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1. Just kidding, I really have no idea.

2. It's just that sometimes it feels so stupid not to want people to look at me.

3. After all, I look at everyone else - I am a people watcher.

4. I notice when people's socks match their outfits and stuff like that, but I also notice people's moods, when someone is nervous or distracted or irritated or amused or relaxed or focused or anything else.

5. Sometimes I feel like self-consciousness is related to self-obsession - after all, no matter what it feels like, it's NOT all about me, is it?

6. All these little things that concern me likely concern only me, so, logically, shouldn't I just chill out?

7. If emotions could be ruled by logic, though, an entire profession would be out of business.

8. Yeah, that.

9. I do get it, though, that my lack of trust in other people's good opinions can get annoying, irritating even, and definitely pushes people away.

10. Being reassured ten bazillion times is awfully nice, but it feels overly indulgent and I'm pretty sure eventually he's going to get sick of it. I don't thing this was such a big issue in any previous relationship I've been in, but, I don't know. Maybe I'm a different person now.
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I did. I really did.

Sometimes I feel like I'm possessed, or like I'm two different people.

I don't know how I can expect anyone else to deal with this. It's like saying, "I love you, and because I love you, I feel comfortable enough with you to let my true self show. Here, have some heaps of abuse now, cause this IS my true self! There, can't you feel the love?"

Uh Huh

Jan. 29th, 2009 08:10 pm
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Well. How am I doing at being a girlfriend, anyway?

Meh. Not too bad I guess, although, honestly, I'm feeling kind of uneasy. Still. Which isn't a good sign, is it? I don't know if it's some kind of funky chemical issue warping my emotions, or if it's a genuine Lara don't do this kind of warning... I dunno.

Me and B haven't seen all that much of each other recently unless we're also with Ryan. I've been spending pretty much at least part of every day with Ryan so if I see B Ryan is there too, which is cool... Ryan and I are having a blast. I assume most of his friends aren't around anymore, I mean, that's what people seem to do when they grow up, get the hell out of here, and I know he doesn't just want to hang around underfoot at my aunt's. Ryan also spends a lot of time with my youngest cousin, his brother, so I've been spending time with him too. He... is not cool with me and never will be, I guess, and I'm pretty much okay with that. I was kind of hoping the three of us spending time together would kind of smooth things out a little but it really hasn't. And also Ryan and B are friends too, so... yeah. Ryan's leaving tomorrow night, though, and who knows when I'll see him next.

I haven't felt very girlfriend-y, I guess. Well, whatever.

Last night I finally fell down B's stairs, lol. I say "finally" because I've been assuming I eventually would. I tack the "lol" on the end there cause it was funny when it happened.

B lives in his dad's basement. The first time I went back to his house I swore up and down that the stairs were a non-issue and I was fine. He... did not really believe me, and insisted on carefully observing me every time I went down them, for... several months, even, but eventually he got over that and now is completely indifferent. To be honest, the steps are pretty brutal, they're concrete, steep, and there's no railing. There's no light (I mean, at night, in the daytime there's sun :P ) and nine times out of ten, if I'm going down the stairs I've previously been drinking.

I had NOT been drinking last night, on account of the fact that I drove over there myself, and yet, managed to fall on the stairs anyway. Go me. I considered that to be my go-ahead to drink plenty once I actually went inside :P

Oh yeah, also, a stripper gave me hair advice :P
exhilaration: (Harry Potter)
I dunno why I have to be the kind of person who is just pulled every which way - some people know what they want in life and go for it, and some people kind of go where life takes them, and CERTAIN OTHER PEOPLE (like me) always feel like they should be doing something else.

You know, people identify what they're good at and what they have a passion for, and focus their lives on that... even if their passion is snowboarding, like my cousin Ryan - no one would say he's particularly successful, I mean, he didn't do well in school, never went to college, never had a "real" job (but did plenty of odd jobs all over the place) but still, he knows what he wants from life and goes for it. He's got something driving him, he's got his big plans, he's got it all worked out.

I don't know what I'm good at or what I have a passion for except for what's become a very vague and unreliable notion that I'm very intelligent. I mean, I am very intelligent, and half the time, I feel like keeping this fact a secret. Truth is, when I was a kid, I was tested and found to be completely off the charts. When I was in elementary school I didn't have to sit through class with the other kids, I got to go to a special program with only five of us and we got to study whatever we wanted, as long as someone was supervising us and making sure, you know, that we were actually working on stuff and not screwing around or something. By the time I was in third grade I could read anything and did, including Crime and Punishment and yes, I understood it. I took my SATs when I was in seventh grade and scored a 1570, so, yes, I really truly am that intelligent. I say this is vague and unreliable because, come on, where has all this intelligence gotten me besides utterly dissatisfied with everything I encounter?

I dropped out of high school, which I think was a good choice and I'd do it again. But I also dropped out of college, which... I mean, I know why I did it at the time. I just wish I hadn't. I wish things had been different, way different and I could have finished. Cause I feel like my poor brain is just rotting away here. I don't want to sound stuck up, but, not only am I smarter than pretty much every one I encounter, where I am now and working where I do I feel like I'm on some other planet. So no, I don't want anyone to know that I ever even went to college, and no, I don't want anyone to know how smart I really am, because that gets me the immediate response of "WELL THEN WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE, GO DO SOMETHING WORTHWHILE WITH YOUR LIFE!"

What's worthwhile, anyway? I'd do it if I could figure out what it was, I swear.

I think this has a lot to do with why I wanted to be a teacher, I think I figured, well, if I don't know what I want to do for me, then, instead of being a useless lump, I'll do what I can for someone else.

And here I am a useless lump.

What brought this on? Oh well, ever since I read that massive Harry Potter fanfic by Cassandra Claire, I've been wanting to write my own - I can write my own Draco fanfic and plagiarize none of it and it'll prolly be just as good as hers... right? (I dunno about that, I hardly ever write anymore, but I think I'd enjoy trying) So I've decided to do a HP re-read and take copious notes along the way for my big massive fic project - oh, if only I could have harnessed this ambition, you know, in school because as much as I love fanfic, as much as I think the community element is amazing and without compare... really, who reads fanfic? It's not something you can really tell anyone and expect any kind of credibility. What do you do? Oh well right now I'm writing a Harry Potter fanfiction... yeah, no, not really. Might as well say, "oh, I'm writing a novel," as so many wannabe-authors do, only, yeah, when you meet that one person who says "oh I'd love to read it!" um, what are you going to show them? Your HP fic?

Yeah.
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Yes, as you can tell I am very mature.

One day, perhaps, I will get over my amusement with switching the hyphen from before "ass" to after it.

Today is not that day.

Long-ass entry, my friends, for I have a lot to say. )

So now I can accuse Bevan of making me sick.

Or, I have made him sick.

Either way. Sick sucks.

And thats... what's been up.

Yep.

At It Again

Sep. 4th, 2008 11:59 pm
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Well, now I'm just all out of sorts. I really don't know what to say about this, or what to think, or what I want to say, or anything.

I went to a strip club last night. Bevan invited me - this would be the third time I've gone, and I was excited to go. I got a lap dance. It was hot. Very. And after, it hit me: yes, I did just pay a girl forty dollars to make out with me. And suddenly it didn't seem so hot after all. I just felt... disturbed.

On the one hand, it just made me miss... I don't know. Sex? Intimacy? Both? These are things most humans crave, I guess that is not so odd. But it surprised me. I kind of felt like, hey, I could be doing this as much as I wanted, to my hearts content, if only I had someone. Which I don't.

And on the other hand, it felt a little odd because I was lacking adrenaline. Whatever additional kick would have come from knowing that this girl, this random girl, was actually attracted to me rather than being paid by me was missing, and it was noticeable.

I don't know. I went back to Bevan's after. I told him the basic idea of how the lap dance turned out, that, ah, I got to participate, and I tried to explain to him what had me so out of sorts, but I really couldn't explain it at all.

I was feeling kind of frustrated, sort of like I was all wound up with no where to go, and when I tried to put words to that, it did occur to me that if it was just plain sex I was craving, well, that could most definitely be arranged. Me and Bevan have already done it once, and almost did it another time - a repeat wouldn't be completely far-fetched.

But I'm not attracted to him. I like him very much. I like hanging out with him, talking to him, being around him, knowing about him and thinking about him and just generally being friends with him. I'm not attracted to him at all - there is nothing about him that is attractive to me. He is short, almost as short as I am, he plasters his hair down, his teeth are kinda crooked, he wears stupid t-shirts and I'm just not attracted to him at all.

I would like to be attracted to somebody.

And then I want to fuck them silly.

And I know, I know, that is just a basic human want, to have sex. All humans like and want sex. I assume I'll have a reasonable amount of sex in my lifetime.

But I want some RIGHT NOW.

So, I guess what I'm saying is, I went to a strip club, and now I have a serious case of SF. SF standing for SEXUAL FRUSTRATION.
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I did not go to the baseball game today.

It's just as well, because there was another rain delay, and once was enough with that inclement weather business.

I did, however, go to a strip club after work last night.

It was a different one. I felt a lot more comfortable there because I was not the only girl in the place who wasn't, you know, dancing. I still kinda feel like I'm slowly de-volving, though. I don't know. Maybe it's not such a horrible thing. Either way, I had a... good time there. I definitely did. I blew all my cash, of course. Also I got a lap dance.

Funny, that. I've randomly hooked up with people just for the fun of it, I mean, obviously not all the time, but it's happened, I mean, I went to college and stuff, and that seems to be what college students do these days when they're not in class - I never felt like there was anything wrong with that. Usually it came back to bite me in the ass, you know, created some type of unpleasant situation, oh, not unlike THE ONE I'M IN NOW, but I've definitely never paid anyone to act like they were into me before.

She must have been a little into me, though, in some way (or I'm just telling myself that to feel better) cause it's not like I picked her or anything. She was making eyes at me from the stage and she specifically suggested we go to that "back room." I know, I know, that's what they all do, because that's how they make money (and damn, those girls must make a fortune each night!) but I am way, way too shy to wave down some mostly-naked girl and ask her for a lap dance, even if it is her job. She came to me. I wasn't about to be like, uh, no no, I don't want that.

Probably she was like, ah, great, a girl, now I don't have to dance all on some nasty sweaty man.

I'm sure that's all it was.
exhilaration: (impossible things)
I woke up this morning hung over.

I woke up at eight. That's really, really late for me. I'm used to waking up at three thirty every morning, and if I go back to sleep I usually wake up again around five or so.

I did not wake up until eight. So I guess my sleep schedule is already getting weird on me.

My head hurt. My neck hurt. My shoulder hurt. My back hurt. My hands hurt. My face hurt. Every fucking thing hurt.

I tried to get out of bed but the floor dumped me back in. It can do that, the floor.

Okay, so, now that we've established I must have gotten drunk last night... )

Geez, if you read through all this, you're a trooper, that's for sure. Thanks. Even if you don't leave a comment, thanks for just reading. I think a few months ago in one of my entries I swore I wasn't always like this. Huh. Apparently I am always like this. Sorry to mislead.
exhilaration: (Default)
You know those really thin plastic bags you get from the grocery store to put your veggies in?

I totally just turned on the toaster with one of those bags kind of... near it, like, almost on it but not quite.

They melt, by the way. Really quickly.

Anyway.

My Great And Wonderful Plan is totally screwed. How screwed? Oh, let me count the ways.

Well, there's my car. If I get my car fixed and registered and insured, it'll max out my credit card. I don't really want to do that, because that would leave me completely screwed if anything else comes up.

I have spent ALL of the money from the loan I took out on the house. I have not even remotely paid the loan off. (To be fair to me, paying the loan off by now certainly wasn't part of the original plan to begin with) I still cannot do anything else with the other house because I am still stalled by stupid zoning bullshit and the like.

The idea was supposed to be that by the end of the summer I would move into the other house, because it would actually be mostly livable by then because it would have been being worked on all summer, and I would rent out both floors of this house for the winter, and then by NEXT summer I would be renting out both floors of this house and two floors of that house all to tourists and all by the week, and THAT is how I would start paying everything off.

APPARENTLY NOT.

I went to the Coffee Co this morning to pick up my paycheck. I'll get another check from them on Friday, and then that's the end of that. That's six hundred dollars a month I won't have. By September I won't be getting the money from renting my upstairs anymore either. I can, hopefully, rent it to someone for the winter, but it certainly won't be the income it's been all summer.

If I spent ACTUAL money on fixing my car and all that, then I wouldn't have any ACTUAL money. But if I have no transportation (and the trolley doesn't run in the winter either) then how am I ever going to find another job, unless it's just down the street or something? I already inquired at pretty much every place of business within a ten-block radius - no one is hiring permanently. Couple places are hiring seasonal, but at this point, that's, like, two months. Which I'm torn between taking, and then starting the job search again in the fall (which is practically impossible since everyone downsizes in the fall), and ignoring, because what I really need is a non-seasonal job, and something that doesn't rely on tourism to sustain it, like... I don't even know what that would be anymore.

I need a "real job," is what it comes down to. Not a "kid job." Which means I need transportation. Blegh.

I AM IN OVER MY HEAD. I swore that I would not be, and, look at that, I AM.

And what, pray tell, has been occupying my every thought these days? No, not really my car, or finding a job. Not whatever disaster of a mess I've gotten myself into with Bevan. Nope.

I'm still writing that god-awful fanfic.

Which... feels good to be writing, but at the same time, damn, could I waste any more time?

Blegh.
exhilaration: (impossible things)
So. I have an uncle who is a paranoid schizophrenic.

These days, especially here on the internet, severe psychological disorders seem to be the "cool thing" in certain circles. Which bugs me every kind of sideways, but I won't go into that. It's not "cool," though. It's very far from it.

family shit )

It's like I'm stuck here in this absurd back and forth - if I clean everything up, suddenly I'm my mother. If I leave it like this, suddenly I'm my uncle. Can't I just be myself, without anyone else's faults encroaching on my actions? I let the house get messy. That's all. I'm a busy person, I work two jobs, and try to have a social life. The house got messy. This shouldn't be an indication of my mental state or of anything else other than the fact that I've over-scheduled myself, and THAT'S IT.
exhilaration: (Default)
Ah, let's see, where to start, and which direction to take this one?

Well, first off, I went to a strip club, and I've got a whole lot to say about that one. It was a pretty surreal experience. If you didn't know it, South Jersey is full of strip clubs. They're all over the freakin' place. I've never been in one. My friend Matt once dated a stripper, and I've been outside her club outside Camden waiting for her to come out, but that's about it. I've been to a BDSM club when I was in college, and I sometimes call it a sex club, but for as freaky as it sounds (and it was pretty freaky deaky in there...) there was also an atmosphere of complete respect for all human beings in the building. That is NOT what a strip club is like. And I'm pretty torn as to how to react to it all together, how to react to my own reactions/behaviors/instincts, and etc. It was a very unsettling night.

On one hand, the girls are beautiful, and they're amazingly talented. Can you climb a pole and disrobe at the same time, all the while making it look not only easy but sexy as well? Yeah I didn't think so. Not to mention sliding down the pole, naked and upside down, by one knee and stopping six inches from the floor. It was fucking incredible.

On the other hand, how can you say they're not objectified, even if it is a job, even if they are making an insane amount of money? How isn't it degrading to take dollars from people for shaking your booty or playing with your pussy or rubbing your boobs in their face?

And I'm a girl, and there I was waving my dollars and getting boobies in my face too.

So yes, I am kind of torn as to how to react to my fantastic night of naughtiness. That's just how I roll, you know. )

And so now for the grande finale, I'm kind of feeling guilty for the conflict that has ensued from this evening. So Jury, Bevan's girlfriend, has been being pretty nice to me recently. We had a nice little chat the other day and everything. We went out on the beach together in the evening, even, the three of us.

Now Jury is absolutely furious with Bevan, she's calling him her ex boyfriend, and saying all kinds of shit about him, and I feel really bad. Logically, this has nothing to do with me. Her boyfriend isn't cheating on her with me - I don't even like guys. I don't even enter into this - she doesn't care that I was there at the strip club, she doesn't have a problem with him and me hanging around each other. It's not even specifically that she had a problem with him going to a strip club to begin with - she doesn't like the idea, but it's not like she forbid it or anything (although if I was a girl with a boyfriend I might be kinda pissed if he went to a club to watch other women disrobe...) - she's furious that he lied to her about why he wasn't answering his phone all night.

That's pretty valid too, as far as I'm concerned. So, yeah, my favorite person does very uncool things, like lying to his girlfriend and oh, wait, cheating on her while she's away at college too. Come to think of it, that might just be the source of these guilty feelings of mine, or, some of them, at least.

So, I don't need to repeat how much I wish that had never happened.

And I'm pretty embarrassed to face anyone, Bevan included, who was at the strip club with me, cause I still feel kinda dirty and skeevy and unsettled about the night. Seriously, that was me, putting dollars between woman's breasts with my teeth?

Real winner, me.
exhilaration: (Default)
So the first day of summer is... June 21, I believe?

No, actually, it's today.

It's too hot. I'm too hot.

I like warm weather. But too hot is too hot. Those clothes I bought a little while ago, for "when it gets really hot?" Yeah. Good decision. It's really hot.

Anyway. Erica has been wanting to do some girly things with me, and I have been continually turning her down. She really wants to, one, go to the beach. No. Two, lay out in the sun in her back yard. No. Three, go shopping at the mall. No. Four, Get our nails done in a salon. No.

Oh wait, did I just turn down shopping?

I take it back! I want to go to the mall! I have been wanting to go to the mall for ages!

I shopped. )

But I found it incredibly cool that Erica found it so hard to believe that I would be self-conscious. Like she automatically assumed that of course I'm better than that.

I'm not, though, of course. But it is the thought that counts, isn't it?

So

May. 2nd, 2008 05:49 pm
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So I got written up at work (restaurant) for not coming in the other night.

Which totally wasn't my fault.

I hate that shit. I hate having to rely on other people to drive me around. And I hate getting in trouble. I hate trying to make excuses for why I did something wrong - I did something wrong, I didn't come in to work and didn't call until about a half hour before my shift started. So yes, of course I'm in the wrong, even though it wasn't my fault, and I still feel all pissed and defensive and just generally shitty about it. I hate getting in trouble. I was the kid who cried when she got her name put on the board in elementary school. Seriously.

So now I've been written up at the coffee co for being on my phone behind the counter, and written up at the restaurant for not showing up for my shift. When the only reason I was on the phone in the first place was because Renee wouldn't let me leave, even though I wasn't even supposed to be working in the first place, and I missed my ride to my other job and I was calling to tell them why I wasn't there.

Why am I completely unable to be a regular old reliable person? Why must I constantly screw everything up? These are simple jobs - an idiot should be able to do them with their eyes closed. And yet I manage to get written up by both of them.

How bad is it, really, to drive a car with expired registration and no insurance with a suspended license?

...ok typing it all out like that, well, I don't really have to ask. I know it's really bad.

I should just sell the damn thing and be done with it.
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I would like to learn to stand up for myself at work.

And I would like to learn to form my own opinions of myself.

That would be really great.

This is getting really long and I've had a shitty day besides )

And I need to go the fuck to sleep, cause I've been up since... well I left for work at four thirty this morning. By eight am I was asleep but at nine I woke up again, so, not counting that hour or so? I've been up since yesterday afternoon.
exhilaration: (Default)
I do not like talking on the phone.

I live in the downstairs of my house now. That means the pink and green ugly couch that has been here for longer than I've been alive is now mine again. Also there is a non-working refrigerator. I asked Sima to move it into the back bedroom. I'm gonna use it like a closet I think. I dunno, it's not like I am going to have it repaired or anything, and there is a little refrigerator in the kitchen that works and stuff. I thought it would make a good storage space. My computer area is all set up in the big bedroom. I like that room. It's my favorite.

Right, the phone. I don't like it.

When ever I hang out with anyone, it's always after work or something, and people just invite me along, or I ask for a ride home and I end up going wherever they're going on the way home. I did make plans to go shopping with Ruth, but we made those plans in person, at work. And that time I went to Bevan's and played Rock Band, we set that up at the coffee shop. Well the second time he invited me and I didn't go, he did actually call me.

And I haven't seen Bevan in like forever, cause I don't see him in the coffee shop anymore cause by seven my shift is over, and he usually comes in around eight or nine, and somehow I missed him at the restaurant all weekend too.

I would like to hang out with somebody. The weather has been so beautiful, and places are opening up for the summer, and I want to get out of the house and do something. So... I've got to call someone on the phone.

But what do I say? It's not like I've got some cool event to go to, like, "hey, there's a concert, want to go with me?" or "hey, want to go to so-and-so's party?" or even, "hey, I am having a party, want to come?" Cause that would be easy.

No, it has to be like, "hey, it's a nice day out, want to do something fun and exciting?"

But see, then the other person says, "like what?"

And I say, "I dunno, what do you want to do?"

And that's lame.

And of course who would I most like to hang out with? That would be B, of course, because he is my favorite. He is also the only person who has ever actually called me to hang out, ever. And who do I least want to call? Right. Him. Because I don't know. For some reason I just do not want to call him. I am positive I will sound stupid and desperate on the phone, that's why.

So my other choices are... JJ, this girl from work who is very friendly and stuff. She has never called me, but she does say all the time that I'm funny and we should hang out. I don't know if she's serious or not, though. Ruth, who is going shopping with me, but who I pretty much have nothing in common with and I have no idea what we would do together... after work I go to the bar with this girl Heather a whole lot, but she has never mentioned us hanging out other than the bars at eleven at night. I could maybe call her... maybe...

My social skills fucking suck.

But deep down, I just am not an introvert. I'm really not. Maybe I'm difficult to get along with and hard to be around, especially if I'm in some kind of mood, but I actually do not prefer to stay home by myself. I try to like it. I really do. I download all my favorite stuff to watch. I keep a nice supply of cold beer in the fridge. I have my speakers all set up with a remote control and everything, it's fab. I look for random stuff to fiddle with, drawing stuff and painting things and whatever, organizing my playlists, napping, whatever, but I WOULD RATHER BE NOT ALONE.

I like to stay home when I don't feel good. If I'm in pain or something, then no, of course I don't want to go out. I want to take a fucking tranquilizer and knock myself out. But I feel fine right now. Even my shoulder(s) feel fine. I liked living in a dorm in college because there was always someone around to entertain me. I liked living in EOL because there were like seven people in the house. Usually, more often than not, at least someone was home when I was home. Even when it was just me, Daniel, and Jay, usually I wasn't alone. And if I was, it was a good thing, because it was like a much-needed break from being surrounded all the time.

So, solution: CALL SOMEONE.

Except for I hate the phone...
exhilaration: (impossible things)
So tomorrow I'm going to the doctor.

I hate going to the doctor and I can't imagine this visit being at all productive. I just can't see that happening at all. And this is based on many previous experience. I don't have some kind of unreasonable fear of doctors. I don't even lack faith in doctors in general. I just know for a fact that doctors, especially clinic doctors, are very quick to give you the brush off. And so that is what I'm expecting to get.

This is what I do when I feel like shit, I write and write and write and write... )

Sometimes

Mar. 26th, 2008 12:12 am
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Sometimes I just feel really sick of life. Not BEING ALIVE, just, living my life. Mine, specifically. It's like, okay, I've been tormented enough now, can I get a break now, for just a bit, can I just have things go back to normal?

Ah, but they are never going to go back to normal, are they?

I burned myself cooking tonight. It hurts. I burned myself on the inside of my wrist, too - really sensitive skin there. Probably going to leave a hideous scar. I can't wait. Hot oil for the win.

I, ah, did something I'm not real proud of, and I've been feeling pretty unsettled about it for a few days now. Yeah, it's Tuesday, so it's about that time for the weekend to catch up with me I guess.

I hooked up with the bartender from my restaurant, is what it comes down to. I'll spare the gory details, but - yeah. That's what I did. Because - I don't know why. I thought I didn't like guys anyway? I mean, I like him fine, I have no problem with him, I don't find myself particularly attracted to him though. We're not even friends. It just... happened. And he was really drunk, I guess, because the next morning (oh god, I can't believe I'm even writing this sentence) he acted like he didn't really remember exactly what happened between us.

But he drove me to my house, let me go inside and change, and then drove me to work. So, I mean, it's not like he was being an asshole about it, but still. He didn't remember much from the night before. I, of course, remember it just fine.

So I've seen him a few times since then and he's pretty much acting like it never happened. So am I. And I have this weird feeling like everyone at work is talking about us or something. I don't like it.

I think I like... feeling attractive. I guess I must - if all he had to do to get in my pants was act like he wanted in, I mean, geez, go me, right? That says a lot about my self-respect now doesn't it. But it's not like I've had any type of action - hell, it's not like anyone has so much as even LOOKED at me since, oh, since Krissy was here that one time. Ages ago.

Unsettled - unresolved, I guess. I feel like I'm waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. Whatever that's supposed to mean.
exhilaration: (Default)
That's what it is out there. Freezing cold.

I'm home, finally. Sima drove me to Camden this morning at five and I just got back an hour or so ago. Long day. Still a free woman, still have a job, didn't get stranded anywhere, I guess I really can't complain.

I had groceries delivered today, which I didn't forget about but also wasn't home to get, and I was kind of worried I wouldn't get them, and I'd end up having to go pick them up or something, which would defeat the purpose of getting them delivered, but they were on my front doorstep when I got home. I can't believe no one stole them. Who would steal them, though, there's no one around here... it still blows my mind, though. I guess I lived in the city for too long or something. Sima and Patrice saw them, knew they weren't theirs, assumed they were mine, and left them alone.

I had to get up so early to make sure I got there on time and had a ride and all that I didn't have time to do my hair, and when I woke up it was all curly, so I just left it that way and it looks terrible. I was thinking about re-bleaching it tonight but now I'm thinking more along the lines of no. I'll just stick to washing and blowdrying for now.

I have to go to work tomorrow. Still have a job. Good thing, too, cause I kinda like that job. Kinda tired, too, think I'll go to bed soon.
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I had this nice day today, you know, after work I went to my favorite hot spot for funky things (which is only open on the weekends in the winter, go figure) and bought some super-strong bleach for my hair, since I'm planning to go ahead with the platinum hair plan. I bleached out the top part of my head, so now it's, hmm, light yellow over maroon - interesting looking, really, of course it's not going to stay that way. I just don't want my hair to fall out or break or anything so I'm giving it a break. Of course everyone's gonna be like, oh, Lara, I like your hair! But they always say that whenever I change it. It doesn't actually look that great. I need to bleach it again, and then I need to, like, let it sit with toner in it for like five hours or something. Then it should be white. We'll see about that.

And, you know, my scalp is all pink and puffy and so is my forehead and so are my fingertips. Sigh, the price of having white hair... someday maybe I'll be old and it will turn white on it's own :P

Ok but, see, while I was lounging around, listening to music and letting my hair bleach, I came to this sudden realization: I HAVE COURT TOMORROW.

Yes. TOMORROW, I HAVE COURT. I CANNOT MISS THIS.

I have known about this for months. In fact, since last time I had court. Um. Okay. Should not be a problem. But, it is, of course. Two things: one, I have to work tomorrow at the Coffee Co. I cannot do both. I have tried desperately to get my shift covered, but, like, come on. Half a day's notice? I pretty much called up and was like, yeah, not coming in, regardless, because losing my job because I didn't show up would be worse than not showing up to COURT, but, I really, really don't want to lose my job. Jobs are hard to find in the winter. I'm lucky I have two, and even with two, I really only get about twenty five hours a week, combined. If I lost this job, I would not be able to get another one. Not one I could actually, you know, get to without a car.

And speaking of car - I have to be in Camden tomorrow morning. Which means someone either needs to drive me to AC so I can get on a train or a bus, or I need to call a cab to come here and take me to AC, which is mad expensive, to say the least, and the last time I did that the cab was late. I CAN'T BE LATE.

So, my hair looks stupid, and I have royally screwed myself. Yet again.

Go me.
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All right, well, not that I'm terribly happy about turning twenty four and still having a shithole of a life, I have to admit, I'm doing a bit better than I was for my twenty-third birthday.

To make a very, very long and sob-inducing story short, Krissy and I don't see each other any more. I can't say we "broke up" because we were never officially "together," but... yeah. We don't see each other anymore. For one thing, the distance was starting to be a problem. Her driving over an hour to see me was one thing, but her driving over an hour to come pick me up was something else entirely - I don't live anywhere near any kind of public transportation that can get me to Philly. I mean, there are busses and trains in and out of Atlantic City, of course, but, what, am I going to fucking walk to AC? So no. And her coming over here is just... was just, I should say... but, this is a dry town. There are no bars. And the other towns around here, they're tourist towns, really, and when it isn't tourist season, they're just little hick towns and it's just not the same as Philly and she certainly wasn't impressed. And of course my house isn't terribly impressive or even comfortable, either.

I met Krissy's family. I think that was the last straw. We don't belong together, her and I. That was made perfectly clear.

I don't belong in anyone's life.

I still work in the restaurant a couple days a week, cause I get a ride from my downstairs tenants, which is cool. And I have a part-time job at a coffee shop a few blocks from here, near the bayside. That's an okay job. The first floor of my house is rent-able now, which is cool I guess, and I'm renting it to these two Haitian kids who are always speaking French and stuff, I can't understand them half the time even when they're speaking English. I met them at the restaurant. They're cooks. Um, so, I finished the first floor up, mostly, decently enough, anyway, in October, and they moved in right away, which leaves the second floor for me, and I've been slacking on making the second floor rent-able too.

And the second house is totally stalled because of zoning bullshit that I have no clue how to get around. I need, like, some type of knowledge I seem to be lacking, or something.

So, yeah, I live on the second floor of my own house, go me. I have fallen down my own stairs about once every other week. It's great fun.

I, ah, lost my driver's license, also - I don't really want to talk about that. It was my own fault and it was stupid, and I almost went to jail or something. I'm a fucking idiot, to tell the truth. So, anyway, my downstairs tenants drive my car. And drive me to work, conveniently.

I'm so fucking poisonous. I don't know why everyone doesn't hate me. Oh, for all I know, they all probably do. The ones who count, anyway...

Daniel...

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Lara I.

October 2012

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