Merry Christmas to me!
Yesterday I was feeling fairly blarghy when I got home from work, so I decided to have a little fun. I went to Walgreens and bought myself a jumbo coloring book, brought it home, and spent the next four hours scribbling away merrily with my colored pencils. Originally I bought them for mapmaking, but they don't seem to have minded this little aside. I learned that after sixteen years I still can't color better than I did in preschool, and that it's likely I would once again fail to pass the kindergarten entrance exam thinger my school administered to me when I was six, wide-eyed, and being forced into the world of public education by my mom. They didn't want me to go into kindergarten because of some coordination issues and general inability to cut on a straight line, tie my shoes, and color in the lines.
Of those three I can, at this time, only do one of them, and that's only because they don't make velcro shoes in my size.
Anyway, that was my Christmas present to me. As far as I'm concerned, this was a wonderful gift, especially since there were several spacescapes in there that just had to be colored lovingly. I did those first. I'm sure most people would have just used colors they liked, but I tried to actually make the planets/stars look like they should. It was difficult, because the lines weren't put there by people who knew what Jupiter or Uranus should look like. Oddly enough, when it came to the picture of seahorses that I did, I ended up coloring them the most outrageous, nonsensical sets of colors I could come up with. But hey, it looks good, right? And who says coloring book pages have to look like photographs? Not me! Anyway, the whole not being colored in the lines thing would get in the way.
And then. Oh, and then. I recalled a conversation I had with my sister a while ago re:getting my new computer. She suggested I see if I could get a Best Buy credit card, buy the computer, and pay it off with a combination of cozy monthly payments and my tax return check. When I poked BestBuy.com today I noticed they were having free second day shipping, as well as some pretty decent markdowns on their laptops. Curiosity got the better of me, and I applied for their credit card. Now here I sit with an approved credit card account and an eighteen hundred dollar limit. -.- It's just getting used for this purchase, and I mean it. I found a model that covers everything I want for around a thousand bucks (after the mail-in rebate. <3<3 those things), which makes me happy.
So it turns out that I'm getting my new computer anyway, and there is much rejoicing. I'm going to have to tighten up my budget for a while, but I can handle it. Hell. Not getting my french fries at work every day will free up a bunch of cash. It's amazing how quickly eighty-two cents can become eighty-two dollars. >.<
In other news, we got Christmas cards from my mother yesterday, and I've started thinking seriously about finding scholarships to fund my return to school. Of course, it's been a few years since I last seriously looked for scholarships, and when I did the last time I just went through a filing cabinet full of applications in the Guidance Office. I have no idea where to begin. For some reason, this time things are a lot more intimidating than they were before. Maybe it's because I know that this time it's all on me, or maybe it's because I'm worried about people thinking I'm a royal fuckup for walking away from a well-known, private university because poor little me couldn't put up with her big bad mommy any more. *sigh* No. I don't worry about that. It's just one of those things my mother has put in my head with her constant insinuations that I'm a failure, have made a huge mistake, and will never be able to support myself. I can take care of myself, my family, and my schooling. And being able to do so doesn't make me a bad person.
Er, don't mind me. Occasionally I have to tell myself things like that to keep myself from going too far down the angsty path.
Today I handled a confrontation with a customer well. This is an achievement for me, because usually I end up growling "When the revolution comes, you will be first against the wall!" at the vile offenders and turning things over to my manager, then going off to stim for a while and bring myself down. This time, when I felt the bile rising, just said "Sir, there is no need to yell at me," kept my speech polite, and didn't even wiggle at the people. *looks around for her M&Ms* *should be smacked for that one*
Anyway, Travis took that as his cue to step in and finish the order anyway. The woman in the car had ordered a number nine with a doctor pepper. A man then shouted that I should large-size it. So I did. When I asked if they were going to need anything else, he shouts "DAMN! Hold on a moment!" I don't appreciate being yelled at, especially not in the fake-ghetto accent that seems so popular among young men in this area. Despite my request, the man continued to yell, first about wanting another number nine, then about how he didn't say shit about another number nine, and then about a number six, and then about not saying shit about a number six... Finally we got it sorted out, and discovered he only was getting that large number nine the woman had ordered. >.< Okay.
But really... I want food! No I don't! Yes I do! OMG HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE THAT I EAT?!?!?!?!eleventy! It was funny to me.
What bothers me about the whole thing is my reaction upon seeing the people in the car. The fellow in the passenger's seat, who kept yelling at me even when he was at the window, was a young black man in his early to mid twenties. The driver was a scantily clad, unnaturally blonde white girl with brown-black roots showing. Sprawled across the back seat was another young black man. The first thing that popped into my mind, quite against my will, was my mother's voice saying that white girls dating black boys were just asking for trouble. That black men treated white women like shit and ground them into the dirt because it made them feel big and special. That the only white women that would date black men were whores with no sense of self worth or self esteem. Not beliefs I hold, but ideas that I grew up around. The driver of the car seemed so very passive though, like she was pretending her passenger wasn't being a fuckstick because she didn't want to mention it and get yelled at. I recognise those sorts of behaviours quite well. I've employed them enough to know what they look like.
But I wonder if I was seeing this because she really was afraid of or submissive to her passenger/boyfriend/whatever, or if it's just because of what my mother always told me about interracial relationships. *sigh* Half the time I don't even notice what color someone's skin is (I'm usually too busy examining my hands or shoes, really), but when I do, it immediately puts a spin on everything I think. Why is that? I don't think of myself as a prejudiced person, and I don't believe that the color of one's skin defines anything more than what adjective is checked off on demographic surveys. Then situations like this come up, and I start wondering if that's really the case. If I'm hearing my mom's rants in my head when I see these people, does that make me as bad as her, or is it just memory being triggered and making itself known?
*sigh* I think about things like that too much, but it's been keeping me from getting to sleep. Bastard.
One last thing before I take off: I'm finally caught up to episode sixty in Bleach and I'm still drooling over it. Want more! I demand episode sixty-one! NOW! *cough* I swear I'm not a fangirl. Much.
Of those three I can, at this time, only do one of them, and that's only because they don't make velcro shoes in my size.
Anyway, that was my Christmas present to me. As far as I'm concerned, this was a wonderful gift, especially since there were several spacescapes in there that just had to be colored lovingly. I did those first. I'm sure most people would have just used colors they liked, but I tried to actually make the planets/stars look like they should. It was difficult, because the lines weren't put there by people who knew what Jupiter or Uranus should look like. Oddly enough, when it came to the picture of seahorses that I did, I ended up coloring them the most outrageous, nonsensical sets of colors I could come up with. But hey, it looks good, right? And who says coloring book pages have to look like photographs? Not me! Anyway, the whole not being colored in the lines thing would get in the way.
And then. Oh, and then. I recalled a conversation I had with my sister a while ago re:getting my new computer. She suggested I see if I could get a Best Buy credit card, buy the computer, and pay it off with a combination of cozy monthly payments and my tax return check. When I poked BestBuy.com today I noticed they were having free second day shipping, as well as some pretty decent markdowns on their laptops. Curiosity got the better of me, and I applied for their credit card. Now here I sit with an approved credit card account and an eighteen hundred dollar limit. -.- It's just getting used for this purchase, and I mean it. I found a model that covers everything I want for around a thousand bucks (after the mail-in rebate. <3<3 those things), which makes me happy.
So it turns out that I'm getting my new computer anyway, and there is much rejoicing. I'm going to have to tighten up my budget for a while, but I can handle it. Hell. Not getting my french fries at work every day will free up a bunch of cash. It's amazing how quickly eighty-two cents can become eighty-two dollars. >.<
In other news, we got Christmas cards from my mother yesterday, and I've started thinking seriously about finding scholarships to fund my return to school. Of course, it's been a few years since I last seriously looked for scholarships, and when I did the last time I just went through a filing cabinet full of applications in the Guidance Office. I have no idea where to begin. For some reason, this time things are a lot more intimidating than they were before. Maybe it's because I know that this time it's all on me, or maybe it's because I'm worried about people thinking I'm a royal fuckup for walking away from a well-known, private university because poor little me couldn't put up with her big bad mommy any more. *sigh* No. I don't worry about that. It's just one of those things my mother has put in my head with her constant insinuations that I'm a failure, have made a huge mistake, and will never be able to support myself. I can take care of myself, my family, and my schooling. And being able to do so doesn't make me a bad person.
Er, don't mind me. Occasionally I have to tell myself things like that to keep myself from going too far down the angsty path.
Today I handled a confrontation with a customer well. This is an achievement for me, because usually I end up growling "When the revolution comes, you will be first against the wall!" at the vile offenders and turning things over to my manager, then going off to stim for a while and bring myself down. This time, when I felt the bile rising, just said "Sir, there is no need to yell at me," kept my speech polite, and didn't even wiggle at the people. *looks around for her M&Ms* *should be smacked for that one*
Anyway, Travis took that as his cue to step in and finish the order anyway. The woman in the car had ordered a number nine with a doctor pepper. A man then shouted that I should large-size it. So I did. When I asked if they were going to need anything else, he shouts "DAMN! Hold on a moment!" I don't appreciate being yelled at, especially not in the fake-ghetto accent that seems so popular among young men in this area. Despite my request, the man continued to yell, first about wanting another number nine, then about how he didn't say shit about another number nine, and then about a number six, and then about not saying shit about a number six... Finally we got it sorted out, and discovered he only was getting that large number nine the woman had ordered. >.< Okay.
But really... I want food! No I don't! Yes I do! OMG HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE THAT I EAT?!?!?!?!eleventy! It was funny to me.
What bothers me about the whole thing is my reaction upon seeing the people in the car. The fellow in the passenger's seat, who kept yelling at me even when he was at the window, was a young black man in his early to mid twenties. The driver was a scantily clad, unnaturally blonde white girl with brown-black roots showing. Sprawled across the back seat was another young black man. The first thing that popped into my mind, quite against my will, was my mother's voice saying that white girls dating black boys were just asking for trouble. That black men treated white women like shit and ground them into the dirt because it made them feel big and special. That the only white women that would date black men were whores with no sense of self worth or self esteem. Not beliefs I hold, but ideas that I grew up around. The driver of the car seemed so very passive though, like she was pretending her passenger wasn't being a fuckstick because she didn't want to mention it and get yelled at. I recognise those sorts of behaviours quite well. I've employed them enough to know what they look like.
But I wonder if I was seeing this because she really was afraid of or submissive to her passenger/boyfriend/whatever, or if it's just because of what my mother always told me about interracial relationships. *sigh* Half the time I don't even notice what color someone's skin is (I'm usually too busy examining my hands or shoes, really), but when I do, it immediately puts a spin on everything I think. Why is that? I don't think of myself as a prejudiced person, and I don't believe that the color of one's skin defines anything more than what adjective is checked off on demographic surveys. Then situations like this come up, and I start wondering if that's really the case. If I'm hearing my mom's rants in my head when I see these people, does that make me as bad as her, or is it just memory being triggered and making itself known?
*sigh* I think about things like that too much, but it's been keeping me from getting to sleep. Bastard.
One last thing before I take off: I'm finally caught up to episode sixty in Bleach and I'm still drooling over it. Want more! I demand episode sixty-one! NOW! *cough* I swear I'm not a fangirl. Much.