I hate you, Monday!
Poor Hoops. I feel you, man. Monday's suck. Especially when the bus is cold and you spend your first two hours of partial wakefulness also partially frozen. Then you have to remember french. Gah, remembering french is lame. But it is going. Ça va. Lentement.
I also dislike working alone, now that I've had experience working with other people. I like my coworkers! It's nice when I get to actually work with them! But it is not to be. Although the kitchen store upstairs is hiring, so I'm going to go see if they'll take me because then I would work in two places in the same building. It would be sweet.
Speaking of work, this is my real reason for posting today, so uncharacteristically soon after my last post. A random guy gave me a happy moment at work yesterday. He was this totally random guy, and I mean random in the randomest possible way. He was all happy and bouncy in his custom-painted leather jacket, wandering Fairhaven with his girlfriend. He's hitting all the gongs (with permission, of course) and talking about how they all have such unique voices and all that. Then, just as he's leaving, he comes up to me and says, "I have really got to say, your hair is stunning. It fits you so well, and it's so unique." I was very, very happy. You see, my hair is short. Very short. That's me, the chick with someone else's glasses on in the icon. And now, my hair is even shorter than that. Before a few years ago, I had long hair. I had long hair from mid-elementary school, all through middle school and most of high school. It made me comfortable in my femininity. But it was all wrong for my face, as I notice every time I look at an old picture of me and cringe. It was just so flat, and my face is square-ish and doesn't like to be framed with straight, flat curtains like that. It looks good like this. But I've been a little self-conscious about it since I got it cut this short. I like it, and I recognize that it looks great on me, but it doesn't make me feel pretty. So this guy was like, God telling me to shut up and get over it because he'd been trying to get me to cut my hair my whole life and I was finally a physically finished person.
This means I get to start working on being finished in all those other ways I have yet to be finished. Hell, I'm 20 years old, I've got some time.
I also dislike working alone, now that I've had experience working with other people. I like my coworkers! It's nice when I get to actually work with them! But it is not to be. Although the kitchen store upstairs is hiring, so I'm going to go see if they'll take me because then I would work in two places in the same building. It would be sweet.
Speaking of work, this is my real reason for posting today, so uncharacteristically soon after my last post. A random guy gave me a happy moment at work yesterday. He was this totally random guy, and I mean random in the randomest possible way. He was all happy and bouncy in his custom-painted leather jacket, wandering Fairhaven with his girlfriend. He's hitting all the gongs (with permission, of course) and talking about how they all have such unique voices and all that. Then, just as he's leaving, he comes up to me and says, "I have really got to say, your hair is stunning. It fits you so well, and it's so unique." I was very, very happy. You see, my hair is short. Very short. That's me, the chick with someone else's glasses on in the icon. And now, my hair is even shorter than that. Before a few years ago, I had long hair. I had long hair from mid-elementary school, all through middle school and most of high school. It made me comfortable in my femininity. But it was all wrong for my face, as I notice every time I look at an old picture of me and cringe. It was just so flat, and my face is square-ish and doesn't like to be framed with straight, flat curtains like that. It looks good like this. But I've been a little self-conscious about it since I got it cut this short. I like it, and I recognize that it looks great on me, but it doesn't make me feel pretty. So this guy was like, God telling me to shut up and get over it because he'd been trying to get me to cut my hair my whole life and I was finally a physically finished person.
This means I get to start working on being finished in all those other ways I have yet to be finished. Hell, I'm 20 years old, I've got some time.