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There are people on the net that have nothing better to do with their time
then be nasty to other people online. They post rude comments, spend hours
a day talking about sites they hate so much, that they well, spend hours a
day talking about them. (lame) They mock the owners and posters for their
opinions and their right to free speech. They expect everyone to fit into
their narrow-minded little world view or else they throw a temper tantrum.
To these people I say grow up.
Here's a bit of info people...the web is
a HUGE place. If you don't like what I say here, or who I am, or what I
do, or talk about, or what I look like, or the color of my hair, or
whatever asinine thing you dwell on, go somewhere else. It's
really, really easy. Honest. You just click the little "x" in
the corner of your browser and *poof* the offending, big, mean and nasty
site has disappeared.
I pay for this site. It's mine. That
means I can use it for whatever the hell I want to. Don't like it if I'm
bitching about something in my life? Oh fucking well. Go somewhere else.
Think I'm stupid for expressing my thoughts? Too fucking bad, don't read
them. Somewhere along the line, someone forgot this simple fact: Live
and let live Don't like me, cool, fine, whatever, I don't care.
This journal is NOT for you. It's for me. I'm not in it for popularity or
fame or anything stupid like that. I write it because I need to write and
express myself and get things out of my head sometimes. So read or don't,
it doesn't matter, but don't waste my time (or yours) bitching about it.
*gets off soapbox*
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Friday, January 13, 2006
Just Missing The Camera Crew
Last night was an episode of Cops in my building, I swear. All that you needed was the cameras. Love and I are watching 40 Year Old Virgin (which was funny by the way) and we keep hearing this knocking/thuding/pounding noise. For around a half an hour. Finally, we pause the movie and look out our peep hole. There, at the apartment across the breezeway from us, is a large white guy, who's clearly really fucked up, banging repeatedly at the door. And when I say, "repeatedly" I mean pretty much non-stop knocking and pounding and banging at the door. Love things we should call the cops. I'm not sure until as I'm watching, he starts to fiddle with the lock like he's trying to break in. I get the dispatch number for the sheriff's office and call them. There's a guy who appears really, really drunk pounding on the door to the apartment across from us. He's been doing it for over a half an hour now and he's even trying to break the lock at this point. So they say they'll send someone out. About ten or fifteen minutes go by and no cops yet. At this point, the guy is throwing himself at the door so hard it's rattling our walls. We're across the hall from him and don't share any walls and he's still shaking things in our apartment. Love decides to call them back and let them know he's now bodily throwing himself at the door. They check and let him know the officers are pulling into the complex now. At first, all we see is a small woman officer. This is a large (heavy not tall) guy and he's really fucked up. I'm a little concerned at first. He starts to head down the stairs as she encounters him and tells him to stop. Quick as anything a large (tall not heavy) male officer comes up the back stairs and intercepts the drunk guy. You know you're fucked up when you can't even answer the simple questions the cop asks you. This is where it really turned into something you'd see on Cops. Officer: Do you live here? This kind of thing goes on for a long time. I have to hand it to the officer, he keeps cool with this guy who's making no sense and is heavily fucked up. He can't get very much information out of the guy though. He's so out of it he doesn't answer questions, doesn't speak clearly and keeps repeating the question. At one point, it was priceless though. Officer: Have you ever been arrested before? Rather not get into it?  Oh my. That's the wrong thing to say to the cop. The guy keeps saying he lives there. And that his girlfriend is there. But then he says he doesn't live there. But he does. Of course he doesn't have ID that lists the address of the apartment. He then claims he's lived there for 3 1/2 years. Which is total crap. I've been here around 1 year and 3 months. When we moved in there was a young couple that lived there. We knew who they were because we nicknamed them the "Stompy McStomps" for how noisey they were on the stairs. They moved out around 6 months ago. So the cop then asks if anyone in the surrounding apartments would know him if he were to ask. Afterall, for 3 1/2 years, people would recognize him, right?At this point the officer knocks on my damned door. *grumbles* Don't drag me into it! I don't want some crazy drunk guy coming to bug me later on! I answer it though and confirm I don't recognize the guy and that the people who live there have only been there for around six months. He thanks me and I close the door. Of course, I keep listening because I want to find out what's going to happen. The officer asks him to make sure that he's at the right apartment. The drunk guy says, "Yeah, xxx" Um, no. That's MY apartment number. The cop says, "No, this [the one he's been knocking at] is xxY." The guy starts laughing and apologizing and saying he's at the wrong place. He takes the drunk guy downstairs and at that point, I can't hear them anymore. So I'm not sure if he was at the wrong building or if he doesn't live here at all or what. I'm not sure if the officer found his apartment and let him sleep it off or if he took him in last night. I know he never came back to our floor. And I'm sure he didn't let the guy just wander around drunk and disorderly. Either way though, jeez. What a night. It was around 11:45pm or so by the time the officer took the guy away and a few minutes after that I saw the patrol cars drive off. (Though I couldn't see if he had the guy in the car or not.) Weird night though. Creepy and bizare all at the same time. It's the kind of thing you'd expect from my old Ghetto-Fabulous complex, but this place is in a respectable area and is pretty expensive. Then again, you find Cops worthy drunken material anywhere I guess. I just don't want to see this dude around anymore. I hope he really doesn't live across the hall because he's not the kind of person I want to be that close to or have to ever encounter in the future.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Mom Or Dad Home?
So I'm sitting on the couch playing with the Nintendo DS. Knock on the door so I go answer it. Some guy - who looks near 40 - tells me he's trying to get x number of points (can't recall the number and it's not important to the story anyway) for his Senior trip. He asks if my mom or dad are home. My mom or dad?  Damn. I know I often get thought of as being a little younger then I am but...jeez. Not that young! I guess the look on my face and my chuckle-snort must have clued him in because he got a surprised look on his face and asked if I was the "lady of the house." But I don't think he believes me because he tells me he needs my "vote" and again tries to confirm my age asking, "you're over 18 right?"So after I tell him I don't want a magazine subscription I get to thinking. And I chuckle because although I can't imagine I look under 18 - I am 28 after all! - I can see some of the things he might have been confused by. I'm wearing a Hello Kitty shirt, flannel pj bottoms, my hair's in two pigtails and I'm playing my DS.  So...I guess add all that up with some supposed senior who looks 40 and I guess that's where he got confused.But 18? And my mom and dad? Priceless.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Reality That's Not Real
It's so odd. When you have a dream and within the dream there's something diferent which seems perfectly normal in that setting. It's so "normal" that when you wake up, it leaves colorings on your mind and you can actually, momentarily forget that it wasn't actually part of the real, waking world. For example, last week I had a dream in which I had two rows of teeth on the top. One right behind the another, exactly the same, just doubled. And I remember in my dream that I was poking around at the root canal tooth with my tongue and recalling it was in the second row, back top left tooth. Hours later after I woke up, I ran my tongue along my teeth and for a moment, it felt odd. It was as if having one row of teeth was a bit of a surprise. I pondered at it a second and realized it was because the "reality" of the dream was so "real" that I forgot for that brief time, the sensation of two rows of teeth was merely from a dream. Oftentimes in my dreams I know how to levitate. Not full out fly - those are different dreams - but hover. It's so natural and it's so insinctual that when I wake up I feel like I could roll right out of bed and do with as easily as walking. The feeling persists for long periods of time and it's part frustrating and part disappointing that there's such a conflict between what one part of my mind "knows" and the other. Part of me does know how to do it but another part knows it's impossible. It's an odd sensation and poses again the question of the reality of reality. Which is more real and why? What makes my dreamscape the work of fiction and how do I know that my dreams are nothing more then windows into knowledge I willfully deny myself in the waking reality? My dreams are often rather normal; events and places that aren't overly fantastic. But there's always things about them which are just outside the realm of the waking world's limitations. And those fringe elements of my dreams feel as much a part of who and what I am as anything in the waking world. They cling to me in ways I can't fully articulate and they make up the sum total of my world. I just wish I could better bring into harmony those two aspects; allow for more seamless blending of the two. I really feel like there are answers to mysteries there and that if I only could understand how they relate, I could bring them from phantoms in my mind, to birth in the physical.
Monday, January 09, 2006
I Suppose It's Something
Bright House gave us an extension until the 18th. Which I suppose it something (and which means I can watch Lost Wednesday) but is really frustratingly dumb since we don't get paid again until the 20th. What's two days? But no. They would not give us those two days. As if we're going to have money at the end of an extremely long and dead broke cycle, riiiight. Because you know if we don't have it now, we'll surely have it two days before we get paid again. Idiots. I'm trying to work on some new items for PhoenixFire Designs right now so maybe someone might find something they like. Every bit helps, you know? I've got some cleaning up to do. This place is a mess. And our dishwasher door is broken (it won't close right) so I need to call the office about that too. Bah. I hate calling them. In fact, I hate dealing with them at all. Makes me sick to my stomach for some reason. It'll be everything I have to dial the phone and speak to them. In some ways, my social anxiety is way worse then others. Having to call any company or service on the phone is one of the most extreme. I don't know why either. I didn't used to have a problem. Now it's physical agony to call someone or order a pizza or anything. It's so annoying because logically I know how pointless and stupid it is but that doesn't really change how I feel. Anyway, that's that for now.
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