will own everything just like Clear Channel. Ugh. (Shudder.)

standin in line to see the show tonight...

I really really really really really really really hate Sunday drivers, which, as I have said before, are not a myth. There are actually great vast differences in average speed among drivers on weekdays and on Sundays. (Saturdays are a toss-up.)
 
Anyway. I hit every single red light between my house in Van Nuys and every stop along my Project Angel Food Route in Burbank, and back again. And it was obviously not because I was going too fast that I was missing the synchronization of the traffic lights, it's was because I was going too SLOW! People were going an average of 30 miles an hour, sometimes 25. That is unacceptable to me. I think the speed limit should be changed to 40, because 35 is just way too slow. I just felt like leaning out the window and telling everyone to use their gas pedal, it's the one on the left, or in the middle, if you drive a stick.
 
And then sometimes I just feel like an impatient, materialistic bitch from LA. I was talking about this on Thursday night with Jose and Melissa and Eric and Aaron and another girl not from LA originally, and I am very conflicted about my driving styles. I think lots of people think I am too impatient and that I drive too fast, I know that Bryan thinks so, but I think Bryan doesn't use his turn signal anywhere near often enough. So we're even. And we don't talk about it. It would just cause further problem and neither of us are going to change anytime soon.
 
And yet, I cannot possibly stand to drive slower. I tried to stick to the 40 on the street (I still think 35 is unacceptable) and 65 on the freeway, but then I was like, I'll let myself go 45 and 70 and then it was 50 and 75 and then I just start driving 80 on the freeway like I usually do. Sigh. Cuz I really hate being where I am all the time and I'm always in a hurry to get to where I am going even though I am reluctant to go there sometimes, and when I am reluctant, I leave late so I am in even more of a hurry and then I get mad at myself and I try to make good time and all the while I am worried about my car who is getting bad mileage right now, and the poor thing squeaks and I think it cries when I accelerate so that my engine makes noise...poor car.
 
Change of topic.
 
At the bank, in the breakroom upstairs above the "lobby," there is a poster with a diagram that demonstrates what to do when being held up. Not like a violent gun takeover, but with the guys who pass you the note saying "give me all your money." Anyway, this poster is from the 80's or something, and the perpetrator has tight jeans and a puffy jacket, sunglasses, and...get this...a mullet. Pretty hilarious. It's like a Richard Marx mullet. And the teller is this feeble looking woman with a dress suit with huge shoulder pads. So 80's.
 
Another change of topic.

At the Bowl yesterday, and presumably today, it was the Nutcracker thing with the Joffrey ballet, and for some reason, more than half of the patrons who came were Asian. And I just wonder why. Fireworks? Ballet? Classical music? Or just some weird coincidence?

 

Sigh. I hate being alone in the house. My cat is sleeping in various amusing positions on my bed with his feet in the air and his paw caught on the bedsheets. I am hot and tired and I am kind of pissed off that I can't bring myself to do anything constructive on days that I work because my brain seems to not be able to function before 4 pm. Sometimes not before 6 pm.

I am grubby-feeling. And my eyes are tired. I think I will shower and possibly nap. It's almost 2:00. Brain gotta start working soon. Maybe I'll do some origami. Nah, I'll read or something.

I wonder when my mom is getting home from wherever it is that she is. I am lonely. Cat is not so good for conversation.

Maybe I'll try the Honey Bunches of Oats with peaches. Or not. Maybe I'll just sleep now.

And maybe not.

I am so frickin exhausted. Today must have been asshole day at the bank. Everyone was very testy and didn't want to be anywhere near patient. This one woman said she didn't want to open an account at B of A because it's owned by the Catholic church. Is that true? Cuz it might be a good reason for me to quit. I really want to. But alas. I don't think I would be happy with myself if I quit over something stupid like that.
 
In better news, I found Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans at Ralphs. Way exciting. I don't know whether I should keep the box or taste all the funky Harry Potter-esque flavors, like Grass and Dirt and Earthworm. Vomit and Booger flavors I'm not so interested in. Luckily, there's a color guide on the back so I don't accidentally eat something really really horrible.
 
I don't know how I feel about this new Blogger format. It's a little too Word for me. I was feeling all cool and everything for knowing the HTML tags. Now I can just press b and i for Bold and Italic.  Psh.
 
I think I am retarded to work at the Bowl after this. I really don't feel like doing anything but sleeping. Yaaaawn.
 
I rubbed my cats head with wet hands today. It was funny. He seemed pretty happy to be so wet. I think he thinks he's a dog or something. He kept licking the water off my hands. And then off of his face. Hah.
 
Oh man. Should I take a 20 minute nap or something? I think I should. Good night everyone.

Good news! It's a suppository!

Maybe not. So the Senate has decided that it is fairly pointless to discuss the matter of amending the constitution to further limit the rights of individuals. And they are not going to debate the gay marriage ban. However, as fabulous news as that is for people who aren't bigot-anti-humanity-narrow-minded-fascists, the supporters of the Anti-Gay-Marriage Amendment are, according to the "unbiased" Earthlink news, "pinning hopes on the House of Reps."

Jerks. Why can't they just leave people alone? It makes me want to die. I mean what's the point of living in the "free world" when there are so many people who work so hard to limit the freedoms of some people? It really isn't a freedom for all kind of people, it's a freedom for those that have pale skin and the most money and trophy spouses. I know I am being a little harsh in the trophy spouse department, but I DARE anyone to say that this isn't a country built for the benefit of rich white men.

Men. That's right. Rich white women are closer to freedom than not-rich not-white women, but it's still all for the men. I am still just really holding out for being some part of a minority so that I don't feel guilty for existing. I am so fucking moving to another country. I have to. There is no way I can live in a place like this. The only way I could live with myself is if I make some attempt to change things and that is so hard.

When we saw Before Sunset, I was very much affected by one part. The Julie Delpy character turns out to have joined an environmental organization (in France) and works to better the country and other countries, working either with or for the government to provide resources to those that are deprived. She had gotten her degree in political science, and that's what she used it for. I know it's just a movie, but it must actually happen, right? I think I should change my major to political science.

If I do that, it will be a lot of work, but I think I might be able to do it because I am often emotionally invested in political matters, especially things like environmentalism and human rights. So I think I wouldn't get bored, and I would really hope that it would never just be "my job," and that I would feel like I do something to reverse the effects of centuries worth of subjugation and oppression.

However, because I am a walking contradiction, and a really bad one at that, I don't want my hard work to start at Valley college. I still want my final semester (I hope) to be easy enough that I can just take all the units I need to (which might be 20) and not burn myself out or die from the exertion. And still work at the bank.

Yes, I am keeping that job.

I really think that I have a death wish.

bangers and mash

Wow. It has been a little short while since I have posted. Which is truly unusual for me, considering I really don't do anything but work. And my free time is spent online. Cuz I'm coo like dat.

I finished reading Middlesex. It was so incredibly, amazingly, adjectively superlative that I really miss the book. I wish there was more. I greatly admire good writers, especially when they can make you love their thoughts so much. Because that's sort of what it is, it's their thought process sort of imposed on imaginary characters. Right?

So. I was suddenly for some reason put in mind of my fourth and fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Kim. (I had the same teacher for both years.) I liked her the first year, but the second year I got tired of her and her favoritism and her arbitrary rules. (I feel kind of bad saying too much about what I didn't like about her because she died of ovarian cancer a few years after we left her class.)

We used to have this thing called Writing Workshop every Friday or something, and it was my favorite time. I like writing. I remember this one day though, I had just read Cheryl Wong's story where all her characters were animals (modeled after Sanrio characters, but she denied it), and I liked it, but Mrs. Kim read it and told her that she couldn't make the characters animals because it wasn't believable, and she should change them to humans. I remember being somewhat outraged for Cheryl, since she knew and we all knew that we had read Charlotte's Web where there were talking animals and nobody ever said that wasn't believable. Or if it wasn't, then who cares? But I don't know why I suddenly thought of that.

Anyway, so now that I'm done reading Middlesex, I am re-reading Bridget Jones's Diary for the fourth or fifth time. (I have also seen the movie three times. Yet I wouldn't say that they are anywhere near my favorite anythings.) And of course, it makes me think about all those "British things." Like what the hell are bangers and mash? I know they're breakfast food. I am pretty sure that bangers are sausages of some sort. But mash? Is that like mashed potatoes? Or just like mash, like some sort of grain mush? I would like someone who knows to tell me.

I like British stuff. It's bloody expensive, but it's so fun to look at stuff that British people have and do and eat and say that we don't, and it's so interesting. I could go so much into it, but I won't. Though I will say that I think "sod it" is a great expression, and we should call people we don't like "wankers" and "tossers" without sounding wannabe.

Wax!

So I had the weirdest conversation with the weirdest guy that I didn't know today. I was at the Hollywood Bowl on the bus island, at the end of the night, and this guy sat down with a little tiny boy on the bench next to my bus.

Out of nowhere:

Him: "Where were you born?"

Me: (surprised) "Uh...Santa Monica."

Him: "Ah, so a California girl?"

Me: "Yeah."

Him: (Points to the little boy) "He's a California boy."

Me: "Ah."

There is a short pause.

Him: "What year were you born?"

Me: (A little weirded out, but okay) "1983."

Him: (points to little boy again) "Him, 1999."

Me: "Aw, he's five?"

Him: "Yeah."

Me: "He's cute."

Again, a pause.

Him: "Where were your parents born?"

I was a little concerned as to the man's sobriety at this point, but whatever. I like talking.

Me: "My mother is French and my father is from Hollywood."

Him: "Me, my mother is English and my father is Scottish." (points to the little boy again) "So you can see, he's a little pale boy."

Me: (What?) "Yeah..."

Short pause again.

Him: "I can see the French in you."

Me: (Okay, what the fuck.) "Well, I'm not really French, my mother was born in Algeria and her family moved to France, so I'm really more North African." (I just like to be contradictory sometimes)

Him: "Ah. Good mix. Good mix." (points to the little boy, again.) "He has a little Norwegian in him. Just a little, but some Norwegian."

Me: "Yeah, some cultural variety is a good thing." (At this point, I don't even know what the hell I'm talking about.)

Him: "Yes, definitely, definitely."

There is another pause. I think he is really strange now. The little boy is wearing little blue and red Converse all-star hi-tops. The man points this out.

Him: "You have the same shoes, almost." (I was wearing black Converse.)

Me: "Yeah, seems we have a lot in common." (What the hell was I talking about?)

The whole of our strange conversation, the little boy didn't say a word, didn't look up from the ground, didn't stop swinging his legs as he sat on the bench.

Him: "So do you have any kids?"

Me: "Me?" (I think he's joking.)

Him: "Yeah."

Me: "Oh, no, I'm only 21."

Him: "Oh, you're just a baby."

I hate when people say that. Could he not subtract 1983 from 2004? Is he drunk or stupid or weird?

Him: "So you're not even married yet then?"

Me: "Nope. I have no plans to."

Him: "But soon, right?"

Me: "Uh, well, maybe eventually. I really don't think about it."

Him: "Well, if the opportunity arises right?"

Whatever. He's crazy, and I'm sure of it. The last thing he said to me before his bus came was:

"You will have beautiful children."

Me: "Uhh...thank you."

And then he boarded with his little boy and his wife and other kid of debatable gender. Weird weird weird.

Makes for a good story though.

Ohhhhhohhhohhhhh....



Drool....

Best. Soda. Ever.

So. Alone.

So everyone is cool tonight except for me. I have no plans and should not make any because I have to work tomorrow at 9:00 in the morning. At the bank. Argchjakgf;jafgkj.

So today was a weird day at the bank. A little disillusioning. (Is that a word?) Whatever. So my geography teacher came in again today, and I was warm and welcoming to him, but I guess he didn't recognize me. So when handed me a check to be cashed, from his own account, and when I asked him to sign the back (which you always have to do when cashing or depositing a check), he said, "I signed the front." I told him he had to sign the back also, and he just kept repeating "I signed the front. I signed the front." Like it's me who's being a inconvenient asshole. I finally convinced him to sign the front and he was all huffy with me. Is it really such in incredible hardship and blip in your day to have to sign your name on the back of a fucking check? I mean it's not like I'm singling him out and making problems for him. He's an old man, he should know by now that there are procedures you just have to do that you don't want to do, but you still have to do them. Dammit.

That made me sad.

Also, the acting manager, Shnorik (the actual manager, Flora, is on vacation till I don't know when which is inconvenient for me because I realize I don't want to work six days a week), was being very annoying grandmother. At the end of the workday, someone has to do something to the ATMs that I don't know how to do, and I guess we were short-staffed so there were only three people around who were available to do it, Tanya and Mariam, and they both complained that they have things to do and they just did the ATMs and blah blah blah, and Shnorik I guess couldn't stand it anymore and called us all "so young and you all complain all the time" (I think I am at least two years older than the complaining tellers, and I wasn't complaining anyway. I am young though. But I didn't say anything.) And then Shnorik kept saying things like "I'm three times your age." "I have to get out of here too, to go to my other job." "You think you work hard." Agh. I hate that guilt-tripping shit. I don't complain when they ask me to do something. If I knew how to do the ATM thing, I would so they could all shut up. I don't have anything to do today. I didn't say that because I am afraid of the other tellers, they might slash my tires.

Jeez. It's not really like any other place I ever worked. I mean you'd think it were this really professional, uptight environment where everyone just does what they have to do and yeah, they hate it, but they don't whine. No, this place is like a classroom with a teacher that can't control her pupils. They whine and try to get out of doing things and pass the blame on to other people when something goes wrong. It's kind of annoying.

Sigh.

Well, I'm sure it's all very evident that I don't like my job, and maybe I should shut up about it. Bryan is already sick of it. I don't know if it's all very repetitive and all.

I think I will go out and get Thai food take-out and watch Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Or maybe I will finish Middlesex. Or maybe all of the above. I am hungry and black beans and brown rice just aren't doing it for me right now.

Confession: I like Marilyn Manson

So I been listening to the Lost Highway soundtrack again. Everytime I go back to it after a period of not listening to it, I am reminded of how absolutely fantastic it is. I mean, the soundtrack has David Bowie, Lou Reed, Marilyn Manson, Smashing Pumpkins, and Rammstein. Well, I still don't really like Rammstein. But all the other songs are good.

There are two covers on the soundtrack: "This Magic Moment" by Lou Reed which is darker and sort of danker, if that makes sense. I mean if you know what Lou Reed's voice sounds like, then you know that he sings everything like he's saying "it's obvious." So instead of the song being this cheesy bubblegum love song, it's a kind of sexual infatuation that is its own parody.

The second cover is "I Put A Spell On You" by Marilyn Manson. I don't like the original or any other of its versions at all. But this one is good, because again instead of sounding like some Vegas lounge song that doesn't really mean what it says, it's more obsessive and creepy and latently sexual. Which is very David Lynch and Angelo Badalamenti.

Oh, Lost Highway is a David Lynch movie and Angelo does all his music.

But you know, I never wanted to give Marilyn Manson the full credit for what he does because at first I thought his androgyny was just a mockery of bisexualism and homosexuality, or whatever, and that he was just kind of an angry guy who made people decide to wear black and apply lipstick badly.



But then, you know, as evidenced in Bowling for Columbine, he is a pretty intelligent guy, and appears to actually be making a consistent point against greed and materialism and false American values. Which I kind of support.

And it's not like he can't sing at all. It must take talent to yell and scream like that while still carrying a tune. Which he does. And I am always impressed by people who can sing in very very low registers. And I quite like his version of "Sweet Dreams" originally by the Eurythmics.

Oh and Bryan's older brother, if he dressed up all the way with the make-up and everything, would look exactly like Marilyn Manson. Which isn't really an argument for me to like Marilyn Manson any more, but it's an interesting fact.

But back to the Lost Highway soundtrack. So good! I also didn't really want to like Smashing Pumpkins' electronic phase, but now I really do like it. I think that the song they wrote for that Batman movie (can't remember which one) was better than the one for Lost Highway, but it's still good. And it is definitely ambient enough to fit in with the rest of it.

But...who can forget. And how could I forget until now...Nine Inch Nails, "The Perfect Drug." Why do I like that song so much? Is it because the music video was so good? I'm not really a Nine Inch Nails fan so much, though I do think Trent Reznor is awesome (he produced the soundtrack). I don't know. It's an incredible song. To me. I like it when the singers and musicians seem to really put themselves into a song and it seems to really reflect something of themselves and they're passionate and emotional. Even if it's about drugs.



I think that if I ever tried drugs I would like it too much to never try them again. Which is a very good reason for me never to do so. I mean what could sound better at any time then to totally escape my current feelings and worries and emotions and just take off to another sense, just pure happiness or relaxation, or feeling that I am beautiful, or like every sense is being stimulated positively and all that full body orgasm stuff? Yeah, it's poison.

In further news, I am going to bed. I am done with my full tribute to Lost Highway, Marilyn Manson, and drugs.

At this very moment, my brother is in my mother's car with my parents trying to parallel park between my neighbor's car and some trash cans. This should take quite a while.

Thank you to all of y'all who wish me well(er).

So interesting stuff from the bank today: Jonathan (the other white person) wasn't there, so I was a little out of place, but that's okay. I worked pretty much alone and I am getting better at stuff. Apparently, even though my deposit limit is only $2,000, if the deposit is into a CD, I don't have to get supervisor approval. However, I would need to go to the supervisor to find out what account is a CD and which is a regular checking account.

Oh, and I found out that my account balance is only $81 instead of a lot more because the check I wrote for the new rat cage, which I wrote over a month ago, only got deposited today. I was pretty shocked when I discovered this because I could have easily had a balance of less than $116, which was the cost of the cage, and I totally thought that it went through before.

But I should get my next Hollywood Bowl paycheck midnight tonight. Which should include my 14 hours of Playboy Jazz. Yay sweet money. I hate needing it so much.

Oh, another interesting thing at the bank: Zara was nice to me. Not Aida, the super raving thrashing bitchwhore, the first woman I trained with, who was just kind of condescending. She was quite nice to me today. Talked to me about her kids who love the blue lollipops.

Oh, and Aida actually did speak a few civil words to me, asking me if I had 50 cent coins. Which I did not. So I didn't interact with her beyond that.

And then I had Sharky's for dinner which is SOOOOOOOO good when you are mighty hungry. Yesterday I was weak from hunger driving home from the bank (I had only eaten some lentil soup that day), so I ate my emergency pack of graham crackers (which I have to replace), but since I am sick, I ended up coughing a lot of crumbs all over my car, which is just kind of funny, and I hope nobody saw me do that through their car windows. Haha!

And so here I am. I am in my blue velour shirt that is now slightly grayer from all the cat hair that is stubbornly glued to it and won't come off even with the lint brush thing. I don't know why we don't have those tape roller things, they are so much better. My pants are also cat-attacked, with little threads poking out where the little demon tried to climb up my leg. Yeah, ouch. I went to Sharky's like this, cat-ful, and with no socks and birkenstocks. I must look like a weird dork. But that's okay!

And my cough drops taste weird. They're echinacea and green tea (ooh! I hope they don't have caffeine in them), and they taste like dirty spearmint. And they don't really work.

And there's a half-eaten piece of pita lying on my dresser which was the last thing I tried to eat on Monday night. I should really get rid of that thing. But you know what? I'm sort of holding out for the possibility of a new doggy that will be our new garbage disposal and will eat everything we don't want to.

As much as I like cats (and I do like cats), I prefer dogs. I think I really am a dog person. I am overall an animal person, what with between Bryan and me, we have three dogs, three cats, three rats, two fish and a bird. And I love them all. But I really like dogs the best. I think my mother doesn't want us to get a new dog because she doesn't think my brother and I will help take care of it and train it in its early, vulnerable and mercurial years. But I LOVE DOGS! I want a dog. I want to hug a big hairy beast. That won't want to bite a scratch me like my insane cat. Whom I love too. But he still isn't a dog.

Aw. Awwww....I wanna doggy. I want to throw him/her my leftover piece of pita.

So this guy won again:



It makes me ill to think about soggy hot dog buns. But whatever floats the proverbial boat.

Also: is it really a huge surprise that John Kerry's running mate is John Edwards? I'm not surprised. I expected it. I knew it couldn't be Wesley Clark, even though I like him better than Edwards. But whatever.

Oh, and this is really funny.

But not as funny as this one girl who put up an online boob implant fund, hoping to get $4500 in contributions from random people online...and succeeded! And now she has implants. The End.

I am sick. Sick am I. I went to sleep at 9 pm yesterday after leaving the Bowl early, and woke up only long enough to call Bryan and feel left out that he and Tom and his brother went around Sunland tearing down Bush propaganda posters. I then went back to sleep, woke up at 9:30 am, drank some water, and fell back into bed until 11:30, when my alarm was set so that I didn't miss work.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I think I am too responsible in going to work anyway, even though everything hurts and I sound like a tuba.

I am still sweating, half an hour after my shower is over. I am in clothes now, pressed white button down blouse and grey pants with creases acid-ironed in. I am just so hot. The lentil soup I ate for lunch just turned my into a sweat gland.

Last night, instead of sleeping with my stuffed tiger, I pushed him off the bed and slept with a tissue box. Sometime during the night it started vibrating against the wall and I didn't know why, and thought it was because my heart was beatng so fast. It has been beating in double time since yesterday. It is definitely strange when you can see your shirt moving to the beat of your heart. Is that bad?

And yet I still go to the bank. I am having these fantasies that I'll pass out dramatically in front of all the other tellers from the strain of my work combined with my frail condition. Then they will all look inside themselves and say, "poor Mea, we should have been nicer and more accommodating." If this actually did happen, they'd probably all stare, go back to work, and someone would drag me up the stairs, lay be on the nasty yellow plastic couch in the break room and hope I come to before the 5:30 rush. Bastards.

Isn't it amazing how different people are? I mean I'm not going to break into a No Doubt song here, but people are people, right? There are my friends, and I love my friends, and my family, whom I love also, but kind of by default, and then other people. Some of them I really dislike, and some of them I feel totally neutral about, and some of them that I meet briefly, I make a quick character judgement and then never see them again. But actually, maybe those people I don't like or decide are not nice I would actually like better if I knew them from a different setting. Like those stupid patrons that insult the hell out of me when they give me $22 and think they have to tell me to give them $10 back in change (like they are so creative to be the only ones to think of that money combination, or that I am so dumb that I can't subtract 12 from 22), you know, maybe I'd like them if I knew them on a personal basis, like if they were my cousins, or if they were friends of friends and I wanted to think well of them off the bat. Anyway, this is all sort of weird and strange. It's the ibuprofen talking.

I have to leave for work now. To G, I'd like to say hi and that Spain sounds awesome. To Marie I'd like to send a virtual hug and pat on the back. To Samantha, I'd like to send a ratty wave and don't throw up too much at Magic Mountain.

Arg. I still need to find black socks.

I had a really horrible day.

But at least I'm not crying about it anymore.

I took a nap just in case part of my upsetness was tiredness as well.

Which apparently it was, since I'm calmer now.

So the bank really really really sucks. Super sucks. I was watched over today by a girl named Aida. When I first met her I thought that she'd be just another sort of stern, yet uber-professional kind of boring people. Which she is but she also has one nasty, malicious streak.

She watched me and to correct me she was very school teacherlike, with a stern tone and saying things like "what did you forget to do?" which is really patronizing. I was getting really annoyed, and it just got worse when she stopped standing behind or around me, so that when I didn't know how to do something, she wasn't around for me to ask. If I knew how to do stuff, I wouldn't mind her getting the hell away from me, but I don't.

So on break, after the 15 hours that were the first two and a half hours of my shift, I went into the bathroom and made a weepy phone call to Bryan about how mean she is. I don't know if she heard me, but when I left afterwards after my break was over (only ten minutes, ugh), I guess I kind of made a point not to make eye contact, but I don't know if it was because I didn't want her to see how angry I was, or the fact that I'd been crying.

Whatever it was, Aida was extremely mean and nasty to me. And indirectly, in the worst ways. She talked to two other tellers in Armenian (I'm sure it was about me, and I'm not just saying that in an outsider's paranoid point of view, I know for sure) and sort of threw dirty looks at me. But then every time my boss, Flora, would call out to say something like, "who handled a transfer of funds, there's a problem," Aida would call out, "Mea maybe, ask her," and it obviously wasn't me, but she volunteered me as a suggestion every time. Flora called out once, "teller number 6, you didn't do something," and Aida called out "Mea maybe, check with her," when she could probably tell that I was not teller #6, I was #8, she should know that if I knew that. (Teller numbers have only to do with what position in the teller line you're in, and I was in eighth position.)

But hey! The topping of the cake that just made me feel like super shit, was when all of everyone's deposited checks and stuff that have to get send to the proof department for verification were to be picked up. When it came to my stack, Aida told the person picking up to leave them there because I'd "make a mistake cashing out, so leave it there so [I] can check it later." Oh my god what a bitch. The worst part was that I was off in cashing out, and the problem did lie in the paperwork that wasn't picked up and it made me even angrier that she was right. BITCH!

So that was my shitty shitty day. The one person who is nice to me, the Other White Person, never had anything to do with me that day, so everyone I interacted with was just kind of patronizing, rude, or high and mighty with me. Argh.

Maybe it's a cultural thing, like being brusque and not sweet when teaching a "peer" to do something or something, and maybe I don't know what the hell I'm talking about. But it doesn't really work for me. And I can't really do anything about it but stick it out.

Oh PS, I also got really angry customers who thought I was giving them a hard time when in fact I am just slow because I'm new (which Aida was so willing to tell everyone, "oh Mea is new so she's going to need to do all these things that you don't like to do that I won't ask you to do because I'm not"), when in fact I'm just slow and don't know how to do everything so I have to ask for help every second.

Sigh. Argh and sigh and other onomatopoeia.

So wow. It's July. La la. I am tired.

At the Hollywood Bowl. Simon and Garfunkel played. I heard a bit of the show. They were good but they kind of sound old now. Their voices don't have the sweet soft purity that they used to have. I was unable to see what they look like, but I hear that Artie has a crazy hairdo now. Not that that should really matter for the quality of the music. Whatever.

I think I have devised some rules for the Hollywood Bowl. Not rules in the sense that people have to abide my them, but rules as in they seem to follow these patterns:

1. The richer the person is with the nicer the car, the more they will complain about the price of the ticket and the more likely they are to be abusive.

2. To classic rock and classical shows, most of the white men will have Asian girlfriends/spouses.

3. The larger the car/SUV/truck, the less likely they will be carrying more than two people.

4. The more the kids in the car, the more likely the drivers will make stupid jokes.

5. The earlier people come to the show, the more likely they will be to pay with exact change.

6. The later they come, the more likely they will be to pay with large bills.

7. The younger the patron is, the more likely they will be to pay with coins or ones.

8. If the patron is smoking, he or she is more likely upset and will be curt and snippy and think you're taking too long.

9. When loading buses, the older and larger the crowd, the more likely they are to walk between moving buses and try to get around the people trying to hold them back.

10. Also when loading buses, the less alcohol or other substance the people consume, the larger the crowd is that will disobey the people trying to hold them back from walking in front of moving buses.

11. Worst shows for loading buses: Fourth of July shows, rock concerts, jazz shows, family shows (sing-alongs and musicals), and festivals (Playboy Jazz, Mariachi, JVC Jazz).

I'll think of more later.

That's really what it's like, folks.