GNARFUNKLE

JOB INTERVIEW.

TOMORROW.

2PM

WORST UPDATE EVER, JUST SAYIN'.

SO BAD IT ISN"T EVEN GETTING TAGS NOPE DERP DERP

So once, I punched a guy.

I'm not exactly sure what made me think of it but, once, at a club I punched this guy in the chest. He deserved it like no ones business and I was slightly (very) inebriated but I still see it as a personal triumph on my end. As early as eight years old, I was a bully - it lasted until I was fourteen(ish) and I can still scare the ever living guts out of people if I feel the need. It's a very handy skill.

At the time, I was still talking to my ex-girlfriend. We'll call her Birdie for the sake of semi-privacy. Birdie was very into the club scene and I was very into Birdie. We'd had a bad breakup due to severe miscommunication and once we started talking again, the idea was never brought to a light again. She didn't like commitment, I think, and we lived a fair distance away. For her, that was a big deal. I'd had long distance relationships apart and didn't consider an hour too far but I digress.

She asked me to go clubbing with her one night. Saturday night so we were able to get some super cheap drinks. We pre-gamed it in the parking lot. I am a light weight. So two chugged hard lemonades, a few rum and cokes later, I actually agreed to dance. Anyone who knows me knows quite well that I will only dance when severely intoxicated or when alone in my house, dressed in a wife-beater and bandanna with the grungy pants. This dancing fell under stinking ass drunk.

As such, and being with a girl who showed many signs of being interested, the dancing was suggestive. We ended up kissing in the corner by the bar which, in itself, was fabulous. A guy had followed us from the dance floor, I think, as I'd seen his shirt briefly when we'd left it. He walked up to us, interrupting a very nice time, and started spouting stupidity.

"Are you two lesbians?" said the drunk frat-looking boy. Birdie and I looked at each other and started laughing. Birdie reply was something to the affirmative (I was watching her mouth and thus not listening very hard). He made some crude innuendos. I took offense because those words I do tend to hear.

I am a very protective person when sober, going as far to threaten someone if they are going too far and crossing lines. Someone gets in a friends face, I get right back into them. My mentality is that of a pack and when I see something as a threat to aforementioned pack, I'm very aggressive.

"Look, dude, she's here with me. Go away." My speech, admittedly, was littered with a few naughty words in there as well. I pulled Birdie closer. The guy was a creep. His friend urged him to just leave us alone and even tried to pull him away. Go friend!

The guy said something else and all of a sudden I felt a hand grab my chest. As Birdies arms were around my waist and she knows my boundaries. I knew full well that even when drunk, she wouldn't do something as violating as to touch me. A man arm was attached to the hand on me.

I spun around. All I remember was my right hand swinging out and clocking the guy square in the chest. He stumbled back, I pushed Birdie away enough to walk those few steps to him and glare. He was a lot taller than my 5'5" frame, hence the punch to the chest rather than the face.

"Don't you EVER touch me EVER again!" My voice, admittedly, was very loud. He stared down at me with the best expression in the world: utter disbelief. All of a sudden, I see a half circle of huge men with the word 'BOUNCER' written on their shirt. Their eyes weren't on me but the guy I continued to yell at. "If you so much as lay a hand on me OR her EVER again, I will kick your ASS."

The bouncers moved closer. Birdie grabbed my hand and tugged, hard. She said we should leave, her hand wrapped around my wrist tightly. I didn't want to end up getting arrested for assault as, let's be honest, I would have won any fight between him and myself, so we left. The last I saw of the guy was the crescent of bouncers narrowing in on him. The photographer asked for our picture before we left.

I hold that memory as a very fond one. Sometimes I miss being a violent little creature but all it takes to bring me down from that particular road of nostalgia is to remember that I had no friends, no real motivation to be a better person. The club let me know that standing up for myself and the people I am with at the moment is not a bad thing and can be done without being physically cruel. I can silence people with a Look as easily as I can a punch to the face and my weapons now are scathing words, a harsh glare, and the ability to out-think my opponent.

Moral of the story, kiddies? Violence isn't always the right path but don't let that knowledge keep you from protecting you and yours.

Also, clubs would rather punish a possible sexual harassment lawsuit than the two lesbians making out in the corner.

Neglect, neglect, neglect.

Poor journal, I've left you high and dry. You'd think since no life or job exists for me, I'd be able to post more. Thing is - with my life the way it is, there's very little for me to post about until after or before the weekends.

Weekends are when my dad is home all day and we actively go out and do things. No matter what I act like, I actually have a lot of fun. Sometimes during the day after we haven't eaten for a while, my blood sugar absolutely plummets and it leaves me either grumpy. If we're driving past a lot of green things, I stare out the window because, hello, Florida doesn't have green like this place has.

Have I posted pictures of this freaking green? ... No?

GREEN!

It's a rare thing, folks. Not so much here but for a Florida girl? Totally.

I was just told that apples are now in season. I think it's time for me to try to go with that interest I've always had with more extensive baking. Poor Daddio may soon be bombarded by a slew of apple-related deliciousness, especially apple pie. No home made crusts, just yet - the last time was an utter disaster and the money needed to purchase those ingredients just aren't in my pocket book.

That leads into Thanksgiving. It's right around the corner! Last year I was unable to make my fragging pumpkin pie I'd been looking forward to. I had forgotten the condensed milk at home with no way to get to the market. Pie crust and home-smashed pumpkin puree gone to waste. If the summers apple pie turns out to be a success, I may attempt to do that this year as well as the pecan pie as my pies are delicious, thanks, and just put together a smaller portion of sweet potato casserole than I usually do.

I think I've lost weight since coming to Virginia. Sounds odd but things are fitting better, shirts drape nicer than before. I haven't been exercising a lot (read: at all) but maybe not living right next to two gas stations and a neighborhood Wal-Mart may have something to do with my milder eating habits. If this is the case, awesome. I don't mind losing weight/inches if it's because I'm not eating like a candy-starved piglet anymore.

I miss karate.

Hells bells, I miss writing and the ability to draw properly. Being stuck inside because I lack any social graces isn't helping. I'm tempted to invade Dad's campus and just wander, go to the bookstore or library, chill in the cafeteria and eat there, try to write. I write well in public.

Okay. Werewolf story will be finished by the 15th, it is decided. So there.

Until next time, readers!

Hello, September!

I've worked myself into a steady and yet erratic daily schedule. I'm not exactly sure how that happened. It usually involves waking up around nine thirty or ten, stumbling out of bed in order to see if any caffeine has been brewed up. After a cup or two, I reach some semblance of normality and collapse in front of my computer.

E-mail is checked. The next few hours are spent slugging caffeine down my gullet, chatting online with various people, and applying for as many jobs as I can possibly muster. Unfortunately, most of the jobs I've encountered in the last twelve hours require cover letters. That takes up half of my day. It's kind of sucky but like Kelly said - it's can be the difference between death and job.

Daddio comes home around two thirty, three in the afternoon. We either chill around the house doing various things and watching such-and-such shows on the television and I continue to chat online and apply for jobs. It makes my brain hurt. Somedays we go out to explore or eat! It wakes us both up.

Bedtime is usually done around two in the morning and the entire thing starts right back over again. I've began to do Rosetta Stone again (feeling like such a newbie because I've forgotten a few things) and every so often attempt to write or draw but I'm just not feeling it. Maybe it's because I don't want to go outside in case I get accosted by the landlords brother again. Yes. Not son but brother, as in around the same age as my grandfather of a landlord. Gross.

I think I'm going to do Rosetta Stone for an hour every other day and put aside a half an hour (at least) towards editing and writing. Or writing. Who knows? I can get involved in a piece to the point where several hours pass and I run out of ink in order to do anything. My werewolf story isn't anywhere close to being finished and it needs to be. After all, the name of werewolves and sociopaths needs to be redeemed - can't have sparkles and guys in ripped short shorts ruining everything for the genre.

It starts tonight. I'll say it starts at three and I will be offline for at least half an hour while I edit. Rosetta Stone will be tomorrow. Editing/writing is more important than learning Japanese. Besides, people are home and I feel awkward practicing languages with others being able to listen. It's weird.

My expectations for employment have started to lower. I didn't want retail or anything because, well, I hate it. With a passion. A few places non-retail are hiring people with my (lack of) experience. When I expressed anger at being unqualified for the positions I wanted and the fact the only way to get it was unpaid internship (where I would be ineligible for unemployment because I was not available all hours of the day), someone pointed out that I was supposed to work full time to pay the bills while also doing an internship.

So, that's what I suppose I'll do. Get a job first and then a part-time internship. Kelly gave me a very useful site, where there are some internships that are only twenty hours or so a week. That's do-able. Even if I get a full time job, that's only sixty hours. I'd still have time to go out and volunteer at the local library as I wanted to when I first came here to Virginia.

Plan of attack is officially in place. I am excited. Even if the job is something I despise, at least I'll have other 'jobs' that I enjoy. It'll be alright.

Now, I go to edit. Until next time!

Today I found out why straight girls are such jerks to guys.

For the whole of my life, I always thought the girls who were absolute snobs to guys were the Bad Guys. There isn't really any sort of villain in this situation anyway but, heck - if I had known that being nice to a guy meant they were going to hit on you, I'd be a total jerk too. In Florida, we were raised to not be rude to people, no matter their color, sexuality, or where on the salary scale they fell. In the entire time in Florida, I never (to my knowledge) had a guy think I was flirting just because I wasn't being mean to him.

I mean - really? Now my landlords son thinks we're going to go on a date or, or something to the extent where he asked my father if it was okay for us to do that. Really. Really? It's very Southern Gentleman of him as Beth pointed out but JesusAllahBuddha, we talked for five minutes and in that span of time, he mentioned that he and other landlords son go bowling sometimes with friends and, since I knew no one in town, I should come with every so often. That's fine. A little bit awkward (especially after asking my age and telling me I wasn't a snob like the girls in Virginia) but I managed to get myself out of the conversation because I had defrosting mice in my bag and the newest Harvest Moon.

This blog is horribly short. I have more to tell about my first drive around Manassas, alone, and finding a few things around the town, but obligations are calling me away. I just had to express disbelief.

I forgot how much I hate unpacking.

Packing is fine. Packing is almost fun, when you get down to it. You get to crumble newspaper and shove things forcefully into boxes, leaving your room (usually) looking neat and tidy. Not so much with unpacking.

Unpacking involves taking out that fun newspaper, your floor covered with it, open boxes, too much confusion. At least it doesn't have a time frame, right? Right. Otherwise, standing in the middle of the room saying "I don't know. I just don't know what to do" would be a whole lot more stressful. As is, I don't have a job to flock to (that search starts again tomorrow morning) so I can spend the day chugging down coffee, cutting open boxes, putting things away, and, gloriously, setting up my beloved desktop, Fido. Those boxes being open and empty also means I have surfaces in which to put things, as Fido's monitor and Shreds are taking up the only two solid, flat places to put anything of importance. Shreds and the monitor are a hell of a lot more important than setting up my maneki neko collection, I'm sorry to say.

The day will consist of unpacking boxes and putting the room in some semblance of order - the night will have me dragging in the iron and it's board in order to take apart those carefully constructed piles of clothing, ironing everything, and hanging up what absolutely needs to be hung up. My business suits are already hanging but I can see even from my bit of floor that much of it is wrinkled from our cross-country journey and being rolled into an airtight bag.

I have too many jeans. How did I not realize I owned this many jeans??

Lists are being made on the places I need to know about and where, exactly, they are. I need to find out how to get back to that lovely, huge used book store and where I can get the best sushi. The library is crucial, even though I can't get a card due to my lack of state citizen ship. Places accepting employment, where I can print up further resumes. Where's the best local hair salon (is that teaching salon any good?), how do I get back to that 'Giant' sort of food store? Coffee shops? Locally owned ones, with sofa's and cool people, a place where I can sit and meet those around my own age (or mental group, whatever).

Where can I get the best tea?

But that's for later, when my room is set up. Concentrate on the small things first, get in order. Then the big things can be tackled.

Time for me to go finish the days chore, Blog. Until next time!

Holy snapapples in cucumber sauce

It's really odd that driving for a few hours exhausts a person more than wandering around a major city and museums for ten hours. I was asleep by this time last night, out cold in my new room. At that point in time, my knees and feet hurt. A lot. It probably had something to do with the fact I attempted to run on hardwood floor, and turn while running at that! I managed to land on my knees, computer intact, and the third roommate staring at me in horror from the table where she plugged away at her computer.

I, of course, burst into hysterical laughter.

We awoke around seven thirty in the morning for a fun-filled day of Washington DC, our nations capitol and all of that good stuff. My poor sister and father had to put up with me being a horrible cranky-face at them before I had any coffee or tea. They did well, being quite aware of my blood sugar issues, tea addiction, and the fact I hate waking up early.

We rode a train! The roommate gave us free passes both to and from DC, which is AWESOME because it would otherwise be almost nine dollars each person, each way. Talk about sucky, train. Boo to you. It was on the train that I began my list of 'Virginia has...' .

While heading to DC, I saw a suit on the train, playing with a white DS Lite. You heard me. Businessman, briefcase and all, was chilling on the train a few seats down tapping away at a little DS Lite. I had to laugh and immediately whipped out my notepad to write it down.

DC itself is - I don't even know. We were only visiting some of the museums, hitting up a few bits and pieces of it all. On a map, it looks horribly tiny. I've driven through counties bigger than DC! And yet, in person - museums as far as the eye could see!

We arrived just before ten in the morning (it takes about an hour and a half to get there from the house), hitting up the Museum of Native American history right away. I glee'd and frolicked gaily as the history of native tribes is one of the coolest things ever. There were truckloads of young children frolicking just as gaily as ourselves and about ten times louder so, sadly, we didn't stay too horribly long. I look forward to going back at some point and pouring over everything. The contents of that particular museum didn't interest my sister or dad save for the bits about warfare or history that my family had actually participated in.

Next up was the - I think it was called Space and Science Museum? There were airplanes and space crafts. History of flight, computers, all this confusing stuff that was way too advanced for my caffine deprived brain. I puttered around with them and, in return, they let me play around with the games in there probably meant for children but whatever, it was fun.

Third and last came the sisters oh, so uplifting pick of the Holocaust Museum. We didn't get all the way through this one because it was getting late and we'd been walking almost constantly all day, but it was very interesting. I will admit that out of the entire permanent exhibit of "The Holocaust" there were two mentions of homosexuals being taken and killed in those concentration camps - two! Just two. One was a sentence and a picture of a few homosexuals, the other a small sign and another picture. I saw nothing about Tibet in the 'current/recent genocide' section, although my sister claims she saw a sentence or something about it. So, slightly disgruntled. As for the exhibit itself, excellent! Highly recommended.

I was impressed with how they treated the history of the native people of America. They made no bones about how they were hunted down, villages slaughtered, women abused while their men were shot trying to protect them. It came across clearly that they still lived in reservations today, fighting for the rights to have their own government in the midst of all this... crud. Yes.

Guh. Tiredness has hit again. There is more to do, more to say, but tomorrow we're exploring caves and it's nearly midnight.

Until next time!