Josie Grossie

Last night I had a dream about something, and there was a random cameo of an ex. That was scary enough, but then this morning, while cleaning my room, I came across a pic of me and a different ex kissing. Not only did it totally gross me out, but I cannot recall the feelings that I know I once had for that person. That grossed me out too. Then I found a pic of me and yet another ex and no attempt to cover up a hickey. That was gross too.

On another note, congratulations to Erin for not making me vomit emotionally. Nick, too. Greek salad is a little gross the next day.

Random bit: I caught a glimpse of myself sideways in the mirror while stretching, and this bra makes me boobalicious when I'm sucking in babygut. Maybe I should send my pic to Is Alicia gonna have to choke a bitch?

Lessons My Father Taught Me: 04

If you don't speak up, you won't be heard.

This has become something so innate in me, it's very hard for me to understand how it could be difficult for other people. As a small child, my dad was really always super fun and silly, but also fatherly. As I grew just a little older, old enough not to be scared, he would talk to me as he talks to others.

"I say it loudly the first time so that I don't have to say it a second time."

I get it, at least I know I get it now. He did say things loudly, but that does not always mean that he was screaming (though he often did). I don't know how not to express myself verbally. I don't know how not to complain (appropriately) when something is unjust, unequal, incorrect, falls short of expectations. This has extended into other facets of my life. I am completely unable to not speak up in almost every situation. This hinders my relationships with people who are not comfortable with personal sharing or listening.

I know that my father had intended this type of advice/lesson/rule so that I would never be left out of a game at school, so that I would be considered for positions at work, so that quality would not be compromised, et cetera, et cetera.

Something smells like burned coffee, and it smells so icky that I have to leave the house. So, you get the gist. I say things out loud, and I expect to be heard, so when I am not, it hurts my feelings and I have to make new friends or get another job.

Looking over my shoulder

I noticed that there are a lot of people conducting blog searches of other people, and are finding my blog. It's a little weird. I want to know who is interested in reading about my random childhood friends.

The other night, frustrated and pissed at everyone I know, basically, I walked home from Center City in my stupid kitten heels. Totally randomly, I ran into a friend from work on the bridge. I didn't want to tell him that I really had to pee and standing there talking was not helping the situation, but rather than do the pee-pee dance, I made hazy reference to needing to go somewhere further west towards my house (and please realize that this was still about 16 blocks away from my house), so we parted ways. I then thought of any person who might possibly have the ability to drive me home, and my phone decided not to make outgoing calls to anyone except someone I know who lives in Roxborough. Super.

I have this sportsbra tanktop that is kind of cropped, but it is seriously the best bra. I decided yesterday that I don't give a shit about my babygut, because the best bra is really worth it. I wore it running, along with the little shorts that are my summer uniform, and lucky me, I just happened to run by 3 construction sites and several unloading trucks. It's ok, nothing was as invasive as the old man last night at McGillan's. Seriously, he was like 80. Wanted to know where I am from. Touched me. I completely turned my back to him, yet he still ogled me and all of my friends. He then went on to touch Madigan and creep all of us out, in addition to the two guys standing by the wall, watching this really old, creepy man creep us out.

You don't care.

This is just a note to me to remember that this weekend was a bust. Working a wedding and stealing a quart of hummus was pretty much the highlight. Now that I have an exorbitant amount of time on my hands, I realize how many things I used to do, and am trying to re-involve myself with "things."

Tonight, one "thing" was bar hopping. I forgot that I don't really like it when I actually drink at the bars. My body has developed its own liquid limit. Super.

I have actually thought and done many things since my last post, but I just don't have the energy to report it all. Here is a snippet: fallinginbirdshit, tinytshirt, notollmoney, sleepinginbooksagain, nobooty.

BTW

This is where I burned....

The People of Bonnaroo

I just had to cut myself off from myspace. So addictive.
I feel some urgency to now tell the story of the People of Bonnaroo.

First of all, Heather and I have no pictures of anyone we came with, though I know I took pictures with someone's camera, it just wasn't one of ours. We do, however, have several pictures of the nice people we met and the crazies we couldn't look away from. As it turns out, all the crazies we met (except the nipple people) came out on Friday, and the nice people we met on Saturday night at Beck/Radiohead. We met another crazy on Friday, but Heather didn't get a picture. We'll just call him "No Pants Man."

Alli and Heather. Nice.

Beth. Though I am sure she is a nice person, she was definitely more of a crazy. She made me dance with her for a little bit, and asked me if I was a massage therapist.


Spencer and me. Nice. Again, I have no eyes in this picture, but that's ok because they were actually quite large and Spencer was the evening's Designated Navigator anyway.


Penis man. Very friendly, but crazy. You can't see this in the pic, but he was humping my leg.

Jeremy. Nice. He told me that maybe God is sending me a sign that I should smoke.

Nipple People. Crazy. I have nipple issues anyway, and that did not make me like these people more. They pretty much tie with the people who have paint-on-shirts (and by paint, I mean paint).

Rant-y

I just don't feel like writing this again.

A Day Without a Cheesesteak

Geno's always has to make a statement about something. It's the most political cheesesteak joint in town.

Meanwhile, in Franland...
I am getting ready to go to Bonnaroo next week and finally finish this school year (phew!).
Kitty has been really good lately, sleeping the whole night and hanging out in the windows.
I still have major sleeping issues -- falling asleep really early and waking up early even when I don't have work. Such as today. Woke up at 5 because I fell asleep at like 10 last night. Sorry Sandra, I am bad for nighttime hanging out now.

Working today and tomorrow. Smell ya later.

Some reasonable, some not...

Pet Peeves

-- pronouncing the "l" in "salmon"
-- walking with overly splayed feet (unless you are obese)
-- intentional lisps
-- lazy speech and speakers
-- "kewl"
-- too many accessories (especially in the case of garnishing each wrist and ear, ankles, neck, waist, brooches, etc.)
-- double boob
-- exposed thong or string
-- trying to be the first discoverer of culture, rather than an adventurer
-- "ain't"
-- overuse of the verbs "get" or "do"
-- life-altering obsession over almost anything (stamps, tv shows, shoelaces, hilary duff, etc.)
-- racial slurs
-- salting food pre-taste
-- dog-earing book pages
-- losing the end of tape rolls
-- erasing chalk/marker boards with hands
-- pants above the waistline or below the midline of the buttcheek
-- underuse of adverbs when appropriate
-- overuse of spacefillers ('kay, um, so, but, like, yeah, right)
-- inappropriate semi-colon usage
-- leaving on lights and appliances when not at home
-- liquid in the garbage bag, which then leaks into the can
-- thinking you are better when you are not

Hm. . . that seems like a lot. Now, here is something to enrich your life:

Therefore, there is no such thing as a "four-dot ellipsis." A period followed by an ellipsis may look like four dots, but they are two separate entities.

Lessons My Father Taught Me: 03

Do not waste.

That's pretty self-explanitory. If ever there was a piece of rotting cheese or a soft fruit, my dad would ream anyone for attempting to throw it out instead of scraping off the bad part or cooking or washing away what others feel cannot be scraped, cooked, or washed away.

We went out for lunch this weekend, and just as the waiter was taking away the appetizer plate, my dad snatched up the parsley garnish. The waiter smiled because it is not normal for people to eat even edible garnishes. My dad, however, always eats the parsley, or the radish flower, or the lettuce cup, or the whatever, as long as it's edible.

As a result, this has made me a complete crumb-crazy person. I either eat all of my food, or I am sure to take it home and eat it later. Leftovers DO NOT ROT in my fridge (unless they are not mine or they were really not super tasty), and if by chance they do, I labor over the decision to trash them for maybe 15 minutes.

Snippets

Yesterday I saw something really interesting.

A new "international" grocery store opened up at the old Thriftway on Walnut. As I was driving home around 6:30, I saw two men on motorized wheelchairs riding home with their groceries, with a woman on foot trailing behind them. That was kind of interesting, but what I was really looking at was the 20-lb bag of rice that one man was balancing on his head as he scooted up Locust Street.

I guess it just feels like a heavy hat.
--

Uly came to visit last weekend. Friday afternoon I spent with my Frenchie girls, and Friday evening we went out. Vietnamese pho house, fruit shakes, and then two of my favorite bars: Nodding Head (for its brews) and McGlinchy's (for its Ms. PacMan, of course). Saturday was a family-filled day. First, Oregon with Nati, then Home Depot, beer distributor, Pathmark, and nap time at home. Uly and I passed out while Nati watched Family Guy. We made it to Neel's on time for the surprise, and ate SO MUCH GOOD BRAZILIAN FOOD. Yum. We had managed to find a case of Brazilian beer also, so we were boozing it up with beer and margaritas.

Fat family weekend.
--

...And now a rant from our sponsors:
It is a horrible thing to feel unsupported by close friends. It is a horrible thing to have to resort to asking for help from people from whom it should be readily given, and even worse to then be denied. Every time that I encounter someone who adheres to a radically different set of social norms from mine, I freak out, and I don't hold it in. Idon't see why I should, unless I feel physically threatened, and sometimes I do.
With every person in your life, you achieve a level of comfort, a set of expectations, some sort of boundaries. When that level changes, when that set is not met, when those boundaries are moved, it is upsetting.
For whatever reason, I have had several friends who were members of my peer group pass away early in life. At the first funeral I attended, I felt strongly to say everything important out loud to anyone who matters to me, and since then, I have made concerted efforts to do so. People don't understand why I am like I am, why I demand what I demand, and this is part of it. I am such a product of my experiences.