A long rambly entry that meanders for a long time. If you read it all, you get a cookie!
[No LJ cut; it's just text. tl;dr? Too bad]!
Six months and out of practice. Not indifference, I hope. My powers of observation dull, a blunt pencil. Odd that I should be this way in a place where there is much to see, so many characters I could pull from this wreck and find homes for in tales.
Are they really so different, though? I say yes, but looking about me, everyone is rather homogeneous, at least in appearance and movement. One hopes it is only a cover for a unique personality, but most I've met have been rather unglamorous and boring. For that matter, I could just interact with myself and have done with it.
At least I'm not crying. It seems like that is all I did last night, until it was purged and I felt a bit better. But yes, I am still writing about it, because it is still present in my thoughts, and even after one graduates from the stage of angsty adolescence, occasionally something will spring forth to remind you. So it was Sunday night.
When I don't know people very well, and I'm unsure of my level of ease, I will talk much more than usual, and my hyper side overextends itself until it is no longer a part of me and, rather, becomes a fully functional shadow doing cartwheels on the lawn. Don't misunderstand me; I'm not talking about multiple personalities. These are all facets of one integrated personality that makes up the person named Nicole. Oftentimes, in odd or uncomfortable situations, one facet is stronger and holds forth.
I can't help it, and I don't want to change it, because if people give me a chance, they usually like me, I think. And, as I've always been told, if they don't want to deal with it, then why would I want to befriend them in the first place? I know this is true, been hearing it for years, yet I cannot help but be rankled or upset by it, because it is human nature to want to be liked and accepted by one's peers. And I've never been very discriminate about my friends; the only major criterion I've ever had is: don't be an asshole. I've clicked with the most random people; no pattern, I've just gotten along with them.
I like to think I'm funny. Most have thought I am. I'm a little off-kilter sometimes, but that's how I have fun.
However, laughing AT and laughing WITH are two vastly different things. And I feel like I was being laughed AT for most of the night. It only hit me later that I felt like a novelty item, a specimen of "weird" under glass for all to observe, so that in the future, they can recognize and ignore it when it comes again.
I've already invested quite a bit of time for this project, so I can't go jumping groups now. And it could be my perception: after all these years, I'm still more than a bit sensitive about how others interact with me.
I don't like to think that being zany actually scares people, but it probably does.
The particular comment I didn't like was from the lone guy in our group. Everyone was joking around and then I left to use the bathroom. When I came back, everything seemed okay, but the next time I opened my mouth, he said, "You doin' coke in there or something?" I laughed it off, and I can't tell if he was serious or not. It hurt, though. Because I'm hyper, suddenly I'm a fucking cokehead? I would never make that sort of judgement about a person with whom I'm first meeting.
Aside: there's a sand-coloured pigeon bobbing his way around the concrete, looking for food. He walked right under my dangling foot and only flinched after the fact. Perhaps he has weak peripheral vision. I just thought it amusing; he walked away very quickly. Big scary foot! Chomp!
I just had so much hope for this group. Originally, I was going to do a monologue of some sort, but then I thought better of it, as I wanted to try to make friends. Erin was one of the first people to email our class about forming a group, so I jumped on it. When I first met them, I thought they seemed like nice people, and that, even if we didn't become friends, per se, I'd at least have someone to go with when the productions for which we have to write came around. And maybe that could happen, but I can already see this for what it is: a short-lived endeavor that ends in disappointment. Hello, high school! So "good" to see you after a five year hiatus.
Ah, the air quotes. They didn't get that, either. I hate when people misplace their irony. Or never had it in the first place.
Yes, I'm talking shit about them, because they really aren't very bright, which begs the question: why does this bother you so much, when unintelligent people bore you to tears? I don't really have an answer. The 16 year old in me wishes to ingratiate herself with the popular clique? Even though it's not a clique and she claims to not know anyone.
And how anyone can be that "open" with people she doesn't know is beyond me. Telling us about her visit to The Todd (the adult store on the street behind USF) with a friend on Saturday night. She bought a DVD, which is so entirely pedestrian (why pay twenty bucks for one, when you can get scads for free? ahem), and a doorhanger of a couple fucking, which is slightly above pedestrian. And she showed them to us, people she'd known for approximately two hours! I like to think of myself as open minded, but even that is going a bit too far. But I will stop devoting so much time to this folly.
In completely different news, I've been to two colleges now, and I still cannot understand why girls wear really tight jeans. Why would you want to wear something that shoves your underwear into your asscrack over and over again?
(Later) Oy, my zipper pouch on my purse broke. Now my wallet can fall out at any time; thankfully, it fits in my bag, so that won't happen. I don't think it can be fixed, though. Damn my Einstein Bros. Bagels obsession (plain with smoked salmon cream cheese, if you must know). If I'd finished the cigar box purse when I wasn't in school, I wouldn't have had this problem.
It was so weird to blunder around MySpace last night and find N. I was looking up people from BHS, mainly because I'm nosy and I want to see what they're up to, and he has a profile. He hasn't changed much at all. I was obsessed with him for a long time. He was interested in girls vastly different from me, though. Did that stop me from analyzing every word he said to me, every action performed in my general direction? Of course not.
It's strange how we can delude ourselves so easily. Human minds are such a puzzle. I think that's why I'm so frustrated with my Human Behavior class. According to that course, everything relates to rewards and punishments. As human beings, I don't think it's that cut and dried; we're more complex than that. I'm doing excellently in the course, but that's because I'm able to retain the information in the tutorials. However, since I worked ahead for two weeks, I haven't done any in a while, and this might prove how forgetful I am becoming in the other aspects of my life. The fogginess is starting to worry me. It's only over trivial things now, but the potential for it to become a larger problem is at the heart of the worry.
I suppose I'm writing this much to make up for being rather scarce lately. I've been writing this all over campus today. Our theatre class got out early to give us "time to work on the projects." I think he just ran out of stuff to say. So I ducked out quickly, and besides, I'm not in the scenes they were going to write together. "You don't have to be there," I believe were her exact words to me. Well, fuck you, if you want to be honest.
True honesty for you? I don't much care for our playlet/sketch/scene/whateverthefuck. It's about the Mafia, and no, I didn't bring it up. Nick did, and the Daunting Duo got excited over it. At first, I was neutral, hoping that he brought it up because he was Italian or just very "into" Italian culture. NONE OF THESE FUCKERS EVEN KNOW WHAT THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT!
I know, I said I was not going to bring them up again, but I forgot to write about this before and it bugs me. Nick knows a touch more than the others, but they've never seen the Sopranos, they don't know what a capo is, and they called me the "don of English" which proves my point: I am stuck in Cluelessville with a big-breasted brunette bimbo, a blonde twiglet who barely looks at me when she talks, and a guy with a fondess for scatological stories (don't ask, and they don't know what THAT word means, either. I had to explain it, was not fun), without a fucking ride home. I feel like my culture, like myself, is being treated as a novelty item.
"Oooh, look, a wop! Capture it, Laura, before she slides away on her own grease!"
If I say anything . . . well, I can't say anything. I tried to educate as best I could.
The other girl wanted to be the Don's right hand person, "that 'c' word you said before." So I told her it would be easy to tie her hair back under a fedora (a what? I was asked. Grr) and she says, "I don't want to play a guy!" Um, hello, the Mafia is a male dominated scene! "There aren't any female capos," I said, "so unless you wanna be his goomah, you're gonna have to play a guy. That means you're fuckin' him," I said, lest she interject with the Typical Blonde Idiot-matic Expression.
And I won't even go into the rat story. I'm sorry, but if you're going to do something like this, and it's NOT comedic, be fucking SERIOUS about your subject matter.
Is that too much to ask from a person?
Am I overreacting to all of this? I don't think I am, but it's your turn.
Six months and out of practice. Not indifference, I hope. My powers of observation dull, a blunt pencil. Odd that I should be this way in a place where there is much to see, so many characters I could pull from this wreck and find homes for in tales.
Are they really so different, though? I say yes, but looking about me, everyone is rather homogeneous, at least in appearance and movement. One hopes it is only a cover for a unique personality, but most I've met have been rather unglamorous and boring. For that matter, I could just interact with myself and have done with it.
At least I'm not crying. It seems like that is all I did last night, until it was purged and I felt a bit better. But yes, I am still writing about it, because it is still present in my thoughts, and even after one graduates from the stage of angsty adolescence, occasionally something will spring forth to remind you. So it was Sunday night.
When I don't know people very well, and I'm unsure of my level of ease, I will talk much more than usual, and my hyper side overextends itself until it is no longer a part of me and, rather, becomes a fully functional shadow doing cartwheels on the lawn. Don't misunderstand me; I'm not talking about multiple personalities. These are all facets of one integrated personality that makes up the person named Nicole. Oftentimes, in odd or uncomfortable situations, one facet is stronger and holds forth.
I can't help it, and I don't want to change it, because if people give me a chance, they usually like me, I think. And, as I've always been told, if they don't want to deal with it, then why would I want to befriend them in the first place? I know this is true, been hearing it for years, yet I cannot help but be rankled or upset by it, because it is human nature to want to be liked and accepted by one's peers. And I've never been very discriminate about my friends; the only major criterion I've ever had is: don't be an asshole. I've clicked with the most random people; no pattern, I've just gotten along with them.
I like to think I'm funny. Most have thought I am. I'm a little off-kilter sometimes, but that's how I have fun.
However, laughing AT and laughing WITH are two vastly different things. And I feel like I was being laughed AT for most of the night. It only hit me later that I felt like a novelty item, a specimen of "weird" under glass for all to observe, so that in the future, they can recognize and ignore it when it comes again.
I've already invested quite a bit of time for this project, so I can't go jumping groups now. And it could be my perception: after all these years, I'm still more than a bit sensitive about how others interact with me.
I don't like to think that being zany actually scares people, but it probably does.
The particular comment I didn't like was from the lone guy in our group. Everyone was joking around and then I left to use the bathroom. When I came back, everything seemed okay, but the next time I opened my mouth, he said, "You doin' coke in there or something?" I laughed it off, and I can't tell if he was serious or not. It hurt, though. Because I'm hyper, suddenly I'm a fucking cokehead? I would never make that sort of judgement about a person with whom I'm first meeting.
Aside: there's a sand-coloured pigeon bobbing his way around the concrete, looking for food. He walked right under my dangling foot and only flinched after the fact. Perhaps he has weak peripheral vision. I just thought it amusing; he walked away very quickly. Big scary foot! Chomp!
I just had so much hope for this group. Originally, I was going to do a monologue of some sort, but then I thought better of it, as I wanted to try to make friends. Erin was one of the first people to email our class about forming a group, so I jumped on it. When I first met them, I thought they seemed like nice people, and that, even if we didn't become friends, per se, I'd at least have someone to go with when the productions for which we have to write came around. And maybe that could happen, but I can already see this for what it is: a short-lived endeavor that ends in disappointment. Hello, high school! So "good" to see you after a five year hiatus.
Ah, the air quotes. They didn't get that, either. I hate when people misplace their irony. Or never had it in the first place.
Yes, I'm talking shit about them, because they really aren't very bright, which begs the question: why does this bother you so much, when unintelligent people bore you to tears? I don't really have an answer. The 16 year old in me wishes to ingratiate herself with the popular clique? Even though it's not a clique and she claims to not know anyone.
And how anyone can be that "open" with people she doesn't know is beyond me. Telling us about her visit to The Todd (the adult store on the street behind USF) with a friend on Saturday night. She bought a DVD, which is so entirely pedestrian (why pay twenty bucks for one, when you can get scads for free? ahem), and a doorhanger of a couple fucking, which is slightly above pedestrian. And she showed them to us, people she'd known for approximately two hours! I like to think of myself as open minded, but even that is going a bit too far. But I will stop devoting so much time to this folly.
In completely different news, I've been to two colleges now, and I still cannot understand why girls wear really tight jeans. Why would you want to wear something that shoves your underwear into your asscrack over and over again?
(Later) Oy, my zipper pouch on my purse broke. Now my wallet can fall out at any time; thankfully, it fits in my bag, so that won't happen. I don't think it can be fixed, though. Damn my Einstein Bros. Bagels obsession (plain with smoked salmon cream cheese, if you must know). If I'd finished the cigar box purse when I wasn't in school, I wouldn't have had this problem.
It was so weird to blunder around MySpace last night and find N. I was looking up people from BHS, mainly because I'm nosy and I want to see what they're up to, and he has a profile. He hasn't changed much at all. I was obsessed with him for a long time. He was interested in girls vastly different from me, though. Did that stop me from analyzing every word he said to me, every action performed in my general direction? Of course not.
It's strange how we can delude ourselves so easily. Human minds are such a puzzle. I think that's why I'm so frustrated with my Human Behavior class. According to that course, everything relates to rewards and punishments. As human beings, I don't think it's that cut and dried; we're more complex than that. I'm doing excellently in the course, but that's because I'm able to retain the information in the tutorials. However, since I worked ahead for two weeks, I haven't done any in a while, and this might prove how forgetful I am becoming in the other aspects of my life. The fogginess is starting to worry me. It's only over trivial things now, but the potential for it to become a larger problem is at the heart of the worry.
I suppose I'm writing this much to make up for being rather scarce lately. I've been writing this all over campus today. Our theatre class got out early to give us "time to work on the projects." I think he just ran out of stuff to say. So I ducked out quickly, and besides, I'm not in the scenes they were going to write together. "You don't have to be there," I believe were her exact words to me. Well, fuck you, if you want to be honest.
True honesty for you? I don't much care for our playlet/sketch/scene/whateverthefuck. It's about the Mafia, and no, I didn't bring it up. Nick did, and the Daunting Duo got excited over it. At first, I was neutral, hoping that he brought it up because he was Italian or just very "into" Italian culture. NONE OF THESE FUCKERS EVEN KNOW WHAT THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT!
I know, I said I was not going to bring them up again, but I forgot to write about this before and it bugs me. Nick knows a touch more than the others, but they've never seen the Sopranos, they don't know what a capo is, and they called me the "don of English" which proves my point: I am stuck in Cluelessville with a big-breasted brunette bimbo, a blonde twiglet who barely looks at me when she talks, and a guy with a fondess for scatological stories (don't ask, and they don't know what THAT word means, either. I had to explain it, was not fun), without a fucking ride home. I feel like my culture, like myself, is being treated as a novelty item.
"Oooh, look, a wop! Capture it, Laura, before she slides away on her own grease!"
If I say anything . . . well, I can't say anything. I tried to educate as best I could.
The other girl wanted to be the Don's right hand person, "that 'c' word you said before." So I told her it would be easy to tie her hair back under a fedora (a what? I was asked. Grr) and she says, "I don't want to play a guy!" Um, hello, the Mafia is a male dominated scene! "There aren't any female capos," I said, "so unless you wanna be his goomah, you're gonna have to play a guy. That means you're fuckin' him," I said, lest she interject with the Typical Blonde Idiot-matic Expression.
And I won't even go into the rat story. I'm sorry, but if you're going to do something like this, and it's NOT comedic, be fucking SERIOUS about your subject matter.
Is that too much to ask from a person?
Am I overreacting to all of this? I don't think I am, but it's your turn.