It is true. This is the last blog posting that will be on the Jambo Nuc.
FIRST OF ALL,
THANK YOU TO...
All my friends who read my blog and gave me feedback when I was insecure.
Everyone who ever mentioned the blog to me whether in a speech, a casual conversation in the bathrooms at LCHS, at a party, etc. I honestly probably would have never completed more than one post if people hadn't been so AWESOME and gave me such great encouragement.
My Momma, for keeping the blog bookmarked.
Everyone who has ever read the jambo nuc.
This blog began as a little endeavor to fufill some long hours second semester senior year. However, the JN gave me so much more than another space and webadress to squander away time when I should have been doing homework, among other productive things. It helped facilitate a new voice for me, the one that was always running through my head, the quirky and sarcastic weirdo I am got to be showcased through this little blog.
Right now, as I write, I feel like I'm taking myself so seriously. Like this blog wasn't all that important. The thing is, it probably wasn't to most people. Maybe some heard of it, some occasionally read it, but the thing is... IT WAS IMPORTANT TO ME.
Every piece of writing I've done, has gradually led me to grow a bit more each time as a person, as a writer, as someone trying to experience the most out of life.
As silly as it seems, this blog, among other systems of support and spontaneity, gave me the courage to dare to be different. To do something not many dare to do.
No, I am not talking about skydiving or dancing on the bar at grad night (not once, but twice, and falling both times...) Right. My Mom still reads this....
Of course, I discussing the journey I embark on in essentially three days. I have my final lazy, crusty sunday tomorrow. My last start of a new week, with a new to-do list monday... and my last tuesday (nothing ever special really happens on tuesdays anymore... I guess tacos... but I'm not risking any mexican food mishaps with regards to the stomach considering the flights i'm taking wednesday)... and then I'm off.
I've started a new blog.
Not because the JN isn't great, but the fact of the matter is, the JN is home.
And I, Lizzie Jambo Miller, am finally leaving home.
Just as I leave the bed I spend countless hours in... The DVR which has recorded my greys, my criminal minds, my law and order SVU, lost (when it was on), glee, etc.... My home, my family, my friends, my dog (which I have come to learn to love. I am going to go on a huge tangent right now about my dog. so skip to the end of the parenthetical device if you aren't down to read. A few months/blog posts ago, I said I didn't like my dog. My dog is the SHIT. the cats pjs. the bees knees. the coolest animal ever. She's freaking chill. And I really never gave her the credit she deserved. Once all my pals departed to college, and my mom had to start school again, as a teacher, my little sister going back as a fourth grader, and my older sisters work hours expanding exponentially... I was left to kick it with no one but my pup. Zoey, I formally apologize for dissing you over the internet. I love you pooopsieee puppy dooggie. WOW. that was freaking embarassing. Like I give one bleep, just kidding, I don't give two bleeps)
Oh right.... so I was talking about things I was leaving. Well you can fill in the rest of that list keeping in mind that I'm going to the third world... and giving up a lot of what I'm used to and have grown to place both mentally and physically in my idea of "home".
So, the JN, the jambo nuc, the jambo nucleus, the blog of a sassy white girl with too much free time, must come to an end.
However, nothing ever really comes to an end in my mind. It just continues in a different fashion. My creative outlet and need to ramble will not die with the last posting of this blog.
It will however, be moved to a new location.
www.lizziesworldtour.blogspot.com
will be the new online location of my rambling thoughts.
I love you all and will miss seeing your faces dearly.
The memories I have will undoubtedly fade, BUT WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.
LCHS, LC, MONTROSE, ALTADENA, LA, CALI BITCHES... PEACE OUT.
In another life brotha.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Summer Keeps Getting Shorter
I've got less than three weeks left.
Driving home last night, after my second good bye of that day and only my twentieth goodbye of this week, I realized... as we get older... our summers get shorter.
When we are little kids, our summer goes on FOREVER. Its the time between the last day of school, and the first day of the next year.
In high school, our summer gets shortened a little bit, by the plague of summer assignments and a return to school mandated by registration.
But by the time you graduate and are waiting to move on to the next, your summer really gets quite short. August is no longer a month of vacation and idleness.... its a time of and for goodbyes... which leave you with nothing to do but mold to your couch in between tear stained ciaos.
The goodbyes have been extensive. My first and most dramatic goodbye of course happened between the one and only shitbeck and I. That one was the worst. Partially because it was the first, partially because of how much I love shitbeck and her family, and partially because I left on a ferry... something about boats and saying goodbye makes it all the more dramatic. But really.
But, it does seem they get easier. Not only with the goodbyes I have left to do, but also each summer it seems people get more accustomed to it. I witnessed a few high fives and a "peace out nigga" suffice for a goodbye between "goodbye alums" (if you will) the other day.
So why is it that this first round of goodbyes is so dang hard?
I think its because all of us don't really know what the hell sits in front of us. For everyone college bound its that weird nervous anxiety of like.... WTF WHAT IF I DON'T MAKE FRIENDS... OR WHAT IF I'M THE KID WHO FLUNKS OUT.... OR WHAT IF I JUST HATE IT....
For me, I'm pretty much guaranteed to make friends.. in a way. Traveling with the same 14 people kind of mandates that eventually, we are all going to get along and like each other to one degree or another. Seeing as there are no grades on my journey, I won't be flunking out.... but the last part, I guess kinda worries me... What if I do hate it? But knowing me... I won't.
Maybe its none of those little worries that make the goodbyes so hard... Its not only the friendships I know we will miss, but maybe also the lifestyle?
We've all been begging for our independence for so long... testing the limits of curfew, of behavior, of our day to day routines.... but now, independence is ours. and what we've all fought so hard for... SEEMS A LITTLE BIT FREAKIN SCARY.
Maybe... Just maybe, I'm more freaked out than most. But one thing is keeping me from going freaking psycho...
All the little memories.
All the nights I slept over at a friends house... rather shamelessly?
All the dinners.
All the car rides.
All the adventures.
All the stories.
All... the madness.....
This summer has been phenomenal. From sushi dinners that ended in running through parking lots and into cars.... From nights on various tile floors. From spontaneous swim adventures to spontaneous trips across the country or to the beach.... From the strengthening of relationships between people I've known since kindergarten (or before) to the birth of beautiful friendships with people I hope to keep in contact with for a long while. This summer in its own little way, has a been a journey.
Not unlike the journeys we all embark on much too soon for my own comfort level.
A lot of people have been asking me how I feel about my year ahead. Basically, I feel like I did before I went sky diving. I had already committed to going, and I knew I would love the experience. What I did not know, however, was what it was actually going to be like. I didn't know how free fall would feel... and to a small degree, I was uncertain if the shoot would open. But.... I wasn't really scared or nervous.... Because I knew eventually, I'd just be on the edge of the plane.... and I'd have to jump out.
Now, if I were to go sky diving again... (which I certainly hope to do)... I would know the way your skin feels going 180 mph... I'd know how screwed you were if your shoot didn't open. I'd know... The experience.
But right now, I do not what the experience ahead entails. I don't really know what will be the struggles... But I do foresee one as being homesick and missing SO MANY PEOPLE.
So. Here is step one of keeping in contact with me.
EMAIL.
lizziemiller1@gmail.com
memorize it.
STEP TWO will entail creating a group where I will demand everyone who wants to keep in contact with me on my world tour to leave their email on the wall
STEP THREE will culminate in the creation of a new blog, one specific for the trip that I will keep updating as I go.
That's just the general plan.
Now, if everyone will excuse me, I have my tumblr addiction to return to.... and I'm about to start a new episode of criminal minds. I have a very busy day ahead, as you may be able to tell.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Summer Spirituality
I'm still unemployed... But I have found some things to do with my summer.
This summer, I'm committing myself to to preparing for the year ahead. Essentially, I've devoted that "bored" time everyone gets... the point where facebook makes you nauseous, you've stumbled for a while, and already looked at a new camera online for like an hour.... i've devoted it to reading (mostly the required stuff for my big ole trip) and working out.... Low key, who hasn't seen me yet awkwardly working out on various parts of foothill? I swear it... Every class I see at least one person I know. People have pulled over and honked... I kid you not. Good thing I definitely do NOT have a sweating problem and always look SUPA attractive when this happens. Oh, and I usually have control over my breathing so speaking to people isn't a problem either... okay. not. none of that is true. but you should have already known that.
All of this working out/reading though has become a weirdly.. spiritual experience? First of all, let me tell you about something... EVERYONE NEEDS TO READ THIS BOOK CALLED ISHMAEL. it makes you question the way we live, as humanity... not necessarily as Americans... just as human beings. The way we manipulate the world, like we are the Gods, taking what we want and building what we "need" to sustain civilization.... according to the book, we live like the "Gods" ruling the earth and what not.... so naturally with all these endorphin high induced pondering and philosophical reading.... I've been thinking a lot about well... GOD?
I've had a lot of religious phases. I was raised a weird hybrid of Judiasm and Catholicism, and eventually chose to be Catholic... and now I guess I've chosen to be "agnostic"... whatever that means... But I really got to thinking... who is it? what does God mean? and the truth is... I still don't really have much of an answer... Which I think is OKAY. I mean, all we can do in life is ask questions? and ask better questions? so many questions? (thank you rosencrantz and guildenstern).
BUT I have decided this. SOMETIMES "God" is found in people. And I don't mean like.... charity or even a religious figure like the pope or something. I came to this conclusion during bootcamp...
Basically, during bootcamp we have to count out the number of seconds, or repetitions of whatever it is we are doing... which, if you are struggling to breathe, you are going to be struggling to shout out numbers and count. naturally, sometimes it gets too hard to count, there just isn't enough breath or control of it to be able to speak... one of these times... I found "God". It sounds so simple, but it was one of those moments in time where I thought I literally could not do another sit up if I tried. But somehow, this older soulful and fit black woman still could. No one else was counting, but her rich voice still carried through... Counting one by one the escalating number of tightening of the abs until we were done... and somehow, her voice, her ability to count, it made me finish. it made me act. it made me achieve.
Isn't that what "God" does? Doesn't "he" make us act, make us achieve, push us closer to our goals, guide us through things when we think we can go no more? Is there a reason that "God" isn't tangible, identifiable? Is it because truly we are all a little bit of "God"..... truly, what is the difference between prayer and talking to a good friend.... are you not looking for the information we as humans, as ourselves, apparently don't have? the knowledge of what is good and what is evil?
To be honest, I don't even really know what I'm even getting at anymore.... But bootcamp meets today at memorial park, so make sure to drive by, honk, wave, and set up a picnic on the grass... I'd also appreciate any signs and body painting if you guys are up to it. Because face it..... I HAVE NO SHAME.
This summer, I'm committing myself to to preparing for the year ahead. Essentially, I've devoted that "bored" time everyone gets... the point where facebook makes you nauseous, you've stumbled for a while, and already looked at a new camera online for like an hour.... i've devoted it to reading (mostly the required stuff for my big ole trip) and working out.... Low key, who hasn't seen me yet awkwardly working out on various parts of foothill? I swear it... Every class I see at least one person I know. People have pulled over and honked... I kid you not. Good thing I definitely do NOT have a sweating problem and always look SUPA attractive when this happens. Oh, and I usually have control over my breathing so speaking to people isn't a problem either... okay. not. none of that is true. but you should have already known that.
All of this working out/reading though has become a weirdly.. spiritual experience? First of all, let me tell you about something... EVERYONE NEEDS TO READ THIS BOOK CALLED ISHMAEL. it makes you question the way we live, as humanity... not necessarily as Americans... just as human beings. The way we manipulate the world, like we are the Gods, taking what we want and building what we "need" to sustain civilization.... according to the book, we live like the "Gods" ruling the earth and what not.... so naturally with all these endorphin high induced pondering and philosophical reading.... I've been thinking a lot about well... GOD?
I've had a lot of religious phases. I was raised a weird hybrid of Judiasm and Catholicism, and eventually chose to be Catholic... and now I guess I've chosen to be "agnostic"... whatever that means... But I really got to thinking... who is it? what does God mean? and the truth is... I still don't really have much of an answer... Which I think is OKAY. I mean, all we can do in life is ask questions? and ask better questions? so many questions? (thank you rosencrantz and guildenstern).
BUT I have decided this. SOMETIMES "God" is found in people. And I don't mean like.... charity or even a religious figure like the pope or something. I came to this conclusion during bootcamp...
Basically, during bootcamp we have to count out the number of seconds, or repetitions of whatever it is we are doing... which, if you are struggling to breathe, you are going to be struggling to shout out numbers and count. naturally, sometimes it gets too hard to count, there just isn't enough breath or control of it to be able to speak... one of these times... I found "God". It sounds so simple, but it was one of those moments in time where I thought I literally could not do another sit up if I tried. But somehow, this older soulful and fit black woman still could. No one else was counting, but her rich voice still carried through... Counting one by one the escalating number of tightening of the abs until we were done... and somehow, her voice, her ability to count, it made me finish. it made me act. it made me achieve.
Isn't that what "God" does? Doesn't "he" make us act, make us achieve, push us closer to our goals, guide us through things when we think we can go no more? Is there a reason that "God" isn't tangible, identifiable? Is it because truly we are all a little bit of "God"..... truly, what is the difference between prayer and talking to a good friend.... are you not looking for the information we as humans, as ourselves, apparently don't have? the knowledge of what is good and what is evil?
To be honest, I don't even really know what I'm even getting at anymore.... But bootcamp meets today at memorial park, so make sure to drive by, honk, wave, and set up a picnic on the grass... I'd also appreciate any signs and body painting if you guys are up to it. Because face it..... I HAVE NO SHAME.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Uploading Pics to Facebook
Is always a tedious process. Somehow, when selecting photos holding down the control button... always makes them "copies" somehow or another. Idk what is ever going on....
And.. let's face it... ever since the PLAS chronicles.... with every album upload, there is that little feeling of.... Jambs.... this one just won't measure up.
Although, thank the lord for the PLAS albums.. without them, who would I have been in high school? That's a weird thing to say... who WOULD I have been... not WHO AM I in high school. Because, high school... IS OVER.
All of us now, move on to bigger and better things... IN THREE MONTHS. Which leaves me to talk about how these next three months.... I HAVE NOTHING TO DO.
I'm actually starting to scare myself.... I literally... have nothing to do... there's nothing to even blog about , because.... I do nothing with my life.
I'm not even making this blog worthy of a facebook status posting. Because its not... because I've said... NOTHING.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
reasons why I should have joined choir in high school
1. The pops concert. You wish I didn't take careful notes on my blackberry about every single act at POPs. But oh, I did. And then transcribed about 2/3 of them in blog format... and then realized how creepy and odd I was for taking meticulous notes on every performer at the POPs concert.... I may be and write preteniously, (who that blogs doesn't), but not arrogantly enough to write a critique (EVEN THOUGH THEY WERE ALL POSITIVE) on every act at pops. It would have been too much. Even for me.
2.Choir people (espesh Chamber) get to be cliquey without being bitchy. Because its like... they are actually talented, and aren't douchey enough to have a trademark pose for the yearbook or general group pictures. No fishie face here folks.
3. The sweatshirts are always cool. They haven't tried to look fratty and go neon.... Nor put some half funny half not funny enough innuendo on the shirt either. Or have some joke that no one except club members understand. Like sq. root of negative one <3 math... come on... every freshman and person who took alg at chillside is walking around not knowing what the hell the shirt means.
4. Choir people feel secure singing in the car. Always. And Sing well. They often break the sing song in the car ice.... we all need it. AND CHOIR PEOPLE CAN HARMONIZE IN THE CAR... AND THEN THEY TURN TO YOU AND SAY, "LETS HARMONIZE".... AND I ALWAYS GO.. UH YEAH. WHATEVER THAT MEANS... AND THEN SOMEONE SAYS YOU SING THE LOW PART I SING THE HIGH PART.... AND I THINK TO MYSELF... WHAT PART ISN'T IT THE SAME WORDS... LULZ..... CATS OUT OF THE BAG.... wow.... I am embarassing...
5. They don't have fundraisers (except song grams... but come on... everyone knows that's a joke and most people are always too hungover to even go to song grams and croak out the holiday notes..) so they aren't like in your face begging you to buy a pre-sale ticket to a cafeteria dance that you have no interest going to... like sorry not all of us like cutting up white tees wearing spandex, socks, and a "fun color" bra and dancing on a wooden box while certain teachers give you the "are you sober?" eye.... jambs....
6. Chamber people always get assembly time. and LBH, assembly time at LCHS is like.... social gold. let's face it. you can always name the assemblies commissioners from when you were in high school... or at least recognize them.... ditto epic cheer leaders.... ditto... well.. some people in chamber.... but who needs assembly time when you have a blog... DUH.....
OH MY GOD. I JUST REALIZED JACOB WALTERS HAS CHAMBER, ASSEMBLY TIMEVIA MASCOT, A BLOG, AND MORMON POINTS... 5,000 POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR..... or the church of lds.
7. Oh. and the best reason. CHOIR TOURS. What the hell. So cool. No other organization on school grounds like... GOES TO ITALY... and no teacher has a problem with it... because you are like spreading music or some crap. I barely got to go to knotts for physics this year because some teachers were so bitchy about me missing their class..... and its not only the ditching school part... but as everyone knows... just like everyone hooks up on habitat for humanity trips.... and no one hooks up on yosemite trips.... (sorry it's true)... THE MORMONS RUN WILD ON TOUR. And that my friend, is a sight to see. Or so I've heard. Or have I?
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
afjdioajfioefjoaiewf
You know that feeling when you walk into a test, know you are going to fail, finish first because you guessed on every question, and just left the rest blank? After you turn it in, you go to the bathroom for the rest of the period because you feel so awkward, but at the same time, so liberated because you just DGAFFED so hard and you want to walk around the school for lack of anything better to do.... you just feel too confined by the classroom and want to roam as a way of metaphorically giving the finger to the man...
you know that feeling?
I FEEL THAT WAY ALL THE TIME NOW.
I just got home from Chinese and I've never been home so early.
Today, we had a test.
and that feeling I just described... well... when you are trying to bullshit a Chinese test that you utterly know nothing about because you haven't made it to class since the last test... it's about that feeling times a gazillion.
I literally don't know what I even wrote. I was supposed to read and write complete sentences in characters based off of a passage.... I wrote one word answers in English. It gets to that point where you don't even give it the bare minimum... because you know that isn't going to get you any further.
that. screwed.
Second Semester Senior year... I've truly learned nothing. Well, nothing in school anyway. and that isn't to say that my teachers have given up teaching, I wish someone else could take this burden and leave me to point fingers... but life's not like that. Only I, will ultimately bear the burden of my actions.
However, I have learned some things... some cliches, some realizations, some with funny stories behind them.
These are SOME of the things I've learned.
1) When it rains, it pours, and you'll find it easier to stay inside than bother to go outside and drown. what you really should do, is learn to swim. When times are tough, it's better to face the world than stay inside and crust. Mood follows behavior, behavior does not follow mood.
2) There is no such thing as the word "try". you either do something or you don't.
3) the internet, is both the love of my life and the thing I hate the most. It is both good and evil. This past month, I had someone a bit random but extremely kind (if you read my blog, I appreciate you more than you know) send me a wonderful inbox paying me a wonderful compliment.. That was a sign that facebook can be used for the good. A week later or so, someone wrote a blog about me... and it wasn't nice. Which I guess just goes to show the next thing I learned which is....
4) There are no absolutes. There is no black, or white, no good, or evil, just everything in between. Are good actions "good" if they are spurred by "bad" motives? are "bad" actions "bad" if they are spurred by good motives? No one knows... everything is just a shade of gray. is it not?
5) There's nothing else left to do but keep moving on. As people, we will all recover from everything we go through.... as regina spektor once said "and everyone must breathe until their dying breath." wise woman, she is.
6) getting exactly what you deserve is either the best or the very worst feeling in the world. failing a class because you didn't turn one thing in, sucks. getting an a because you worked your ass off, is incredible. when you work your hind parts to the bone, and get a b, well that's a sign that life isn't fair.
7) Life isn't fair.
8) I hate my dog. Unfairly, but refer to number 7. I really hate my dog.
9) Contrary to everything I have previously believed about the American Dream and it's demise.... A part of me has recently had a change of heart and I think it may have a little kick left. Hard work, works. Being smart, isn't enough anymore.... If you are smart and don't work hard, you are an idiot for not working hard... because the idiot that works hard is ultimately going to a)catch up to you and b) get their way because of the integrity that they have. being a smart lazy ass.... makes you a lazy ass. that, I learned the hard way.
10) Every single person has something to offer, and everyone ultimately has something in common. You can hate, but why.... We're all traveling on our own roads. some on the busiest roads there are, some are wandering by themselves. either way, we are all traveling.
Idk.
felt like writing.
mehr.
you know that feeling?
I FEEL THAT WAY ALL THE TIME NOW.
I just got home from Chinese and I've never been home so early.
Today, we had a test.
and that feeling I just described... well... when you are trying to bullshit a Chinese test that you utterly know nothing about because you haven't made it to class since the last test... it's about that feeling times a gazillion.
I literally don't know what I even wrote. I was supposed to read and write complete sentences in characters based off of a passage.... I wrote one word answers in English. It gets to that point where you don't even give it the bare minimum... because you know that isn't going to get you any further.
that. screwed.
Second Semester Senior year... I've truly learned nothing. Well, nothing in school anyway. and that isn't to say that my teachers have given up teaching, I wish someone else could take this burden and leave me to point fingers... but life's not like that. Only I, will ultimately bear the burden of my actions.
However, I have learned some things... some cliches, some realizations, some with funny stories behind them.
These are SOME of the things I've learned.
1) When it rains, it pours, and you'll find it easier to stay inside than bother to go outside and drown. what you really should do, is learn to swim. When times are tough, it's better to face the world than stay inside and crust. Mood follows behavior, behavior does not follow mood.
2) There is no such thing as the word "try". you either do something or you don't.
3) the internet, is both the love of my life and the thing I hate the most. It is both good and evil. This past month, I had someone a bit random but extremely kind (if you read my blog, I appreciate you more than you know) send me a wonderful inbox paying me a wonderful compliment.. That was a sign that facebook can be used for the good. A week later or so, someone wrote a blog about me... and it wasn't nice. Which I guess just goes to show the next thing I learned which is....
4) There are no absolutes. There is no black, or white, no good, or evil, just everything in between. Are good actions "good" if they are spurred by "bad" motives? are "bad" actions "bad" if they are spurred by good motives? No one knows... everything is just a shade of gray. is it not?
5) There's nothing else left to do but keep moving on. As people, we will all recover from everything we go through.... as regina spektor once said "and everyone must breathe until their dying breath." wise woman, she is.
6) getting exactly what you deserve is either the best or the very worst feeling in the world. failing a class because you didn't turn one thing in, sucks. getting an a because you worked your ass off, is incredible. when you work your hind parts to the bone, and get a b, well that's a sign that life isn't fair.
7) Life isn't fair.
8) I hate my dog. Unfairly, but refer to number 7. I really hate my dog.
9) Contrary to everything I have previously believed about the American Dream and it's demise.... A part of me has recently had a change of heart and I think it may have a little kick left. Hard work, works. Being smart, isn't enough anymore.... If you are smart and don't work hard, you are an idiot for not working hard... because the idiot that works hard is ultimately going to a)catch up to you and b) get their way because of the integrity that they have. being a smart lazy ass.... makes you a lazy ass. that, I learned the hard way.
10) Every single person has something to offer, and everyone ultimately has something in common. You can hate, but why.... We're all traveling on our own roads. some on the busiest roads there are, some are wandering by themselves. either way, we are all traveling.
Idk.
felt like writing.
mehr.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
In the mood to ramble...
So... I'm cruising the boulevard at approx 9 am already ten minutes late to second period the other day when I have to slam on my breaks to let a pedestrian pass. Now, I'm sure if I ever actually walked anywhere and didn't consistently park illegally places to avoid walking at all, I might have more sympathy for people crossing streets. But I don't, so I hold all pedestrians in some form of contempt.
But anyway, it was actually two pedestrians, a mid twenties male and a little girl. The male was in uniform... and contrary to most women... I HATE A MAN IN UNIFORM. Well, I at least hate a man in an army uniform...
NOW, before I go on some rant and get labeled a terrorist and a secret Al Queda spy or something... My grandpa was in the korean war or something. All I know is he is a vet... and i'm not even going on an ANTI war brigade... but I am about to rage with the keyboard...
I literally do not understand why military personnel like... wear their uniforms all the time. I understand sacrificing your life for your country is exceptionally noble... but isn't going into burning buildings pretty noble too? or being a surgeon and paying for an excessive amount of education just so one day you can save people's lives also like... PRETTY NOBLE? but you don't see firemen wearing their outfits outside the station on their days off, nor do surgeons wear their blood stained scrubs to walk their daughter to school... It just really bothers me.... Like it's great and thanks for being all patriotic, but what's with the uni? I literally don't understand.
So they eventually crossed, and I proceeded to the next light...
It took all of 30 minutes for this overweight Mexican kid on a scooter to scoot between the white lines... The red hand was up about 1/3 of the way into the endeavor. I'm not making fun of people for their weight, but its like what happened to bikes... or you know... foot power? the scootie just wasn't working out.
This is all coming from the girl that up until JUNIOR year occasionally rode her razor scooter to softball practice with a gigantic softball bag slung oh so casually over one shoulder... polyester pants and high socks all the way down foothill... Why didn't my mom tell me I was such a freaking loser... it is straight up freaking miraculous I've ever had any friends...
Anyway, maybe I should have moved to the Dena sooner because clearly here scooting is an acceptable practice... none of the other cars honked angrily at the poor kid scooting like I did... (okay, I didn't actually honk... but I seriously really wanted to.)
gasp. wait. did she say she moved? haha, yes, I did move again. I've had people with knowledge of various components of my life trying to figure out where I am now located. Pretty funny. I'm pretty sure at this point I could say I'm living in the Dursley's stair closet and people would believe me... I mean, if harry potter hadn't already done it...
but with every move, there are things you miss about your ex-housey.
For example, I really miss my pet lizard that lived with me in the TROSE.
anyone who has talked to me in the past month has probably heard the horrid tales of the demon lizard that took over my previous residence. and for those of you who haven't...here is a quick break down of the six inch reptile that ruined my life.... or you know, just scared the living shit out of me and kept me out of my own bed for almost a week...
he was spotted right before spring break started... I didn't sleep there for four days... I had a lizard hunter come and try and find the bastard... and after moving all the furniture and no appearance by the devilish creature, I decided it was safe to return... because EVERY ONE FREAKING TOLD ME THAT IT HAD PROBABLY LEFT... THAT LIZARDS DON'T LINGER... if any one ever tells you this... ignore them. they are not lizard whisperers like you may think and do not know jack about lizard habits.
so fast forward to a week ago... the same little guy scampers out of a closet one morning.... luckily my mom was there to witness his existence (people thought I was going insane and few believed such a lizard even was real) and shove the guy in a corner and trap him with some random posters... any way, long story short, the lizard became rampant and vivacious and began to cause some serious physiological issues... so.... let's just say.... I TRIED TO DROWN IT IN BLEACH AND STUN IT IN THE EYES WITH HAIR SPRAY. I know... I know..... SOOOO INHUMANE... THAT LIZARD IS SOMEONE'S LIKE MOM OR SOMETHING... well if it's someone's mom then why the hell is it living in my closet, why isn't it with its family... yeah PETA that's what I thought... so let me wrap up this lizard story before people label me internet scum and a waste of their time... but what happened was... I thought the lizard was dead... but there was no way me or my mom was scooting out some dead thing (euw) so I called one of my fearless bytches, GFRAZ. She came to scoot it, she gave it two hard sweeps, and the guy CAME BACK TO LIFE AND RAN TO THE HALLWAY NEAR MY BEDROOM. which really just goes to show.... Karma is a BITCH if you are. Eventually the lizard was finally released back into the wild streets of montrose after it hid under a plastic bag near the door.... I will never forget that lizard. that crazy MF.
I will also miss a few of the local spots... Like Rocky Cola for instance... The only "diner" I really ever go to... But I think I only go there because in movies whenever criminals or people like evading the law or whatever ALWAYS meet at diners while on the run... or at least eat there and usually throw a wad of money on the table before literally running out the door... I've been waiting my whole life to witness some kind of dramatic diner "dine and dash" by criminals.... Diners are just sketchy... I figure if I sit in one long enough Danny Ocean is likely to come and ask me to be part of his crew, recently renamed Ocean's 14 (since it now would include me....).... Who am I kidding if George Clooney was in visual distance from me I would have a heart attack on the spot and never live to tell the tale. I mean, especially if I'm spending that much time at diners waiting for it to happen. Hello milk shakes/fries up the wahoooozooolle.
ANYWAY.... my itunes is open and is being totally random and GWEN STEFANI just came on and now I'm so add thinking about how epic she is for saying "take a chance you stupid hoe" in her song over and over again. what a bad ass.
But anyway, it was actually two pedestrians, a mid twenties male and a little girl. The male was in uniform... and contrary to most women... I HATE A MAN IN UNIFORM. Well, I at least hate a man in an army uniform...
NOW, before I go on some rant and get labeled a terrorist and a secret Al Queda spy or something... My grandpa was in the korean war or something. All I know is he is a vet... and i'm not even going on an ANTI war brigade... but I am about to rage with the keyboard...
I literally do not understand why military personnel like... wear their uniforms all the time. I understand sacrificing your life for your country is exceptionally noble... but isn't going into burning buildings pretty noble too? or being a surgeon and paying for an excessive amount of education just so one day you can save people's lives also like... PRETTY NOBLE? but you don't see firemen wearing their outfits outside the station on their days off, nor do surgeons wear their blood stained scrubs to walk their daughter to school... It just really bothers me.... Like it's great and thanks for being all patriotic, but what's with the uni? I literally don't understand.
So they eventually crossed, and I proceeded to the next light...
It took all of 30 minutes for this overweight Mexican kid on a scooter to scoot between the white lines... The red hand was up about 1/3 of the way into the endeavor. I'm not making fun of people for their weight, but its like what happened to bikes... or you know... foot power? the scootie just wasn't working out.
This is all coming from the girl that up until JUNIOR year occasionally rode her razor scooter to softball practice with a gigantic softball bag slung oh so casually over one shoulder... polyester pants and high socks all the way down foothill... Why didn't my mom tell me I was such a freaking loser... it is straight up freaking miraculous I've ever had any friends...
Anyway, maybe I should have moved to the Dena sooner because clearly here scooting is an acceptable practice... none of the other cars honked angrily at the poor kid scooting like I did... (okay, I didn't actually honk... but I seriously really wanted to.)
gasp. wait. did she say she moved? haha, yes, I did move again. I've had people with knowledge of various components of my life trying to figure out where I am now located. Pretty funny. I'm pretty sure at this point I could say I'm living in the Dursley's stair closet and people would believe me... I mean, if harry potter hadn't already done it...
but with every move, there are things you miss about your ex-housey.
For example, I really miss my pet lizard that lived with me in the TROSE.
kidding.
anyone who has talked to me in the past month has probably heard the horrid tales of the demon lizard that took over my previous residence. and for those of you who haven't...here is a quick break down of the six inch reptile that ruined my life.... or you know, just scared the living shit out of me and kept me out of my own bed for almost a week...
he was spotted right before spring break started... I didn't sleep there for four days... I had a lizard hunter come and try and find the bastard... and after moving all the furniture and no appearance by the devilish creature, I decided it was safe to return... because EVERY ONE FREAKING TOLD ME THAT IT HAD PROBABLY LEFT... THAT LIZARDS DON'T LINGER... if any one ever tells you this... ignore them. they are not lizard whisperers like you may think and do not know jack about lizard habits.
so fast forward to a week ago... the same little guy scampers out of a closet one morning.... luckily my mom was there to witness his existence (people thought I was going insane and few believed such a lizard even was real) and shove the guy in a corner and trap him with some random posters... any way, long story short, the lizard became rampant and vivacious and began to cause some serious physiological issues... so.... let's just say.... I TRIED TO DROWN IT IN BLEACH AND STUN IT IN THE EYES WITH HAIR SPRAY. I know... I know..... SOOOO INHUMANE... THAT LIZARD IS SOMEONE'S LIKE MOM OR SOMETHING... well if it's someone's mom then why the hell is it living in my closet, why isn't it with its family... yeah PETA that's what I thought... so let me wrap up this lizard story before people label me internet scum and a waste of their time... but what happened was... I thought the lizard was dead... but there was no way me or my mom was scooting out some dead thing (euw) so I called one of my fearless bytches, GFRAZ. She came to scoot it, she gave it two hard sweeps, and the guy CAME BACK TO LIFE AND RAN TO THE HALLWAY NEAR MY BEDROOM. which really just goes to show.... Karma is a BITCH if you are. Eventually the lizard was finally released back into the wild streets of montrose after it hid under a plastic bag near the door.... I will never forget that lizard. that crazy MF.
I will also miss a few of the local spots... Like Rocky Cola for instance... The only "diner" I really ever go to... But I think I only go there because in movies whenever criminals or people like evading the law or whatever ALWAYS meet at diners while on the run... or at least eat there and usually throw a wad of money on the table before literally running out the door... I've been waiting my whole life to witness some kind of dramatic diner "dine and dash" by criminals.... Diners are just sketchy... I figure if I sit in one long enough Danny Ocean is likely to come and ask me to be part of his crew, recently renamed Ocean's 14 (since it now would include me....).... Who am I kidding if George Clooney was in visual distance from me I would have a heart attack on the spot and never live to tell the tale. I mean, especially if I'm spending that much time at diners waiting for it to happen. Hello milk shakes/fries up the wahoooozooolle.
ANYWAY.... my itunes is open and is being totally random and GWEN STEFANI just came on and now I'm so add thinking about how epic she is for saying "take a chance you stupid hoe" in her song over and over again. what a bad ass.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
first encounters
I met my friend's roomate last night. Even though she isn't even college yet. I've actually met a few future roomates lately... But how can this be? my friends and their roomates haven't actually met yet... WHAT? profound.
These questions are answered by one word... technology.
i've never been one to handwrite letters... pull a rick mohney and declare email the worst thing society has yet to encounter... I never write by warm candlelight... I use the zipper, not the hook and eye. oh wait... I wasn't declaring reasons why I wasn't amish... I was explaining that I was not a anti-technology crusader (let's face it... I'm a BLOGGER.)... but just a little weirded out by the type of "first encounters" we now have.
Isn't it weird that the first time my friend's roomate met me.... was over a recorded video? I told her to add me after, which she did... but I mean... now we will never have the actual "first encounter" we will never have that weird embrace... we will already know each others hobbies, what kind of music the other listens to, siblings, past relationship status... etc. ISN'T THAT WEIRD?
Facebook, my love and pride and joy... is essentially ruining actually getting to know people. and it kinda bothers me.
at the same time, look at the kind of crap we all post. I am super charged guilty times ten of this. we all post crap to make ourselves look a certain way. hell, look at the image i'm projecting... ah gawd. facebook. chips and lawlsa man. chips and lawlsa. (creds to DICKLER (ryley sickler... keep up).
look, I promised I'd make it happen. low key. I LOVE TRENDING WORDS. (phewf, that felt good to get off my chest. no one knew THAT before.)
Anywhoozile, it just all makes me laugh. Like is this the college experience we've all tried so hard for? A world pre-meditated by FACEBOOK?
Well shit, call me Cady Heron.... (after all, I will be spending sometime in south africa next year, Jambo!).... maybe I am just a freakin jungle freak who isn't even going to college NEXT YEAR.
bahaha. awh gawd.
It's like the rolflmation lawlzification act of 1863.
just that funny.
These questions are answered by one word... technology.
i've never been one to handwrite letters... pull a rick mohney and declare email the worst thing society has yet to encounter... I never write by warm candlelight... I use the zipper, not the hook and eye. oh wait... I wasn't declaring reasons why I wasn't amish... I was explaining that I was not a anti-technology crusader (let's face it... I'm a BLOGGER.)... but just a little weirded out by the type of "first encounters" we now have.
Isn't it weird that the first time my friend's roomate met me.... was over a recorded video? I told her to add me after, which she did... but I mean... now we will never have the actual "first encounter" we will never have that weird embrace... we will already know each others hobbies, what kind of music the other listens to, siblings, past relationship status... etc. ISN'T THAT WEIRD?
Facebook, my love and pride and joy... is essentially ruining actually getting to know people. and it kinda bothers me.
at the same time, look at the kind of crap we all post. I am super charged guilty times ten of this. we all post crap to make ourselves look a certain way. hell, look at the image i'm projecting... ah gawd. facebook. chips and lawlsa man. chips and lawlsa. (creds to DICKLER (ryley sickler... keep up).
look, I promised I'd make it happen. low key. I LOVE TRENDING WORDS. (phewf, that felt good to get off my chest. no one knew THAT before.)
Anywhoozile, it just all makes me laugh. Like is this the college experience we've all tried so hard for? A world pre-meditated by FACEBOOK?
Well shit, call me Cady Heron.... (after all, I will be spending sometime in south africa next year, Jambo!).... maybe I am just a freakin jungle freak who isn't even going to college NEXT YEAR.
bahaha. awh gawd.
It's like the rolflmation lawlzification act of 1863.
just that funny.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Sorry I'm Not Sorry
I know we've all been in the kind of mood where you just say... wow... music today sucks. I'm in that kind of mood right now, so let me take off my fingerless gloves, my beanie, and put down the stog and starbucks I'm holding so I can properly bitch about society. Ugh wait, these ivy colored cords are making me itch too. brb.
yup, those were attempts at "hipster" jokes.
(low key going to coachella... I'm qualified to make this kind of social commentary. NO BIG DEAL. LAWLLZZZYYY. Hope people get my foe sense of entitlement...)
Anyway, I'm driving in my car jammin to my ipod listening to Sittin On the Dock of the Bay by Otis Redding. First of all, I would just like to say believe it or not, Otis and I may have the same soul. But really. Sittin on the Dock of the Bay is essentially a song all devoted to the act of crusting...
So I'm just gonna sit on the dock of the bay
Watching the tide roll away
Ooo, I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time
Look like nothing's gonna change
Everything still remains the same
I can't do what ten people tell me to do
So I guess I'll remain the same, yes....
Watching the tide roll away
Ooo, I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time
Look like nothing's gonna change
Everything still remains the same
I can't do what ten people tell me to do
So I guess I'll remain the same, yes....
Tell me those lyrics don't exemplify the crust.
Anyway... so I'm jammin out with Otis and realizing we're soulmates and the next song that comes on is Down on Me.
"Heard you go that sticky
Lets go and take 9 shots, we'll just call it fifty
And I'm gonna lick it, lick it, lick it
Till her hicky have her Rev running
Keep you running 'til you whimpy, bang, bang, bang, bang"
Lets go and take 9 shots, we'll just call it fifty
And I'm gonna lick it, lick it, lick it
Till her hicky have her Rev running
Keep you running 'til you whimpy, bang, bang, bang, bang"
Seeing those lyrics actually in front of you kinda makes you go... oh wow Jermih... you are an effing idiot. Is it me or is the phrase, heard you go that sticky just plain offensive? No one really knows how to cope... and Lets go and take 9 shots, we'll just call it fifty? dude... you can't do that.. and does anyone else think its low key kind of bitch drinking to associate 9 shots to 50? LIKE ITS FIFTY. Does Jermih really get that trashed off 9 shots that he calls it fifty? I mean 9 shots is a lot to drink... but you're a freaking rapper... I thought you chased coke lines with four lokos (the originals, not the new ones that took out the little shot of crack at the bottom...). IDK. Just a bit disappointing. I'm not sure I would party with Jermih. Especially because he randomly ends verses with the words bang, bang, bang, bang when he can't think of anything else... loser.
Another song that just gets me every time is Enrique's "Tonight I'm Fucking You".... Like are you kidding? What a great rhetorician you are...
Here’s the situation
Been to every nation
Nobody’s ever made me feel the way that you do
You know my motivation
Given my reputation
Please excuse I don’t mean to be rude
But tonight I’m fucking you
Oh you know
That tonight I’m fucking you
Oh you know
That tonight I’m fucking you
Been to every nation
Nobody’s ever made me feel the way that you do
You know my motivation
Given my reputation
Please excuse I don’t mean to be rude
But tonight I’m fucking you
Oh you know
That tonight I’m fucking you
Oh you know
That tonight I’m fucking you
Is it just me... or is there no ruder words than But tonight I'm fucking you. Uhm.... Hello? Imagine this scene is going down in "da club" or where ever the hell these thugs party... like Hey, you know my motivation... given uh my scummy reputation.... please excuse, I mean, I really don't mean to be rude but... TONIGHT I'M FUCKING YOU. Like what does that even mean? Like no matter what he's going to get in her pants? Dead or Alive? Roofied or just drunk? Dude. Enrique, you're a MF (mothafu....) RAPIST. Mom, pick me up... and then pick up Enrique.. we're bringing him back to Mexico. Society wasn't ready.
My hating isn't limited to just men. I mean, hellooooo Katy Perry... Do you ever feel... Like a plastic bag?... No... I actually don't. Firework was on one of the cds in my car for a while, IT'S JUST SO DAMN CATCHY. But the beginning gets me every time.
But with all these big ole dummies gracing the top ten charts of itunes.... How can we even poke fun at Rebecca Black? Yes.... "Friday" was a bit extreme... But was it that much worse than admitting sometimes you feel like a plastic bag? Or that you know, tonight I'm fucking you?
If we really need to mock someone as a whole... Its gotta be this girl....
This video changed my life, and made me realize... anyone... can be famous.
If you've got a minute. watch it. Now, I've gotta run... using all those lyrics sites gave me about 1,000 pop up windows to close, most of which are making noises... the combination of the pop up sounds and "My Jeans" is making me feel... well... like I did this morning... Jambs.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Sunday Paralysis
I feel like Miss Havisham from Great Expectations right now...
Okay, its been less than 35 years since I last moved at all, but my Sunday ritual of crusting in bed certainly makes me lose track of time and considering the fact I'm still wearing the shirt I wore last night.... I'm on my way to never moving again and wearing the same outfit for the rest of my life.
Kidding.
Anyway, I've never even seen Great Expectations, just the Sassy Gay Friend of it on youtube.
So don't go thinking I'm all well read or am motivated enough to actually rent a movie...
Renting a movie would require getting out of bed, finding my keys, forgetting my dignity and the social norms of the environment I take part in and eventually leaving the house in sweats, offensive make up, and sporting hair that was popularized by homeless, toothless, peasants of mid-evil England...
Instead, I choose to sit in bed and wonder when crusting not only became a verb, but also an intengral part of the binding routine I call life....
Sundays used to be busy. I had a job, I taught a confirmation class, I did homework....
I most likely had an ASB lunch, and was already preparing mentally for Monday's officer meeting for Y and G. Many Sundays, I had debutantes. Oh wait... and I used to play softball?
Oh, how things have changed. The FUNNIEST part of this whole realization that I've basically become a certifiable vegetable on Sundays, hiding like anne frank or a heliophobic in my room.... is that I finally understand Senioritis. I have got the plague.
Now listen up all you youngsters.... You haven't got senioritis. You may think you do... But you don't. I say this because I was that loud mouthed kid who claimed they had senioritis from about mid-sophmore year on...
But you don't have senioritis if you are still doing things to try to get you out of La Canada.
If you still have extra-cirrics, an SAT tutor, a sport, and the motivation to move before noon on Sunday, you haven't been infected. DBAS. (dream big all-star).
Senioritis... it's more than being ready to leave. We've all been ready to leave since the day we realized the UA has a rodent problem, lice infected seats, and that the "cop" who patrols the theater on Friday nights, doesn't actually have any authority.. I doubt any 8th graders are reading this, but if on the off chance I've picked up a younger audience... SCREW THAT FOE-COP.... And stop lying to your parents.... If you are walking down to burger king/sitting at Starbucks for the duration of a movie to talk about drama or hang out with guys.... just tell them... they won't care.... I spent too much of my life holding on to movie tickets stubs just in case my mom asked for them... checking movie synopsizes on the original iphone.... BECAUSE I WAS SO SKETCHY SITTING AT STARBUCKS with my friends? Mom, I know you read my blog... So I take this moment here and now to apologize for lying about going to starbucks/rice garden. Hope you aren't TOO mad.
Wow, that whole little rant made me pretty nostalgic for 8th grade. Nothing like racoon-eyes and not knowing how to use eye-liner.... Nothing like daily fraps and taco deli nachos and remaining relatively thin... Nothing like the beeline on Fridays... WHO REMEMBERS WHEN THE LCF SHUTTLLE BROKE DOWN ON MICHIGAN HILL? WHO REMEMBERS WHEN BUSHMAN GOT HIT BY A MOM TALKING ON HER CELLPHONE? WHO REMEMBERS ROUTINE PHOTOSHOOTS AT MEMORIAL PARK WHILE THE BOYS SKATED... WHO REMEMBERS WHEN KB AND JM GOT IN A FIGHT AT MEMORIAL? WHO REMEMBERS THE Y DANCE WHERE THERE WAS A ROSEMONT VS LC GIRL FIGHT? (okay one attempt at a punch was made... doesn't constitute a girl fight, but the memory remains epic either way...) WHO REMEMBERS HOLLISTER/ABERCROMBIE TANKS IN EVERY COLOR... WHO REMEMBERS IDOLIZING THE CAST OF THE OC/LAGUNA BEACH/ EVERYONE KNEW NEWPORT HARBOR WAS A FAIL. WHO REMEMBERS MYSPACE? LiZzIe'ZZZZ PAGE. Hi :) I'm lizzie, I blow out my candles on july 9. :) I hate drama. I love my friends. I'm super chill, so if you want to get to know me... leave a comment :) (insert artsy picture from photobucket now.) COMMENTS? NAH BITCH, WE WALL TO WALL NOW.
Hopefully... I'm not the only one who remembers....
Wait, what the hell was I originally talking about... Hi I have ADHD, nice to meet you? No, I won't sell you adderol, asshole.
So back to Senioritis. Trust me, juniors who swear they DGAF and aren't going to study for AP exams.... You don't have it. Sophomore girls whose friend group has so much drama they SWEAR they are ready to move on, you aren't infected. And to the sketch freshman who have drank already... YOU DON'T HAVE SENIORITIS EITHER.
You just don't.
That's all for now.
I have some very important crusting to attend to.
Okay, its been less than 35 years since I last moved at all, but my Sunday ritual of crusting in bed certainly makes me lose track of time and considering the fact I'm still wearing the shirt I wore last night.... I'm on my way to never moving again and wearing the same outfit for the rest of my life.
Kidding.
Anyway, I've never even seen Great Expectations, just the Sassy Gay Friend of it on youtube.
So don't go thinking I'm all well read or am motivated enough to actually rent a movie...
Renting a movie would require getting out of bed, finding my keys, forgetting my dignity and the social norms of the environment I take part in and eventually leaving the house in sweats, offensive make up, and sporting hair that was popularized by homeless, toothless, peasants of mid-evil England...
Instead, I choose to sit in bed and wonder when crusting not only became a verb, but also an intengral part of the binding routine I call life....
Sundays used to be busy. I had a job, I taught a confirmation class, I did homework....
I most likely had an ASB lunch, and was already preparing mentally for Monday's officer meeting for Y and G. Many Sundays, I had debutantes. Oh wait... and I used to play softball?
Oh, how things have changed. The FUNNIEST part of this whole realization that I've basically become a certifiable vegetable on Sundays, hiding like anne frank or a heliophobic in my room.... is that I finally understand Senioritis. I have got the plague.
Now listen up all you youngsters.... You haven't got senioritis. You may think you do... But you don't. I say this because I was that loud mouthed kid who claimed they had senioritis from about mid-sophmore year on...
But you don't have senioritis if you are still doing things to try to get you out of La Canada.
If you still have extra-cirrics, an SAT tutor, a sport, and the motivation to move before noon on Sunday, you haven't been infected. DBAS. (dream big all-star).
Senioritis... it's more than being ready to leave. We've all been ready to leave since the day we realized the UA has a rodent problem, lice infected seats, and that the "cop" who patrols the theater on Friday nights, doesn't actually have any authority.. I doubt any 8th graders are reading this, but if on the off chance I've picked up a younger audience... SCREW THAT FOE-COP.... And stop lying to your parents.... If you are walking down to burger king/sitting at Starbucks for the duration of a movie to talk about drama or hang out with guys.... just tell them... they won't care.... I spent too much of my life holding on to movie tickets stubs just in case my mom asked for them... checking movie synopsizes on the original iphone.... BECAUSE I WAS SO SKETCHY SITTING AT STARBUCKS with my friends? Mom, I know you read my blog... So I take this moment here and now to apologize for lying about going to starbucks/rice garden. Hope you aren't TOO mad.
Wow, that whole little rant made me pretty nostalgic for 8th grade. Nothing like racoon-eyes and not knowing how to use eye-liner.... Nothing like daily fraps and taco deli nachos and remaining relatively thin... Nothing like the beeline on Fridays... WHO REMEMBERS WHEN THE LCF SHUTTLLE BROKE DOWN ON MICHIGAN HILL? WHO REMEMBERS WHEN BUSHMAN GOT HIT BY A MOM TALKING ON HER CELLPHONE? WHO REMEMBERS ROUTINE PHOTOSHOOTS AT MEMORIAL PARK WHILE THE BOYS SKATED... WHO REMEMBERS WHEN KB AND JM GOT IN A FIGHT AT MEMORIAL? WHO REMEMBERS THE Y DANCE WHERE THERE WAS A ROSEMONT VS LC GIRL FIGHT? (okay one attempt at a punch was made... doesn't constitute a girl fight, but the memory remains epic either way...) WHO REMEMBERS HOLLISTER/ABERCROMBIE TANKS IN EVERY COLOR... WHO REMEMBERS IDOLIZING THE CAST OF THE OC/LAGUNA BEACH/ EVERYONE KNEW NEWPORT HARBOR WAS A FAIL. WHO REMEMBERS MYSPACE? LiZzIe'ZZZZ PAGE. Hi :) I'm lizzie, I blow out my candles on july 9. :) I hate drama. I love my friends. I'm super chill, so if you want to get to know me... leave a comment :) (insert artsy picture from photobucket now.) COMMENTS? NAH BITCH, WE WALL TO WALL NOW.
Hopefully... I'm not the only one who remembers....
Wait, what the hell was I originally talking about... Hi I have ADHD, nice to meet you? No, I won't sell you adderol, asshole.
So back to Senioritis. Trust me, juniors who swear they DGAF and aren't going to study for AP exams.... You don't have it. Sophomore girls whose friend group has so much drama they SWEAR they are ready to move on, you aren't infected. And to the sketch freshman who have drank already... YOU DON'T HAVE SENIORITIS EITHER.
You just don't.
That's all for now.
I have some very important crusting to attend to.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Chinese Class at Community College
Community the tv show cuts way too close to home.
As I have recently begun taking Mandarin 1 at PCC, I realize that "Community" is a bit more accurate than we would all like to think.
Even if I tried, (which I have), I couldn't possibly think of a more random group of people compiled into room 201 every monday and wednesday from 330 to 610.
There's the only black guy in the class.
He brings a laptop and sits in the front...
One time, while discussing envelope colors and their meaning in China... he said "what about black envelopes?"
The teacher had no choice but to tell him black envelopes didn't exist in China. To this day, I am sure he was severely offended.
For those of you who watch Community, there are two men that resemble Pierce. Old white conservatives who ask too many questions are convinced that every component of the Chinese language has a perfectly analogous relationship to a component of English. They cannot understand anything unless it is related to something American. These two men always sit next to the black guy I mentioned before. It's pretty funny.
Naturally, there are two Korean girls that have deemed themselves smart and interesting enough to tell us every time we learn something in Mandarin, the word , phrase, character, or structure of the particular item in Korean. I'm not MGA, I don't care about Korean. I hate these girls.
These girls also have these weirdo bag hooks that they pull out of their backpacks and put at the corner of their desks so their all cliched hello kitty backpacks do not have to touch the miserable class room floor. It really weirds me out and I spent much too long of my last class thinking about how stupid their bag hooks are.
ALSO....
they won't go into the bathroom which has multiple stalls if anyone else is in it. they will wait outside until the bathroom is completely empty.
they are either doing cocaine or have the worst performance anxiety known to man.
The KG's (korean girls) are not to be trusted.
Next, come the three best friends that anyone could have...
they all dress similarly kind of like 1980's punkish and are awkwardly probably the smartest people in the class. the teacher cannot keep them apart even though they are all of different races and names begin with the sounds da, st, and ri.
They aren't chinese which pisses me off.
I don't know why they get Chinese so easily.
Maybe they are scamming the system, much like the fluent chinese girl who sat by me last class and read an entire novel written entirely in mandarin during last weeks class. I found this extremely unfair. I'm pretty sure she told the teacher she was Japanese, not Chinese the first week to stay in the class and has feigned ignorance ever since..... I am so curious about this girl, I wonder if she purposefully misses a few answers on quizzes here and there to maintain her cover.... It almost seems more exhausting to pretend you don't know something than take a class you actually know nothing about.
I will continue to watch this fluent speaker.
There a few other characters I must mention to complete the cast.
Of course there is the teacher, her English is hilarious but her good sense of humor keeps us motivated. think if the movie freedom writers had jim carrey, not hilary swank as the teacher.
there is a girl that the teacher pretends she knows and always uses as the example. i'm pretty sure this girl doesn't know the teacher and feels uncomfortable most of the time in class.
There is the awkward trio that sits in front. A chubby mom with Christina Augliera high lights circa 1999, an anorexic theater major, and asian good will hunting. Asian good will hunting takes his notes in a leather bound journal and always wears a suit. He has trendy glasses and has worn a scarf on more than one occassion.
The past two classes I've sat next to the same kid. I guess we are "friends"? I am truly unsure of how to meet people at this point but he seems cool enough..... I of course, can no longer get close enough to anyone in my class at this point because this blog posting is a bit... "too soon" to be read by my classmates.
hhaahaha..
OH AND FINALLY. THIS POST WOULD NOT BE COMPLETE WITHOUT MENTIONING STAR BURNS.
I have attached a picture of Starburns from community so everyone can chuckle together...
bahahaha. This guy is hilarious and by hilarious I mean horribly annoying and makes me question every class "is this real life?". He has obviously spent a ton of time in china town... he is a bit chubberooosks, wears a nightmare before christmas sweater every class, a fedora and has weirrrrrrd facial hair. One of the few words he knows is "pigio" meaning beer. So whenever we learn a new phrase such as
"I like"
"I want"
"I drink"
"I need"
"I love"
"I only talk about"
"has ruined my social skills"
you bet he raises his hand and volunteers the word beer.
I'm tempted to bring him a 12 pack soon and tell him we got the picture and to never utter the word pigio again. I truly might do that.
Of course, with all these people watching...
I've learned about one thing in Mandarin so far.
It is this.
Pigio=beer.
Damn you star burns.
As I have recently begun taking Mandarin 1 at PCC, I realize that "Community" is a bit more accurate than we would all like to think.
Even if I tried, (which I have), I couldn't possibly think of a more random group of people compiled into room 201 every monday and wednesday from 330 to 610.
There's the only black guy in the class.
He brings a laptop and sits in the front...
One time, while discussing envelope colors and their meaning in China... he said "what about black envelopes?"
The teacher had no choice but to tell him black envelopes didn't exist in China. To this day, I am sure he was severely offended.
For those of you who watch Community, there are two men that resemble Pierce. Old white conservatives who ask too many questions are convinced that every component of the Chinese language has a perfectly analogous relationship to a component of English. They cannot understand anything unless it is related to something American. These two men always sit next to the black guy I mentioned before. It's pretty funny.
Naturally, there are two Korean girls that have deemed themselves smart and interesting enough to tell us every time we learn something in Mandarin, the word , phrase, character, or structure of the particular item in Korean. I'm not MGA, I don't care about Korean. I hate these girls.
These girls also have these weirdo bag hooks that they pull out of their backpacks and put at the corner of their desks so their all cliched hello kitty backpacks do not have to touch the miserable class room floor. It really weirds me out and I spent much too long of my last class thinking about how stupid their bag hooks are.
ALSO....
they won't go into the bathroom which has multiple stalls if anyone else is in it. they will wait outside until the bathroom is completely empty.
they are either doing cocaine or have the worst performance anxiety known to man.
The KG's (korean girls) are not to be trusted.
Next, come the three best friends that anyone could have...
they all dress similarly kind of like 1980's punkish and are awkwardly probably the smartest people in the class. the teacher cannot keep them apart even though they are all of different races and names begin with the sounds da, st, and ri.
They aren't chinese which pisses me off.
I don't know why they get Chinese so easily.
Maybe they are scamming the system, much like the fluent chinese girl who sat by me last class and read an entire novel written entirely in mandarin during last weeks class. I found this extremely unfair. I'm pretty sure she told the teacher she was Japanese, not Chinese the first week to stay in the class and has feigned ignorance ever since..... I am so curious about this girl, I wonder if she purposefully misses a few answers on quizzes here and there to maintain her cover.... It almost seems more exhausting to pretend you don't know something than take a class you actually know nothing about.
I will continue to watch this fluent speaker.
There a few other characters I must mention to complete the cast.
Of course there is the teacher, her English is hilarious but her good sense of humor keeps us motivated. think if the movie freedom writers had jim carrey, not hilary swank as the teacher.
there is a girl that the teacher pretends she knows and always uses as the example. i'm pretty sure this girl doesn't know the teacher and feels uncomfortable most of the time in class.
There is the awkward trio that sits in front. A chubby mom with Christina Augliera high lights circa 1999, an anorexic theater major, and asian good will hunting. Asian good will hunting takes his notes in a leather bound journal and always wears a suit. He has trendy glasses and has worn a scarf on more than one occassion.
The past two classes I've sat next to the same kid. I guess we are "friends"? I am truly unsure of how to meet people at this point but he seems cool enough..... I of course, can no longer get close enough to anyone in my class at this point because this blog posting is a bit... "too soon" to be read by my classmates.
hhaahaha..
OH AND FINALLY. THIS POST WOULD NOT BE COMPLETE WITHOUT MENTIONING STAR BURNS.
I have attached a picture of Starburns from community so everyone can chuckle together...
"I like"
"I want"
"I drink"
"I need"
"I love"
"I only talk about"
"has ruined my social skills"
you bet he raises his hand and volunteers the word beer.
I'm tempted to bring him a 12 pack soon and tell him we got the picture and to never utter the word pigio again. I truly might do that.
Of course, with all these people watching...
I've learned about one thing in Mandarin so far.
It is this.
Pigio=beer.
Damn you star burns.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
PLAS II
The night had the stress of any sequel. Will there be a lot of hook ups? Will I be the one who throws up? I wonder if that lizzie girl is going to break a table again..... And I wonder if she will bring her camera....
Well, thankfully, I didn't break any tables this time around.. I did climb on a counter top and attempt to quiet people down at one point, but the bouncer carried me down before I could have any success... Because obviously I was in a state of mind to quiet a room full of people. right?
I did however, bring my camera. The pressure was on. I knew other photographers were going to bring the heat. But I had to capture the essence of the night. I hoped to do accomplish my goal without running a 5k like I did last time. All the running on an august night had previously caused me to think it was socially acceptable to dunk my head in the pool mid party to cool down. Word of advice to all: don't do it... you will have a middle part and resemble hansel from zoolander the entire rest of the night.
I make my entrance, and I know it's going to be a good night. Many thanks to my lovely friend with the pick up truck who happened to be driving by when I needed a ride. Let me tell you, there's nothing more exhilarating than arriving at a party dancing in the back of a pick up truck with you and your friends. And by heroic, I mean, embarrassing and pretentious in sober retrospect.
My camera is out. I must get good pictures.
I'm making my usual rounds, until a snap one make out picture which turns the whole night askew.
SOMEHOW, this one camera flash.... this one little snap shot taken mid party scene.... turns ugly into a rumor that I have mobile uploaded a couple engaging in more than a little innocent kissing, mid party..... yes, because I would leave the party scene in attempt to find kid porn and live the rest of my life as a registered sex offender....
anyway, I had no idea that this rumor had sparked so I spent the rest of the night yelling at people...
in retrospect the convos are so funny.
angry person: WHAT KIND OF HUMAN BEING ARE YOU TO DO THAT? GO TO HELL YOU BITCH.
me: IT WAS ONE PICTURE. JESUS. I DELETED IT AN HOUR AGO WHATS THE BIG DEAL.
angry person: FDKLAJFLDAJL
anyway, so just to clarify, I never did that, nor am I sure those relations even ensued to begin with. everyone should walk away with a clean name...
I meant to post this blog about a week ago.... But I never finished it....
But all I have to say is what a shitshow.
and I'm not quite sure if society is ready for any more PLAS.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
I'm sorry for telling people about that one time that you had dirreah at Barnes and Noble...
I needed a book.
Heading back from the snazzy arc light at paseo, my momma suggested we stop at the barnes and noble in old town. Of course, coming from the weird end of Colorado and trying to make a left onto Delacey so we can use that marvelous parking lot (90 minutes free! I recently went to old town and spent 102 minutes in the good ole old town [couldn't resist the ole, old, sorry], and let me tell ya, you love that lot until the day you spend 2 dollars on 12 minutes....) is utterly impossible... so, two lights and a lot cursing later we eventually decide its not worth the extra five minutes to make a left into a parking lot essentially a block away and we drive all the way to the Barnes and Noble in the Americana. Look, it made more sense to have an active pursuit.
We arrive at the Americana, thank god for the cold rags they dispense at each parking level so your motion sickness spurred on by the spiral speedway set up to traverse parking levels, is kept in check. Oh wait. They don't do that.
Me: Mmmmmhmmm the Americana smells good.
Momma Rita: It always smells good at the Americana!
Now, Momma Rita likes Glendale about as much as the average anti-semetic likes, well, someone Jewish. And all of the sudden, she is a Glendale Guru knowing the smells of the Americana like the smells of her own Mother's kitchen. I was/ am in utter chock.
We make it to the Barnes and Noble.
Does anyone else remember the time where bestsellers were stacked on the special wood tables in front? With the little glossy sign that says best sellers? Now, you walk into the ol' nobles and the special feature blond wood tables hold signs that say "self-improovement" and "dieting and nutrition".
This sucks for two reasons. Self-Help books and Dieting are the eye catchers of a book store? Is this really what people go book shopping for?? I admittedly came into the store to by a book in the self-help section....BUT I USUALLY DON'T. And it's not like I thought most people went book shopping to get weirdo "self -improovement" books.. Or does everyone think this? Profound....
The second reason it sucks, as I so eloquently put it, is that dieting and self improovement are two different sections. Because dieting doesn't fall under the cateogeory of self help? BECAUSE DIETING IS SELF DESTRUCTIVE? Wait, also, PROFOUND. Take that atkins, Barnes and Nobles execs think that dieting is inadvertently a sign of self deprication.
Anyway, I can't find the book I'm looking for, I thought it was sure to be in Pyschology but of course it is in the aforementioned self-help section. A jolly book finder helps me, and I have my book.
After a few more minutes of browsing, and i'm in the check out line with Momma Ritz.
Now, the last time I was at this particular Barnes and Noble, I was purchasing books for my AP Lit summer reading list. When we were checking out, an overly chatty recent UCLA grad who studied literature and loved ravoli (I told you, a chatty kathy amoung us), took it upon herself to examine my summer reading list and give me summaries of every book on it. BEACUSE AS AT RECENT UCLA GRAD WITH A LITERATURE DEGREE SHE WAS AUTHORIZED TO DO SO. Not only did she give summaries, but marked my list with little happy faces next to her favorite classics. Of course, not being OCD, I permitted her to do this. NOT. Well whatever, so much for you and your Bruin B.A., you still work at a godforsaken bookstore. Poophead.
So this time, it was essential to have a plan to avoid a three hour conversation. Momma Ritz and I decided to take on Russian spy personas (we love you Evelyn Salt), and pretend we don't speak english if the casher adresses us.
We approach the counter and, damn he already knows we speak English, it's the same guy that helped us find our book upstairs. This guy was a machine and possibly one of few working there. This understaffment led to our inquiry if they were hiring (after all, I did just quit **), an inquiry followed by giggles at Momma's suggestion that he would after all be the one hiring us.... (because he is the only person who works there. keep up people).
Back to the parking garage arena (it can't even be called a garage) and my Mom and I actually ponder whether or not to take the elevator or the escalators. We decided we would burn off the extra calories by using the escalators.... You realize I'm only half kidding...
My mom wanders off at level three (we parked at level five), and after I politely ask her, what she's doing she replies, "Oh, silly me! I always do this at the Americana." (once again, prooving her many encounters with the Americana? I'm still not sure if she leads a double life where she shops at the Americana every day without me, or if she just has recently gotten in the habit of using extreme jargon and using the word always a bit too much....)
Walking back to the car,
Momma Rita: Do you smell that? Smells like beer.
Me: I do smell that, but I was going to say it smelled like marajuana.
Monday, January 31, 2011
**
an * to explain the use of **, ** shall be substituted for the name of the place of which I was once employed, I fear using the real name of it..... somehow, I just know I could get sued, even though none of this is libel or defamation. ** just... scares me.
Me: Hello, Welcome to **!
Customer: Oh, why Hello lovely worker!
Me: Oh hello! My name is Lizzie I will be your goodness guide for the evening. Have you all been to ** before?
Customer: No, we have not been to this lovely place of swirly goodness before!!
Me: Oh my goodness! And golly gee! Well welcome to **. ** serves frozen yogurt! All of our yogurt is made fresh daily, has over a billion live and active cultures, and is non-fat, except for our delicious chocolate flavor which is low fat. (insert smile here!) At this location, we swirl six flavors, we have our delectable tart original unique to **, as well as coconut, mango, pomegranate, chocolate and our newest featured flavor, BLOOD ORANGE! you can mix any two flavors if you would like! what kind of samples can I interest you in?
Customer: I will try all of them because I have nothing to do with my day and LOVE frozen yogurt!
Me: SURE THING!
oh wait. that never happened. I've recently quit my job at the esteemed **, and I have never been happier. Well, I'm happy for now, but my sushi five times a week diet is sure to suffer in the near future. sorry for being a spicy tuna addict. love me.
anyway, I recently quit my job at the pristine clean uber trendy (three years ago) **. The little role play I gave earlier was a fantasy that the company has, assuming that each customer actually gives an eff about their yogurt. this is what actually happened 90% of the time...
Me: HELLO, WELCOME TO **
(not even as much as an eyebrow lift from customer who is typing furiously into their blackberry, andriod, or iphone. let's be honest, ** is so expensive, no 1990's flip phones are ever seen in the shop... )
Me: My name is Lizzie, I'll be you----
Customer: Ya, I need five medium originals all with strawberry, fruity pebbles, and pineapple.
(make yogurts furiously)
Customer: LET ME TRY YOUR CHOCOLATE.
Me (stop making yogurt and get sample: Here you are! Let me know what you think!
Customer: Ew, tastes like pudding. Let me try your coconut.
Me: Oh of course!
Customer: oh, god, tastes like rotten cottage cheese. back to the originals. is there anyone else working here that can help you?
Me: I'm so sorry, everyone is on their break! (this is a symptom of the fact that ** at most has 4 employees at any given time, ** workers are worked into the ground, not paid over time, and literally nap in the back whenever I work...)
Customer usually doesn't respond despite my best attempts at a smile...
Finally we make it to the register.
Customer: what?!?! THESE YOGURTS WERE 4.95 A PIECE? IT SAYS 3.50 ON THE MENU.
Me: well, let me review the menu with you, it says 3.50 without topping, 4.95 with topping, see the bottom row includes topping price.
Customer: I thought it was toppings per price, how many toppings can I get?
Me: Well, you can fit as many toppings as fit comfortably in the cup.
Customer: You never told me that, throw some of that chocolate goop on the yogurts then.
Me: oh the milk chocolate crunch!? delish. it will be 50 cents extra per scoop.
Customer (glares that could kill are usually received at this point): granola on the five yogurts, then.
Me: Of course! (thinking to myself that if you would have let me give my little speech at the beginning instead of cutting me off and checking into ** on your godforsaken iphone, you may have known this before.... but sure thing, let me unbag, un-ice, un-top five yogurts, refill the granola, and top your yogurts again.... I know you are in such a rush, so I will awkwardly try and run to and fro in my converse and dickies. yes. minimum wage jobs.)
let me just tell you something, people. are. terrible. if my job taught me anything, it is to be tolerant of the worker behind the counter. because, LBH here, it's more than likely that you are the b****, and they are just trying to do their jobs. people really know NO bounds, unless of course, they realize they know you.
no names used here, but you would be surprised at the number of times that I talk to a La Canada parent, and get them to drop a tip for me, because I know them, and the other workers would look at me in awe. you got HER to talk to you? she's usually so rude and pyschotic....
proving that no matter how low you are, or where you are, it's all about who you know.
I move forward today, less racist than I was before, you can't help but start to stereotype races for their preferences.
asians=original, mochi, blueberry
indians= mango
whites= pom, mango
armenians= coconut, pom
african americans(anyone ever think saying the af. am's is almost like less PC than just saying "black"? no one knows, I'm just trying to be as politically as correct as I can while still being openly stereotypical.... life. is. a. paradox. thank you and goodnight rick mohney)= still mad the watermelon is gone.
I move forward today, not judging, not having a pre-conceived notion of what kind of yogurt certain races would most likely order. Because, I have a dream.
I have a dream that one day, behind the clean counters of **, that the sons of all yogurt buyers will be able to sit together, at a clean white table, bleached by an underpaid worker.
I have a dream, that one day, even in the state of California, a state dripping with the sweat of health freaks and fro-yo addicts, will be transformed into an oasis of real food, and a place free of yogurt induced stereotypes. I have a dream that one day, children in high school will not judge others for the yogurt they buy, but they will be judged on the content of their character.
you're right. I probably took that way, way too far. jambs. life goes on.
at least I'm not subject to wearing a 100 percent polyester outfit, complete with an apron that fits no one with female "lady lumps" (thank you fergie) properly.
at least I no longer spend 15 hours a week under the scrutiny of cameras watched by big brother, receiving phone calls when you accidentally put the chocolate in the original machine. (IT WAS ONE TIME).
at least, I WALK FREE FROM YOGURT OPRESSION AND NO LONGER FEEL GUILTY EATING DOLCHE MANGO AND 21 CHOICES.
at least.
Me: Hello, Welcome to **!
Customer: Oh, why Hello lovely worker!
Me: Oh hello! My name is Lizzie I will be your goodness guide for the evening. Have you all been to ** before?
Customer: No, we have not been to this lovely place of swirly goodness before!!
Me: Oh my goodness! And golly gee! Well welcome to **. ** serves frozen yogurt! All of our yogurt is made fresh daily, has over a billion live and active cultures, and is non-fat, except for our delicious chocolate flavor which is low fat. (insert smile here!) At this location, we swirl six flavors, we have our delectable tart original unique to **, as well as coconut, mango, pomegranate, chocolate and our newest featured flavor, BLOOD ORANGE! you can mix any two flavors if you would like! what kind of samples can I interest you in?
Customer: I will try all of them because I have nothing to do with my day and LOVE frozen yogurt!
Me: SURE THING!
oh wait. that never happened. I've recently quit my job at the esteemed **, and I have never been happier. Well, I'm happy for now, but my sushi five times a week diet is sure to suffer in the near future. sorry for being a spicy tuna addict. love me.
anyway, I recently quit my job at the pristine clean uber trendy (three years ago) **. The little role play I gave earlier was a fantasy that the company has, assuming that each customer actually gives an eff about their yogurt. this is what actually happened 90% of the time...
Me: HELLO, WELCOME TO **
(not even as much as an eyebrow lift from customer who is typing furiously into their blackberry, andriod, or iphone. let's be honest, ** is so expensive, no 1990's flip phones are ever seen in the shop... )
Me: My name is Lizzie, I'll be you----
Customer: Ya, I need five medium originals all with strawberry, fruity pebbles, and pineapple.
(make yogurts furiously)
Customer: LET ME TRY YOUR CHOCOLATE.
Me (stop making yogurt and get sample: Here you are! Let me know what you think!
Customer: Ew, tastes like pudding. Let me try your coconut.
Me: Oh of course!
Customer: oh, god, tastes like rotten cottage cheese. back to the originals. is there anyone else working here that can help you?
Me: I'm so sorry, everyone is on their break! (this is a symptom of the fact that ** at most has 4 employees at any given time, ** workers are worked into the ground, not paid over time, and literally nap in the back whenever I work...)
Customer usually doesn't respond despite my best attempts at a smile...
Finally we make it to the register.
Customer: what?!?! THESE YOGURTS WERE 4.95 A PIECE? IT SAYS 3.50 ON THE MENU.
Me: well, let me review the menu with you, it says 3.50 without topping, 4.95 with topping, see the bottom row includes topping price.
Customer: I thought it was toppings per price, how many toppings can I get?
Me: Well, you can fit as many toppings as fit comfortably in the cup.
Customer: You never told me that, throw some of that chocolate goop on the yogurts then.
Me: oh the milk chocolate crunch!? delish. it will be 50 cents extra per scoop.
Customer (glares that could kill are usually received at this point): granola on the five yogurts, then.
Me: Of course! (thinking to myself that if you would have let me give my little speech at the beginning instead of cutting me off and checking into ** on your godforsaken iphone, you may have known this before.... but sure thing, let me unbag, un-ice, un-top five yogurts, refill the granola, and top your yogurts again.... I know you are in such a rush, so I will awkwardly try and run to and fro in my converse and dickies. yes. minimum wage jobs.)
let me just tell you something, people. are. terrible. if my job taught me anything, it is to be tolerant of the worker behind the counter. because, LBH here, it's more than likely that you are the b****, and they are just trying to do their jobs. people really know NO bounds, unless of course, they realize they know you.
no names used here, but you would be surprised at the number of times that I talk to a La Canada parent, and get them to drop a tip for me, because I know them, and the other workers would look at me in awe. you got HER to talk to you? she's usually so rude and pyschotic....
proving that no matter how low you are, or where you are, it's all about who you know.
I move forward today, less racist than I was before, you can't help but start to stereotype races for their preferences.
asians=original, mochi, blueberry
indians= mango
whites= pom, mango
armenians= coconut, pom
african americans(anyone ever think saying the af. am's is almost like less PC than just saying "black"? no one knows, I'm just trying to be as politically as correct as I can while still being openly stereotypical.... life. is. a. paradox. thank you and goodnight rick mohney)= still mad the watermelon is gone.
I move forward today, not judging, not having a pre-conceived notion of what kind of yogurt certain races would most likely order. Because, I have a dream.
I have a dream that one day, behind the clean counters of **, that the sons of all yogurt buyers will be able to sit together, at a clean white table, bleached by an underpaid worker.
I have a dream, that one day, even in the state of California, a state dripping with the sweat of health freaks and fro-yo addicts, will be transformed into an oasis of real food, and a place free of yogurt induced stereotypes. I have a dream that one day, children in high school will not judge others for the yogurt they buy, but they will be judged on the content of their character.
you're right. I probably took that way, way too far. jambs. life goes on.
at least I'm not subject to wearing a 100 percent polyester outfit, complete with an apron that fits no one with female "lady lumps" (thank you fergie) properly.
at least I no longer spend 15 hours a week under the scrutiny of cameras watched by big brother, receiving phone calls when you accidentally put the chocolate in the original machine. (IT WAS ONE TIME).
at least, I WALK FREE FROM YOGURT OPRESSION AND NO LONGER FEEL GUILTY EATING DOLCHE MANGO AND 21 CHOICES.
at least.
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