These are a few of my favorite things...

I have to admit, I was getting worried about myself. Worried about myself and my lacking work ethic. My last job, if you remember, was at the Picture People where I spent my days taking adorable pictures of adorable children.

And I hated it.

I hated my job. But it didn't make any sense because I loved photography! And kids! And having a paycheck! Logic states that I should have been in minimum wage HEAVEN. Yet in practice, putting those three favorite things together, caused all logic to be thrown out the window, and I very much wanted to take a blunt object to the eye rather than go to work. It didn't matter if it was a pathetic 4 hour shift, I would dread every moment leading up to the time I had to go into work, and then I would count down every individual second until the shift was over. Basically, time was measure in increments of Dread.

Before that job, I worked at the YMCA nursery. I hated that too. And all I ever did was play Wii with children who made my heart sing and burst into a million tiny pieces with their hugs and adorableness and edible fat cheeks and everything. Before that, I worked at a Coldstone Creamery, which - come on now - is working with ice cream! ICE CREAM! Best thing in the WORLD! And there were waffle cones, and toppings, and so many tubs of buttercream frosting for the ice cream cakes, that I gained a pound every time I opened one up. All I'm saying is, I worked with the things that basically fill up my top ten list of Favorite Things Ever, and yet when I put them in the context of a Job, throwing myself on a bed of hot coals was suddenly beginning to sound like a better idea than - ugh - going to work. Again. Blegh. So naturally, I was coming to the inevitable conclusion over these past few years that I was just a lazy, lazy person and never wanted to do a single thing that involved me getting off my fat butt and leaving the house. Oh, I was so very disappointed in myself. *sniffle*

But - and here is where I cue a heavenly choir full of harmonic AhhhAHHHhhhaaahhhs - here I am at Disney, and I've taken to it like something else other than a duck to water, only because that is such a cliche, but I cannot for the life of me think of anything witty or fresh to put in it's place (Picasso to painting weird-ass pictures? Hitler to mass-murder? Fat women to hot dogs? Something like that...). If I had to work more than 15 hours a week at my previous job, I might as well be listening to someone run their nails down a chalkboard for 15 hours, it was that kind of torture. Now I work as many as 60 hours a week on Everest, and I love it (there are some crappy things about the job, but overall, it's pretty awesome). My body kind of hates me for loving it, because my legs feel like they weigh about a 100 lbs each somewhere around hour 50, but I genuinely don't mind the work. Guests give me a headache, and some positions can only be of Satan's devising; but I love the people I work with, I love most of the rest of the positions, and I love Disney. And finally, I have found something where putting my favorite things together does not bizarrely turn them into a massive vortex of Suck.

As exhausting as the real Everest, I'm sure.

Do you have any idea what a glorious thing it is to sit down? Not just to sit down, but to sit down for ridiculously long periods of time while your feet bear not a single pound of the rest of your body? Oh my gosh, today and yesterday have me spoiled - this whole "having two days off for once in my Disney life" is something I could certainly get used to. While my schedule varies slightly, I tend to be scheduled something like 8 days in a row with only 1 day off, and these past two days were the first pair of days off I'd had in over a month, excluding that one week where I spent my two days off hiding in my closet sobbing to myself, packing, loading my car in 15 trips up and down 3 flights of stairs, unloading the car in 10, and then unpacking because my first roommates were horrible, horrible people. And I hope they're reading this right now. YOU WERE HORRIBLE PEOPLE, GOT THAT? How can I say this with such confidence in my own innocence in the situation? I can because people who steal from Wal-Mart and restaurants and make statements about truly "wanting to kill someone just once in [your] lifetime" tend to not fall on the correct side of morality. Also, because moral people don't partake in pettiness or act like high school drama queens and make others hide and cry in that aforementioned closet.

So, yeah, that's kind of why I haven't been around these here blog parts lately. A LOT has been happening. Between moving (which is honestly a blog in itself, and maybe I'll write about it one day), working 55 hours this past week, having a full course load, and practicing my clarinet, I've not had time to do anything else other than be really, really exhausted.

I work 9 days in a row starting tomorrow (or today, rather), with only one day off, and at first I didn't mind all these consecutive days because I really do enjoy my job. But I gotta tell you, I got so much done in these two days and I feel so FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC right now...it's just something I realized I could really use on a regular basis. I did laundry! I got my oil changed! I wrote not one but TWO papers! I went to Universal! I practiced my clarinet for five hours! I completed my magnum opus! I sang a song of six pence! I cured cancer! I built Rome in a day! And most importantly did a LOT of sitting on my butt while not moving a single muscle other than the ones required to aimlessly navigate my way across these here interwebs. Ta dahhh! I feel refreshed, relaxed, and ready to start the next 9 day work week, but I truly wish I had another two days off waiting for me at the end of it all. You know, like a little two day holiday to celebrate the end of the work week, Yeah, right there at the week's end. They could even call it that: a week end! But English is big on compound words, so it would probably be spelled something like "weekend." Now there's a novel concept. I don't think it's so much to ask either, is it? Maybe if it was something 99% of the rest of America also got, it wouldn't be so insane a request.

Oh wait...

Anyway, I have more to talk about but I really needing to be heading to bed. 11 hour day tomorrow. Gotta get ready to do more of this:

So you no longer have to use your imagination

So, here's where I live:

The top floor on the right half of the building is my apartment, and my bedroom is the very far right window behind the palm tree. I'm in building 12. Please come stalk me.

Here's what my costume looks like:
Except it's less blurry in real life. I was in a hurry to get the photo taken, so this is the best I got for now. I prefer it over my Splash costume, although it's still not something in which I see myself getting hit on by guys. It hides my boobs and turns my entire body into one giant trunk in which I suddenly have junk.

Speaking of which, someone explain to me how Disney sizes work. My shirts are XS, my jacket is XXS, and my shorts and pants are size 14. FOURTEEN! I don't get the XS at all because I'm not THAT small - not with the poochy stomach I got from my mom's side and not with my chest region where I tend to be a C cup (well, my left boob is a C, and my right boob is a B and three-quarters. It's my Harry Potter boob.) However, I'm not a 14 either. But that's the only size pants I could get to fit around the smallest part of my waist, except I have enough room for another whole person in the legs. For whatever reason, these inexplicable sizing issues seem to only affect girls. Guys have no problem with Disney clothes fitting oddly other than needing to go up one size.

Anyway, here's what my side of the room looks like (barring the ghastly pink crap on the right. You all know how I feel about pink):

My prize possessions? My Epcot blanket, my Tomorrowland poster, and - my newest addition - my Splash Mountain canvas:


The photo doesn't do it justice, and while I was originally planning on getting another attractions poster like my Tomorrowland one, once I saw this, I just HAD. TO. HAVE. IT. So what if it's from the Disneyland version (one-across seating is a dead giveaway), it's muh Laughin' Place. I nearly got it in a poster as well, but to frame it would have cost a small fortune (my Tomorrowland frame was my main Christmas present this year), so I decided to pay a bit more and get a canvas which doesn't need a frame at all. Obviously I went with a smaller size this time. Since it was a canvas, it still cost me twice as much as my poster did by itself, but to get the canvas in the largest size would have cost me twice as much as what I paid for this medium sized canvas. Follow that? No? How about 2(Poster) = 1(Medium Canvas) = 1/2 (Large Canvas)? Okay, the poster was $30, the canvas was $60, and the larger canvas would have cost me somewhere around $120. I tried to be all modest and private about the cost, but I don't think I was explaining it well. ANYWAY. These prices were actually 50% with my Cast Member discount, which is the only reason I was able to ever afford these in the first place. I'm po'.

And in the future when I have my 16 babies, I'm gonna use the Tomorrowland poster in the boys' room and the Splash Mountain canvas in the girls' room and decorate them to match their respective themes. Always thinking ahead, I am. And always thinking with my uterus.

(If I don't scare the guys away with my costume, my uterus talk certainly will)

Enjoying the Sabbath as it was meant to be enjoyed

I survived my 11 days of work, and honestly, it wasn't the job itself that I disliked about the 11 consecutive days in a row. I mean, it's rare that you'll ever hear me say that I have to, UGH, go work at the goddamn Happiest Friggin Place on Earth - OH WOE IS ME. No, the work - as far as work goes - is relatively enjoyable. I prefer working at Disney to any other job I've ever had, crappy pay included. It's just that my body was revolting by that last day. Not that I was participating in any sort of hard labor by any stretch of the imagination, but standing still for hours on end can be incredibly tiring, and don't you look at me like that - IT'S TRUE. Okay? GOSH. Plus, walking up and down the platform half the day asking each person to lift up on their lap bars, only for me to have to bend down and lift it for them when they either 1) decide "lift up" means "push down," 2) raise their hands in the air because that's what they've been trained to do at their local Six Flags, or 3) stare at me like I just spoke to them in Swahili is more wearying than you could imagine. And do I really need to mention (again) the miles and miles of distance between the parking lot and the mountain? Or the 17 flights of stairs I climb at night? Of course, I'm not sore or on the verge of collapse or anything dramatic like that, but oh my sweet, sweet Lord - being indoors, sitting down, staring at the wall, and exerting not a single ounce effort save for that which it takes to move the spoonful (oh who am I kidding?) fingerful of peanut butter from the jar to my mouth for hours on end is a special kind of bliss that I will never, ever take for granted again.

---

On my first day of training (which was ages and ages ago, it feels like), it somehow came up that I played clarinet, at which point my trainer invited me to audition for the Cast Member orchestra. I toyed with the idea, but didn't take it too seriously at first because 1) my clarinet was back in NC, 2) I didn't know where to practice down here and 3) having poorly balanced music, school, and sanity many a time in the past (have I really not mentioned the times I purposely attempted to break my hands?), I wasn't sure if I'd be able to add a full-time job on top of that, although my trainer assured me that it's a relatively low-key, though formal and dedicated, ensemble. But then one of my managers - who is a singer in the ensemble - got wind (haha, wind. Didn't notice that until the read-through) of my clarinetation skillz as well and also encouraged me to try out, and at this point I should mention that I'm trying my best to network while I'm down here and thus be as impressive and outgoing as possible to all my superiors. My trainer then mentioned practice-room-type facilities behind Animal Kingdom Costuming, which is pretty durn convenient considering the fact that - hey! - that's where I work! CRAZY! And it just so happened that I sort of knew this woman who was coming down to Disney this weekend from Raleigh who was more than willing to bring down my clarinet to me rather than make my mom ship it which would have cost only slightly less than Obama's stimulus package given the weight of the case and all my music. Also, the music the orchestra is playing this year is all Disney music (as opposed to last year when it was hits from the 60s and 70s, and I prefer to leave that stuff to the good folks over at Retroactive - I'm looking at you, Trevor), which means they could easily call this year's program The Only Music on Natalie's iPod.

So based on all that information I threw at you in that last paragraph, I determined that I was definitely being led to do this audition. I was able to ask that aforementioned kind lady (who I met only the one time when she was a customer of mine at my previous job) to bring my clarinet down, which she did just yesterday, and I was able to practice behind DAK's wardrobe last night.

And quite honestly, it felt good.

Now I have just over a month to make up for the fact that I've probably only played my clarinet about 7 hours in the past, oh....5 years or so.

Speaking of music, that is the NUMBER ONE THING I miss about Splash Mountain - the background music. And not just that music specifically, I'm talking about ANY background music AT ALL. There isn't a single position on Everest that has music within earshot, and I can't tell you how many times I've caught myself singing "Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah" while working at any of the consoles out of shear desperation. One of my favorite memories of Splash was working in the station with my fellow piece of Splash-Trash, Dan, who would belt out all the lyrics to the music playing around us in his soothing bass voice. And when he wasn't around, I'd hum along to the tunes myself. I even have all the tracks from the attraction, the queue, and the entire Frontierland area, and each time I hear any of them, I'm immediately transported straight back to my "Laughin' Place." Music really is a core part of my being, and while I truly do enjoy my new mountain, I miss the music like I miss pizza each second that I'm not eating pizza. And pizza's like oxygen to me, so you know: music = pizza = oxyen. It's like that.

So yeah, I gotta befriend an Imagineer and composer and quick. Gotta get them on putting together some pentatonic BGM.

Tickle me any other color. Please.

I hate pink. Mostly. It's fine in moderation, and it's fine for my super-comfy pajama pants that I'm currently wearing, but that's about it. My previous cell phone was pink, but not by choice - it was a gift, and so I lived with it, because if there's one thing I hate more than pink it's spending money. But I felt so ashamed every single time I whipped that phone out because hello! Pink phone! Call me Tiffany, stick me in a sorority house, and watch me put out for a baseball player named Chet because THAT'S the kind of person who uses a pink phone. Gross. And I'm sure you can imagine how utterly fantastic I find it that every last thing my roommate owns is pink - her bedding, her towels, almost all her clothes, her lamp, her purse, her shoes, her fan! Even her hair straightener is pink! (UPDATE: She got a new laptop. Guess what color it is! Black! Wait, no, I lied. It's PINK. Bet you didn't see that one coming, did you?) Yep, we're kindred spirits, her and I. But whatever, this isn't about her. It's about a hoodie. A pink hoodie.

This pink hoodie to be precise:


Adorable, yes? But it's pink. PINK! Incredibly pink! Those stupid hearts didn't help either. But that Mickey owl, the tree, the leaves - the rest of it was so cute that I became painfully torn. To buy or not to buy? That was the question. And after three weeks of agonizing over it (and I mean AGONIZING. I had it in my hand ready to purchase on 5 different occasions throughout my time here, only for me to hesitantly change my mind the last minute) I finally bought it yesterday, the last day of our Cast Member 50% discount.

I love it.

And I hate myself for it.

---

As I somewhat hinted earlier in the post, my three year old pink (pink! blegh!) razr cell phone was finally dying on me (upside down screens, sometimes blank screens altogether, sometimes it would all go blue), so I had to suck it up and buy myself a new one. Nothing fancy like an iPhone, Blackberry, iWatermelon, or whatever other popular phones are out these days. I still don't even have a phone that can do something as basic as check my e-mail! It's like I'm perpetually stuck in 2005 or something, which is practically the dark ages in tech-time. My texts are all written on papyrus scrolls. But really, my current cell phone plan has me paying something like $15 a month, and between being cheap and the fact that I use my laptop for the internet often enough as it is, I wasn't about to invest in a higher bill for something I already do hours on end for free (kinda - internet is included in the utilities). The only new nifty feature it comes with is a QWERTY keyboard which I keep forgetting is even there. I can't tell you how many times I've struggled with text messages because this phone uses T9 for its usual number pad texting verses the iTAPEN that my previous phone used, and apparently they don't work quite the same way, and while I've only had unlimited texting for about a month, it's amazing how difficult 4 week old habits are to break and then relearn, only - WAIT! That's right! I don't need a psychic number pad to guess what I'm trying to spell anymore! I HAVE A KEYBOARD! Unfortunately, it's something I don't realize until I'm already about 20 minutes into a 5-word text and I only have about three letters left to type to finish off what I'm sure is a very important thought that can only be communicated through the power of thumbs rather than the sound of my voice through something as prosaic as a lame phone call.

But yeah, for being pretty quick to take on all things techy, I use cell phones like a grandma.

By the way, my new phone is red. Totally different from pink. A bit more badass. And since my car and my water bottle are both red, it also makes me a bit more Power Ranger.

Tyrannosaurus!

If I don't blog for the next two weeks, you now know why

The new schedules were posted today, so now I know how much I have to relish few remaining moments of this night and every moment I have off tomorrow, because Tuesday is the first day of an ELEVEN DAY WORK WEEK. That's right - I work eleven days IN A ROW with nary a day off. Most days are just normal 8 hours shifts, but I have a 12 hour shift in there along with a couple of 10 hour shifts, so now would be a perfect time for you to go "awww" over how cute I was a few posts back when I mentioned how I was worried that I wouldn't get enough hours working at DAK due to the fact that they're only open something like three hours a day. That's just adorable.

I find these ridiculous hours incredibly ironic too, given the fact that apart from Easter week during my previous Disney College Program, I never worked more than 5 days in a row (that one holiday week was 6 days in a row with three consecutive days being 13 hour shifts). And that was when I worked in Magic Kingdom! It's the most popular park, it's open twice as long as DAK (the least popular park), yet never did I have such a packed schedule back then! And here we are in one of the deadest months of the year for Disney, and so far I've had 6 days of work, one day off, 5 days of work, two days off, and now eleven days of work. And what day do I have off following those 11 days? A Saturday. SATURDAY! The busiest day in all the parks! The one day you'd think they would need me! The one day CPs NEVER get off! WHERE IS THE LOGIC, DISNEY?! I DO NOT COMPREHEND.

Bright side - at least the overtime will be nice. Plain ol' minimum wage kinda sucks.

(Pssst, I just heard my roommate open up her 38th Mtn. Dew of the day. She always starts one right before she goes to bed so that she has something to quench her thirst when she randomly wakes up in the middle of the night. I'm gonna guess it's her teeth screaming in agony as they rot away that cause her to stir.

Oh, and speaking of roommates, the other girls have all recently come forward to say that they don't like my roommate either. They've even stood up for me a time or two when she was being, well, herself. So...there's that. That's good.)

[Insert appropriate segue here, because I can't think of it]

I had to run to Wal-Mart the other day for a few things, and as I was pulling in to the store, I saw a homeless guy in the median begging for something (I don't know what, exactly - his back was to me so I couldn't see his sign - but I'm gonna assume it was something along the lines of a yacht or a spray tan or something like that. Wait, no. I mean spare change and food. Yeah, typical homeless request stuff). So I figured I'd do something nice and buy him a sandwich from the deli and hand it to him on my way out. And that's just what I did - I ran into Wal-Mart, I got what I needed, got a sandwich for the guy, and got in my car. I was in and out in less than 10 minutes. Bing, bang, boom. So as I'm pulling up to the median, ready to do my good deed for the day, what do I see? I'll tell you what I see. I SEE A LACK OF A HOMELESS MAN, THAT'S WHAT I SEE. Come on now, poor guy - you can't stay homeless for TEN MINUTES? Nope, he just HAD to go and get himself a job or something.

Lame.

I ended up eating his sandwich for dinner last night. It was good and all, but I felt a bit chump-ish for eating something I meant to give away. Oh well. What can you do, eh?

7 Quick Takes Friday (Vol. 11) - Sortakinda

--1--

I know it's Monday. I get that. I'm not crazy. Well, I'm not crazy for this particular faux pas. But I do have 7 things to talk about, and I know I won't have time to write them all in separate posts throughout the week because, well, let's just say that I now remember why I never blogged during my last Disney College Program (despite meaning to, and I later regretted that I didn't write down all the also stories I knew I'd eventually forget and totally did) - THERE IS NO TIME.

--2--

I got Expedition Everest, and in the options available in the Asia area of Disney's Animal Kingdom (aka DAK), that was definitely my first choice. So far, everyone I've met is pretty awesome and laid back, moreso than the people I worked with at Splash Mountain last time. Not that people were horrible or mean on Splash, but, well, some people were more prone to scaring me than others simply because I have the emotional resilience of a newborn turtle. I'm sensitive, see. But most people at Everest seem friendly enough, so everything's good so far. There is one downside though - I'm pretty sure DAK isn't even in Florida. It's the farthest away of all the locations I could possibly work on property, coming in at about a 20-25 minute drive from my apartment depending on how the traffic is and how much I drive over the speed limit. But on top of that, I have about a MILE walk from the cast parking lot to Everest, so I have to add that into my commute time as well. The first two days of work, I had to go in on the Africa side of the park, and since the entire path to that side is backstage, they provide bicycles - DAKcycles, actually - for Cast Members to use to get to from the parking lot to work. The first day I rode one while wearing a skirt, and I felt like a giddy high schooler on the way to a sock-hop in the 1950s (the bikes are a bit on the old-fashioned side). The next day I was in costume, but still - there was something so appealing about getting to ride a bike backstage of DISNEY WORLD. But since the only way to get to the Asia side is to actually walk through the park for part of the way, we don't get bikes. We have to walk the ENTIRE WAY. Lame.

Anyway, I've worked the past 6 days in a row (and I only have this one day off this week), that's pretty much why I am pressed for time to blog, because 1) this particular post was started at 11:00 this morning, and we're rolling in at close to 9PM here at time of hitting the publish button because it takes me THAT LONG to write these darn things and 2) I've had to get all my school work done within those few hours in between shifts and sleeping and fighting with my roommate, which brings me to...

--3--

I'm really not going to go into too much detail about the little tiffs my roommate and I have had, because they really are over the dumbest stuff and it's outrageously boring to recount, but let's just say that while part of it is a misunderstanding, it's also mostly her inability to be considerate of the needs of others (for one, I had to invest in ear plugs and a sleep mask). Now I can tolerate an inconsiderate person so long as they have a good personality, and I can also tolerate an annoying personality so long as they are considerate and kind to others, but I CANNOT tolerate both an inconsiderate person with an annoying personality, and that is what I'm dealing with here. YOU ASK TOO MUCH OF ME, UNIVERSE. IT CANNOT BE DONE.

As for the other roommate I mentioned in my last post, while I don't see much of her, I feel a bit scared of her when she's around, simply because she's got one of those personalities (whereas I've got one of these personalities) where her attitude is equal to or greater than that of a spurned woman on Jerry Springer, and God help me to not do anything that might piss her off. The other three girls are all very nice, and we get along well, although one mentioned she had an abortion last year, and while I am staunchly pro-life, I try not to judge people who have had them; however, her lackadaisical and shoulder-shrug attitude towards it was a bit off-putting for me. And for the most part, all the girls enjoy partying and talking about sex, which really is not me. They played the "Are you a Virgin? How many times have you done it? Where was the craziest place?" game, and let's just say I was the only one who didn't make it past the first question. Again, not that I have an issue with any of them going beyond that, it's just that they all have very different lifestyles and priorities from me, and when they're all together, I really don't fit in with them (though I do well with the three girls when it's just a one-on-one thing). So between all that and my actual roommate whom I really can't stand, I've decided to put in a request to move as soon as I am allowed to (which is a week from Wednesday). I'm considering asking for a "wellness" apartment, which means that it's mostly people who are under 21 and thus no alcohol is allowed, and maybe I'll get people who are less prone to partying, but at the same time, I worry that that's a naive expectation because since when has being under 21 prevented anyone from partying? It worked out that way pretty well last time I was here and under 21 - I loved, loved, LOVED my roommates. But do I actually think I can be so lucky a second time around? It is a gamble.

--4--

Okay, here's the part in the post where I come across as a total hypocrite, because I totally went out to a bar last night. Though when I say "bar," I'm talking about a dueling piano bar at Disney's Boardwalk resort, so it's not exactly one of the hard core clubbing places where everyone has anonymous sex in the bathrooms in between snorts of cocaine (that's what goes on, right? Or am I just stereotyping?). One of my roommates from last time moved down here about a year and a half ago, so she invited me out to meet some of her friends (about 40 of them, which is just about the worst way for me to meet people because I don't like people when they come in throngs), but it wasn't too bad. It was more about singing and mingling than about the drinking, and that's the way it should be, in my opinion. Of course, I'm so unaware of the bar scene, that 1) I had to ask the girl next to me if I'm supposed to tip the bartender, 2) I just spelled "bartender" as two separate words: "bar tender" which took me a minute to realize was totally wrong, and 3) I had to ask others what they were drinking and go with that because I don't know the names of any drinks other than water, milk, and apple juice. I ended up getting something blue, which was quite good, but apparently that was all it took for me to loose my sense of frugality because everyone around me was drinking from a small souvenir pail and I had just enough of a slight buzz that I suddenly HAD. TO. HAVE. ONE. It cost me 12 dollars (including tip! because you have to tip them! I know this now!), and I couldn't even drink a 1/3 of it because the pink drink inside of it wasn't that great. Tasted like grown-up kool-aid, which really shouldn't have surprised me seeing as how it was called SoCo Cool Aid, but WHO KNEW?

And once my buzz wore off, I realized that I just spent $12 dollars on a cheap plastic pail - THIS cheap plastic pail:

- and what on earth am I gonna do with it? Make mini sand castles (as opposed to the life-size sand castles you see so often)? Fail at saving someone from a sinking row boat? Put it in an armoire amongst my Swarovski crystals and decorative paper weights? Put more money in it and light it on fire every time I consider going out again (since that's essentially what I did with my money last night)?

THIS is why I never drink. I'm cheap, drinking is expensive, and I'm inclined to make personally-uncharacteristic impulsive purchases while under the influence. So if you ever want me to go out and have a drink or two with you, you better be prepared to pay for me because I'm not gonna pay for me anymore. I'd rather spend my money on an Epcot t-shirt. Or ice cream. Or pizza. Or anything else an 8 year old boy would like. Because that's what I am. An 8 year old boy.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in the middle of building a K'Nex motorcycle/spaceship hybrid.

--5--

Guess what I'm buying tomorrow?!

Ta-da!!!!!!!!!

Oh, how excited I am to own this so I can watch "Waters of Mars" and "End of Time" and sob for hours and hours on end.

Also, none of my roommates are nerds like me. They were all cheerleaders and popular tomboys and princesses back in high school, so they don't get why I love Disney, why I listen to classical music, and why I watch terrible/wonderful Sci-Fi. And I don't get why they don't, because opinions, shmopinions. CLEARLY I am on the side of good taste in these instances. Clearly.

--6--

I know I said this in my last post, but oh my gosh I MISS MY DOG. I don' t know how I can accurately get across the level of heartbreak I have right now over her, but I feel like I left my child behind, because guess what? SHE IS MY CHILD, AND I LEFT HER BEHIND.

Here's one of the last picture I took of Skittles and myself:


And then here's a picture my mom sent me of Skittles in a brand new sweater she got for her because she was always shivering in the house:

My poor baby. :'(

--7--

Okay, I can't end on something sad, so here's something that makes me happy:


Good night. Gotta be up at 5 in the morning.

Just FYI

Quick Takes Friday will appear tomorrow. On Monday. Which is so, so wrong. And I feel kinda dirty for it, but I figure it's better than nothing. Especially now that I realize I have a fan (singular) who misses them.

So...stay tuned.

Peace.

7 Quick Takes Friday (Vol. 10)

--1--

I didn't mean to stop doing these 7 quick takes things, but I honestly have just been pressed for time since the holidays. I'm not gonna go into it, because none of it is interesting - it's all the usual like school, work, moving, etc. and I nearly bored myself to sleep just typing that - but I just want you to know I didn't forget about you, my loyal, imaginary fan(s?). (My delusion, it's endearing). And if I ever skip these again or go on a sudden, unannounced blogging hiatus, I promise you there is a very good reason as to why. Usually. And I'll always come back. Eventually.

--2--

I just got down to Florida a couple of days ago, though it feels like more like a week from all the cattle herding they put us through during the check-in process. I got my location assignment - Animal Kingdom Asia Attractions, which will be either Expedition Everest, Kali River Rapids, Flights of Wonder, or Maharajah Jungle Trek. Kinda hoping for one of the first two, but eh, we'll see. I find out tomorrow which one I'll officially be placed at.

Honestly, I had my heart set on Test Track. I knew the odds were slim that I'd just randomly be placed there, but man, is that ever where I wanted to be. But who knows, I might fall in love with wherever I'm put tomorrow. I hope I do.

--3--

I'm living in the newest apartment complexes, which is quite the step up from last time. These weren't even built during my last program, and back then I was in the oldest complex. It wasn't too bad, though. And while these are far nicer (we have a balcony! I LOVE balconies!), the rooms are a good deal smaller, and the closets are about HALF the size. Lame. I had so much extra room in my closet last time that I brought EXTRA clothes this time, and guess what? Now they're all shoved and stored under my bed. Eye roll.

Also, each bedroom (it's a 3-bedroom apartment, and I have 5 roommates) has it's own bathroom in it, as opposed to the place I was in last time where the bathroom wasn't attached and we had to share it with one of the other rooms. But I actually wish the bathroom wasn't in our room, because while the shower and toilet are behind a door, the sink is basically right here in the open and so who ever gets up first can't help but wake the other person up just by turning on the bathroom light and especially when blowdrying her hair. And while I'm normally a very perky morning person, I am only so when I wake up on my terms. If someone disturbs me before I need to be awake, GOD HELP THEM because I will have a conniption in my delirious, half-awake, hulk-like state of mind and kill them with my uglydoll (Babo) who sleeps next to my in lieu of my dog. It's nearly like a split personality thing, because I can hear the sane part of my brain saying, "Calm the hell down, Natalie," but my sane side is no match for my crazy, sleepy-time side which completely takes over. Honestly - I will hurt you. And I really won't care.

--4--

I miss my dog. :'(

--5--

So far, my roommates and I get along pretty well, and while most of them are really nice and I don't have anything bad to say about them, they are falling SPECTACULARLY short of my roommates from my last DCP. I particularly loved 3 of them and miss two of them like crazy (one has since moved down here, and she's who I stayed with the night before I had to check in). They were hilarious, super friendly, and we just clicked in that very special, non-gay way where it's like you feel like you've known each other forever. Plus, they were all such Disney fans, and so I always had someone to go to the parks with.

As for this time, most of the girls are down here just because they needed a job. Not a single one of them has gone to any of the parks yet (save me, of course). One of the girls (who has got a huge attitude problem and is already planning on lying about having asthma so she won't have to work outside shifts in her Merchandise role)(who also skipped our mandatory housing meeting the first night)(and keep in mind that this is her second program too, and she is voluntarily doing it again) saw me putting up my Tomorrowland poster and came in and said:

"Why are you putting a picture up of the spawn of satan?"

"Aw, you don't like Tomorrowland?"

"No, I don't like Magic Kingdom."

"Well, I've got this EPCOT blanket here, is that better?"

"Ugh, I hate EPCOT too."

"Um, what do you like about Disney?"

"They got these mini doughnuts at Typhoon Lagoon - I like those."

"That's it? Why did you come back if you hate it so much?"

"I hated Philly."

So there you have it folks - the one redeeming quality of Walt Disney World Resort is the mini doughnuts.

Not only that, but she told a story about the last time she was here and someone took one of her bottles of water without asking, so she put a note on the fridge saying, "Whoever stole my f***ing water bottle better f***ing replace it by 9pm tonight." And apparently it was replaced on time, but she didn't even drink it until 3 weeks later. Listen, I get that it sucks when someone takes something of your without asking, but lose the outrage and attitude when it's something you obviously didn't need, mmmk? A simple, "Please ask next time," or "Please don't touch my food," is probably all that's needed in that situation.

OH! And ALSO, we're constantly told that if you don't show up for your last day of work, you're terminated and won't be allowed back in the future. Well this girl didn't go to her last TWO days of work - didn't even call to say she wasn't coming, she simply didn't show up (on New Year's Eve and Day of ALL days) - and she still was allowed to come back. And given her stories of how she acted on her job here, I have no idea how she even made it all the way through her first DCP let alone how she was invited back for a second.

--6--

I've really got to wrap this up, because I'm exhausted and have an early day of training tomorrow. Wish me luck.

--7--

No seriously. I really miss my dog. :''''''(

Quicky

We're discussing trends in my online customer service class, and one of my classmates chose bad grammar and vocabulary as his topic (I chose roller coasters because I'm obsessive and I sometimes wonder how close to Asperger's I really am because, also - my social skills (scary stuff), but I digress). He talked about how "text talk" ("lol" "brb" "wtf" "bbq" etc.) and how, according to an article, today's teenagers have a vocabulary of about 800 words compared to the 10,000 they had before the advent of the Internet (is that true? anyone know for sure?) (have I done enough asides yet? Have I lost you?). Anyway, some other student responded with "Only 800 words? That sounds like the vocabulary of a small child, or a highly trained German shepherd," which is, eh, a solid B+, suburban neighborhood stand-up joke. Bravo, good for him. But then the teacher - THE TEACHER - responded with...

(...are you ready for this...)
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

"LMAO!"

Anyone know what the trend is in irony?

Eh, about halfway there.

It's official. I've started packing. And really - a set of sheets (which I borrowed from my grandmother, and they're probably older than I am judging by that gorgeous paisley pattern) and a potato masher (yep, I splurged. No more using the bottom of a glass) - I'm practically done. What else could I possibly need?

Hoping for the best

Sorry, posting is going to be light the next couple of weeks (in case you haven't noticed). I'm moving to Florida in about 9 days, and so I've been trying to get three weeks worth of schoolwork done in two. See, I'm taking online classes so that I can stay in school while I'm at Disney; but instead of semesters, this school has 5-week terms, and wouldn't you know, the 5th week - the one with all the projects and final exams and papers - of the current term is the week I'm moving. Ha HA! The timing! It's fantastic! And I know I'm going to be busy unpacking, going to different lectures, starting my training, etc. in during that week at Disney, and I don't want the burden of finals on top of me during all that.

Ohhhh, but I'm starting to get nervous. And I don't have time to be nervous (did I mention that on top of all my school work, I have family coming in, I've got some baking to do, I need a haircut, I have a dentist appointment, I'm babysitting, I've got to pack (pack for 7 months!), and at some point I'm gonna have to pee...). In fact, if I had the money to spare, I'd take out a want ad in the newspaper and hire someone to be nervous for me (probably just on a part-time basis. I can't afford health benefits). But alas, I do not have the resources, so here I am being, well, me and freaking out over all the changes to come, which kind of sounds like something vaguely menopausal when I word it like that, but whatever. I just don't do change. Keep in mind that this is something I want to do and am excited about (see?! YAY! EXCITED!), but since when have I ever missed out on an opportunity to absolutely lose my mind with worry? NEVER! My default setting in life is Worried, and I'm not about to deny my very essence its ability to shine! So, like a good little psycho, I'm focusing on all the things that could possibly go wrong. Like will I get along with my new roommates? Will I like my new job? I don't know what my specific job is yet - I hope that my previous work experience at Disney bodes well for me - and I am literally making myself sick worrying about it. Seriously, I can feel it in my gut like my fear has manifested itself into little neurotic fetus that keeps kicking me in the ribs. I call him Henner.

Part of this worry is because my last DCP (Disney College Program)...well, it got off to a rough start. It took some effort and a lot of tear-filled phone calls, but in the end it turned into the best experience of my life. Happy endings all around. Hurrah. But you know how it is - once bitten, twice shy kinda thing. So here I am, scared as a cat (and that simile isn't really doing it for me, but I can't think of anything else that's known for being scared. Except me. Scared as a Natalie. Can I be my own simile? Is that possible?), and if I could be so bold as to request your prayers that God grants me the ability to quell my anxiety over the next weekish because it honestly might kill me. I'd really appreciate it (your prayers, not the dying from my imaginary tim'rous fetus).

And if any DCP recruiters just happen to be reading this, you might find it interesting that I have some rather impressive skills with this attraction simulation.

I'm just saying.

The obligatory year-in-review post

2009. Not too bad, as far as years go, but I have a very high tolerance for bad years thanks to 2004, so my opinion should always be taken with a grain of salt on that front. But whatever. Still not a bad year. 2009 started off a bit shaky since I tend to panic when I don't know what I'm doing with my life, and that had been a struggle that had been building for quite some time. But luckily things started falling into place just so which seemed to push me in some sort of direction that made sense, so that helped a bit. Here's to hoping 2010 sees that through.

(Resolution for 2010: be an even bigger hot mess)

My camera broke, my laptop broke, Fry's Electronics broke my brain, and then my laptop remained broken. Plus, someone stepped on my mother's brand new GPS and cracked the LCD screen (we don't have good luck with those, it'd seem), I broke a string on my cousin's daughter's brand new guitar less than an hour after she unwrapped it for Christmas, my dog's vagina fell out, I lost my most favorite BPA-loaded Nalgene bottle and am still mourning its loss (I can hear Robbie shaking his head over that one), and I got my wisdom teeth pulled. So, uh, those were good times.

(In case you didn't notice: TOTALLY DRUGGED)

I had a boyfriend and then I didn't (which was rather nice on the whole considering 20 of my 23 years have consisted only of the "I didn't" part), and I learned how different it all seems once you're out of the relationship. It was fun while it lasted, but it was all for the best in the end. I went down two belt notches without really trying, but I find that I do have to try to remain those two notches down. I flew on an airplane and didn't have a panic attack, which is AMAZING for me, considering my track record on that. I visited two states I'd never before been to - California and Nevada - which actually led me to being west of the Mississippi for the first time in my entire life. The California landscape had me mesmerized - it really looked like another planet - Mars, maybe Jupiter. Somewhere red and barren. And with a lot of aliens.

(Dilemma: potentially offend your intelligence by pointing out the subtle joke in that last sentence, or risk letting my incredibly mediocre wit go unnoticed due to the fact that the joke is, in fact, kiiiinda abstruse. And dumb. By typing my dilemma, I hope I have resolved the issue. So there.)


And in complete obsessive nerd-style, I visited a bunch of theme parks, and in the process I completed my Back Lot Stunt Coaster trifecta, got my first 4-D coaster credit, and completed my North American Intamin launching coaster collection (okay, now I'm just making up milestones). I finally got to visit Disneyland as well, but I missed out on a lot of things due to me being too worried about what everyone else around me wanted to do. I can't help it, it's just my style. I also rode the Big Shot on top of the Stratosphere in Las Vegas but skipped out on X-Scream and Insanity, and to this day I DO NO REGRET skipping them. There are some things I simply have no desire to do, and dying is one of them.


And finally, as the year came to a close, I was presented with the most generous offer by someone whom I've never even met. He knows who he is, he knows what he's done for me, and for that I thank him profusely and hope that in 2010 and beyond I can find a way to be so generous to others. You know...all Pay it Forward style. Without the stabbing.

Oh, um, spoilers.

Happy New Year everyone!

Et tu, laptop? (The saga continues)

Oh, remember my Christmas Eve blog? Remember the happiness? The joy? The sound of angels singing through my words as I rejoiced for my laptop returneth?

Well, I've since pried off the delete key and slit my wrists with it.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

Because THIS LAPTOP IS KILLING ME.

Turns out, it was returned to me broken! As in not repaired! BROKEN! In fresh and bizarre ways that were not issues before my laptop went all Vesuvius on me. And it's not as if it was working correctly when I first turned it on after finally getting it back (as you might have thought from my previous excited blog post - because I certainly did!) No, it was broken from the get-go, but I, in all my excitement, just didn't notice.

When I booted it up that first time, there were two unfamiliar beeps accompanied by a blank screen covered in a bunch of little white lines and squiggles that I assume were probably letters which probably formed words, but do you think I paid any attention to those? Ohellztothenoes. I was far too excited to notices words like "FAILURE" and "BAD" and "I IZ STILL TEH BROKEN" blazon across the screen. I didn't even find it odd that I had to press either 'F1 to load default settings' or 'F2 to go to Setup.' Or that I got a failure/error message about my webcam (which I've never used once) as soon as Windows loaded. But who cares?! Not me! LAPTOP! HERE! YAAAAY!

Now, I had only used my laptop for all of two hours before I left for TN, and I didn't have a chance to turn it on again until Sunday night. But when I did, the same errors popped up again, only this time I noticed because it's hard to ignore uncommon occurrences when they happen a second time. Not so fluke-y that time around. Then a few minutes later, it randomly shut off on it's own. And when I tried to boot it up again from hibernation later that evening, it turned itself off then too. Then I noticed that my computer said "plugged in, not charging" and it remained at 61% all day long no matter how long it had been plugged in. THEN I noticed that none of my function keys worked and I couldn't adjusted the screen brightness by them nor via the control panel. And on top of all that, when I turned it on, it often simply DIDN'T TURN ON. Or rather it kinda did, but nothing popped up on the screen. So I would have to hold the power button down till it shut itself off again only to try powering it on again and HOPE that it worked this time around. The process usually had to be repeated about 4 or 5 times before finally getting the screen to work.

In other words - TOTALLY AWESOME JOB, FRY'S ELECTRONICS.

Honestly now, after having my computer for TWO MONTHS, you'd THINK they'd have had the chance to maybe turn my computer on once they, ahem, "repaired" it just to, oh...I dunno, make sure that it was indeed, um, REPAIRED? I mean, the very first CRITICAL ERROR appears within 5 SECONDS of the computer being turned on. Not only that, but FE also shipped it to Toshiba for some part of the repair (remember how I couldn't ship it to Toshiba myself? Because they wouldn't accept FE's warranty? AND HAVE I TOLD YOU HOW MUCH I LOVE ARBITRARY RULES AND HOW THEY DON'T MAKE MY EYE TWITCH AT ALL?!), which means that TWO SEPARATE PARTIES had my laptop in their position to check over, and yet neither noticed a job poorly done. And you wanna know the BEST part?! FE had the GALL to make ME pay them to ship back a laptop THAT WAS. NOT. REPAIRED.

AND WHEN MY CAPS LOCK GETS PERMANENTLY STUCK, I'M GONNA BLAME THEM FOR THAT TOO.

So whatever, I got the opinion of my computer-wise cousin, some guy at a local repair shop, and the internet, and I've got a three-way consensus that almost all issues can be traced back to the motherboard.

Ahem.

Did I mention the part where the ONLY THING that needed replacing on my laptop after the smoking incident WAS THE MOTHERBOARD?! One thing! JUST ONE! THAT'S ALL! And they couldn't even manage THAT!

And here's the part where it gets good: the part where I called FE yet again. I mean, we all know how well that went last time. And that's what you have to keep in mind - that that last experience scarred me for life and I can no longer hear the words "please hold" or "let me transfer you" without feeling a sudden compulsion to jab myself in the eye with a blunt pencil - because while I was able to keep it together for the first hour and a half of run around before snapping last time back in October, I barely made it to the third person before completely LOSING MY SH1T.

(And yes, that 1 in there really means I'm not swearing. Hmph.)

I swear, all I did was say how I refused to pay to ship my computer back to them, since they shouldn't have shipped it back to me in the first place in that (NOT FIXED!) condition - but when he said, "That's against our policy," well, that's all it took. I mean, REALLY now - I don't think it's too much to ask of them to either reimburse me for the senseless shipping I already paid for or for paying the shipping for me to send it back to them to fix it like they should have done the first time.

Anyway, like I said, I basically had a nervous breakdown. You know that kind of crying where your voice keeps getting higher and higher to the point to where there wouldn't be enough room for all the ledger lines on a piece of sheet music to document the pitch you were speaking at? And you start to sound like you're speaking in tongues from all the words running together? And you start to get carried away because you've never, EVER directly told a person what you think about him in your entire life and now you're making up for lost time? Oh, that doesn't even BEGIN to describe what I was doing. I was screaming and sobbing as though he had just murdered my dog and burned Disney to the ground. Like my laptop, I was oddly broken too. I might have to pay for shipping again, but I'm damn well sending FE my therapy bills.

And you know what he did? He put me on hold! Not that I blame him - I sounded utterly psychotic. But 45 minutes later AND STILL ON HOLD, I was ready to cut a b1tch (again, TOTALLY not swearing). At that point, I was beyond tears and just a dead, dead person inside, completely without hope for humanity, for America, for my own soul, for Tyra Banks to stop annoying the bejeezus out of me. So I hung up. And tried again. Persevere, I will. I ended up getting the same first two people I talked, and the second woman said, "You talked to me earlier and I transferred you to my supervisor - he was just talking about you." (Yes, I'm sure he was). I mentioned the 45 minute-long hold he put me on, for which she apologized for (thankyouverymuch), and then she said that her supervisor was the only one who could help me, but that he was on the phone with someone else at that moment, and that as soon as he got off, she'd give him my name and number and he'd call me back.

Okay.

TWO POINT FIVE HOURS LATER and nothing. Not a single phone call. So I called back, only to get a man this time, and he said that everyone who was working during the earlier shift (the one I called during) was gone for the day (oh, of course they were...why would anyone take the time to call an upset customer back when they're not scheduled to work another minute), but that I could explain the whole situation to him. Which I did, and since I had just had two and a half hours to calm down, collect my thoughts, and take half a bottle of prozac, I was able to remain calm and not flip my lid this time around. Although, I'm sure my voice cracked a time or two. I'm not perfect. And it helped that he was at least willing to "see what he could do" instead of telling me, "that's not our policy," when clearly there isn't a precedent for this given that I'm pretty much their only out-of-state customer. He called me back a few hours later to give me an update on what my options are (because remember, they had my computer for 2 months, but I'm leaving for Florida in 20 days, and I NEED my laptop by then because I'm taking classes ONLINE. So...my laptop? KIND OF IMPORTANT HERE).

And that's basically as far as I've gotten. I could pay to have it repaired by some local guy, I could send it to FE and have them repair it for free since it's still under warranty and just HOPE they can cut their repair time down by 80%, or I can just curl into a ball, hide under my covers, and never, ever, EVER come out again. I'm leaning towards the last one.

By the way, I later reenacted my nervous breakdown for my mother (only there wasn't much "acting" - it came from a real place, since I still had a lot of residual craziness and frustration within me), and I swear to you she laughed so hard she didn't stop for 2 minutes and SHE FELL OFF THE COUCH. Like, literally ROFL-ing. I didn't know people actually did that! But the thing is, when I start sobbing hysterically, you really have to let the "hysterically" bit encompass all meanings, because when I lose it, it's not pretty, it's not dignified, it's not artfully heartbreaking. It's disturbing and entertaining all at once, and honestly, I wish I could witness someone break down like I did today, because OH THE BLOG CONTENT.

Which reminds me, there's a good chance this guy (who works in a ELECTRONIC store) has either facebook, twitter, a blog, or AT LEAST INTERNET ACCESS, which means that more than likely his "lunatic customer encounter" today will more than likely be mentioned in one or more of those mediums and spread for the world to see. Keep an eye out for me, eh?

Moral of the story: DO NOT DEAL WITH FRY'S ELECTRONICS. EVER. SEND THIS STORY TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW. AND SOMETHING AMAZING WILL HAPPEN IN TEN MINUTES. JUST LIKE IT DOES IN EMAIL FORWARDS. ONLY FOR REAL THIS TIME. HONEST.

I love you, lappy <3<3<3

My laptop! It hath returned! Lo! Indeed, 'tis from whence this blog ist being writteneth, forsooth!

My fluency in Middle English - it's impressive, no?

It happened at 9:00am, when the doorbell awoke me from an ever-so-peaceful slumber in which I was dreaming about canoeing in a sea full of jello with a giant q-tip as a paddle, as one does. The sleep-lover in me was going to ignore the doorbell and stay hidden under the covers, but somehow through my hazy state of mind, I suddenly realized what that doorbell probably meant - *cue horn fanfare* - My laptop cometh!

So I took out my retainer, slapped my glasses on my face, and ran to the door in my sexy, sexy pajamas*.

I looked like this:

(I'm 25% Swedish, and that quarter is found entirely in those Nordic viking arms of mine)

I opened the door, and this (I swear to God) is how the conversation with the young FedEx guy went:

Me: (yawning and rubbing my gooey eyes) Uhhhhello.

FedEx Guy: (picking up on the obvious fact that I'd been awake for all of 3 seconds) 'Morning sleepy.

Me: Hah, I was about to ignore you and stay in bed, but then I thought, 'Wait! - (and here I subconsciously did some sort of over-excited jazz hands thing) - It's my laptop!'

FG: You were gonna ignore me? But I'm hot*!

Me: I know! Glad I came! Plus, you would have missed this! (at which point I made a sweeping gesture with my hand from my head downwards, as if I was Vanna White presenting my body like a Brand! New! Car!)

FG: Mmhmm, no makeup, in your pajamas....lookin' good.

Me: Oh, I walk down the runway like this all the time.

FG: Haha well, - (losing the sarcasm) - your hair looks kinda nice**.

Me: Really? Well, that's good to know.

FG: So you own this place yourself?

Me: No, it's me and my mom.

And, of course, it all went downhill from there, because while I can apparently pull off the 'morning look' quite well, being 23 and living with your mother looks good on NO ONE. But I was able to redeem myself when I said that I'm moving to Florida in 26 days, that it was, like, totally time to move out of here, that my mom was, like, sooo driving me crazy OMGFOREALZ (which isn't really all that true, but you know....trying to look cool and all for the random FedEx guy who I'll never see again).

But that story, for me, is completely overshadowed by the mere fact that I HAVE MY LAPTOP BACK. Oh, all is right in the world again. And guess what? It arrived the day before we leave for Tennessee for three days where THERE IS NO INTERNET! YAY! Timing=PERFECT! (Yes we're traveling Christmas morning. We'll have the actual celebration the day after).

Anyway, Merry Christmas to you and yours.

-----
*This was true

**This was not true. See above picture.

Oh, I'll show you fire in my heart

I went shopping yesterday to find a present for my grandmother, which I didn't, but I did end up buying myself 3 tops for myself which is quite a feat, since the last time I found clothes worthy enough of purchase was circa 2003 when I stole my uniform knickers from Interlochen, and well, I guess that's not actually buying them, but let's not get bogged down in the details. They were nice knickers. At least for being school-owned and used for who knows how many years before I wore them. But that's not the story. Actually, there's not really a story at all, but since when has that ever stopped me?

So while I was shopping, all the stores were playing Christmas music which is great, because who doesn't love Christmas music (aside from atheists, and, I dunno, probably some Muslims. And some Jews? Pagans maybe? Anyway.) And I generally like to think of myself as a rather musically-tolerant person. Aside from anything by Savage Garden, I can't think of any musician/band that I simply cannot stand. But there is one song that grates on my very last nerve: "Last Christmas." Oh my gosh, I HATE that song. It's the fingernails on the chalkboard of my heart.

Let's take a look at the chorus, shall we?

Last Christmas I gave you my heart
The very next day you gave it away
This year to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special.

First of all, since when is the heart something you can regift? I mean, if I were to give my heart to some guy and then he "gave it away" does that mean he tried to pimp me out? Did he put my love for him in some sort of bizarre ebay auction to be sold to the highest lonely bidder? Not that I have much experience with love, but I don't think it works like that. I'm pretty sure that if my love can be bought, I have to be the one to set the price and determine the buyer, not the guy I tried to give my heart to for free who then tried to pawn it off to someone else without my permission. But whatever, let's assume the premise is true, that some guy I was madly in love with gave my heart to someone else (whether by force, bribery, Match.com, Secret Santa, or some other method (hah! Typed "meathod" again). How could I then "give it to someone [else] special?" Was my heart so awful that the guy #2 who was given my heart from guy #1 decided to personally hand it back to me and say, "Um, ew. This is nasty. Takeitbacktakeitbacktakeitback." I mean, unless I was somehow able to get my heart back after giving it away how will I ever be able to give it to someone else the following year? Did I grow another one in the mean time? Did I qualify for a heart transplant? Am I secretly a Time Lord and I actually have two hearts to give away? You know, like a Plan B, backup-plan heart?

So yes, I hate the song - the music is awful and the lyrics are even worse. And while shopping, I walked into no less than 7 - SEVEN! - different stores yesterday only to that song blast over the speakers within two minutes of me walking in there, and each time it was a different version. I don't know what I did to anger the music gods*, but good grief, did they get their revenge.

Anyway, I say all that to say this. Next time someone covers that song, I'm gonna kill him. Seriously**. Literally***. I'm gonna save up some money, move to a state without the death penalty, apply for a hand gun permit, buy myself a gun, take some lessons at the local shooting range, and SHOOT HIM DEAD.

*Total lie. I know exactly what I did.

**Not really.

***And when I say "literally," I mean "not literally at all." Promise, FBI agents who now have my name on Red Alert. But I'll probably still punch the guy. Right in throat. That's okay, right? Probably just a misdemeanor or something.

7 Quick Takes Friday (Vol. 9)

--1--

I cannot tell you how many times throughout the week, I think, "Oh I'll have to remember to save that for my Friday blog." And come Friday, do you know how many of those stories I actually remember? I'll give you a hint: -n < X < 1 where X is both 1) an integer and 2) a sign of dementia setting in extraordinarily early. So it was nice knowing you all. Well, most of you, anyway.

And yeah, yeah, I could type out all these stories right as they come to me, since Blogger does, after all, have that handy "save as draft" feature. But COME ON. That is far too obvious and reasonable a solution. Logical shmogical. I like a challenge.

Oh Go. I'm turning into my grandmother.

--2--

When it comes to child rearing, my philosophy falls most closely in line with this exchange from the book Hogfather between a child, her mother, some dude named Crumley, and Death (you know, the boney man all in black with a scythe)(also, he speaks in all caps) who was filling in for the Hogfather (like Santa but with tusks):

“I wanta narmy. Anna big castle wif pointy bits,” said the child. “Anna swored.”

"WHAT DO YOU SAY?" prompted the Hogfather.

“A big swored?” said the child, after a pause for deep cogitation.

"THAT’S RIGHT."

[...]

“You can’t give her that!” [her mother] screamed. “It’s not safe!”

"IT’S A SWORD", said the Hogfather. "THEY’RE NOT MEANT TO BE SAFE."

“She’s a child!” shouted Crumley.

"IT’S EDUCATIONAL."

“What if she cuts herself?”

"THAT WILL BE AN IMPORTANT LESSON."

True, I don't currently have children of my own, so what do I know? And I'm sure in the future when we're all required to have background checks and pass government inspections to have children, this post will the be listed as the #1 reason on what I'm sure will be an extensive list of why I won't be allowed off the government-mandated semi-permanent sterilization (not that I'm paranoid or anything, which will probably be reason #2), but I'm just saying that when it comes to children, unless they're playing tag on a slanted roof while blindfolded, I don't usually fret and wring my hands over how they might hurt themselves.

But then I started babysitting for this one family. The boys are great, they never get into trouble, and they're as easy as kids can be. But the 17 month old takes naps, and every time I put him down, I spend the next two hours LIVING IN FEAR that he's gonna DIE in his sleep. Especially since he will only sleep on his stomach, with his head buried in an adult-sized pillow, and with about 8 blankets covering him (all stuffed in his itty bitty crib), which to me seems like the SIDS equivalent of playing Russian Roulette with a fully-loaded barrel. So I end up walking to his room every few minutes or so and listen at the door just to make sure he's still breathing. And I dunno, maybe by 17 months they're in the clear of SIDS, I really have no idea. If only there were some kind of handy, instantaneous method* of researching this as I sit here with my fingers tippity tapping words onto this large screen in front of me.

Um...hold on a second.

. . .

Okay, so apparently 95% of the time SIDS occurs in babies under 1 year old. But still. It's me we're talking about here. Worms give me panic attacks. I think I'm still gonna worry about this kid.

*I don't know what is with this word, but every single time I type it, I always start off with "mea-" like it's spelled "meathod." I KNOW that's not how it's spelled, but my fingers apparently believe otherwise. Any of you have words like that?

--3--

My mom e-mailed me earlier today asking for my dad's address so my aunt can send him something for Christmas. I told her just to look it up on a sex-offender site.

AHAHAHA. It's funny 'cause it's sad true.

--4--

For my 4th thing this week, I will now recite the alphabet.

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ.

You can't see me, but I just took a bow. I mean, that was a pretty sweet rendition I just did.

--5--

About a week ago, a US Postal Service woman came to our door with a package that had our address but was addressed to the previous owner. I let her know that that guy didn't live here anymore, and then she took the package with her and went on her merry way. Then last Sunday - SUNDAY! - the exact same package was dropped off at our door without even so much as a knock (though I caught a glimpse of him, and it wasn't the same person from earlier in the week). It even had a "return to sender" label on it. Great job, USPS. Really on the ball there, aren't you? I mean, not only did you waste time by redelivering it to the wrong address, you had to pay someone overtime just to redeliver it to the wrong address on a day that you're not supposed to even be open! And the sender had to pay extra for that service too!

Man, I can't wait for the government to run health care. They've just got a knack for saving money and doing things properly. Kudos, government. Kudos.

--6--

Does anyone know how vital the "sifting" step is in baking? I'm making a recipe tomorrow that calls for it, only we don't have a sifter, and I was thinking that, oh I dunno, maybe giving it the ol' stir-around with a fork might do the trick? Is the whole thing gonna be ruined if I don't sift by the book? Should I even bother, should I just give up now? Will the world simply implode if I mix dry ingredients with widdershins utensil motion instead of the almighty Sifter?

Honestly, I'm lucky that anything I make turns out as good as it does, because I'm always making up steps, cutting corners, or putting in weird substitutes (Butter? I'm all out! Can I just shake this gallon of milk for an hour or two? Like a faux-churn? That'd work, right?)(or)(Ew pears? No, I'magonna use apples)(or)(I've got no vinegar either. I think a combination of Sprite and Vegetable oil will be fine).

So yeah. Sifting with a sifter? Thoughts? Opinions? Tangents?

--7--

Speaking of hating pears, let's end with this gem:

And it's especially appropriate since David Tennant (the only skinny boy in the world to catch my eye, 'cause I usually like my men cornfed and squishy) was in my dream last night, and as I was riding with him on the back of a flying white horse, I wrapped my arms around him, and GOOD LORD did that man have a rock hard six-pack. And then I kissed him in the middle of some sort of bizarre treasure hunt in California, in which the final clue was the Renaissance Hotel, and I didn't even know that was a real hotel until I just googled it 30 seconds ago. Weird.

But anyway, David Tennant. Yum.

Lippy tappy too tah, everyone.

To tide you over

Good grief, I am incredibly busy these days. This blog is what suffers for it, of course, but I do hate to abandon you. So here's another oldy but goody, though something fresh for all you newbies out there. It's a short story I had to write for school about two years back (and it's the only short story I've ever written, and it'll probably stay that way), and I had completely forgotten about it until I stumbled across the file on my external hard drive. And I'm gonna be 100% honest - some parts of it are so friggin brilliant, I just want to invent an Awesomeness award just so I can give it to myself. Then again, some parts (like the dialogue) are so embarrassingly awful (seriously, GOOD LORD I am terrible at dialogue. My social awkwardness extends even to the characters in a story)(also, the entire second half is pretty awful)(and the entire thing is dripping with, "oh, aren't I clever?" moments)(you know what? Let's just say 96% is bad) that I genuinely want to chop my fingers off and run my bloody stumps through rubbing alcohol for daring to type such garbage. But that is me, isn't it? Never find me in the middle of the road, nope. Always on one extreme or the other.

Anyway, I'm not good at coming up with original stories, so I just took a story we all knew and loved and re-worked it a bit, which sounds innocent enough, until I tell you the part where it's the story of Adam and Eve, and now I spend most of my waking hours praying that God has a sense of humor, because I swear I wasn't trying to be blasphemous. I just took a story where we have the basics of what happened, but not a whole lot of specifics, and I decided to take a stab at filling in the blanks. It's like, um...it's like....oh crap. You know what it's like? It's Bible Fanfiction. Oh, that's disgusting. Blegh. I'm going to Hell for that, aren't I?

Anyway, I'm gonna be late for work if I don't hope off. So enjoy:

----

"In the Beginning"

They say that in order for something to exist, it must have a beginning and an end.

This is obviously an idea from before the invention of the wheel, because any semi-intelligent person today can look at a circle and say with confidence that there is no "Start Here" point*, nor is there any sort of definite end. Based on this observation, we must begin to question the actual existence of wheels. Maybe they never were invented at all, which would make reinventing them seem quite necessary since the current model only exists due to a crude technicality**.

_{*Some will argue that there is an infinite number of starting points on a circle, which may be true, but it's
also the exact same thing as there being none at all, because a non-existent starting point is still a starting
point - just a really, really tiny one. You know, infinitely tiny.
**That is, cars aren't moving along on concrete bricks.}

Then again, perhaps theoretical existence is all it takes...

____________________________________________________

And then there was light.
____________________________________________________

Adam… Adam…

Having just woken up without actually having ever been asleep, Adam immediately wondered where he was and what he was doing there. How did he even know his name was Adam? Did he even know what a name was? Adam remembered nothing before that point, and I don't mean "nothing" in the sense that he once had information stored in his brain which, due to some sort of head trauma or perhaps large quantities of alcohol, had now become a proverbial blank. No, I mean "nothing" in the sense that before that moment, Nothing was where he was, was what he was, was who he was. There was a void, an absence of himself and all the Somethings around him, and while he didn't remember what being Nothing was like, he remembered that that's what he had Been, because now he Is which was far, far different from Not Being at all.

And as Adam thought this, he suddenly became aware of the voice inside his own head, and no matter how hard he tried his eyes would just not roll back far enough to allow him to see who could possibly be rambling on inside him in a language he didn't even know he knew. Then again, he didn't even know he knew a language in the first place.

But like most brains, Adam's was incessant, which allowed all of these thoughts to flash through his head in a matter of seconds. But with each passing tick of the universe, Adam felt a growing tightness in his chest that was slowly spreading to his head and beginning to take over his entire body. He felt pain, whatever that was, and he felt faint, whatever that meant, and he had a feeling that in just a few moments he would be Nothing once more. And just when he thought his body might explode from the pressure building inside of him, he felt a forceful thump on his back which took him by such surprise that his body reacted on its own as his mouth opened to vent the mounting pressure with an all-relieving "Ughhh!"

Coughing and sputtering as his body adjusted to breathing on automatic pilot, Adam turned around to see where this wondrous Blow of Life came from. A blinding light prevented him from entirely making out the figure before him, but he had a feeling that this was not someone to screw up around.

Good Morning, Adam, said the figure, This is your Father speaking.

Click to continue reading

7 Quick Takes Friday (Vol. 8)

--1--

In my last post, I completely forgot to include the one gift that inspired the entire post to begin with - a customized calendar from shutterfly.com. Or a photo book is a good idea too. Again, they're not paying me to advertise for them (oh what a world that would be), but I made calendars for both my parents, and I was so impressed with it, I just had to share. I know it's not exactly a brand new idea, but it's such a perfect gifts for your mom, grandparents, and even that sad, sad father of yours whose genetic link to you you begrudgingly accept. Whatever. I put mine together on a Sunday night, placed the order, and received it that Wednesday. Now THAT is some good service. You can see the calendar I made by clicking the picture below:


(Oh, and I took most of those pictures of me myself. Thank you very much social awkwardness that prevents me from having friends to help me out tripod.)

--2--

You know how they have disinfectant wipes at grocery stores to wipe your cart down with before you - gasp! - touch it with your sparkly-clean, defenseless bare hands? Well, I think they're dumb. Even today as I walked into the store, I passed a woman giving her cart a ferocious scrub down, and I don't know what stirred this particular urge within me, but I so badly wanted to walk up to the cart next to her, make a big show of spitting on both my hands, and then caress that cart handle with my slimy palms like I was a gymnast preparing my uneven bars. I didn't actually do it, because 1) I'm all talk and 2) the last place I EVER want to get kicked out of is the holy grocery store, but come on now. A few germs never hurt anyone. Well, okay, swine flu, bird flu, the Obama Hopenchange virus, blah blah blah. Whatever. I'm just saying that you should WANT to get swine flu right now. It's currently in its least-dangerous form, and one day when it mutates to a totally 100% fatal virus (as all viruses do in epidemic movies, and they wouldn't say it if it wasn't true. I also live in fear for the day the core of the earth stops spinning), your body will have become immune to it thanks to fighting off the less-deadly strain. Or, at least, I think that's what happens. I dunno, I could be making it all up. Never that great at the sciences, me. I better figure it out soon though, because I make a habit of licking door handles based on that very theory.

--3--

I just found out that there is such a word as "nattily." That's right, my name has it's own homophone, and apparently the definition of nattily is "neatly or trimly smart in dress or appearance; spruce." I gotta say, I am severely disappointed that it's taken me twenty-three years to discover this. I feel like I've been cheated out of a lot of opportunities to somehow smoothly use the words 'nattily' and 'Natalie' back to back like that (which isn't cheesy at all shut up), while being neatly or trimly smart in dress or appearance. Spruce, even. And I'm even more upset over the fact that I'm currently not very "nattily," else I'd take a picture and post it just to go along with this topic. In fact, this picture is a good representation of my current appearance, just without all the blood.

(Well, maybe some blood. I have a knack for acquiring paper cuts. Got two just today.)

Ahaha, I love that picture, lack of nattilyishness notwithstanding.

--4--

For anyone who's not seen it yet, I've posted pictures from Belmont in my West Coast trip report here. I posted it over a week ago, but once again, I am struggling for 7 things. If it's any consolation, you'll get to see me in a bathing suit. On the other hand, you'll get to see me in a bathing suit.

Shudder.

--5--

Here's a youtube video some of you have already seen too, but oh well, here it is again. My cousin and I babysat her nieces one night a while back and got them to make up an 80s workout video. It's probably only funny to us, but it's at least worth it to watch the last 45 seconds where I make some weird pig noise after being unable to control my laughter any longer. And then the last 20 seconds is where the video shines, but I won't spoil it for you except to say that that's also me hyperventilating in the background and my cousin shouting like a, um, I don't know what. A monkey? A toucan? A pre-pubescent cow? I really have no idea. But that's Abby for you.

--6--

For my 20th birthday, my mom bought me a car (which was nice since she sold my first car while I was away at college and didn't tell me (granted she had bought me that one too, but STILL. It's the PRINCIPLE of the thing))(and just so I don't sound like a spoiled brat, I DO make payments on it. So it wasn't 100% GIFT, okay?)(Good Lord, I hope you like parentheses)(I do). My family did the whole surprise thing, where the car was hidden in my aunt's garage, complete a big red bow on top (that is not my car) like they show in commercials. Well, kinda. They actually took my uncle's SUV to the dealership to pick the bow up because they didn't think they'd be able to fit it in a tiny car. But apparently - and, really, who would see this coming? - car dealerships don't have a whole room filled with 8-feet wide bows free for the giving, because, well, they don't carry 8-feet wide bows. They carry 1-foot wide bows. Ones that people return once they're done with them judging by the slightly-used look of it. So my family had this big SUV to pick up a bow the size of a soccer ball and it became this very funny story because of irony and story-of-our-lives and no-really-that-whole-SUV-just-for-that-tiny-little-bow-ha-ha-ha.

And I tell you all that to tell you this: every time a commercial comes on that shows someone surprising someone else with a car topped with a giant-ass bow, my mom tells me that story as though I've never heard it before. I've probably heard it 6 or 7 times in the last 3 years.

The most recent time was about 10 minutes ago.

--7--

I'd like to dedicate #7 to my senile mother who made #6 possible. And now #7.

Thanks mom. Also, my name isn't Wendy. Love you lots!