It sounds so superficial, but I really hate my hair right now. I just made a really bad choice by trying to trim my own bangs. I don't, technically, have “bangs,” exactly. It's more like the front part of my hair that I comb off my face. Except now it doesn't quite “comb” anymore. It's just sort of sitting there.
I like my hair in the picture I have posted here on LiveJournal. It was short, choppy, blonde, manageable. I just dyed it a dark, dirty blonde, and I haven't yet figured out whether or not I like it this color. After the last incident with a bottle of so-called “dark blonde,” and the subsequent mad bleaching afterwards (it came out a really dark brown, which I did not want), I decided to take another chance. I left this is a lot longer. It's still got too much of a gold undertone for my taste so I added some blue protein filler.
I want to get beyond the feeling that my hair is tolerable, back to feeling really cute. I just don't like the way it's been, but my aunt Vicki told me today that under no circumstances am I allowed to shave it off.
But at this point I'm not sure what choice I have.

Who knew one person could write three paragraphs about her own hair? I could probably keep going but I won't.

I would prefer something like these two photos (Anne Heche for summer; Mariska Hargitay for winter), but, alas, my hair is coarse, dark, and frizzy by nature, not soft and straight.


Moving, Bitching, Grateful.

I just left a message for one of the future tenants at this house in response to one she left for me. She called to ask me what our home phone number was so she could “get utilities changed over.” I’m not sure if she understands how the process works – in the message I explained to her that what’s more important is the
the address at the house, and that we don’t have a land line, just cell phones. I just thought that was weird.

My back left wisdom tooth hurts. It seems as though every 6 months it starts to break new ground in my mouth. And it’s almost always the night before I have a family function with my dad’s side. Tomorrow we’re heading to my grandmother’s house for a graduation open house. One of my cousins is finishing high school. Last year it was around Thanksgiving and the year before that, at Christmas. What I should have done was go to the damn dentist years ago when it first started coming in, but I really, really, really hate dentists. Now I have this aching tooth . . . but I took a gander inside my mouth last night and it looks surprisingly straight and even back there.

Pretty soon it won’t even be an issue because I won’t have any health insurance. I’m on Charlie’s plan and once he goes back to school we may find ourselves trolling around campus looking for students to work on us.
I’d like to utilize the CAPS service for some counseling. That could be interesting.

Speaking of interesting: the former housemate surprised me by coming by and spending several silent, awkward hours last night painting her room and part of the bathroom downstairs. I honestly didn’t think she’d do it.
Of course, there have been a few petty incidents involving her taking some things and leaving others. She took all the food out of the kitchen that was technically hers, including some canned dog food and a plant that she’d left for dead and I had started to revive a few weeks ago. But she left everything in the fridge – didn’t throw away a single item despite the fact that everything of hers has expired. In the cabinet where her food was, she’d left her “Weight Watchers calculator.”
What does this mean? Is it a female thing? Is it like “I’ll take all my food and my dog’s food that I may or may not have actually bought, but I’m going to go ahead and leave this calculator because I lost weight and I’m not fat and I don’t need it anymore. So there.”? Then why not just throw it away?

She took one of the dogs’ water dishes from outside, but left the other. And I think she bought both of them.
She took all the clothes I’ve ever loaned or given to her – except a red skirt in the laundry room and some pantyhose. Yet she took all the other clothes that were hanging up next to the skirt. She removed her “favorites” folder off my computer but checked her email while she was here every time this week. Every time I’ve come home from work this week I’ve found her email address on the sign-on screen for Hotmail.
She took her phone and answering machine but left all of her cleaning supplies, like the Method laundry detergent and glass cleaner.

I’m afraid I don’t understand the reasoning behind these choices. I don’t like being patronized or made an example of somehow. Especially when I don’t get what I’m supposed to “get” about these cryptic messages. The Weight Watcher’s calculator I see as a “My new boyfriend doesn’t need to know I ever used this.” I see the cleaning supplies being left behind sort of as her being a total slob and never using them anyway, so she may as well leave them here since I’ll get use out of them. But it doesn’t matter. It’s your shit. So take it. Clean it out. Throw it away. I don’t care, just for once in your life clean the F up after yourself.

I know everyone would tell me stop worrying about it. But I don’t think I’m “worrying” or getting myself worked up into a tizzy or anything. Just sorting stuff out, reporting the latest news.
I was proud of myself last night for not saying anything. She came in to tell me she was done painting. I said “okay.” She then went on about when she’d be back to get her stuff and clean her room, and how she’d leave the key on this day or that. I didn’t say anything else to her.
I decided I would be insulting myself if I bothered to respond to anything she said. Because I knew that once I opened my mouth, two years of frustration might come spilling out.

The whole I’m-moving-in-with-a-guy-I’ve-known-for-a-week-after-staying-at-his-place-for-two-days-despite-the-
fact-that-I-freaked-out-about-not-having-enough-money-to-stay-here busines, coupled with her cutesy little notes (“I have a few minutes left on my cell phone so call me if anyone wants to get a drink or dinner”) did irritate me quite a bit, I have to admit. I don’t understand why she bothers. She knows I can’t even stand to look at her. She’s apparently trying to leave looking like she’s somehow the stand-up or “bigger” person in this situation. You know, like “Well, I tried to be nice. I bought the dog food the last week I was there and left a roll of toilet paper. What the hell else can I do?” I want to claw out her eyes but I think she might press charges if I punched her in the throat.

I am surprised. I’m shocked about the whole thing, really. My reasoning is that, if she knew me as well as she should, she would not have ever mentioned moving in with the boyfriend. I hate being lied to. In this case, however, go ahead. Spare me the details, let me be at peace with your moving out, but please don’t rub it in my face that I’ve tried to be a reliable friend to you for 7 or more years and you’ve decided to shack up with a dude you’ve known for 4 weeks. You know, like, have a little more respect for me than that.
The kicker is her hysterical argument with Charlie where she went on and on about how her life and finances were spinning out of control and she absolutely must move back in with her parents and this is not something she chose for herself because she has no choices right now and she absolutely cannot control any of these things that are happening to her because she’s a victim.

And all that jazz.

On to more positive things: today I drove out to one of the state’s boys’ schools – it’s a medium or maximum security prison for juvenile offenders – and sat in on some of my program’s sessions with the boys. It was sort of surreal. On the one hand, none of them looked like “violent offenders,” but on the other hand I was aware that they had, for the most part, all committed a violent crime and were incarcerated. But some of them seemed so sweet and cute and harmless. I talked with the program director about whether or not it was kosher for me to discuss my past when I’m speaking with the “students” or with potential donors and volunteers. I’ve generally been embarrassed about it, just making sarcastic remarks and trying to act as if it doesn’t bother me. But now that I’ve been involved day in and day out for a week in this program I realize it’s nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I should be proud of myself for pulling myself up by my boot straps. While I didn’t have a really strong support network of friends and family around when I was getting in trouble, I had much better basic life and reasoning skills than some of these kids are able to have. I was pretty lucky.Whenever I get involved in any sort of volunteer or paid work involving at-risk or challenged people, I feel like the biggest, most selfish shit on the face of the planet. Here I am, worrying about money because I want an iced coffee every morning but can’t afford to even put gas in my car . . . and here are these kids, dumped in the street at 14 or 15 by their parent(s), left alone with no real opportunity to do anything but get involved in crime and drugs as a way to survive.

So, I’m grateful for my opportunities to turn my life around, to help people in similar (and worse) situations, and to have Kate moved out.


New job is going well. We'll be in training till Wednesday which put a week and a half dent into our fundraising time. Ouch.
It's a very interesting program and I feel good about being involved. The things I've noticed about this social service program as opposed to when I worked in supported living for adults with disabilities goes as follows:
1.) Employees in supported living may have made racist jokes to relieve tension, which was bothersome, but never joked about retarded people.
2.) Employees working in this field – juvenile justice – make jokes about retarded people but never about race.
3.) Employees here are not the fat, disgusting, religious bigots I worked with in supported living. I have yet to meet a self-proclaimed martyr. There were a couple in training who went on and on about how hard they have it. But not people I'm working with on my site, or who have anything to do with the program I'm helping.

Just found those differences interesting.

Moving Sunday, Monday, Tuesday. Ready to be done with all this shit. Busy, busy, busy.

Oooh – I get to go to a juvenile detention center tomorrow. Fun, fun. Maybe I'll find a new boyfriend?


Thanks for the support yesterday, guys. I'm basically over it. I just need a mediator present so I don't end up in jail for murder when she comes back to get the rest of her stuff.

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In case you were curious, she moved her stuff out today, when she knew we would all be gone. Left a note telling us she's moving in with the new boyfriend (she's known him a month) after a week of “trying it out.”

Just gonna let that sink in.

Fair and More Bitching.

We went with Jay & Scott to the Broad Ripple Art Fair yesterday. What’s funny is that we spent almost $30 and didn’t get anything. Tickets were $10 each, $8 in advance, and coffee prices were jacked up to four bucks a drink, despite the fact that we just got iced espresso with water and vanilla syrup. Charlie had some meaty sandwich and we got a $4 lemon shake-up. I guess you pay more for the cup than the lemons and sugar, considering four bucks could have bought enough stuff to make dozens of the drinks at home. Fair prices are ridiculous, whether it’s the State Fair or Talbott Street or Penrod. But I always go, try to support stuff however I can.

We got up really early yesterday but didn’t make it to the fair until after noon. We walked there, walked all over the grounds, and walked home. It was a perfect day. I was proud of myself for doing that much without a car. It’s really rare that you can spend hours just walking in Indy without, at some point, needing to get into your car to get to something else. The traffic was unbelievable so Jay and Scott just parked at our place and we all strolled the mile or so there. It honestly wasn’t the bad or that far. Probably for some people, it’s nothing. I joked that I used to walk a mile to school – and back – every day when I was in high school, but it’s true. Once I started to drive I measured it and it was, in fact, a little over a mile from my house one way. I hate taking the bus so much that I would just walk every day, leaving about 30-45 minutes early so I could avoid other students as much as possible.

I wasn’t all that impressed with a lot of the exhibits. Some of the stuff was cute, but a little too “precious” for me. Like roosters and plates that have faux-vintage wine bottles painted on them, or “wearable art” – you know, the kind of inoffensive “arts and crafts” people in Indiana like. There was nothing I saw that struck me as exceptional or really unique. That’s the thing that sucks sometimes about living here; you don’t get shocked or surprised or impressed all that much by the art at the three or so big fairs we have each summer. It’s pretty ho-hum. Not to say that some of the ceramicists and photographers weren’t talented.

Speaking of walking and stuff . . . I’ve been exercising at home a lot in the early afternoon and evening lately. Basically, just some yoga and stretching, using little 10 pound weights, and sit-ups and crunches. I’m trying to make myself get into the habit of doing more while I’m at home. I have two months left before I absolutely have to make myself quit smoking. I’m hoping that getting in a little better shape will pave the way to more intensive exercise and keep me busy when the cravings hit. The last thing I want to do is put on more weight because I have an oral fixation.

The new job starts tomorrow. Well, technically, it’s the training for two days. While I’m not thrilled about the hours (as mentioned before 9am-7pm Monday, 7am-4:30pm Tuesday), I am excited to do something, especially considering the fact that I’ve been unemployed now for two weeks.However, it couldn’t have started at a worse time – exactly one week before we have to move. I’ve done my fair share of packing every little thing I can get my hands on, but it feels as though there’s still a million other little things left that need to be thrown in a box. We probably need more boxes, too.
Kate actually asked me if I thought she needed to paint her room. She chose two different shades of bright green and bright yellow when we moved in a year ago. I told her of course she should paint over it – it’s in the lease and she was standing right next to me when the landlord told us he expected us to paint.Kate is the sort of person who could make a profession out of passive-aggressive statements. She says one thing and feels, thinks, or does something completely different. Don’t get me wrong, I could be accused of behaving this way at points, especially now, but we’re not talking about me. And I just don’t want to rock the boat.
Point being that I finally put two more things together into an understanding of what’s going on: when she started that fight with Charlie a few weeks ago she made a little Freudian slip, saying she has “this opportunity” that will somehow pass if she doesn’t move back in with her parents. Charlie asked what she meant by using the word “opportunity,” but she tried to cover it up by saying she didn’t mean to say that.

Oh, but look here! She’s moving back in with her parents. Oh, and because of that she gets to go back to school full time in the fall! No “opportunity” was presented other than this: she chose to move back in with her parents because she probably started to think about the $400 per month she could blow on other crap if she wasn’t paying rent.
But wait! There’s more! Look at all the great stuff she’s been missing out on while having to live in this hell-hole and possibly be an independent adult:
She doesn’t even have to work if she moves in there! She can spend as much time with her new boyfriend as she wants, driving to his place and spending the night because she won’t have to have a “real job.” She can live off more student loans! Hell, she’s already so far in debt that it almost doesn’t make a difference to slap on another 10, 12, or 15 grand! And it’s not like she pays any attention to the collection letters, phone calls, and notices that she’s being sued by companies to which she owes just a measly couple hundred bucks.

Don’t you see? None of that will matter anymore! She’s so lucky! We’ve been so blind to not have noticed how we’re holding her back. Look at us, trying to treat her like she’s 27 years old! Why, she’s only been 27 now for a couple of months. Who did we think we were, anyway?

God, I feel like such a monster, forcing her to stay here, never asking her to clean, never expecting her to clean her room, cleaning up after her, finishing her laundry when she leaves it in the washer or dryer, doing her dishes, mopping, sweeping, and dusting multiple times a week . . . What kind of person am I to do all of this to her? I should be ashamed of myself for not realizing that all this time she should never have had to pay rent. I mean, she never paid any utilities on time and then complained about how cold it got in her room, but that’s really my fault. Charlie probably should have gotten a third job just to give money to Kate so she wouldn’t have to worry about stuff.

If she moves back in with her parents she won’t have to pay bills, she’ll just stow her shit at her parents and start acting like a 19 year-old again. Yay for Kate! The “opportunity” not to be missed is that she can disconnect her phone and leave no forwarding number, so bill collectors won’t be able to find her. The “opportunity” is to try and act like her brother, skipping out on financial responsibilities, and hope that no one will catch up with her.

In her own words – “paying rent is too hard.”

Fine, a bitchy entry it is.

I was having what I thought was a quiet evening at home; two housemates are at work until after midnight, one was home but seemed content to just sit around and watch TV. She rented a movie and we started it. About 30 minutes into it, her new boyfriend came over.
Normally, I wouldn't have such an issue with this, assuming I'd have met him more than once and wasn't sitting around in my old pyjamas.

I was attempting to keep from making majorly bitchy entries in here about people I know. But screw it. I have to get it out somehow.

I don't care whether or not he cares what I look like. I don't appreciate having strange men gallavanting around my house whenever she feels like having one come over. He's the third in just a couple of months, despite the fact that they appear to be attached at the hip and she has yet to tell the last one that she's not interested in him. The new one, Chad, I'm sure is a decent guy. I just haven't been given an opportunity to get to know him. He just comes over, they go to her room, that's the last I ever see of him. The last one, Justin, came over all day one Sunday and they watched movies. She took him to a restaurant where one of her friends works and has had him meet us out for drinks in the past. So he knows where she hangs and where her friends work. So he's clearly confused that she isn't returning his calls; she took him to a lot of familiar places, so why would she blow him off? Clearly, because she has found someone who entertains her more and does not understand the concept of putting the shoe on the other foot. Despite the fact that she's fallen all over herself in misery after having been blown off by a guy(s) in the past.

Having the new one appear at 8pm when I was already in a sour mood, with no warning, made me uncomfortable. To top the evening off, one of the cats has apparently been crapping in the office. I'm guessing it was Andouille, the one who snuck out the other day. He did it again today and I'm guessing the poo is a retaliatory measure aimed at the other cat, Ranma, to mark territory and to get him back for beating up on Douille (“doo-ee”) after his excursion outside on Monday.

The good news is – I got the job with the community service place. Technically, it's the Peace Corps, but it's a local branch that does other things. I start my training on Monday. But, you know me; I have to complain about something. While the pros are many, the main con here is that training is 9am-7pm on Monday and 7am to 4:30pm on Tuesday. Ouch! That's a helluva lot of training. At least they feed us during these marathon meetings.

Disclaimer: Let me just say for the record that, while many blogs out there are political or social or interesting, mine exists mainly as a way to keep a couple of friends updated and to bitch. If it seems as though I can never find the positive side of things it's because I do a decent job of putting on a happy face at work or in public for the most part. I also have to stay positive for some other people in my life. This is the place I can vent.
So, sorry for all the complaining so much. Gotta get it out somehow.

Various Thoughts

Here are some various thoughts that are running through my head on moving:
I'm so bored I can barely stand to be around myself. My big plans for the rest of the week are to wait and hear back from Angela as to when or whether I'll meet with their director, then where I'll be for training on Monday if accepted.
Oh, yes – and packing. There's plenty more of that to do but I don't even know what to pack at this point. Some, but not all, of the plates and glasses? Some, but not all, of the pots and pans? Some, but not all, of everything? We still have about two weeks before moving so it's difficult to determine what we need and don't need to use at this point, what can be packed up, and what to do with all the boxes. A few are sitting, open, on the kitchen table, so people can dig through them for items, a few are scattered in the office, unopened, but unmarked so I'm not sure at this point what's in them.
Well, I need boxes, that's for sure. And have I mentioned how much I hate moving?

On being segregated:
I saw a house for sale on the way home yesterday with a sign out front that said something like “Moving in Faith.” I tried to Google it, find out what it meant, but I didn't have much luck. At first I thought it was like a Christian moving and packing company, but then I found out it was a realtor. That was the only information I could ascertain.
Is there really a market for super-religious people to sell your house? Are regular realtors so bad and evil that these people had to seek out a Christian group to show their home?
I don't know why, this idea just struck me as really odd. It seems as though “regular people” and really religious people are becoming more and more separate. Maybe they always were and I just didn't notice it. Does this have anything to do with George W. Bush?
Have Christians always had their own companies with little key words to set them apart from the secular ones? I guess I just don't know enough about that religion to understand why it's so important to stand out like that. Many other religious I could understand – they're the ones that are ostracised because of Christians. But Christians are like the popular kids. Everyone knows who they are, they run the show, but there aren't nearly as many of them as there are of the rest of us.

On being wishy-washy:
The retail place I interviewed with on Monday keeps calling me to find out if I want to work there and I don't want to call them back. They said I'd hear something by Wednesday but called me Monday after I'd set up an interview with Angela. I didn't want to say yes to one or no to the other so I thought, I'll let them know after the other interview. Except now I'm waiting to hear on that one. And, at this point, it's been two days, so I feel bad. I don't want to keep these people hanging, especially if it's something I could hold on to until fall semester and work parttime evenings while I'm in school. I also don't know what to tell them that will explain my lack of communication over the past two days. I just wish they had waited to call so I could give them a definitive yes or no.

On housemates' lack of regard:
Originally these thoughts were about four paragraphs long, but I decided to stop with the angry comments. Let's just say that there is a certain common courtesy not given and it's starting to piss me off so bad that I'm afraid I might hurt someone. But it's my own fault for not saying enough in the past. And the other person's fault for not being able to take any sort of criticism.

On movies:
I rented three DVDs last night – Lemony Snickett, House of Flying Daggers, and Team America. We watched the former and the latter but are saving the middle one for tonight. Both we really entertaining, although the former wasn't quite as good as I'd heard it would be.

On letting your cats outside:
Andouille snuck out at some point the other day and then broke in through a basement window without my knowing it. He generally just hides under the deck for a few hours then comes back in. I don't like him being outside mostly because I'm afraid he'll take off and get hit by a car. But when he decided to come back in the other cat, Ranma, seemed to have forgotten who he was. They've been at each other's throats ever since then. I guess Douille smells differently or something. Now I have to break up their constant fighting, especially in the middle of the night, which really irritates me.

On being lazy:
I suppose I should get started on my day. Charlie's in charge (tee hee) of finding some more boxes from both places so I can focus on that tomorrow. Today I should probably begin cleaning the basement. Oh, god. That sounds like so much fun.

Jobby Job

Awesome. I had my interview today and it seemed to go really well. I would be working in an office, coordinating fundraising, recruiting volunteers, grant writing, and some field work involving training of volunteers.
The pay isn't spectacular, but when is it ever for social services? The big plus is how close I would be to home, and the education award at the end of the summer in addition to my biweekly pay.
I'm supposed to hear back tomorrow as to when I would speak with the director of this particular program, what she'd like me to do, what my hours would be.
Most likely it'll be a Monday through Friday, nine to five gig. No biggie. Since it's close to home I could let the dogs out during the day if Cavan isn't around. Plus, I can use it for course credit, I can continue to do it every summer as long as I took only one or two summer classes, and it'll look good on my resume.
My biggest worry is when the money will start coming in. I could take the shitty retail job and hope for a paycheck within the next two-to-three weeks, but you never know what part of a pay period you come in to at those places. Also, I'm not allowed to take another job if I do the community service thing because I'm considered “on call” for evening and weekend meetings.
I just hope I don't get bored working in an office all the time.