Perks?

After months of putting off watching "The Perks of Being a Wallflower," I went ahead and watched it yesterday.
Then again today.

I've been crying for god knows how long.

I am the female version of Charlie... without a shadow of a doubt.

After a month of keeping the sadness at bay... I'm finally, once again, defeated and... devastated.

It sucks, it sucks so bad that it's so much against the laws of the universe for me to be happy and at peace.

pig. fucking pig.

I hate guys SO FUCKING MUCH sometimes...

Tonight, for example... tonight is a perfect example of WHY I hate them so much.

"Uh, no, buddy. That's something you ask earlier"

"Suegra" = mother in law

My timid nature is NOT an act... I don't understand why some pricks think it IS... like... I am naturally quiet and reserved as a way to ward off any suspicion to my "true inner slut."
I mean... a girl with such pouty lips CAN'T not be a slut... those lips are there for a reason, right?!
Or... maybe I'm so good at being quiet, and I'm "so lonely," I'll jump at the first opportunity to be...
FUCK man, I can't even continue with that fucking though.

What upsets me more is WHO this person is. It upsets me so damn much. SO. DAMN. MUCH.

Fucking disgusting. FUCKING DISGUSTING!
Then he followed it up with this... as if I didn't feel gross enough.
I had told him to enjoy his alone time, because we all need it sometimes, and it tends to be a rare gift form the universe-- alone time.

Excuse me... I'm going to go vomit, then cry myself to sleep.

... I was doing so well... I was so happy and carefree... and now this.
FUCK this shit. FUUUUUUUCKKKKK IIIIIT.
GODFUCKINGDAMN.

My face

Ohhh! I can now add a nice little doozy to my list of "Fucked up shit people randomly say to me."
Ready? This one's pretty good... I don't know why it took so long for someone to say it, or for me to hear it, but here it is:

Discussing my ability to cook... and how (I guess) I'm pretty good at it.
"That's good. Your face isn't going to get you fed."

... ?
At first I laughed. Then I thought about it.

Cold, my friend... that's cold.

Lost it all

I've been reunited with my laptop for a couple of days now.
I suffered what I like to call the equivalent of post-partum depression, but with electronics.
Well,  guess it's just a general attitude I take with my possessions once they've been fucked.
For instance, my 4Runner when I first got it back in... '06? Oh shit, I totally don't recall the year... but I can almost swear it was '06. ANYWAY, it was 11 days old and I had been happy with it (for the most part) when I then had to deal with my sister crashing it. My love for Bambi was gone. When I got her back, I no longer cared for her... I rejected her like some momma bird rejecting her babies after smelling the scent of a human on the little guys.

I don't know what it is, but once something is "tainted" I quit giving a shit... I get heartbroken and then reject whatever it is.
So... MacBook pretty much suffered the same fate.
Upon bringing it home with me form the store, I left it in my room, and continued with my home task (I was going through some serious cleaning-lady issues... turned my fucking house upside down cleaning like a madwoman-- you know, that thing I do when I'm VERY upset and trying to keep busy in order to keep from thinking too much).
I was scared and reluctant to turn it on.
MacBook chilled in my room for a day.

When I finally used it, my fears materialized.
I wasn't shocked. I expected it... because I know how fucking idiotic I can be.
I lost everything.
Because I backed my shit up... into my sister's external hard drive... which is in Chicago.
Yey.
Now, I wasn't upset about the music... I have what I want on my phone... and there's also Spotify to cover me on my playlists.
My photos? I was slightly upset about that one... but the important photos are either in my phone or in different flash drives... so I'm ok with that.
What was the one fucking thing I did not backup ANYWHERE?
My writings.

This made me cry, hard, for about two minutes.
I did not cry out of sadness, but out of 100% unadulterated rage.
How could I be so stupid? FUCK!
And that was it. No sobbing, no whimpering. I allowed the tears to roll down my face as I screamed "GOD! I'M SO FUCKING STUPID!" for no more than two minutes, I took a deep breath, and I was good.

So... pardon me for not touching my laptop for a while. I don't really give a shit about the internet for now... or anything that involves a computer (well, aside from listening to music. That's imperative in my life-- music).
I've been cleaning, running errands, being an adult, making decisions... and none of it requires the internet.

I'm a very happy girl when I'm away from technology. Like... really, really happy.

So fucked, but SO COOL!

Don't ask me how this happened, but somehow, I managed to completely fuck up my MacBook.

Two days ago, as I was in the process of ranting on Facebook (because what else is that place for BUT to vent out my frustrations with the world? It's my fucking soap box... Though Twitter is QUICKLY taking over that top spot), I walked away from my laptop to grab a drink from the kitchen and when I looked over at my compute's screen, I had been redirected to an error page.

I then noticed Twitter wasn't working... And neither were any of my email boxes... And The entire Chrome browser was having NONE of it, immediately booting me off when I tried loading it.

THEN I couldn't install software updates.

THEN I couldn't set up an appointment with a Genius via internet, so I went ahead and drove the two minutes (literally) to my nearest Apple store... Where I was given an appointment for this afternoon.

What happened? No one knows. I had THREE (bearded, mind you. Why are so many male Geniuses rocking huge beards? Is it a requirement to look like you're a pitcher for some baseball team?) "Geniuses" working on my MacBook. The proclaimed Mac-Whisperer was originally unimpressed until he started playing with my poor little guy. The dude's apathy quickly turned to excitement. "In the seven years I've been working with these things, I've only heard of this happening ONE other time! We don't know WHY or how it happens... But it is SO interesting. Check this out!" And so, the three men turned into teenaged boys staring into my poor, deathly-ill laptop... giddy with curiosity, pressing buttons and clicking away and "OHHHH!"ing in geeky amazement.

I sat there deflated and concerned... like some dog-mom who has been told they're going to have to put down her dog.

The (adorable) men sat there trying to explain what was going on and why it was so bizarre and exciting for MacBook pros. They weren't condecending or patronizing... They were all adorable (Something about guys trying to teach me makes me want to procreate with them... It's a terribly dangerous thing...) and genuinely stumped, trying to comfort me and educate me. I was simultaneously pouting and "smizing"-- giggling at their kindness and HELLA bummed about my busted laptop baby.

They then rebooted (or whatever the fuck that's called... Where they "clean the slate"... Erase everything and start from zero) and what happens? It FAILS!

Astonished men, very sad idiot girl.

SO! My appointment that was supposed to last 10 minutes (max), lasted an hour and a half.

I made three geeky boys GEEK OUT about my ("really fucked up" "I feel terrible for you... but this is SO cool and weird!") laptop, and I reconsidered my no babies/no marriage rule.

My laptop is going to be played with for three days, when I'll finally get it back.

My poor baby.

My phone can't handle this job.

Am I the Romy or Michele? Romele?

I've watched my fair share of high school reunion-themed movies.
There are funny versions, dramatic versions... and I think there might be a horror flick up in there somewhere.

I finally became part of the population who can admit to attending such a thing-- a high school reunion.
I feel like my version of the reunion was a little bit of everything.

First, the preparation.
The day OF the reunion, I was running late due to the gym, a broken water pipe at home, and a very violent outburst from ANGRomalY.

So, thanks to this violent mishap, I was running late to the tailgate.
When Kelley and I finally showed up to school, to our not-so-surprise, we saw there was only a small table of our ex-classmates located in front of a food truck (overall, our graduating class was roughly 200 kids).
NONE spoke up to us. NONE.
No surprise there, either.

We walked around the school, feeling a horrible case of unexpected, unwelcome nostalgia... so we walked back out to the classmates.
I waved at one of the ex classmates, and he waved back.
Kelley and I stood by the trashcan, since Kelley's dude (our "group" was Kelley, her dude, another ex-schoolmate, and me) was eating his food (ordered from the food truck).
It was like we were living an episode of Freaks and Geeks... a 2013 episode. Cool kids sitting and mingling at a round table, us four geeks standing by the trashcan, observing.
After a couple of minutes of debating whether or not to go to the Homecoming football game going on in the distance, three of the "popular" girls approached us.
"I remember your name, you're Kelley. You (pointing at me), your face is familiar and I remember seeing you around at school, but I can't remember your name..." said the girl who finally decided to speak up. I remembered her FULL name... I had ONE class with her ever, and there I was, mentally repeating her name, but refusing to utter it.
The shortest girl sensed our uneasiness, and it was visible in her face-- she wanted to leave us alone... but the other two continued yapping away, wanting to introduce themselves (again, I remembered their full names, but acted as if I had NO fucking clue who they were). It was all so fake... SO SO fake. So fake, I felt SAD.
I stood there and listened to their life stories... fake smile plastered on my face as I debated how I should respond when my turn approached.
Cunt-y? Pretentious? Condescending? Curt? Sincere?
I went with sincere... then turned on the bitch-level when I heard their questions.
"So... when do you find the time to travel? You've managed to visit all these places while... on summer break? How do you get time off from work to see all these places?"
Me: I don't work and I travel whenever I feel like it.

No one else was getting questions... why the fuck was I?
I'm sure to anyone reading this it might seem uncalled for-- my behavior-- but see, you had to be there to get a feel for the air... to hear their tone... to see their faces. These girls were self-centered chicks... chicks who never gave a fuck about anyone who was not part of their tight-knit group. They didn't even smile at you if you weren't part of the group. How would people be admitted to their group? Be pretty, of course.

Anyway, once that weird exchange was over, we went ahead and, as a band, headed for the football game and our designated seats... my group of 4 being the ones at the back, of course.
We sat there for half the game... getting group photos taken and all that.

Once the cold became uncomfortable, we headed for the bar.
The bar was where things got super interesting. We all had name tags and seats... and warmth... and alcohol.
More photos were snapped and more mingling was done.
This is where the distinction was made in the chicks. Men, for the most part, looked good regardless of their life choices, but girls? It was blatantly obvious which girls were the nerdy/studious/good girls because we (yes, obviously I include myself here. I have anger issues, but I'm a good girl) were the younger looking broads. The hard-drinking/obsessively tanning/ heavy make-up wearing girls looked old or tired. But I shouldn't talk so much shit, because overall, we were a decent group of people who aged sort of well.

I looked around and felt like an out of place kid (I should have been keen to this earlier, since the lady who sold me my game ticket asked me if I was a kid... ME... a kid. Must be my perpetual look of confusion that made her ask this). Many guys and chicks were trying to hook up, or looked interested... I just looked scared or repulsed.

Then I saw my high school crush. World stopped. Heart moved to my esophagus for the rest of the night.
In high school, this guy had a beautiful face... and a cartoon voice. His smile would make me smile... and daydream. His eyes were big and bright. He was funny, but never by making fun of others. He wasn't very bright-- normal, I guess, and he was very, very short... and scrawny. I never spoke to the boy, though. Since we never shared a class, I had zero reason to speak to him... had to settle for watching him walk by during lunch... or by chance bumping into him in a hallway.

Now? He is beautiful. His voice is hot. His smile is still radiant AS FUCK. His eyes are a little sad now, however... which sucks. He has this scruff going on... and BOY! did that shit inspire sighs out of me! He's bulky... thick neck and thighs and broad shoulders and big hands... and damn! Just so beautiful.
Best of all: he's tall! Taller than me!
He's an engineer of some sort, so I guess he was smarter than the average bear.

As I was chatting up one of my best friends, she spotted him walking by and called him over.
I froze. I looked him straight in the eyes... and I froze.
What do I do when I sense I'll like a guy too much? I separate myself... I run away.
And I did just that. I let my friend walk over to him alone, and I took a seat ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROOM, like the total fucking idiot that I am.
I held eye-contact with him three more times throughout the night... and he would often be near me... but I never worked the nerve to SMILE or introduce myself. I just looked at him like a fucking deer caught in headlights... suffering weird, panic-driven thoughts. Fuck fuck fuck! He's so gorgeous... fuck fuck fuck... I'm gonna puke! Is he behind me?! WHY is he behind me! Get away, get away, get away! God... he's so gorgeous. Goddamn it, I should have dressed up!
When my friend offered to introduce us, I threatened years of shunning.
God, I'm a moron.

::sigh::
In all of this, there was ONE very cute moment where this precious boy from my freshman year of French class addressed me. I entered his circle of dude friends to say goodbye to one of my friends and the boy took my hand and shook it.
Him: Hi! I remember you! I KNOW we had a class together because I had a crush on you. You have the same face... and you had your hair down to here (puts hands down to his chest) and always wore it down. You were very shy and always doing your work. Don't wanna sound creepy or anything... but yeah.
Me: Haha. Yeah, I remember you too. It was French class. You sat behind me. You were very funny.

It warmed my heart to hear that... this boy was one of the very few to EVER be kind to me Freshman year of high school. I remember almost everyone who was mean to me... but every single person who ever showed the slightest sign of kindness to me I remember with a special light. This guy always clapped after my French presentations, and always smiled when I spoke-- no way will I forget that.

I hate admitting this, but overall, I enjoyed this reunion... even if I woke up the next day sad as a motherfucker and unwilling to participate in social activities... and that I cried a few times between the end of that night and now.
Once alcohol did some lubrication, we were all (for the most part) kind to one another and laughed quite a bit... I even drove one of my friends home-- one of the most uptight, straight-edge chicks of our class was a bit too wine-happy to drive.
We laughed the entire car ride to her home... where her angry husband waited after putting their two young daughters to bed.

My... time sure is wonky.

10

Round one of my high school reunion is in 15 hours.

I can't sleep.

I feel nostalgic and angry... and vindictive... and sad.

I met some awesome people in those horrible, incredibly traumatic years of my life... but... I get anxiety even thinking about pulling up to the parking lot of that place. I'm getting teary-eyed WRITING about it.

There are two parts to this thing. First part I agreed to: tailgating, football match, then a bar afterward. 

I think I can handle that shit without hyperventilating. I also don't have to be dressed up.

Part two is a night club... I think? I didn't RSVP to that shit.

Here's to me not creating any further psychological damage to myself by attending this shit and subjecting myself to the company of some of the shittiest human beings with whom I was ever forced to coexist.

(That was a weird sentence... I'm too flustered about this shit to care to fix it)

Old Dudes: my joint

I have found the best counselor in the world...

As I've said many times: I was born in the wrong decade... the wrong era. Old men love me... and not physically speaking. Yes, there are always those fucking perverts who look at me in ways that make me want to go home and scrub my skin viciously in the shower... but the older gentlemen who AREN'T pervs and prefer talking to me, think I'm the bees knees.

So... I've cried about this science things for... nearly two weeks now. Feeling like dirt and whatnot... and yesterday I decided to respond to the homie. I was sincere-- I was sad, but I was sincere.
I apologized for not responding sooner, but that I had been dealing with many unfortunate circumstances... as well as a lot of soul-searching. I told him while I wasn't IN LOVE with science, I did have a fondness for it due to dedicating so many years of my life to it. I told him I was willing to help, to take up the PhD offer if it was still on the table.

His response?
Ire. Disappointment. Frustration.
Just kidding. I said old men love me, remember?
He was intrigued... almost happy, about my frankness.
And he presented me with another idea... an idea he very enthusiastically presented... an idea that made my heart skip a beat, the color return to my dreams and memories... it made me... lightheaded with excitement.

Guys, this second offer-- I'm taking it.
This second offer is... how I KNOW I truly love something.

It was easy to go around thinking I was going to be a doctor, when all I really knew was science. It was easy to believe school work was not supposed to make me anything other than miserable and stressed... downright nauseated.
Then Fall semester of '04 came around the corner and I took that creative writing class to fill a gap... a useless class... a class for shits-and-giggles with my best friend. That's where I learned what it felt like to ENJOY work. I learned I was good at something... good at it and I LOVED doing it. It was stressful to complete the assignments in the allotted time... but I LOVED every second.

How do I know I love a guy? I FEEL it... it's indescribable... it's immediate, it's a spark.
How do I know I love a job/hobby/activity? I smile, my heart races... I clap... I FEEL.

I'm running with it. I'm taking this and running with it.
I am SO fucking excited. I can't sleep.

shittyshitshitshitty

This week has been so fucking shitty.

So fucking shitty, I wrote back to the french researcher-- accepting the offer to move out to Mexico, to get that PhD... regardless of how much I fucking hate studying science. I did it for over a decade, what difference is six more years? It's not like I'm happy now... might as well be a productive sad person.

So fucking shitty, I'm now positive I'm going to be turned down... position filled or whatever the fuck.
Perpetually stuck in this limbo, where some days I'm functioning, and others I'm immobilized by this paralyzing sadness.

Rad.