You're not doing it right

I hate it when I am obviously doing something, or nothing (mostly nothing), but it is still apparent how I am occupying my time, and some sleaze with ill intentions written across his face with jet black permanent marker leans toward me, whether it be at work or any other public location, and asks, "Whatcha doin'?"  This has always been a pet peeve of mine, but I usually handle myself well and manage to get the man who thinks that I am just passing the time by staring at the pages of a book to look smart to get bored with me and give up on his hidden agenda. It can be very tiresome.

Man with very high standards who takes a seat beside me: "What are you doing?"

Me with very low patience and has a purse beneath the man's ass: "...Reading a book."

Man: "What book is it?"

Me: (It is written on the cover that is facing you, asshole) "Eat, Pray, Love."

Man: "Is it about eating, praying and loving?

Me: (No, it's about cannibalism and necrophiliacs.) "Yep."

Man: "Do you need to learn to do these things?"

Me: (I will kill you.) "This is a story about someone else. It was not in the "Do It Yourself" section, if that is what you mean."

"Ah."

(Five minutes pass with my nose in the pages and the man staring at me until he grows bored of me and leaves, leaving my purse pressed into the seats, halfway hidden in the cushions of the couch.)

That same day, I went to work and did my usual clean sweep of the place, then sat down to enjoy a hookah until my shift was over at ten. Maeson was not in the best of moods, but said something that reminded me that I have brilliant friends. "I was a bitch today," she started.

"How?"

"I hate it when people ask me what I am doing when it is obvious what I am doing."

"I completely agree."

"So I am going to start answering them all the same way."

"How?"

"I am going to tell them to I am doing kegal exercises."

My jaw dropped.

"I tried it and it worked. The guy thought I was weird and walked away."

My jaw was so low to the ground I was in danger of getting rug burn on my chin. "It actually works?"

"So far."

I mean, the idea is incredibly inappropriate, but it was produced at work, a place with no boundaries. (Maybe that is why I don't make tips...) But I wanted to try it out for myself. So I set up a station at the front desk and waited to be approached by the same question that so many women hate.

"So what are you up to?"

I looked up from my book to find a mediocre looking freshman adorned with a hot pink polo and a tie. Oh God. So I tested the waters, confident that Maeson's knowledge of the world that had been passed down to me would surely work in my favor. So I replied as sarcastically as humanly possible, "Doing my kegal exercises."

"That is so incredibly SEXY."

Great Jessica.

"Do all women do that or just some?"

You picked a horny freshman to use as a lab rat.

"Oh my God I bet you are so good in bed."

Good job.

I would rather be playing my game, really

The last few weeks have been so action packed that I haven't nutured my blog, which I beat myself up for every day that I had a spare moment to post but didn't because I am a lazy ass and because I just discovered a cool online game that I am officially addicted to (multiple addictions = less postage). So since I am not allowed to download this super awesome rpg on the work desktop (boss can't appreciate a good game) and since I just completed a good chunk of homework that is due next week, I can finally post.

...only I have no clue as to what I want to talk about. I forgot my notes at home.

Yes, I am one of those. You know, the blogger that only finds inspiration when my laptop isn't handy, like when I'm at the movies or on the toilet, and end up having to write things down before I forget, but when I finally get the time to sit down and write, I end up losing  gasp of all of the pent up motivation and just play video games instead. Yeah, I'm committed.

I can recall one thing that I wrote on the list after receiving a text from Michael about the status of his pants. This did not just happen once, but it is becoming a habit of his to text me the wearabouts of his pants, whether they are being worn or being stripped away. I do not know what to expect next.

"Pants status: Off"

"Pants status: On"

Maybe I should start texting him the status of my hormones, because God knows that is ever changing, and I don't want to text him the status on my pants because there would be nothing to update. I live in Texas. Fuck pants. Plus, any text with the implication of clothing being removed would be torture for a sailor who hasn't got any since last year. Poor guy. Poor me. Poor pants. Poor hormones.

Poor readers for having to endure this post. I'll stop now.

A 360 turned 180

I swear to God someone must have mass produced voodoo dolls of me, pins included.

Today I woke up with higher spirits than last night as consequence to putting my situation online. I guess in a way, the post was a good method for me to expel the pent up frustration so that I could move on. This revelation isn't new for me, so I am not sure why I haven't clued into doing it more often. Anyway, so I got out of bed with a voice of inner encouragement playing in repetitions in my head. "Today is going to be great. You are going to avoid doodling on your notes in class. You are going to smile until your face is numb. You are going to make the most of the next 24 hours." Of course, who listens to advice when it is your own? Obviously I do not exhibit self motivation in my actions.

My light spirit was maintained by the strangest American Literature lecture I have had in a while later that afternoon. Let's just say my professor ended the hour and a half of discussion about Emerson with, "Any last thoughts on Walt Disney's opium addiction, S&M, ejaculation, or baseball?"

Yeah. I was throughly delighted for the rest of the day.

When I got home, I didn't do half of the things I had planned on doing because I got too caught up searching for cool stuff on Etsy to buy for the apartment. Oh. Did I forget to mention that Michael and I decided on a new, kick ass pad on the beach to occupy this coming May? I would do the usual squeal of joy then leap from my seat, but I am in too much pain to execute such a reaction, hence my starting the post in the manner that I did.

I was on cloud nine with the thought of moving in with Michael, so when I got up to go to the restroom, I began to hum blissfully and spun in what I expected to be a successful circle. I only made it halfway before I collided with the metal shoe rack at my feet.

Let's just say that only one of us made it out semi-alive.

Doesn't Spring Break imply, well, I don't know... a break?

I am going to keep this post vague because I have little to no interest in going into detail about my terribly disappointing Spring Break. Basically, this week has been the shits. Instead of trying to salvage what little time I have left of it, I am trying not to allow myself to fall apart.

One of my best friends is leaving to Michigan in order to jump start her life. The family dog is seriously ill and in response to that my Dad fell apart. Michael is so busy with school we can only manage a real conversation twice a week if we are lucky. My job's pay is less than decent but I love the people there too much to find something closer to home that pays more.

But I shouldn't elaborate. I know you just got back from Cancun or the Bahamas or some other tropical destination with sand in your crack, liquor on your breath, a sweet tan, a rockin' bod and a sweet story to share and really aren't interested in a sob story that will ruin your glow.

I am not bitter at all.

Then again...

All it takes is a Skype conversation and all the bad goes away. You can keep your Spring Break memories. I've got this guy.

Zombiegasms!

I am that awkward girl with glasses behind the counter at work who plays zombie arcade games to pass the time until her shift is over. I am the girl who reads funny blogs and laughs hysterically at the screen of my laptop while my customers stare at me like I am sporting a T-shirt that says "Pap smears for everyone" on it. I am also that girl who would dare to adorn herself in such attire. Basically, I am not normal. I have this obsession with preparing for a potential uprising of the undead and have even caught myself turning down floor plans not suited for such an occasion when apartment shopping. It would only make sense that my Mother likes zombie games. The weirdness had to originate somewhere.

Today I decided to show my Mom an online game called "Rebuild," a strategy game that revolves around the directive to rebuild society in the midst of hundreds of walking, blood-thirsty corpses. The moment I mentioned it to her, she sat in some sticky substance on the counter (victimized also by shit cloud, and often) so I took advantage of the time when she had to excuse herself to change clothes in order to pull up the game. The only website I knew of that had the game available was Armor Games, my source of much needed entertainment during this less than eventful Spring Break. She entered the room, griping about her sticky bottom as I began to type out the URL, only my pinky decided that it wanted to insert two s's instead of the usual one in "games". No good can come from a typo in the address bar.

"armorgasmes"

I advise you now to avoid going there when accompanied by a parental unit or figure. There will be questions. There will be awkward pauses. There will be humiliation.

Then again, if you are alone, by all means! Enjoy yourself oh adventurous one! Just don't recommend it to Mother by describing it first as "a good time" and "you will play it for hours" like I did.

No title can express what a picture can

I just received the most brilliant piece of artwork ever known to man in my inbox earlier today. This tops anything produced by Picasso or  Leonardo da Vinci and obviously has the potential to be the best thing ever produced by a human being in the course of our existence. Thank you Christine from "The New Adventures of  Christine" for taking it upon yourself to create a visual reference to the scenarios my boyfriend Mike dreams up involving me in a Playboy bunny suit massacring innocent pandas.

This in no way is a reference to my mentality or my view on pandas. I hold no hostility toward the littles guys whatsoever, but obviously Michael's subconscious believes me to be a mentally unstable hottie.

Confused? Click here to fully understand the reference.

Cash or GTFO

I have never wanted to wail on someone's face with such an intensity that their bodies would puncture a hole into the floor with the sheer force of my fists. Yeah. That's right. I was beyond agitated at the girl and her friends who thought that it was acceptable to make me suffer for the cash register not working after the internet flickered out. Technology hates me and apparently that relationship directly effects whether or not I get tips. Because obviously it's in my power if the credit card machine works, because I am just an evil bitch who likes to make people suffer, which leads to me suffering, which makes no sense Miss "Just Turned 18 and Hates to Pay in Cash Instead of Using Daddy's Credit Card." Here is a little taste of why I wanted to turn her face into a crater.

(Group approaches the counter to cash their tab out)

Me: "I am so incredibly sorry. Our credit card machine is on the fritz. I can get you out of here sooner if you pay in cash, but if you can only pay with credit then you'll have to wait until I can get the register up and running again."

Girl: "So let me get this straight. You are going to MAKE me pay in cash?

Me: "Not necessarily. I should be able to get this fixed within the next few minutes if you don't mind waiting."

Girl: "No! This is bullshit!"

Me: "Ma'am?"

Girl: "I just think it's ridiculous that you don't know what the hell you are doing. How long has it not been working?"

Me:  (counting to ten in my mind) "It was giving us issues before, but then it started working. Now it's giving me trouble again."

Girl: "How long ago?"

Me: "About an hour ma'am." (Ma'am?! She's 18!)

Girl: So you're telling me that you had a whole hour to fix it and you are just now getting around to it? Bullshit.

Me: You know what is bullshit you ungrateful brat? You getting on my ass for something I cannot control. It's hard enough waiting on you and your friends when you toss your trash on the floor and knock ash all over the damn place when you pick up your tongs and start needlessly poking at your coal. Also, I let slide that you had your stank ass feet all over the table where people put their FOOD. Is this how you treat people who wait on you for minimum wage? Obviously you have never worked in the service industry. You don't know what bullshit is until you work in the service industry. I've been enduring you and everyone else in this room's bullshit for the last four hours that I've clocked in, so don't tell me that it is my fault for making this job harder than it already is. I'm not a masochist. If it was up to me, you would have been out of here an hour ago so I could clean up the big ass mess and disassembled hookah parts you left behind, along with the fifty cents you call a tip. I am the hostess here. I am the cook. I am the waitress. I am the bus boy. I do everything. I am running around all over the place trying to make you as comfortable as possible. The only thing I do not know how to do is FIX THIS FUCKING REGISTER. So, I guess I should learn a new trade in "how to avoid technology issues" because we all know that technology is the most reliable thing in the whole wide fucking world. Go drive your Daddy's Volvo off of a cliff.

Me: Yes ma'am.

...I didn't get a tip.

Ever since I started working at the hookah lounge two years ago I have a new appreciation for the people who tend to my needs. It is so incredibly hard working to serve others, then managing to remain polite when being dealt abusive insults like the ones exchanged above. The sad thing is, these encounters happen all of the time. Look, your servers may be strangers, but I ask that you be patient with them as well. You do not know what kind of trials they face, why they need the job, who they are supporting, or what kind of day they have had. Chances are that if you did, you'd think twice before pointing a finger in their face then leaving them empty handed. 

Not so underestimated... and some karaoke too.

This year I have discovered something.

It doesn't matter if other people have faith in what you are doing, it only matters if you have faith in yourself and your capacity to create. The ability to portray thoughts and ideas through language, a collection of words with individual meanings, is beautiful to me and should not be dictated by the approval of others. I am tired of hosting a blog with a title the defines my insecurities. Fuck it. I'm strong. I believe in myself and what it is that I can share with the world. So what if people don't take me seriously? I do!

...sometimes. That is why I am changing my blog title very soon, because I am ready to move onto the next stage of my life, and that stage does not involve me focusing on what holds me down. Yay revelations! And to start actively participating in this new state of mind, I have decided to join in on one of the internet's most kick ass traditions.

THE KARAOKE RING OF DEATH IS UPON US!

When I found out who I got to post, I nearly had a wine-gasm.

Wine-gasm: An occurrence that often takes place after downing one or more glasses of wine during a moment of pure joy or ecstasy.

I have the pleasure of hosting longroadset's video in celebration of this month's theme "Drunk" karaoke. I assume that since the song does not involve the words "booze", "liquor", or "whiskey", the chick's got it in her system. I can't tell. She sounds DAY'UM good for being intoxicate. Get it girl!

If you would like to take a peek at my video, please head over to Jimmie's blog, Tales of a Traveling Texan. It only makes sense to have a follow-up Tenacious D song. 

Little pieces of bad news can have huge consequences

When I first figured out what it was that I wanted to do with my life, I knew that there was a chance that someday I would be putting all of my effort into a project only to discover that someone managed to get the same idea out into the world before I could. But nothing can prepare a writer for such a disappointment, especially when they thought that their idea was one hundred percent original.

I found that out the hard way today when a friend of mine asked about my musical and revealed to me that what I thought to be a unique idea was actually the opposite.

I guess that I am going to have to look at the hours that I put into the musical as a method of warming up for a bigger project in the future, something even greater than this first attempt. But I can't help but feel an ache in my chest whenever I think about how anxious I was to get the musical finished. All of the deadlines in my schedule book are useless now I guess. No use continuing with something that will get me nowhere.

Once I finish the short story due in my creative writing class this Wednesday and midterms have passed, I'll focus on one of my other projects during Spring Break. Or I'll just read a good book. I haven't done that in a while.

This really sucks. But hey, life goes on.

Computers hate me, and so does Chilis.

Just when I thought shit cloud was here to stay, a stroke of luck came upon me and now I am back to a lesser state of paranoia. You see, my laptop was not charging because the thing is bipolar and only decides to work when I really don't need it all that much. All of my school notes are on it and midterms are next week. But that realization came to me after the first: my musical is on there. Yeah. Fuck you school. Fuck you notes. I just want my musical. But today the charger decided to give me a break and lit up. I hope it works tomorrow in class. If not, how the heck am I supposed to spam Twitter and read online comics? (Oh, hi Mom.) I mean, how am I supposed to take detailed notes on the great American writers Emerson and Poe if I don't have the means to charge my laptop? There's always paper, but that is so 90's and my wrist still hurts when I move it too much. Yeah, I broke it last year in a Chili's parking lot. But that is a story for another time. I wonder if my professor would object to me bringing my desktop...

(It's that time of the month again, and I don't mean aunt flow. I mean the blogger spotlight has been updated. Congrats to Mindful Mustache and to Tickets for Two! And if you are bored, check out my new "Things I Like" section and click a number. Chances are you could find something super awesome. I can't promise that there isn't porn. You'll just have to find out on your own.)