Chasing Pirates

Gahhh.

I think I am dying. My throat is killing me and my head is pounding. I also have an English essay on gender roles due Sunday, and true to my procrastinating nature, I have one whole paragraph written. I also have work tomorrow, 8 to 6.

Nicky doesn't seem to get that I am completely miserable (which seems to be a pretty commonplace thing when I am sick) and seems to be at a Level 99 on the Brat Scale. I have yelled so much that I am surprised I can even talk...but as we all know, frustrated sick Mommy yelling inevitably leads to a fit of coughing, which makes the throat hurt worse and the head pound more. Ah...C'est la vie.

And I was scoping out my Blogger Dashboard, and I seem to have either pissed off and/or bored a follower, because they are no longer following this sporadic and fabulous nugget of brilliancy. Usually my ego would be slightly bruised, but since I am sitting in bed with messy hair, glasses, and baggy sweats, burning up with a fever, frankly my dear, I don't give a damn. (Clark Gable summed it up with that line, I swear.)

So...thank you Argent, for being a loyal reader and follower. If I could give you a golden award for being awesome, I would. Thank you to all my other followers who still follow me and enjoy my inane ramblings, I love all of you and you rock! Spread the word to your friends.

XO, and blahhhh. I am seriously hoping I'll be better soon.

Don't Stop The Music

Okay...So last night was UMMAXX 10, another of my GM's MMA fights. He owns a mixed martial arts company and he holds fights about every three months or so. I have been to three of them, and I absolutely love it.

I was supposed to sing the National Anthem last night, and I was super excited. I had on a yummy ensemble consisting of skinny jeans, kickass black stiletto boots, and a black shirt that had a completely lace back. I flat-ironed my hair and my makeup was beyond awesome. (See the picture on the right--->) I looked glam. I was also insanely nervous, but that's beside the point.

So I go to the entertainment group guy to find out what the hell is going on, since no one explained to me where I was singing or what was actually going down. He tells me that there's been a slight change in events, and I am like, Oh shit. He tells me to come with him, and so I follow him to the back of the expo center. He decides to tell me that oh, I am no longer singing the anthem by myself--and I am like, umm...what?--that I am singing it with two people from the Army and am I okay with that? Okay, we all know that I am not okay with that, but because I didn't want to sound like a monster bitch and I wasn't sure if my GM knew what was going down, I said yeah, I was okay with that. So I go and meet these Army people, who I immediately decided were not the cool sort of Army people. On the contrary, they seemed very nerdy and uncool. I sucked up my boiling inner rage and smiled in a very convincing delightful fashion. The entertainment guy asked me if I knew how to harmonize. Um, duh. I was in choir from 4th grade to 8th grade. You definitely pick up harmony over eight years.

I smile convincingly again and say I was in choir for ten years--I decided to beef up my expertise because these two Army geeks definitely reeked of pure inexperience. I have to go sing with these idiots, and I must add that hey, the fight begins in five minutes. I sigh and internally roll my eyes, beginning to sing with these fools. As soon as they opened their mouths and began to sing, my inner hypothesis was immediately proven correct. They sucked. They knew absolutely nothing about harmony at all. I tried to sing above them to try to get some sort of harmony started, but I only had a few successful moments of harmony. By now my tumultuous sea of rage is seething just below the surface of my fakeass smile, but I decide that I am fucked and I have to make the most of it.

We roll on up to the cage, and I am figuring that hey, at least I will still look hot. They immediately put the brakes on that one. Someone shoves a white Army tee shirt over my head, and hey, the stupid shirt is two sizes too fucking big. Perfect. I am past smiling at this point, and I strut angrily into the cage. I am then informed that my heels have to come off because they will ruin the mat--why the hell didn't someone tell me that before I went shopping? I am furious. I leave the cage, and they announce my name--which, of course, is pronounced wrong. That is nothing new, people see Lashawn Chillious and immediately get intimidated. I am not pissed about that. I am pissed that my moment of shininess is being shitted on. I have to throw the boots on the ground and run into the cage in my socks and this stupid as hell shirt. I am beyond looking like nothing is wrong--they already started singing without me! I stomp over and discover that I HAVE NO MICROPHONE. How am I supposed to sing without a microphone??? I am so pissed that all I can do is stand there in a silent fury and attempt to sing along with these idiots. I am so mad that my throat goes dry and nothing comes out.

After I am done, I grab my shoes and go to my job's table. Everyone is stunned by what just went down. I am stunned, and I am furious and I yank the shirt off and put my boots back on. I am embarrassed and pissed and decide to go find my GM. I find him in the back of the expo center, and the first words out of his mouth are "What the fuck was that?" He had no idea what had just gone down. He thought that I was still the only one that was going to sing--smooth move, don't tell the guy in charge that you are fucking with the show. I am told that he is going to talk to Mr. Douchey Entertainment guy and that I am singing alone at his next fight.

After that moment of unparallelled suckiness, the night was great. The fights were good, and I had a good time with my friends.

Aha!

(Taken from Free Will Astrology, by Rob Brezsny)

Week of March 18, 2010

Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21):

The Hebrew word chalom means "dream". In his book Healing Dreams, Marc Ian Barasch notes that it's derived from the verb "to be made healthy and strong". Linguist Joseph Jastrow says that chalom is related to the Hebrew word hachlama, which means "recovery, recuperation". Extrapolating from these poetic hints and riffing on your astrological omens, I've got a prescription for you to consider: To build your vitality in the coming weeks, feed your dreams. And I mean "dreams" in both the sense of the nocturnal adventures you have while you're sleeping and the sweeping daytime visions of what you'd like to become.

I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You

A few things I noticed this week:

*Spring is definitely in the air. The snow from last week has been melting all week. Yay!

*I am stressed out.

*Nicky seems to think he doesn't need a bedtime.

*School may be the ninth circle of hell. It's tied with work.

*All my major English papers seem to be due the week of month end at work. Either that is cruel coincidence or it is inherently evil. I am leaning towards the latter.

*I am an idiot.

*The guy I have liked for ages is a moron but he is a cute moron. *Sigh* Like I said, I am an idiot.

*Fish is gross.

*I can't quit procrastinating. That would be like telling Amy Winehouse to stop smoking crack. It's never gonna happen.

*I am addicted to buying music on iTunes. When I hear a new song that I really like, I will seriously think of buying it on iTunes until I actually buy it on iTunes.

*That said, I am in serious withdrawal. I haven't switched my iTunes library to my laptop yet, and I have found SO much new music.

*I am so excited because we are finally getting our hours back which means that I can start apartment hunting again. Yay!!!

It Snowed

I am going to call today "The Trapped in a Snow Globe Chronicles, Part Three". All it has done for the past three days is
Snow

Snow

Snow.


I am, in all honesty, snowed out. Winter, I quit. You totally win. Now slink away back to the Arctic and don't return until next December.

I am ready for green grass, daffodils, birds, and sunshine. Bring on the skirts and the flip-flops. I am ready to wear bright colors and hang up my puffy down-filled coat for the next ten months. I am ready for the smell of sunscreen and my clogged up nose from the inevitable Springtime pollen (well....I can live without that aspect of Spring). I want to see butterflies and tulips and lilacs, go to Cedar Point and ride rollercoasters and eat chili cheese fries. I want to go to the beach and admire our dirty lake.

I will, however, miss the way the snow lays on top of tree branches and makes everything look so pretty and sparkling. I will miss how quiet the world seems when you are the only one out in the morning and there's clean, virtually untouched snow all around you and big, fluffy flakes are floating down from the sky. I will miss the way the cold air burns my lungs after I go for a run.

Bring on the Springtime shenanigans. Come on, March. I'm pulling for you.

Speechless

"In the deepest hour of the night, confess to yourself that you would die if forbidden to write. And look deep into your heart where it spreads its roots, the answer, and ask yourself, must I write?"
--Rainer Maria Rilke

That says it all.

Comfort Eagle

Today was a good day. I slept in, stayed in my pajamas until 2:40, and had the house to myself until my dad got home from work. You can't really beat that on a good day off.

So, as I mentioned earlier, I gave up procrasinating for Lent. It's kind of hard. I am a natural born procrastinator--putting stuff off isn't just something I do, it's a way of life. I'm attempting to read some stuff for school in a bit, which is a small step, like wading into the shallow end of the pool when you don't know how to swim (which I don't, coincidentally). The hardest part is trying to not think about procrastinating. I think about it constantly. Like, I'll be sitting here at the computer all like "I am going to read chapter 6 in American Government and then study." My brain busts in with a "FAAAAACEBOOOOOK!!!!" And I give in and cook some pie in Cafe World.

Well, no more. I am taking a stand. No longer will my brain call all the shots. Nay. Well...actually my brain has to call all the shots, but you know what I mean. I am silencing the slacker frat boy part of my brain, the part that yells out stuff like "CHEEEESEBURRRRGER" when I'm on a diet or "WIKIPEDIAAAAA" when I should really be doing something more constructive.

Viva la revolution.

Wish me luck. Forty days is a long time.