Posts (page 2)
Back from Employment Security Commission, AKA the UNEMPLOYMENT OFFICE. I'll admit, slightly scared at first. Actually tried to go on Friday, but I went to the wrong office, and was redirected to arrive at a different location today. I walked through the swinging doors, approached the front desk and asked more than stated, "I guess I need to file for unemployment?". There's this internal embarrassment complex going on about the whole deal, but you can't get these benefits unless you were laid off or injured, so what the hell. I'll just get over it.
Upon entering, you fill out the same info on every form you have since age 18 (thank God for college or I wouldn't know my social security #). You submit this, and then are directed one of many computers lodged in one of many cubes. You are given a plastic card (kind of like a hotel key) to "login" upon each visit. A man dressed in full camo (nat'l guard recruiter) kind of stood there while I wandered aimlessly. He asked if I needed help-showed me how to login, and I registered. Note: I AM NOT joining the guard :). It took around 30 minutes to find a job that relatively explained what I did before. A very nice gentleman by the name of Edmundo helped me out. He was around 60, his first language spanish, and he smelled terrific.
Found some prospect jobs today...
Realized that I absolutely don't have to get another shitty marketing job just because that was what I was doing before. Trying to stay as far away from that as possible and move into healthcare. That's all for today. Must study before class.
So, I'm at a coffee shop right now, copying and pasting the day away for my mile long vocab list. Wikipedia, please don't steer me wrong! Not sure how correct this site actually is. Anyhow, I made myself a comfy little temporary studying bunker seated alone in a tiny green booth. As I situated myself, I noticed a guy turn around and take a peak at me. It was a glance in the fashion of "my friends have just told me to look at you". In most circumstances this is the cause of a friends' urging, as in, "hey...she's hot". Well, after he turned away he kind of shrugged his shoulders. A chorus of whispers followed shortly. I then perked my ears up to listen in on their conversation. Clearly, these guys would never be interested in me. They were definitely gay. I was confused.
Shortly after, one of the guys approached the two women seated beside me. I couldn't quite make heads or tails of the chat, but I did hear them answer one of his questions with "yes, actually". It sounded like he may have been representing a magazine. After they left, he turned to me..."I'm going to pose the same question to you". He said, "Are you by chance LGBT?". I'll admit, it took me a while to process the acronym. A wash of clarity must have come over my face as I answered "Ohhhh. No.". He said, "Okay, thanks" and returned to his group. I can only guess that my Dodgers t-shirt and cowboy boots may have caused him to wonder. I suppose he's either writing an article or organizing an event.
This whole situation is incredibly amusing. As of now, they are sitting directly in front of me (behind my laptop..hee hee) and scoping the whole place for LGBT. It's very cute, and I'm constantly trying to conceal my giggles. Fine tune that gaydar, boys!
I've always envied those flawlessly beautiful "I don't wear makeup" types. Man, I always wanted to be one of those girls. They just jump out of bed, shower, brush their teeth and head out of the door. With confidence. I've never been able to pull this off without seeming incredibly self conscious. I do, on occasion, head to the grocery store on say, a Sunday sans makeup, but I figure people just know that hey, it's Sunday and no one should have to wear makeup. When dating a new person if we ever wake up together, I warn them... "I'm going to take off my make up. This is what I look like". They're usually unphased (by how I look), so I probably just shouldn't say anything. I just now got comfortable being in the presence of boy roomate with a clean face.
In the past couple of weeks, I've really felt a time strain. I've been so busy with school, work, music, and gym that I haven't put in the same amount of effort in la department de beaute. I seriously doubt that my normal routine makes me look extremely made-up, but there's definitely some black eyeliner/flat iron action going on there. For the past few weeks, I've trimmed my morning mirror sessions to only include blow dry/moisturize/mascara. I don't feel gross and dumpy all day either. It's not that all of the eyeliner/eyeshadow/hairstyling takes incredibly long-it's just that my priorities have changed. I'd say this is a good thing. I'll never be a perfectly gorgeous nature girl, but I can be a busy lady who still manages her cuteness.
I love to watch younger folks cover songs on youtube. It's the vulnerability that I really enjoy. It's really intriguing to see someone perform an action that they're not quite comfortable with, and since it's not a god-awful open mic night, you're not pained with live embarrassment for them. You can cringe at the comfort of your computer screen. I can watch these for hours on end. I prefer for the singer's level of talent to be mediocre to slightly above average. It's much less interesting when the youtuber obviously knows that she or he has pipes, and just too down right painful to watch the ones who belong on the American Idol reject audition tapes. Here's one I found when I was looking for Chan Marshal clips...she looks frighteningly similar to my sister.
I decided to take an alternate route home from work yesterday. Bumper to bumper traffic on a 90 degree day will no doubt have you longing for the days of having an automatic. Sure, manual driving is more entertaining but the stop-go-goooo....no wait, stop routine gets old after about 2 minutes. I sometimes wonder if most of America had more shapely thighs when automatics were few and far between. Sure, the exercise is minimal, but health nuts will tell you it's better to balance on one foot and shave your legs rather than propping. You know, over a course of a few years, it adds up. At least that was what "French Women Don't Get Fat" said. Or maybe it was towel drying between your toes.....but I digress.
You know how people who claim they aren't racist will say they're "colorblind"? I think we all know that any person who claims they're not (in any way) racist is either misinformed (about what "racist" means) or a liar, but that's not what I'd like to talk about today. If a person is colorblind, metaphors aside, they can still see black and white. Your dog is colorblind (accept for red, I believe), but he knows if you're darker or lighter on the spectrum of black and white. That said someone who's colorblind could very well, if they so desired, be a Dragon of The Highest Kind in the KKK. I'm not sure if "Dragon of the hig..." is a real title of honor in that organization, but I may have heard it on Ricky Lake once. Likewise, if a dark skinned person is colorblind, they still have the full capacity to hate a light skinned person.
This is just one of those nonsensical pop-culture statements you hear everyday that no one thinks about. Another backwards saying "I Could Care Less". Now, there is the correct version "couldN"T" out there, but I seem to hear the incorrect much more often. Even on TV. On respectable programs like talkshows even. If you couldn't care less, there is no way you'd give this person/place/thing a second thought. If you could, maybe you like them a little. Possibly, you love them even.
I've invited the peace sign to make a nice home along with my usual hand gestures. The two finger salute has found its' way on my hands more often lately, even more so than the less friendly "half peace sign". Lately, rather than waving my hand after instructing pedestrians to walk in front of my car, I'll flash this handy number instead. I didn't make a conscious effort to start doing this, it just found its way on to my hand and I liked the way it felt. While I may run the risk of appearing a confused teenager trying out the hippie thing for a few months, I like the simple message it sends.
The radio show I listen to every morning (minus the ignorance/right wing politics-it's pretty funny) started off talking about the acceptance of/lack there of men saying "I love you" to one another. Sometimes, a man will accidentally blurt the 3 words after a casual conversation.
"Uh...about what I just said on the phone..."
"Yeah, I know man, it's cool."
The three hosts talked about saying "I love you" to a stranger, and then proposed that listeners call in and do just that. The listeners would pull up to the drive through, say "I'd like a #11 with a sweet tea...oh and one more thing. I love you.". The reactions of the fast food clerks were in no way groundbreaking...they just kind of went on with the business of making change. One clerk did say, "I love you too" though. I like the idea of this-of course they don't mean it, but it's always nice to surprise a stranger with kindness.
Hugs are good too.
One of my dreams last night was incredibly unique. The story had so much potential, but seemed to end way too soon. It was a misty late afternoon in the courtyard of my old apartment complex. The scenery in that place alone is inspiring. The landscaping well manicured, each tiny apartment filled with 68 years of history. Towering white columns adorn the three sides of the U-shaped white brick building, supporting rot iron balconies. I never did manage to make it to the top when I lived there.
I was sitting on the center porch, in front of a TV. I was watching a horror movie that was filmed in that very place. The movie was about the ghosts that lived in Grosvenor Gardens over time, and the tricks that they played on the tenants. One of my neighbors (faceless in my dream) pleaded that I come share drinks in their apartment with friends. I told her that I couldn't, because I was watching the Grosvenor movie. I was watching a movie about being in a place, rather than experiencing the people who surrounded the actual location.
A few minutes passed, myself deeply entranced by the film. My friend from highschool, Shannon walked out of a door onto the porch where I was seated in my lawn chair and asked if I could come join her in her apartment. Shannon doesn't live there, but I just saw her for the first time in about 7 years this past weekend. She munched on something crumbly in a little plastic cup and asked me if I wanted some cinamon. I again told her no, and that I must finish the Grosvenor movie. She turned away and exited through the door. End of dream.
I can now say that I've been to my first massage therapy class. Luckily, my instructor seems much more knowledgeable than Dr. Nick of The Simpson's fame. He used to be a surgeon in Russia, before his family moved to America. There was of course the inevitable suck up of the class, but everyone else seems pretty "with it". There are only 6 other people in my class. I think the limit per session is 8. For some reason, number 8 didn't show up tonight, therefore leaving us with an odd number. We are actually practicing on one another, so it may throw a bit of a wrench in the classes if #8 is eternally absent. One guy showed up with his brother. His brother actually sat in the hallway for the 3 hr duration of the class. Little strange. When it came time for hands-on work, the instructor invited brother friend to join. We were told to pick our own partners, so I simply gave a nod to the student next to me, leaving the brothers to their own devices. The instructor made a joke and said the waiting brother wanted "the girl" (the girl being me, though there were others), so we paired up.
Ummm, ok. This guy was a little sketchy looking. He also had a very thick NY accent. My first boyfriend was NJ born and bred-from an EXTREMELY sexist background, so I've always had aversion toward true Northerners. I know this is completely wrong, and it usually only takes a few minutes to get over, but here is this random guy and I am instructed to massage his hand!??? He had the word "Truth" scrawled on the webbing between his pointer and thumb in a very unprofessional fashion. Okay, it looked like a prison tatoo. He was very nice though, and I'm sure he was quite harmless. At least now I can say "I have massaged the truth".
One more thing: my instructor was wearing this shirt:
I'm excited about the first class for massage training, but have a nagging fear that my instructor will resemble...
It's coming along quite well. I desperately wanted to play something when I got a chance to have some alone time. I don't play by ear by any means, but it was so much less daunting that I just played the "postcards from Italy" Beirut song sort of out of no where. I've also learned the all-important "Kumbaya" (the song book I'm borrowing has lots of old hymns) as well as the beginings of "Dream a Little Dream". I also tried the Beatles tune "I Will" last night, but had to cut it short. Of course David, our bass/guitar player just picked it right up and went to town. The sound is soo gorgeous! I can't get enough of it. I was glad that Marissa seemed to get a kick out of it as well. She got a little greedy with it, which I liked. I'll have to buy one for us soon-we're using the borrowed one to record this week.
Here's a heartcrushingly good song from Beirut...kind of big in the Ukulele world and beyond.
