Week of Danger

It is Thanksgiving week. I have school tomorrow (technically today) and Tuesday and then I am off until next Monday. I just did my night-time run in my pimsols which has as much support as.. something that does not have a lot of support. Too lazy to think of an analogy. My right foot hurts and I really want to read Atlas Shrugged. However, if I do not try to organize my life now, it will be a mess for the next week.

To-do list:

• Finish Atlas Shrugged
• Contact Guidance Counselor about colleges
• Finish and submit college applications (Friday?)
• Meet quota for work (by Tuesday?)
• Restart workout regimen
• Write government thesis for Literature

What’s up with the workout? Don’t think I stopped. I didn’t. I just can’t do it every day. My stamina has, oddly, decreased and I have not been able to do as much. I have decided to ease up on the weights and running for a week and will only continue to do them Monday through Friday. I will be able to sleep like a baby on weekends. But, that also comes at an expense: no Starbucks on weekends.

Oh, and, note to self: Don’t eat a lot on Thanksgiving. You will regret it. Kind of like last night’s dinner. (defense: eggplant parm, c’mon, you can’t not eat that shit.)

Asshole-r

You know the previous blog post where I bitched about the sophomore in the class and how I felt bad? Well, I feel even worse. Not because I felt bad. But because I felt bad for feeling bad when I was not bad. Everything blew over and she smiled at me when I walked in the class and then complimented me after my debate. What is going on? Not too sure. But I’m not going to question it.

Life is going. I can’t use an adverb there because there is no adverb. The verb is as is. Life is going. Life is not going well, but life is not going badly. It’s kind of chugging along at a slow rate – nothing exciting, nothing depressing, nothing. Nothing is going on. I have not had an ounce of homework this week and I have not had a test in weeks. For once, I am mad that I do not have work to do.

Alas, I am going to go read Atlas Shrugged. I am about 250 pages in and I cannot put it down. I wish I wasn’t feel so under the weather so I didn’t mindlessly wander off the page and have to backtrack, but what can I do? Oh, right. Pills.

Be back later.

Asshole

We are having a Debate Week in Business Law. We picked sides last week and now we are going at it. Not everyone participates in every debate – everyone is set to one specific case and side – but there is a time at the end of the debate for Q&A. This is where the rest of the class can.. Well, no one knows what this time is for. Is the time allocated for clarification? Emphasis? A chance for someone else in the class to debate?

Debate: Abortion. The pros said mentioned back alley abortions, blah blah, something this or other. No one cared. Boring monotone Connor. He logic circles around itself leaving everyone else to what the fuck him and just pretend he has a point so he shuts up. The con consisted of this one girl who is far too timid to do anything (“Abortion is wrong. I don’t think it is right. Don’t do it.”) and this one sophomore who is outspoken – a great trait – but  she has not a clue in the world, let alone grasps the concept of abortion, pregnancy or procedure.

Side rant: She’s always asking batshit crazy questions, twisting logic or pulling logic out of her ass. Yesterday, the pro-side presented a Deaths in Iraq vs. Alcohol-Related Deaths chart – they mentioned that drinking is bad and that it kills more than a war. I am not what made them use that “reference” – but there are so many flaws in that logic itself, but so be it. What does the crazy sophomore do? She asks why they used a chart that talks about people being able fight in a war but not drink. No one said anything about the soldiers being able to drink. No one said anything related to that question.

That is what I am dealing with. A hardheaded, close-minded girl who wants to present that her opinion is worth something. She was talking about murder, abortion and everything in cold blood. Everything was so matter-of-fact, it made me sick. I’ve never seen someone go against abortion and show absolutely no degree of emotion. “It is murder.” “It is better to put the child up for adoption.” “There is birth control and condoms.” “Don’t have sex.”

My blood boiled. I went berserk on her in the Q&A time and destroyed her. Now, usually, I feel good blasting someone in a debate. But I feel bad. Like an ass. I am embarrassed. You know when you get so emotionally into it that you start to tremble a bit? That happens to me when I sitting down. I can voice my opinion firmly when I am standing, but when I am sitting, I get like that. And I hate it. It only happened for my first question. By the third or so, I calmed down. I was not trembling. And my mouth finally caught up with my mind. But I still am embarrassed. Ugh. Tomorrow better be better.

Night Vision

Granted, this photograph has the creative merit of a six year old’s crayon drawing, but I kind of like it. I was sitting on my bed reading Writing Tools and I glanced up – the lighting in the room was perfect and the colors were as gorgeous as I imagine them to be. I’ve always aspired to have a Parisian cafe themed room. All furniture is either dark, espresso wood or black with a little aluminum. The walls are beige and the photographs are black and white. Last night, the colors were so vibrant and so perfect that I just had to take a picture.

And this is what I got. A photograph that belongs in a “cheap 1980s horror film,” according to one friend. I couldn’t grasp the colors that my eyes saw and, by accident, I hit the “Night Vision” mode on my camera. What the hell? I thought it came out cool.

Lesson learned: Let professionals take the pictures. And  try to find the receipt for the camera – the $450 I spent on it could to something better. Like clothes.

Peacoat

 

That peacoat will be mine in less than 30 hours. I cannot wait.

Unagi Sushi & Diet Coke

My previous post was a giant bitch-rant. Did I mean every word of it? Yes, but I don’t feel that way all the time. It is just that when my mom is with my sister, she gets in this particular mindset and she is completely ridiculous and irrational. When she just with me – she’s great and I love it. After all, we just went out for sushi, picked up endless bottles of diet coke, and went to the market for fresh lettuce and salad ingredients.

The bad is bad, and the good is good. But I am not going to worry about it. I’m sitting on five bottles of Diet Coke and unagi sushi. I am not complaining!

281 Days

I do not drive. I do not like being behind a wheel. And I refuse to sit behind a wheel of a car that is a piece of shit. For my sixteenth birthday, my parents promised to buy me a Land Rover. I wanted a fairly older one (I like the boxy shape of 2002 Land Rover Discoveries) and they were more than thrilled to save money. I turned 16. No car.

My sister is seventeen months older than me. On her 16th birthday, she received her first car. She has never pumped a single ounce of gas into her car, she has never paid anything in reward to her car – insurance, gas, upkeep, nothing. She crashed her first car. It was a “clear danger,” according to my parents. So, they traded that car, threw down several thousand more and bought her another car. Did she pay anything this time around? Nope. The car, the insurance, the gas – everything, came free. Again.

I’m now seventeen and a few months and I do not even have a car. My parents talk about buying another car. But never talk about buying me a car. And, if, by any means, I get a car, I would have to contribute to insurance and will be expected to pay for my gas and everything else.

At that point, I threw in the white flag and accepted the terms: they weren’t going to get me a car unless I chalk up some cash. I wasn’t going to chalk up any cash – if my sister can get off scotch free for over two and a half years now, I am entitled to receiving the same gratification.

All of my friends drive brand new cars. And I don’t drive. I’ve learned to shrug it off. It makes it easier when they are punctual when I give them a time. I get out of school at 1:40. I expect them to be there no later than that time. My father is on time every day. When it is my mom’s turn to pick me up – all one day a week – she always manages to stroll in late. She’s late. Every single time. Who is to blame? To her, I am to blame. I am to blame because I don’t drive.

I am sick of it. I am sick of paying for everything of mine. I am sick of my sister spending $200 on boots, shirts, and jeans on my mom’s credit card, and the minute I ask for something, it is a no. It is a no because I “could pay for it myself.”

I feel as if I am typing this out of typical, teenage angst. But, am I being really unfair or is this a clear unbalance?

Lucky Numbers

Senior pictures were today. They told everyone to meet in the gym after the pictures and they’d direct us from there. I head to the gym, grab my books and wait a little bit. Anyone on the loud-speaker? No. Anyone trying to tell us where to go? No. Where are 85% of the students going? Out the doors and heading home. I followed.

I sent a few texts to friends asking where they were. Some replied that they were going home, others said they were in class. Scrolled down in my inbox: lunch plans. Do I stay for Literature, all twenty minutes with less than half of the class, or do I go out for Chinese with endless Diet Coke? C’mon, now. Hello latter. So I left and went out for Chinese.

Significance: I cut my first class ever. It was not completely legitimate, but it is a cut, none the less! And I know how to say Soybean Milk in Chinese. So, yes, Starbucks, I believe you should invest in some Dou Jiang. There are some accents over a few letters, but those aren’t important.

Les Projets

I do not feel as if I am holding my weight at Subeta. I am a part timer programmer there. Not only am I the only part timer, but I am the worst programmer there. It doesn’t seem as if my expectations are high, but I want to deliver great changes. However, I have the worst concentration. My projects always fall into one of these categories: Planning pit of doom – it never makes it out of the planning stages and I constantly talk about it as if I am going to program it, the hot and dry Partial deserts – some of it is programmed, and then I ditch the idea and, very few make it into the high heavens of Completion. Where do I go wrong?

I used to have a Subeta legal pad. I would write down my pseudo-code and notes and refer to it quite often. But like every legal pad, it started to fall apart – the front page would always rip off. And so I slowly ditched that idea. I tried using a regular sheet of paper, but when I get mad that my room is not organized, I clear my computer desk. And there goes that paper. Sticky Notes, for a Mac or even in real life, do not work. I hate them. Obviously, keeping a to-do list is hard for me.

So I took it to the Programming Forums. I created a thread, “Les Projets” and plan to list all of my projects. Keith and alx will be able to view the thread, so it gives me that push to add more, cycle more, cut more. The push to do more. I think that is what I need. And new quota month starts on Sunday. Maybe I will really try to stick to the four hours a day, five days a week schedule.

Camillionaire

I’ve been following Camillionaire on Flickr for a year. He’s from Chile and he dresses very well. The girl appears in a majority of the pictures. Both of them are equally attractive. It’s odd. They are ugly as sin, but because of their demeanor and what they are wearing, they are gorgeous.

I’m jealous. I dress nicely, but not nice enough. I am skinny, but not skinny enough. I can always say that a picture is perfection and what is captured in the lens is not reality. But is it a bad thing to aim for?

I think not.