Joy to the world, all the boys and girls....

So for all three people who read my blog (Thanks Mom!), I'm putting out a request. I want to compile a list of songs that I need to have, be it because its innovative, unexpected, or just your favorite song. I feel like I'm stuck in a music rut, and suggestions are greatly appreciated.


PS Jeff, don't tell me any Stones songs, I've got most of them.... Thanks luv...

Hey Miss Murder can I...

He's baaaaaaaack!

Its much too complicated to explain the situation, but basically a friend of mine is back in my life. He had a really shitty girlfriend who wouldn't let him talk to any girls, so for 4 months, I've had no idea where he was (oh yeah he lives far away, like a plane ride away) for quite a while. This isn't the first time he's disappeared, its the 3 or 4th time. Never for the same reason either, girls, school, didn't pay his phone bill, etc. But each time this happens, I welcome him back with open arms.

Is this unhealthy? I know its just a friendship, and I'm not looking for anything more (since there are a few thousand miles in between us), but is it unhealthy to even attempt a friendship with a such a flake?

Let the drummer kick...

I'm not going to write an entry today, because I know its going to break off on to something ridiculous that I feel doesn't belong in this blog. Sorry if anyone actually gives a flying monkey...

Fuck the pain away...

Today is the type of day where I feel the need to chronicle every shitty thing that's occurred.

1st I messed up the register. I punched in the wrong information and then didn't notice it for 20 minutes. Granted its not that big of a deal, but when you're low man on the totem pole, you try to avoid as many screw ups a possible.

Then, we were severely understaffed and will be until the beginning of July. That's all fine and dandy, but its a pain to pick up the extra slack during the lunch rush. To help the boss I offered to take a late lunch, thinking he would say alright go at 12:30 or 1:00, but noooooooooo I got to wait til 2:00pm. Where I got to eat all alone in the basement. Very boring, very lonely.

As usual, during my lunch I went to go get the New York Post. Except, my car was blocked in due to parking restrictions this week. The store I like is about a quarter of a mile down, not a long walk at all. Upon purchasing my paper, the skies opened up. A torrential downpour, and me without an umbrella.

Teetering along in my stilettos, (now see through) khaki skirt, and (thankfully brown) teeshirt, I raced to get back to work as quickly as possible. In the time that it took me to get back to work, everything I owned was saturated.

Standing dripping wet in the basement, I begin to empty the contents of my bag, 6 books, a pack of gum, my wallet, and a pen, all over the table to save them from the pink dye my bag leaks every time it gets wet. I suddenly realized the absurdity of this act, since I'm still in my wet clothes.

The lady who's in the basement with me now offers a table cloth to wrap around me, instead of my see through skirt. So now, I'm dripping wet, in a (white and floral) table cloth, stilettos, and a soaking wet brown tee shirt, when who walks out of the bathroom but one of my gorgeous co-workers who also got caught in the rain, but only for a minute.

Now he's trying hard to be nice, I'm trying to dry all of my stuff off, and contemplating what to do next. Thankfully in my car is sweatpants, and my boss was forgiving enough to let me wear them for the remaining hour and a half I had left.

Take all of these paragraphs starting with the As usual one and finishing up at the comment about the boss, and all of those events fit in a 25 minute period. Yeah, leave it to me to compress shitty experiences into tiny blocks of time.

So thank you gorgeous co-worker for containing your laughter, handing me paper towels, convincing our boss to let me stay, and then keeping me cheerful for the rest of the afternoon.

I think I'll go have a pity party and eat some ice cream...

And to be compeletly honest, you're not like all the rest

Sorry to anyone that bothered reading that last post. It was tack and boring, and unnecessary, it was also deleted.

Worked 6 days this week, so there's not much to talk about.

If the US was the first country to have cars, why do Germans and Italians take driving and cars more seriously?

Why does MTV and VH1 still cling to the idea that they are music channels? Everyone knows that they are really channels that have dating shows with washed up celebrities and video yearbooks of decades passed (and still occurring now).

When did rap go from telling a story, almost poetry to music, to bragging about how much money they have along with how many bitches and hoes are in their harem?

How is it that the Rangers have a boatload of money, yet won't pay young up and comers to replace old washed up superstars (ahem, Jagr) to help boost their scoring percentage?

Why are all bandwagon fans dicks? You would think they would try to keep a low profile, but hells no! Everyone needs to know about it.

And finally,

Why am I home on a Saturday night blogging?

Call me snake...

I'm not writing today because I'm too damn tired, annoyed (with myself), and confused. Instead, I leave you with this, something my friend sent to me my sophomore year of high school. Sure its all emo-y and girly, but it is how I feel most of the time....

Ode to the Nice Girl

This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong. This is for the girls who don't give it up on the first date, who don't want to play mind games, who provide a comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they've heard a thousand times. This is for the girls who understand that they aren't perfect and that the guys they're interested in aren't either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe... maybe this time he'll have understood. This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care more than they should for guys who don't deserve their attention. This is for those girls who have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without saying a word. This is for the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from "there are plenty of fish in the sea," to "time heals all wounds." This is to honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it.

This is for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it's an experience that they don't want to miss out on. For the girls who have sought a night with friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling, rude comments and explicit invitations that they'd rather not have experienced. This is for the girls who have spent their weekends sitting on the sidelines of a beer pong tournament or a case race, or playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy friend or a comatose crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from someone who doesn't care enough to invite them over but is still willing to pass out in their bed. This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt. This is for the girls who have been told that they're too good or too smart or too pretty, who have been given compliments as a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.

This one's for the girls who you can take home to mom, but won't because it's easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never real to begin with. This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and heart and bed, only to discover that he's just not ready, he's just not over her, he's just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it's easier to believe that it's not that they don't want you, it's that they don't want anyone. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you've returned home alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little too softly for the girl he's with to be a random hookup. This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn't that he didn't want a relationship: it was that he didn't want you. I honor you for the night his dog died or his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his car and you held him, thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or said the right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he'd realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to sleep.

This is for the "I really like you, so let's still be friends" comment after you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those which make you cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you've received from your female friends, for the nights they've reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a pillow and your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used and abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we've believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we'd have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisified with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don't think that they deserve more, because they've been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys.

This is what I don't understand. Men sit and question and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mindgames, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were you to give her your number and wait for her to call... and if you were to receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the "stalker chick" you'd met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once more for this "nice girl" who you just cannot seem to find? Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you're not looking for a nice girl. You're not looking for someone genuinely interested in your intermural basketball game, or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your father; you're looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom you were using during it.

So don't say you're on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or the too tight miniskirt won't answer your catcalls, sometimes you're looking at a nice girl in whore's clothing - - we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we're all thinking the same thing: "This isn't me. Tomorrow morning, I'll be wearing a teeshirt and flannel shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hungover best friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me." You never do. Why? Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances. You don't want the nice girl.. so don't say you're looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we're willing to extend - - but in return, we're looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things you never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the race they're running they're chasing after the whores and the sluts and the easy-targets... the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a congradulatory hug (and yes, if she's a nice girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won't matter), hoping against hope that maybe you'll realize that they're the ones that you want at the end of that silly race.

So maybe it won't last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we're waiting; however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what's a concession stand at a race without some chocolate?)

Sometimes the nice girl gets sick of waiting

--Anonymous

I did it my way...

So after seeing Jon's success
with Mixwit's Mixed tape thingy, I
decided to give it a shot.
It was hard picking a topic for songs, so I
made my desert island mix.
Songs that I could listen to for all
eternity and not go insane.
Sure, there's a few missing,
Mother's Little Helper by The Rolling
Stones, Beat on the Brat by
The Ramones, and You're
So Last Summer by
Taking Back Sunday, but I
think this is a fair
representation of what I listen to.
It's a bit long, and some of the
songs are embarrassing (notice
the Fall Out Boy...), but its my
desert island mix. Not yours!
Rock out, skip songs,
I really don't care.

Brass Monkey, that funky monkey

Pants are a communist ploy.

Just nod if you can hear me...

I want to collapse into the nothingness that is your love for me.

I want the sweet embrace of your intelligence run circles around me.

Is it bad that I sit and wait to see each smile spread across your face?

It reminds me of a child on Christmas morning.

Thankfully, to you, I am nothing more then a speck of dust in this cosmic world you live in.

When I met you I said my name is Rich, you look like a girl from Abercombie and Fitch...

So I've almost survived my 3 week of work. I do have to say this, it is getting better. I'm making friends, and the people aren't so scary. This entry is going to be totally lame because I'm exhausted (yeah, its only 10, but I'm tired) and I want to get some sleep.

I'm thinking about a new screenname, the current one is boring and hard to remember. Suggestions?

My name is never was

This is in no way connected to my last post, but I feel like I am misrepresenting myself.

Do you need anybody?

I am quite bored of life right now. I am 18 and already part of corporate America. What's next for me? A house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, a minivan with a bumper sticker bragging about how smart my honor roll student is, 1.5 kids that could do no wrong (except exit my womb as a half child), and a husband who brings home the bacon so I can fry it up? None of that appeals to me. Sure, one day I'd like to settle down, but at this point why the fuck would I want to? So many of my friends are engaged, settling down, and becoming real adults. What the hell happened to embracing our independence, running free, and having fun? You're going to give that up for a mortgage, joint checking accounts, and a chance of the out dated American dream? I don't really know what brought on this rant, but I needed to say this. It makes me feel sad and pathetic that I'm so jaded at 18, but I guess that's the world we live in. Gone are the days of simplicity now we must conquer the world and then some.

God I hope I don't get sucked in....

Boom Boom Boom Boom, I want you in my room

I do not know why I am posting so many times this night, but if you are bored, stop reading. These past few weeks have really showed me who my friends are, and I may have blogged about this already, but even more has happened to prove this. I have screwed up, made a fool of myself, and just struggled through the past few weeks, but through it all I smiled thanks to everyone I talked to. To the friends that keep me up into the wee hours of the morning, I would be a train wreck without you. To the people that send me little texts throughout the day, they prevent me from going crazy at work. And the friends that are always there for me, no questions asked, there are no words to express how much I love you because of that.






Side note: My heart doesn't skip when I see you, the butterflies aren't there, my world is turned upside down.

They say it's your birthday, well it's my birthday too!

Happy Birthday Jeff!!

She's got legs, she know's how to use em

I know, I know. Sam has this on her blog but I loved it so much I felt the need to post it to mine.

Mama's dancin' with baby on her shoulder

Throughly disappointed about what the song "Black Velvet" is really about. Don't bother looking it up, you probably don't know the song, it was an odd 80's song. But I thought it was so pretty and then I looked at it's wiki page and found out its about Elvis. Bleh