the joys of orange juice concentrate and plastic spoons

greeting from the land of horrid employment. in case you haven't heard i'm now working at the cafeteria of sacred heart hospital. last week, well i was training on register and it sucked something awful, because central catholic kids never shut up, and i always ended up smelling like salad dressing. but this week i'm at position #4. that's top secret code for getting to pour juice into little cups and put plastic lids on them. its divine. i also get to stock those tiny cartons of milk i never liked in elementary school, and putting trays (with placemat, silver ware and a straw) on trucks for the next morning. so its a little borning and kind of tedious, but i like it a lot better than the register, because i don't have to see that woman that lives with me, or smell like salad dressing. alas friday morning my boss asked me to come in a work on register for 2 hours, but i think i can handle it, there's no salad for breakfast. otherwise the people i work with are a little weird, but nice, as far as i can tell, no habla espanol...as it were, but i might made luis teach me. lol. so if you need to know anything about juice in little cups, or plastic flatware for old people, i'm the one to ask. lol. have a wonderful day!

insert sex slaves lyrics here...lol.

picture fun

denim and leather...brought us all together...(elizabee rocks out)

how hot are we?  this is right before she gets that cookie all over my shirt

i look gross...but man...that elizabee...she's awesomely cute.

writing

i finished fluke last night. and i have no money to go grab another christopher moore and or lemony snicket book at borders. plus my coupon doesn't kick in until friday, oh the joy of the coupon. so i pulled this book off my shelf that i got ages ago called Room to Write, its a book of like prompts and inspirational shit to write about. its sort of cutesy, but the only thing better to do is watch the yankees play st. louis, even then my dad keeps putting on the damn NFL network. so i read some of the stuff, and wrote about a page. otherwise i've just been doodling and scribbling down song lyrics as they pop off my ipod and onto the page. i've decide that if i'm not back in manhattan in 2 years, i'm probably going to commit suicide. don't get worried about me, its just a way of motivating myself, like the death pact in if lucy fell which is an odd, but cute movie i caught on showtime the other day. i got medically cleared to work yesterday, but they haven't called to tell me when i start, i hope that all this getting poked with needles bullshit wasn't for nothing, i really need the money. i found this really random bruce springsteen track of take me out to the ballgame, but like it sort of a real song...its good, but i can't find evidence of what if any album it exists in, and when i found the lyrics it said that the artist was nelly but who knows what the reality of that is. i have to call my mom and ask her about going through all the boxes of my stuff that are in her porch, i'm looking for some books, and the crushed remains of my prom dress that ray probably ruined completely by stuffing it in a box in the first place. (i'm not bitter, i swear). i know i previously posted my cool cherry flip flops, but i want to get the pants that match them, and incidently i finally replaced my favorite lighter with the cherries on it that i lost a few weeks back. i don't really know what the cherries thing is, but i like them. ok i think thats about it for now. i hope you all (as in amanda) appreciate my effort of post more frequently.

i know its only march

but i'm going to make this summer rival '99. baseball and good music and a lot of retarded fun.

numbness

laying on my bed, 12:20am or so. coming to the end of a section of the lust lizard of meloncholy cove, which i may or may not finish before i sleep tonight. and i can't feel anything. i can't feel anything positive, would be more specific. i feel hatred. i feel anger. i feel disgust. i feel contempt. i don't feel love. i can still laugh, because christopher moore is a genius (go out and read these books, please, i can't convey that enough). but beyond amusement i'm just a hollow tube of antipathy. i think that's the word. its one of those "pathy"s. i'm too lazy to type it into the dictionary.com box to look it up. the songs on my ipod go from emo to country to late eighties/early nineties grudge-esque. i skip the mitch hedburg bits and for some reason i skip the smiths and hoobastank. theres no method to this maddness. and if there is one i'm completely sick of turning over rocks to find it. i'm just going to let the moss grow over my lethargic mental state. maybe if the us hadn't bit it to canada today i'd be in a better mood. probably not. in being very shallow i look down at my "i'm not really a waitress" painted toenails and think about how pretty they look against my new cherry covered flip flops. its like 42 degrees outside and i'm wearing flip flops. if the temperature drops another ten, i probably will still be wearing them, because they look pretty. angry and vain. what a simply splendid combination.
"have a good night, and i hope your stepmother gets pushed infront of a train" -erik

a slightly better mood

so earlier i was in a really shitty mood right. and i wigged out, did my laundry, and came back to watch the WBC USA/Mexico game...and then my dad and i went on a hunt for a vacuum cleaner belt, and now i'm in a better mood.
a few reasons why:

Chase Utley...who played in the enter WBC game today, and made some amazing defensive plays.

super cute pair of flip flops # 1

super cute pair of flip flops # 2

the funniest trip to home depot with my dad where there were many seinfeld references...
(i would just like to note that i'm still on a primary anti-home depot kick because of the actions of a certain sponsered race car driver's actions at the daytona 500)
anyway, my day got better and now i'm going to go watch house, which always makes everything better, because house is the best show ever.

i can't believe i'm crying again

its so ridiculous. that i'm crying and blaming myself for the fact that my father's marriage is falling apart. and when i blame myself the blame goes back to andy. because if he hadn't fucking done what he did i never would've moved in here and everything would've been different. my stepmother treats me like shit and makes me feel like this is my fault, and maybe it is. because i haven't gotten a job and i fucked up college and i don't do anything right. because it must be my fault that she and my father don't get along. i have no expectation of privacy, she goes through my room, she does nothing but insult me half the time. i'm just her slutty stepdaughter that was never welcome here in the first place. and here i go again fishing for pity or some shit. i don't know. i can't find a solution, except the inevitable one i'll never be brave enough to follow through with. she'll play me against my father til the last breath. i want to run away. i want to leave all this bullshit behind me and i can't, because i fucked everything up.

the next few pages of my story

“You’re welcome.” I heard what I once mistook for sincerity in his voice. Sincerity to him only seemed to last until the words left his mouth. I was always sure he meant them in the moment, but the moment never lasts. I felt like smoking another, but I knew cancer wouldn’t hit me instantaneously and get me out of the conversation. I still was at a loss for words.
“So how have you been?” How had I been? I had spent the better part of the year laying in my bed with the curtains drawn watching the same movies and TV shows over and over, thinking about him and considering ways to end the latter.
“I’ve been fine, you know same old shit.” What did he really care, after all this time? “How about you?” I didn’t want a real answer. The kindest gift he could give me was a lie, to lie and not tell me anything about how great his life was without me in it.
“Good, good. I’ve been working since school let out, not doing a whole lot else.” It wasn’t wrapped beautifully, but it was more than I thought I’d get. Kind of like a birthday present from my mom. “What’ve you been doing with yourself?” Leaving out the bloody details would be my gift to him.
“Working. I’m taking a few community college courses summer semester.” And recently I stopped crying my self to sleep at night because of you. He could always read me then, and I could tell by the look on his face that he was trying to now. He used to try and make me tell him what was wrong, the fifth degree, I hated it, but I loved it at the same time. I didn’t know if he was going to ask or not, or what questions he would choose.
“Are you still with that other guy?” It wasn’t the question I expected. It was easier to answer. I was so used to his questions being probing and badgering.
“I broke it off about a month ago, just wasn’t right anymore.”
“Was it ever right with him?” That was closer to what I was expecting, but why should I explain myself to him when he was asking about the person who looked after the mess he left? I didn’t have enough strength though, I knew as well as he did that I stayed for safety and not for rightness. The tears were creeping up again.
“You asked that question even though you already knew the answer.” He stopped, either because of the red light on 36th Street or just to wipe away a tear running down my cheek.
“You have to know I miss you.”
“The fact that you ignored my letters and blocked my screen name weren’t exactly indications of that.” I was losing my fear and my words were running away.
“I’m sorry,” there was that ‘sincerity’ again, “You know I can’t always express it, the distance, I couldn’t talk to you without hurting you more.” I had heard this before, a year ago because of goodbyes six months before that. Somehow he thought abandonment was a solution, but who was I to judge? I’d been running from things long before I knew him.
“Look you’re give me that line before, I can’t let you do it again, I can’t takle another round. I barely survived the last one.” So much for not being able to talk. “You said you loved me and a month later you tore my heart out. Now I have to meet Amy.” I started walking, my real New York walk breaking the bubble and heading full speed towards Starbucks. I didn’t look back, I figured he wouldn’t follow me, his lack of effort in the past never indicated the predisposition to making the grand gesture. It didn’t take me long to get there doubling timing it and she was waiting outside.
“Hey!” I’m sure my make up had run from crying, “Whoa, what’s wrong?”
“Lets grab coffee, and I’ll catch you up.” I gave her a hug and we went inside. “I ran into Matt on my way here.”
“Wait, Matt?” She lived with me when even I couldn’t keep my men straight.
“You know, the one I was going to transfer to some southern hick college town for?”
“Yeah, I remember. Doesn’t he live in Jersey though?”
“He does. I ran into him outside of Port Authority, I hadn’t heard from him since like December or something.” I grabbed my Iced Venti Caramel Macchiato and we sat down at the counter in the window.
“Fuck.” He was standing on the sidewalk outside.
“Wait, that’s him? Wow hun, he’s cute. I mean…I don’t know.”
“Its okay, what do I do though? I just told him off too blocks away, I don’t understand why he even cares.” I looked at him through the glass, looked at him looking at me like he really cared. I wanted to believe that he really was sincere this time, but then again I had wanted to believe that every time before.
“Don’t leave him standing out there, at least introduce me, I’ve heard enough about this guy for two years to choke a horse, at least let me meet him.” You had to give her credit, she always wanted to help.
“Okay.” I looked out and motioned for him to come in. He came over to us, not bothering to sit down. “Matt this is Amy,” I hated introductions. The whole social intercourse formality struck me as little more than ridiculous. “And Amy, this is Matt.” They shook hands.