Let me tell you Guys something. . .

Women are smart. Women are to be treasured, not treated like meat or mules — not specifying myself this time, but this post does spawn from something that happened to me today. The expression “a woman’s intuition” is not figurative, but literal, and it is not something you should underestimate.

When you approach a lady, and I do mean lady and not tramp, doing something that makes you look dorky or maybe even a little corny is absolutely okay! In my opinion, it makes you look more open to accepting the many traits that make us look dorky. Most women pull their strongest and most bubbly personalities when others around them seem nervous, including myself.

But something that is too staged or too practiced, like a terrible pick-up line, or sleazy size-up from across the room, is not going to impress her; in fact, it would probably turn a lady off. It will make her suspicious, so — Honest to God — be yourself, even if yourself isn’t the coolest, or most attractive person they could be. Honesty can never make a bad first impression, so try a little of that next time you’re planning on hitting on a girl in a crude or overtly sexual manner.

A guy so very ignorant to this concept tried to pick me up this morning while I was working my 7-4pm shift at our local breakfast joint. He actually came back to the counter and asked for a job application just so he could talk to me, and in the same sentence he asked if he could have my Name, Number for a “reference” on the application. Instantly, of course, I knew the whole thing was bullshit. I almost asked for the application back so we wouldn’t just waste the paper, but I thought that might give the wrong impression to him. Despite the fact that he wasn’t my type, looked way too old for me, and had a glaze to his eyes that signaled a little trouble to me, I thought if he was brave enough to ask for my number, that maybe I should give him a shot. It is not every day that I’m approached like this. Also, if someone has the kahones to ask, that has to say something positive about their personality, right?

Well our text conversation continued through the day; I learned that his name was Zac, that he was 24 (a whole 6 years jump from my own age), and that he thought I was beautiful despite the horrible get up I must wear to work. At first, I was so impressed with his bluntness and how sincere he seemed, that I was gladly responding to him. But through the few hours that passed next, his words became less cute, and more vulgar. Asking for pictures of me that I didn’t have and would never take (or give for that matter), talking about different parts of my anatomy he really shouldn’t mention  unless he wanted to seem sleazy, and going so far as to send me pictures of his own anatomy. Deleted. Erased. Gone, thank God.

And what did this chameleon male say when I promptly told him I was not that type of girl, and that I was interested in someone else? He said, word-for-word, “I’m not tryin to marry you and I saw it in your eyes you wanted me.” If I have a single guy reader, anywhere out there in the world, please read the following sentence carefully and accept it into your heart: If you want to hear a girl laugh, tell her what she’s thinking.  Because I promise you that no matter how sensitive you are, you’re probably way off in left field.

Not only was he wrong, but he also raised a giant red flag with that sentence and a few following this statement, which led to him being ignored completely. His name has been changed to “That Dick Zac Guy” in my phone, and if it is even possible I am now more cautious over what kind of guy I’ll look at twice.

So, again: women are smart, and they are to be treasured. If you have one, grab her and hold her close; if you don’t have one, keep looking. She’s looking for you too, actively.

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Tired, promised, & ‘lovin’ it’.

My title has nothing to do with my post. I just had to make one up, and that’s the first shuffling thought that came up.

So, hi. Everyone doing well? No one angsty or emotional this November night? 🙂

I started my first “real” job yesterday. I’d started training last weekend, but yesterday was my first long, albeit five hour, shift, and today was my second. Because of school and the restaurant’s closing time, I have only been able to work on the weekends thus far, but my school has a few week-long breaks coming up, and I’ve volunteered every inch of my free time to making hours. Next weekend I start, Saturday, at 5AM. 5! I’m not complaining, yet, because I will do everything in my power to get as many hours as I can on my paycheck. And that’s not me being selfish or money hungry — that is me paying off the gargantuant debt I have to my mother. She will have to pay my first two car payments, monthly insurance, on top of all the other bill’s she’s had to keep up with all my life. I’ve been able to give her a little money in the past, but this will be the first bigger sum I’ve been able to deliver ever.

And I really do like my job. :] All the people there are very welcoming; all but three of my co-workers (at least the ones I’ve met) are female, the three males being the two older black cooks, and one very short white boy whom I’ve only seen once in my 4-days being there. His name’s Robert. One of the cooks is Paul: total flirt and a cheese-ball, but relatively harmless. I am yet to learn the other cook’s name, since he doesn’t talk much.

The first thing I learned in this place, is that respect and a sense of humor can go a long way. Naturally, I have an aversion to getting into any sort of trouble, so I’m cautious with authority, always using the “yes sir,” “yes ma’am right away” mentality to get me out of anything. This has proved useful — for obvious reasons — and my managers seem to think I’ve done an okay job. I fear that one of my co-workers, a much older lady (32+, maybe) named Angela, has a problem with me. A “friend” of mine who works in dishes says that she just has this thing about respect; Maryanne (the friend) said I’d have to do a lot and deserve that respect before Angela would even try and treat me like an equal. For now, she treats me like a burden. & who I am to go against her “respect” idea: respect is to be earned. I just wish she would be a little warmer to me in the process.

My managers are kick ass, point-blank. The warm-hearted Miss (Mrs.?) Suzi has been careful to explain and remind me of all the things I need to keep up with around the register, the dining room, and the stock supply. She’s gradually introducing me to other, small (though important to the process) things around the kitchen. i.e. cooking hash browns or fries, stocking ice, stocking said potato products, making shakes (customers who want shakes at 8 in the morning…who knew), etc. Angela actually helped me learn how to make chili dogs (once again….this is EARLY in the morning, people!), though she did it quickly, rushing me along when I didn’t pick it up in the first few seconds. I honestly hadn’t been sure if she wanted me to learn, but I tried to listen as sufficiently as possible, and get the job done.

It’s funny how long you can stand on your feet, w/o bending your knees except maybe once or twice an hour, before you feel the effects of being tired. Call me lazy the other five days of the week, but while I’m working I do not sit down unless I’m on my 30-min lunch break. And it really doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would; so much has to be done, and if there aren’t a lot of people on staff that day (like last Sunday), you have a lot to do. And that’s just the normal stuff — God forbid a customer get the wrong order, or have something fixed “for here” when it was “to go” [it is one REALLY EASY button to miss on the cash register. Woops], because then everybody’s thrown into a frenzy because it puts a wrench in the machine.

Miss Suzi had me on front cash register this morning, working with the walk-in public, taking orders, fixing drinks, making coffee, and making sure the dining room was well stocked and wiped down. That really does seem to be the easiest job in the place — except Robert’s [he just has dining room], but I think that may be his assignment because he’s so new (I’m not that lucky) — I kinda like it.

Who knew I, damed “Lazy Princess” of my household, second only to my stepsister, would enjoy working. When everything’s finished, stocked, ordered, delivered, cleaned, updated, and swept…I smile. It is a straightforward process with only the occasional mishap, and a fun-loving crew. I hate tucking in my shirt, but it’s not like it’s a big deal. Angela still watches me analytically, but her minor hostility proves easy to ignore when I just do my work.

And I will go on record, and I don’t know if this will change, that Kayla and Laura (the newest girl) are my favorite two people to work with on front cash. They are polite (enough), around my age, and I can still crack jokes with them without feeling intimidated. Laura actually seems to be intimidated by me, which is hilarious. Today she said “Wow, so you must be really good at this thing” when I was working alone (well…w/her on drinks) at the register, and I laughed and said “Nope, this is my second day” and she just looked at me like “wtf!” x)  She’s a little nervous, just like I am, so I feel a little kinship to her. As Alex Meraz says: “I hope I never get old enough to stop seeing myself in other people.”

I had a sidenote about my schoolwork suffering, but it’s not because of work, and I don’t feel like ruining my good mood.

Even though I took a nap today (a 3hr one when I got off work), I’m still tired, and despite me having an assload of homework to do, I will probably just play a little piano and hit the bed.

To you, goodnight.
To the world, goodnight.

Call me Miss Productive, baby.

Wow. Okay, so it’s been a while. A few months since I’ve really been active around here: again, sorry about that. I don’t really have any of my normal excuses. I’m trying out this whole “honest” thing for a while (which I’ve ironically cheated on a few times, but who’s perfect?), so that would just be redundant. I do have a job now :] Fast food. Gotta love it. And shovel it.

The things I love and hate most about my life right now: boys, writing, and piano. In that order.

Why boys, you say? Girls know. So you must be a guy yourself, to ask such an obvious question.

See, you boys like to be the bane of our existance. You do. As much as you tell yourself  ‘Hey, I’m a sensitive, nice guy, and I’d be a total catch if someone gave me the time of day.’ In reality, you’re probably hungry for social acceptance on the inside, craving for your next piece of ass (let’s be crude, & truthful) or for a chance to “relax from the oppressive women in your life.” Blah blah. Don’t we all want that, in the long run.

I will not bitch more about boys on this blog. For so long — TOO long — this whole f’ckin site was dedicated to boys. A boy. Whatever. And now that I’ve fought my way up and over that hurdle, I don’t want to start down another diseased path of longing and loathing, longing and loathing, irritated and obsessed. No thanks, I’ll take a buiscuit and a Tom Cruise clad in a white-button down, high socks, with dark glasses and a smile. Good god.

I have such a jumble of slight crushes and devilish temptations whirring about in my head that I can’t think straight. I want to become this badass poet and go run with the wolves, ‘n shit, but I also don’t want to do my work in my Creative Writing class. I want a glorious husband, but the boys I interact with are so mundane that my mind gets bored with them after a few weeks. None of them seem to interested in the old bitch-bat I’ve become either. So at least we’re on equal terms of distaste.

My life is speeding toward its “brand new beginning” and shit –SEN10R year, graduation, lifelong misery, 9-5, 8-CLOSING; dropped scholarships. A’s. My mother’s house for another two years.
So how’s your lifetime going? Going good?

And I can’t complain, because I’ve got a job, a car, (soon a paycheck to pay for said car, if I can succeed at said job), and this boyfriend-ish thing up in PA state. Any other girl might think herself lucky.

CALL ME A PESSIMIST.

🙂 I want to stay in highschool, never leave my home, and having already graduated college all at once. But that’s just paradoxial. Is that the word?