Sometimes I like listening to mellow music. Tonight is one of those nights. Kind of makes me happy in some inexplicable way.
I helped a friend out today, it was kind of an odd request, it was kind of an awkward experience, but I got a free ride to the grocery store out of it, which was a bonus.
Speaking of the grocery store. I have this sudden want to decorate a cake, but I don't want to put the effort into making the cake. Such is life.
My room is finally respectably clean after weeks of unbearable mess; as well, the kitchen is clean. It's quite amazing how when things are clean, I feel fathoms better. Honestly. Maybe it's my Virgoan hypochondriac supposed traits coming out or something, but I won't argue. I should keep things clean anyways.
I don't know how many other girls found male cartoon characters attractive, but I did; still kinda do. I always had a huge thing for Aladdin, and also the Beast (especially when he turned human into Prince Adam).
What I've realized is that I find Shaggy from Scooby-Doo incredibly sexy (I also find Matthew Lillard who played the live version of him rather attractive too). I would totally have fun with Shaggy, especially because he'd probably be high at the time ;)
Something made me rather sad. When explaining to one of the girls in the house how absolutely awesome Jane Austen was, and how the book Pride and Prejudice was just as great, she informed me that her English teacher, who was my favourite English teacher when I was in high school, said that Jane Austen books were stupid and boring and not to read them. It made me extremely sad and pissed off at the same time.
I almost dropped him as my favourite teacher right then and there, just for that. Although I took into consideration that the kid who was telling me may have been exaggerating, or that the teacher had a good explanation for his view (although, I think it would have been pretty weak, I mean, she was a kick-ass chickie for her time period). Also the fact that he is a guy could have something to do with it.
Not that Jane Austen was a feminist or whatever. She wasn't the Margaret Atwood of the 18th century...I probably wouldn't enjoy her if she was. She was just awesome, and gave women 3 dimensional characters, you know? And coming from a family of mostly girls, reading books where women have substance and are good characters and smart isn't necessarily empowering, it's great, and I can relate to it, over 200 years later. It's more real to life what Austen wrote, instead of whatever the sorely misinformed men would have done with a female charcter.
I could go on forever, but I won't. Y'all should just look up bios of Jane, read synopsies of her books, understand sex roles of that time period, and read the books.
(oh, and when done the books, read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. It's great.)
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
new books!
I had a pretty good day today. I made a casserole, even the most picky child in the house liked it :) I liked it, and as a general rule, I don't like casseroles (at least not my mother's, but it's probably because I don't put as much healthy stuff in it...), and it was my first casserole.
I finally got my external hard drive with the help of an awesome someone :)
Even though it's from FutureShop, I'm pretty satisfied with it. I finally cleared the ancient, bulky desktop computer that my sister asked me to hold on to from my desk, put it in it's box, and thus made my room slightly more liveable. It only sucked that I could only glean half of her iTunes because her computer kept crashing (reason to get my laptop in the first place).
Oh, well, I guess I will survive. At least I still got 5 gigs of it :D
On another note, I decided to post that 'poem' I mentioned, the one with the non-suicidal thoughts in it...
A Poem
I tried to think of something witty,
something funny,
something revelation worthy,
something to talk about,
something to match the intelligence of a YouTube comedian--
But I couldn't.
so you'll have to deal with imagining what something like that would be like.
I suddenly found it important to write out the fact that, sometimes
I just have nothing really to say
(except ramblings such as this)
which most likely means I talk too much.
Thus makes me think I am annoying.
Whether or not I am.
Which probably means I have some deepset personal insecurities.
meh.
I don't feel pulled to suicide--so I must be okay.
(I just had a mini revelation-mind-jizz)
What I will leave you with is wonder
(which every good poem should do)
wonder
(like a magical bridge)
How the hell is this a poem?
(it really is a wonder)
Monday, July 6, 2009
I've been rotten Father, absolutely ROTTEN
So yesterday I went to an evening mass at a different church because I'd missed the one in the morning. There was a really cute guy there, who actually prayed. My hopes of finding a good looking Catholic to romance dramatically increased.
The family I work for is friends with the priest at this church, so after mass their dad directed us to shake hands.
Now, during mass we were near the back, and all I could tell was that Father was not old and had good hair.
Up close, well...
*shake hands with Father
*notice Father
*Deanna smiles and talks with that tone
--Deanna's Mind: Do NOT flirt with a PRIEST!!!!
Aaaargh! Priests are not supposed to be good looking. They are not supposed to be athletic. Heck, it's good if they aren't even all that funny. It helps if they are old.
Deanna, you are not supposed to express so much enthusiasm when an invitation to visit is extended to hot priest.
Dammit.
Dear God, why ask me to go to mass when you supply hot priests....unless that's part of the attraction....
-Dea.
I need to find a boyfriend quick.
(because thinking of a hookup with a Catholic priest is just too fucked up)
The family I work for is friends with the priest at this church, so after mass their dad directed us to shake hands.
Now, during mass we were near the back, and all I could tell was that Father was not old and had good hair.
Up close, well...
*shake hands with Father
*notice Father
*Deanna smiles and talks with that tone
--Deanna's Mind: Do NOT flirt with a PRIEST!!!!
Aaaargh! Priests are not supposed to be good looking. They are not supposed to be athletic. Heck, it's good if they aren't even all that funny. It helps if they are old.
Deanna, you are not supposed to express so much enthusiasm when an invitation to visit is extended to hot priest.
Dammit.
Dear God, why ask me to go to mass when you supply hot priests....unless that's part of the attraction....
-Dea.
I need to find a boyfriend quick.
(because thinking of a hookup with a Catholic priest is just too fucked up)
Sunday, July 5, 2009
WWWWaaaarrrrrrggghhhh
Frick it's been a while.
It's almost embarrassing. Seriously.
Life is full of surprises, that's no surprise.
What's surprising to me is that I keep happening upon them. I am not sure yet if this is good or bad, but I'm not dead yet, so I will take that as either a harmless/neutral and/or good sign.
Speaking of dead. I wrote a poem last night, and showed it to a few friends. I really wanted to just have that calming sensation of putting my pencil to paper and writing, so I did a quick, one-page poem. Not entirely structured, I am sure, but, a poem, albeit made with messy, messy writing.
In this poem, I mentioned suicide. I mentioned how I haven't been having suicidal thoughts, which is always a good thing. Now when I reread the poem, those lines hit me. I remembered the last time that I did have those thoughts. If any of my friends could read this, they may be surprised to find out just how often I used to think about it (I guess because I exude the personality of a very cheerful person).
In short, I used to consider wiping myself from the face of the earth more times in the day than a porn addict jacks off in a corner.
This was for many reasons, and was quite frequent during my grade twelve year, which, if anyone who knows me can remember, was quite a segregated year for me.
It wasn't that I felt useless, or that I was some emo person or whatever.
I was just so...sad.
I didn't want to be here anymore.
I didn't want to deal with life day after day with the people I wanted in that life being absent so often.
I wanted to stop crying for unknown reasons.
I wanted to stop riding my emotions that rose and fell each day based on how much I was left without the people I cared about.
I wanted to stop being alone.
It's almost embarrassing. Seriously.
Life is full of surprises, that's no surprise.
What's surprising to me is that I keep happening upon them. I am not sure yet if this is good or bad, but I'm not dead yet, so I will take that as either a harmless/neutral and/or good sign.
Speaking of dead. I wrote a poem last night, and showed it to a few friends. I really wanted to just have that calming sensation of putting my pencil to paper and writing, so I did a quick, one-page poem. Not entirely structured, I am sure, but, a poem, albeit made with messy, messy writing.
In this poem, I mentioned suicide. I mentioned how I haven't been having suicidal thoughts, which is always a good thing. Now when I reread the poem, those lines hit me. I remembered the last time that I did have those thoughts. If any of my friends could read this, they may be surprised to find out just how often I used to think about it (I guess because I exude the personality of a very cheerful person).
In short, I used to consider wiping myself from the face of the earth more times in the day than a porn addict jacks off in a corner.
This was for many reasons, and was quite frequent during my grade twelve year, which, if anyone who knows me can remember, was quite a segregated year for me.
It wasn't that I felt useless, or that I was some emo person or whatever.
I was just so...sad.
I didn't want to be here anymore.
I didn't want to deal with life day after day with the people I wanted in that life being absent so often.
I wanted to stop crying for unknown reasons.
I wanted to stop riding my emotions that rose and fell each day based on how much I was left without the people I cared about.
I wanted to stop being alone.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
late spring cleaning
I totally rearranged today. I switched from winter to summer clothes in my armoire, put my shoes there as well and replaced my shoe cabinet with cds, dvd's and games/gamelike things. I alphabetically rearranged the books in my book cupboard and tidied up the ones on my windowsill...I got rid of some of the crap under my bed, got rid of some clothes and found some stuff I thought was lost...like two singles of two different pairs of flip-flops.
I even threw out a 1/4 of my makeup that was gross and old, and organized the rest (which, if you know me or have seen it, know that that is one hell of a job).
Unfortunately, I didn't organize my earrings and other jewellery....that's going to take some coffee and a long nap before I tackle that problem.
I went to Wal-Mart today. It wasn't my choice, I would have rather gone to the mall to get my swimsuit top, but that wasn't where the driver was going, and I was just the passenger. Everytime I step inside a Wal-Mart I feel it slowly trying to consume my soul.
I want to cry for the poor children who slaved for three times less per day than the insanely low prices the store is willing to offer on my Cambodian made lycra swimwear.
I want to cry at the obese people able to overstuff their cart with saturated fat in the form of food due to the crazy low price the supermart offers.
I want to cry at the people who look like the result of many generations of redneck-hick inbreeding, able to shop with millions of others of the same type, who need not worry what they look like, because the higher-class people who actually care about their looks and a little bit more quality go to Zellers.
I want to cry for the teenager, the old woman, and the middle aged man that need to wear "How can I make you smile today?" old and disgusting frocks, probably still unwashed from the last person who quit the soul-sucking place.
This was my...fifth(?) time approximately in a Wal-Mart, probably not the last, unfortunately, but definitely the most depressing.
On the way back, the kids' mom said that I should write articles for the Observer, our local bi-weekly paper serving our township. She said my writing is good. She also said I'd probably be very good at journalism.
I like it when people compliment my writing...even if it's journalism.
Tonight, I called my older sister, and she said she was talking to some guy she works with who goes to McGill, and he said that one of the Uni's I am contemplating in Montreal is very good...for journalism, because that is what my sister asked him about. (Although, it is good for just writing in general...phew.)
Why is it that when I tell people that I want to get into Writing and such, they assume journalism?
I HATE JOURNALISM.
It's so dry...I find it very boring and semi-difficult to write
(ok, not difficult so much as just....really not so creative)
It just saddens me is all.
Why can't they assume I want to be a novel writer, or a short story writer, or a poet, or a playwright, or a screenwriter, why do they have to assume journalism?
I don't get it.
Do I look like a journalist?
(I don't even know what exactly that job description entails totally, anyways.)
I am pretty sure the only syndicate work I could ever do would be an opinion article...maybe I should do psych in uni as well, and do an advice column...I already dish enough of it out every day anyways...
One thing makes me curious though. Their mother said I should write for the paper? I really don't know what I would do. I don't think they want stories....
???
I even threw out a 1/4 of my makeup that was gross and old, and organized the rest (which, if you know me or have seen it, know that that is one hell of a job).
Unfortunately, I didn't organize my earrings and other jewellery....that's going to take some coffee and a long nap before I tackle that problem.
I went to Wal-Mart today. It wasn't my choice, I would have rather gone to the mall to get my swimsuit top, but that wasn't where the driver was going, and I was just the passenger. Everytime I step inside a Wal-Mart I feel it slowly trying to consume my soul.
I want to cry for the poor children who slaved for three times less per day than the insanely low prices the store is willing to offer on my Cambodian made lycra swimwear.
I want to cry at the obese people able to overstuff their cart with saturated fat in the form of food due to the crazy low price the supermart offers.
I want to cry at the people who look like the result of many generations of redneck-hick inbreeding, able to shop with millions of others of the same type, who need not worry what they look like, because the higher-class people who actually care about their looks and a little bit more quality go to Zellers.
I want to cry for the teenager, the old woman, and the middle aged man that need to wear "How can I make you smile today?" old and disgusting frocks, probably still unwashed from the last person who quit the soul-sucking place.
This was my...fifth(?) time approximately in a Wal-Mart, probably not the last, unfortunately, but definitely the most depressing.
On the way back, the kids' mom said that I should write articles for the Observer, our local bi-weekly paper serving our township. She said my writing is good. She also said I'd probably be very good at journalism.
I like it when people compliment my writing...even if it's journalism.
Tonight, I called my older sister, and she said she was talking to some guy she works with who goes to McGill, and he said that one of the Uni's I am contemplating in Montreal is very good...for journalism, because that is what my sister asked him about. (Although, it is good for just writing in general...phew.)
Why is it that when I tell people that I want to get into Writing and such, they assume journalism?
I HATE JOURNALISM.
It's so dry...I find it very boring and semi-difficult to write
(ok, not difficult so much as just....really not so creative)
It just saddens me is all.
Why can't they assume I want to be a novel writer, or a short story writer, or a poet, or a playwright, or a screenwriter, why do they have to assume journalism?
I don't get it.
Do I look like a journalist?
(I don't even know what exactly that job description entails totally, anyways.)
I am pretty sure the only syndicate work I could ever do would be an opinion article...maybe I should do psych in uni as well, and do an advice column...I already dish enough of it out every day anyways...
One thing makes me curious though. Their mother said I should write for the paper? I really don't know what I would do. I don't think they want stories....
???
Monday, June 8, 2009
life. *sigh*
I totally had a fuck my life moment last night.
It really sucked, and I don't wanna talk about it.
I even considered actually putting it on the fml website, but then I realized the person who the whole shebang was about would, in all likelihood, read said post because I know he frequents the site, and then of course, said person would most likely recognize it as me and him in the story.
Double fml.
*sigh*
I know blogs are meant to be read by people, and me being the egotistical human being that I am, would be flattered to have lots of people read it.
However,
one of the kids yesterday, while I was closing some tabs in my browser, noticed my blog and was all interested in reading it.
Since several of the posts in this blog make specific mention to this teenager, and also because I have no interest in her reading into the trials and tribulations of my life, I flat-out told her no.
And then I shut the browser window, hee hee hee.
She was actually pissing me off a lot tonight, which is nothing new. My one friend comes over daily (bless his soul) to help preserve my spirit from being crushed under the weight of all the kids I watch over. It's great that he and I both love French, because we can have semi-conversations, or I can at least complain to him and the kids don't understand.
For instance, I can say to him, as I did tonight, puis-j'elle tuer? (which, btw, totally isn't proper grammer, but we both understood that it meant, can I please murder her?), and the worst that will happen is that she will make fun of us for speaking French in Canada, because, aparently it's not important or something (btw, it's our second national language, it's awesome, I enjoy it and it improves my brain power, so, fuck off dipshit. seriously, I am so sick and tired of listening to you. gah.).
On the flip side, I played a really good game of Scrabble tonight, it calms me just so much, and I love putting words together--I just love words in general. They make me happy x)
Omg, funny thing happened, this friend, who's very sympathetic to my cause and helps keep me sane, well, 3/4 way through our game of Scrabble, his mother came over...(they only live four houses down)
She wasn't very impressed that he hadn't gone home at all...(he'd been with me since 2:00...and it was 9:10) and that he hadn't called...which is pretty bad...I guess...(I've so totally done worse)She constantly is asking the boy if he is dating me. Which he isn't. I find it quite humourous at the amount of people that think/wonder the same thing.
But if they actually paid attention to the way that we deal with each other when we are together/alone, they would recognize that it's simply friendship.
(plus, there are circumstances that I believe compell me to never have feelings for this boy, or if I ever did, shove them away, pronto)
Anyways, the mother was calmed down, the game of Scrabble was finished, and he went home, and I went to my room, almost crying with frustration over aforementioned she-wolf who I had to endure more than I could stand almost.
Pity party aside, it's now quite calming to just lay here and type this blog.
But, man, I am hungry all the sudden...maybe I should have eaten supper...hmm.
It really sucked, and I don't wanna talk about it.
I even considered actually putting it on the fml website, but then I realized the person who the whole shebang was about would, in all likelihood, read said post because I know he frequents the site, and then of course, said person would most likely recognize it as me and him in the story.
Double fml.
*sigh*
I know blogs are meant to be read by people, and me being the egotistical human being that I am, would be flattered to have lots of people read it.
However,
one of the kids yesterday, while I was closing some tabs in my browser, noticed my blog and was all interested in reading it.
Since several of the posts in this blog make specific mention to this teenager, and also because I have no interest in her reading into the trials and tribulations of my life, I flat-out told her no.
And then I shut the browser window, hee hee hee.
She was actually pissing me off a lot tonight, which is nothing new. My one friend comes over daily (bless his soul) to help preserve my spirit from being crushed under the weight of all the kids I watch over. It's great that he and I both love French, because we can have semi-conversations, or I can at least complain to him and the kids don't understand.
For instance, I can say to him, as I did tonight, puis-j'elle tuer? (which, btw, totally isn't proper grammer, but we both understood that it meant, can I please murder her?), and the worst that will happen is that she will make fun of us for speaking French in Canada, because, aparently it's not important or something (btw, it's our second national language, it's awesome, I enjoy it and it improves my brain power, so, fuck off dipshit. seriously, I am so sick and tired of listening to you. gah.).
On the flip side, I played a really good game of Scrabble tonight, it calms me just so much, and I love putting words together--I just love words in general. They make me happy x)
Omg, funny thing happened, this friend, who's very sympathetic to my cause and helps keep me sane, well, 3/4 way through our game of Scrabble, his mother came over...(they only live four houses down)
She wasn't very impressed that he hadn't gone home at all...(he'd been with me since 2:00...and it was 9:10) and that he hadn't called...which is pretty bad...I guess...(I've so totally done worse)She constantly is asking the boy if he is dating me. Which he isn't. I find it quite humourous at the amount of people that think/wonder the same thing.
But if they actually paid attention to the way that we deal with each other when we are together/alone, they would recognize that it's simply friendship.
(plus, there are circumstances that I believe compell me to never have feelings for this boy, or if I ever did, shove them away, pronto)
Anyways, the mother was calmed down, the game of Scrabble was finished, and he went home, and I went to my room, almost crying with frustration over aforementioned she-wolf who I had to endure more than I could stand almost.
Pity party aside, it's now quite calming to just lay here and type this blog.
But, man, I am hungry all the sudden...maybe I should have eaten supper...hmm.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Le Destin.
So, yesterday at the Medieval festival in town, I paid five dollars for a palm reading.
It was very positive in general, and really fed my ego, hee hee.
Everyday when I check my e-mail inbox, I get a horoscope. And it's generally pretty positive, or there is at least one positive aspect to it.
Now, I'm not any new-agey person, but I do enjoy dabbling with the ideas of destiny and predetermination and all that jazz.
I always take it with a grain of salt of course, and reflect on what is said to me, kind of like a meditation of the day (something that my mother, a very religious Catholic, does everyday with her own meditation book. See? It's not all that bad to have something to reflect upon every day, regardless of where it comes from.)
Anyways.
So, I have determined something from this, it makes me a little optimistic, I guess.
In general, I have noticed a lot of people pissed off at the world, what is happening, and being all depressed about it. Now I am not saying that the wrong turns and pitfalls of our planet and people also don't upset me, I just don't get so darned worked up about it when I'm not going to do anything about it except complain and get depressed. That's just annoying (yes, you people, it is annoying, and I would like you to please shut up until you get off that obese ass of yours and do something about the planet. Then cry how nothing is going well).
Yeah.
But, back to my point. What I have determined from this is that, upon examination that snowballed from these reflective horoscopes, etc., is that my life is not so depressing, hard or extraordinarily painful as I once thought it was.
Yes, lots of shit happened in it that shouldn't have and that was unfair, yes, there were tough moments that surely some people wouldn't have been able to handle, and yes, obviously my parents don't understand me and I became overly rebellious about it.
But whatever.
I have a job, I have a house I live in with people that I am neither terrified of or despise, I have family that I enjoy seeing on occasion and don't hate, and I have the best friends in the world, no joke. (I love them all so much <3.) I also happen to have a quasi-plan of what I want to do with my life, and I have the initiative to make it work. I also have nice skin, which really doesn't have anything to do with this, but it actually helps take away the stress of cleaning my face every day with a billion different things and getting depressed when it doesn't work. LOL.
I have grown up a lot, I suppose is what I am saying. I've stopped trying to blame all my problems on my past. Of course, I know aspects of my personality are shaped by my past, simply because of the whole nature vs. nurture debate, and I strongly believe in both shaping individuals to be who they are. But I have my own free will, I am very strong-willed, and I know that only I will be the cause of my own demise.
So World, you're safe from my middle finger :)
It was very positive in general, and really fed my ego, hee hee.
Everyday when I check my e-mail inbox, I get a horoscope. And it's generally pretty positive, or there is at least one positive aspect to it.
Now, I'm not any new-agey person, but I do enjoy dabbling with the ideas of destiny and predetermination and all that jazz.
I always take it with a grain of salt of course, and reflect on what is said to me, kind of like a meditation of the day (something that my mother, a very religious Catholic, does everyday with her own meditation book. See? It's not all that bad to have something to reflect upon every day, regardless of where it comes from.)
Anyways.
So, I have determined something from this, it makes me a little optimistic, I guess.
In general, I have noticed a lot of people pissed off at the world, what is happening, and being all depressed about it. Now I am not saying that the wrong turns and pitfalls of our planet and people also don't upset me, I just don't get so darned worked up about it when I'm not going to do anything about it except complain and get depressed. That's just annoying (yes, you people, it is annoying, and I would like you to please shut up until you get off that obese ass of yours and do something about the planet. Then cry how nothing is going well).
Yeah.
But, back to my point. What I have determined from this is that, upon examination that snowballed from these reflective horoscopes, etc., is that my life is not so depressing, hard or extraordinarily painful as I once thought it was.
Yes, lots of shit happened in it that shouldn't have and that was unfair, yes, there were tough moments that surely some people wouldn't have been able to handle, and yes, obviously my parents don't understand me and I became overly rebellious about it.
But whatever.
I have a job, I have a house I live in with people that I am neither terrified of or despise, I have family that I enjoy seeing on occasion and don't hate, and I have the best friends in the world, no joke. (I love them all so much <3.) I also happen to have a quasi-plan of what I want to do with my life, and I have the initiative to make it work. I also have nice skin, which really doesn't have anything to do with this, but it actually helps take away the stress of cleaning my face every day with a billion different things and getting depressed when it doesn't work. LOL.
I have grown up a lot, I suppose is what I am saying. I've stopped trying to blame all my problems on my past. Of course, I know aspects of my personality are shaped by my past, simply because of the whole nature vs. nurture debate, and I strongly believe in both shaping individuals to be who they are. But I have my own free will, I am very strong-willed, and I know that only I will be the cause of my own demise.
So World, you're safe from my middle finger :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
