Sometimes I like to replay the scene in my head, to make sure I’ve said all I needed to. That I’ve got the words down right, so to avoid confusion or be able to better elaborate the next time. So in my head I’m going over our conversation when he says something that derails all my own logic and I can’t for the life of me remember how I replied.

Did I laugh it off? Did I say “I don’t care?” Did I switch the topic? Or was I honest and said something to the extent of “I don’t need to know, but I’m yours to talk to if you want to tell me. I know what I feel and I like you as you are now”?

God please let me have said that and not something stupid.

As if reading my mind, he asks me how many zombies I think are in King Hall right now.

“Two. Just me and you.”

He smiles and kisses my forehead. We had spent the good part of the evening on the roof of the building, overlooking the cities and finding out about each other. He’s not at all like the men I’m usually attracted to, and I’m attracted to that. No pretenses, no random acts of kindness to be mistaken for performance from my own paranoia and distrust because lets-face-it-he’s-not-that-kind, and no expectations. He is such a bad idea.

I suppose in the days following my last failure at a relationship, I’ve stopped hunting for love and companionship. The longing for somebody to truly understand me without being presumptuous has long since dissolved by a series of let downs by people I’ve been emotionally invested in (not necessarily getting let down, but that I’ve got disproportionate expectations). I’m lonesome, but I’ll be okay. What friends I do have are completely wonderful and have been keeping me grounded and I’m finally glad I’m able to see that now.

I told him that I wasn’t looking for a relationship, and although I can’t see him because I’m staring off into the light pollution below us, I’m pretty sure he lets out a sigh of relief. I hate clingy guys. I hear him saying that we’d make a good team, but I don’t think he can see me smile in agreement. He’s gazing into the light-covered mountains in front of us.

I have the second of four oral surgeries in twenty minutes. I am not going to be very friendly this weekend, but I have the support from family and friends who wish nothing but the best for me :] Even though it’s going to feel like a horse kicked me in the jaw and I won’t be able to properly eat for the next month and I still have to study for my stupid midterms, I am the happiest I’ve been in a very long time.

Yesterday after hopping off the bus, I pop by Rose’s Donuts for some pastries. A few girls that I graduated with in high school walk in after me and I notice one of them giving me strange looks.

It could be that I was dressed like my interpretation of an modern ninja (read: retard in black) or that I was wearing a black fedora (that I guess you don’t see often on modern ninjas?), but I could definitely see the wheels in her head asking herself how she knows me.

So I wave hello, and she smiles. I’m terrible at striking up conversations with my gender.

Mindless rambling about the idiosyncrasies of ninjas in the fashion world aside, whats the point of me being on your Facebook friends list if you’re not going to bother visiting my profile every so often? Hi, I’m Karen. You know, the girl whose locker in gym class was behind yours? We talked about how much we hated gym and how hot Stephen S. was. You’ve seen me in my panties. Hello?

Its funny. No matter what I wear, how I present myself, or the fact that I’m generally really nice, I’m still that awkward 15 year old gawked at like some bad social experiment by those who considered themselves my “friends”.

I can’t wait for their CD :D

Its been an incredibly long day today. I wound up asking a coworker for coffee (I’ve not really done that since I started going out with John, but our schedules suck and he’s there the days I’m not :B) despite the fact that half the building thinks John and I have broken up while the other half just thinks I’m cheating on him with whatever male coworker I happen to be alone with at the time. But its okay, since he’s a really cool guy.

By then, I wanted to jump out of my skin. I wanted to pace around and scream. I wanted to yell and cry, and I didn’t know why. It could have been that ridiculously stupid office luncheon I had to attend, or the noise that my other coworkers were making outside of the door. It could have been the fact that while my section was swamped with work and understaffed, that the rest of the building dumps off their work to gossip away while crowding up the halls for some free food (that quite frankly, sucked). It was the stupidity of it all and it only reminded me of how much I hate my job. Slaving away over a shitty copy machine while the rest of the place stuffs their fat faces. It could have been that one of them made some snarky remark at me that I didn’t take too well. It could have just been that I was having a shitty day.

But I did none of that, so I had my coffee and tried to be personable. :B

“You’re not one of those emo kids, are you?”
Shit! My cool exterior is blown!
-”Do I look like one?”

At least the Porcelain track that’s playing on my computer sounds great [:

I grabbed it from my coworker’s myspace :B It shouldn’t be so amusing, but I find it just that when I run into other people who have the same taste in music as I have from the strange indie music to the anime soundtracks.

Are they like me? Do they have a strange interest in growing mold colonies in expired foods like I do? Are they Asians who are bad at math? Do they like dinosaurs and xkcd comics? Do they also highlight their textbooks in stolen government highlighters? How much sugar do they dump in their coffees? Have they watched the Interstella 5555?

Or is the only connection between us the music we listen to?

It started off with Monday, with me having to return to Hell (CSULA, if you haven’t already guessed) to get through another ten weeks of torture and pain. Why I keep doing these things to myself, I’m not sure. After blowing sixty bucks and blowing another 100 on fingerprints and background checks on books and and requirements for the field study class (actually I haven’t done that last part yet. The departments are stupid and the timing is awkward), I think its safe to say that school already sucks and I’m poor once again. Goodbye summer, its been real.

Tuesday was my birthday :3 I had a really good one even though there were no drinks involved. John bought me a pair of Skullcandy Skullcrushers, and I’m in love (love love).

On Wednesday, I was a total wreck because I had to wake up early to go to school (you never miss the first two days of class if you want to keep your seat there) and couldn’t send Jennifer off to San Diego with my parents. So I had to wake her up super early (when I wake up, which is way too early for anybody to be awake) and say goodbye. It was sad :[

Thursday and Friday were a blur, since most of my time at work is basically one big unfortunate waste of time. Such that once you’ve been there after a certain amount of hours, everything begins to shift into one another into one giant sad blob of work.

The weather was getting cold, so the rest of the students came inside to eat. Have I mentioned how much I dislike the other student assistants? The lazy fucks who do absolutely nothing and then gloat about it? I can’t stand them :x. They talk about nothing important (not that I have worlds of important things to talk about, but at least mine are somewhat interesting topics), nothing of interest, “funny” parts in movies that should be and are embarrassments to the movie industry, and when they run out of boring shit to talk about, they repeat it. Or play cards (who does that?).

That, coupled with the fact that I don’t get along with people all too well because of this weird “I’m not particularly smarter than you are, but how fucking annoying can you get?” complex I have going for me, makes a pretty bored and annoyed Karen.

So here’s what I have to say to that:

Ignore the part where I threw a french fry at John. Or don’t, but replace John with them, and french fries with handfuls stuu-fuus and f2h (face to hand)s.

She tried to tell me that there were some things you had to do when being somebody’s girlfriend. One, for instance, is asking him for permission on certain things such as going to the movies with a group of friends of both genders. Because your boyfriend might get jealous! He might get his manties in a twist at you if you go to the movies with a bunch of friends where one friend just so happens to be a guy!

Then in that case, I must be a terrible girlfriend, because I’ll be damned if I have to ask anybody permission before going to the movies. She never said it was a courtesy thing, or a heads up — it was to ask for permission. When was the last time a 20 year old has ever asked for permission to do anything? We dropped that idea the moment we turned 18, so that instead of “can I go to the movies?”, it was “I’m going to the movies” with our parents. What makes gives your boyfriend that privilege? And why would anybody let him have it? He trusts you, doesn’t he?

And another time, this girl asked why I don’t get jealous when Fernando goes off and brags about the number of women he’s talked into sleeping with him.

I don’t know, maybe because I trust him?

I understand that me and Fernando aren’t the typical couple. We’re blunt. We’re honest to each other — to the point where it may seem cruel to others. We respect each other. Most of all, we trust each other. We’re really pretty fricken’ weird.

But thats cool. Cus we got it like that.

I’m a floater. I go from job to job, doing whatever people need to do. I usually have one designated person I work under primarily, and go from here to there on other times. There’s this dude I sometimes do work for. I won’t give names, but trust me, it doesn’t matter whether or not he has a name since all shoescum are alike. I do a lot of shit for him, and I usually do it quickly and well. In fact, some of the things I do aren’t even required of me to do (not that the head honcho would know what we’re supposed and not supposed to do either, since she’ll just tell us to refer to the student handbooks — signifying that she knows as much as we do, aka, not a whole damn lot) – and I do it with a smile. Sometimes he’ll have his stuff ready. Other times he’ll hand me whatever is on his desk and tell me to file them. Once I found a candy wrapper shoved between some of the files. But again, I do it quickly, I do it well, and I do it with a smile.

So the other day I was doing something for him. Now see, this involved paperclipping things. And when I was done with the project, I walked out to give it to him. Only he’s not at his desk. I do this for two more times after in fifteen minute intervals and neither time, he was there. And on my way back, one of the paperclips fell off and I dropped soemthing and didn’t notice.

He came to me with it, with a lecture on being careful. I fucked up, I know. I didn’t see it fall off and I understand the complications that would have came up if the person who found the file wasn’t honest. And so I apologize.

Everything was well, I thought. Well I guess I didn’t look sorry enough or something because today he goes and tells my mom to tell me to be more careful. This problem is between me and that guy, not my mother. One of the bad things about working in the same building as your mom is that shit like this happens all the fucking time. Espicially if its my mom and my lowlife gossipy workers. They never confront me about anything, but they’ll bring it up to my mom and embarass her.

Yes folks, I am regarded as an embarassment to my mom in the building. My work ethics are usually good. Again, I work fast, I do it well, and I do it with a smile. But its things like my hair, or the way I dress that people mull over. They tell my mom things about my thick hair, and so she buys me a straightening iron. They tell her that they saw my underwear because my jeans are loose, so my mom buys me an expensive pair of jeans that I didn’t really want that fit properly (although if you really think about it, people should concentrate into looking at people’s eyes when they talk than at somebody’s ass), they tell her I come into work early and so she thinks that I’m working for free (who does that anymore?) — Everything I do is watched. Not by people who should be watching me, but from my coworkers. And it embarasses my mom. Don’t worry, I would be too. But not for the reasons you’d think.

If I were my mom, I’d be embarassed that we’re assiociated with fucktards like our coworkers.

But thats just me.

Everybody who matters any in my building — those I have respect for, the five people I used to work with at the dup shop, John, Baruch, and maybe my boss, Valerie knows differently. So why should anybody else matter?

And so my mom comes home, and tries to tell me what to do. I know what I’m doing. I do it well. I’m not dumb, as everybody would like to think. She’ll tell me what I should do, how to avoid getting jobs (so I can what? Sit there reading instruction labels on everything that has a label?), when I should come in — all in good intentions. But here’s the thing, she doesn’t just tell you. Since she’s embarassed, she’ll yell it at you for embarassing her. And then it goes to the way I play videogames, or the way I don’t exercise, or the way I don’t do homework or study “like everyone else”. Just because she doesn’t see me doesn’t mean that I don’t do it. I’ve read way more books for lesiure reading than she can count. Than I can count. I walk at least two miles a day. I talk to everybody I come in contact with. But since she doesn’t see me with them, I automatically become the socially/educationally inept child.

See where my job leads me to? I want to be open with my mom. Life is too short to have petty arguments over clothing and fucktard coworkers who can’t keep their nose out of their business.

I tell John that I’m going to quit, and one of his reasons as to why I shouldn’t was “your mom will get mad” or something to that extent. No offence, but I’ve gotten past the point where her getting mad bothered me. Any other job I would have picked would have gotten her angry anyway. Next Tuesday, I plan to go to the Tapioca Express (yes, I’d rather work in the food industry than have to work in the hell I’m currently in) in San Gabriel and ask them for a job. By Friday, I plan to quit the DOJ.

I will do this by staring those coworkers straight in the eye as I pull my baggy pants down to my thighs like a gangster and stick my bra straps over my shirt and walk out of that building once and for all.

He’s one of those fellas who are majoring in film. So naturally and Speilberg style, this guy wears an ugly beret, is sorta fat, and wears the same clothes everytime you see him. And he’s obnoxious. Like one of those suckuppy, will-you-please-stop-asking-dumb-questions kinda guy. Plus, he goes buy a nickname that doesn’t flatter his real name at all :/ (so why bother with nicknames?)

So anyway, this dude is squished next to me in an elevator. I turn left and look right into his ear (I don’t know, I guess its the first thing I saw when I turned over because I was so squished), and I see the most disgusting thing ever.

See, I know people have earwax. I don’t really remember why it was significant, but its probably to protect some parts of your inner ear or something. Only, see, its kinda gross when its caked onto your ear so much that people can see it with just one glance. This dude had the grossest earwax comming from his ears. Seriously, it was caked on, so much that it cracked into bits but were still attached to the skin. Plus, there were bits at the bottom of the inside of his ears (where your earbuds rest). It was the nastiest damn thing, ever. Evereverever.

I don’t really know why I’m talking about this guy’s earwax. I suppose some disgusting sights never really leave your mind. May as well have my readers thinking of this guy’s earwax too, ey? :B