Le jour de gloire est ... terminé !
Aunt Carla, Athena, Sara, and I ended up going out to eat at IHOP around midnight on Saturday night. I was pretty surprised at how crowded it was for so late. We had a lot of fun, and damn the food was good. I ordered a plate of pecan pancakes with sausage, and I sure as hell know what I'm getting the next time I go to IHOP.
July 14 was Bastille Day. I've always been sorry that I didn't get to be in France for that. And whatever I would have done in France would have been hella better than the fuck-tacular Bastille Day I had here. This is a word-for-word conversation I had with my mom this morning:
Mom: "Are you and Sara paying your car insurance separately?"
Me: "Yeah."
Mom: (pissed) "What does that mean? Did you forget about it again?"
Me: Silence. I didn't say anything because there was nothing to say. Her response said it all. There is no right way for me to talk to that woman. Every word out of my mouth, even a simple yes or no, just pisses her off. I won't go into why the rest of the day sucked.
Adam and I caught a few good episodes of Star Trek, which comes on for four straight hours on Monday nights, including the episode where Warf delivers Keiko's baby. Warf! Ugh. Really, there is no one on that ship I would less like to deliver my baby.
Since no one bothered to ask *hmph*, the new title of my journal (When we get the swell, we'll sail for treasure island) is a lyric from the song "The Captain's Kid," by Sybil Jason, one of the most charming and under-appreciated child actresses I know. And I just figured out how to convert said song from YouTube and add it to my iPod! I also just finished filling out a ton of job applications. My hand is hella sore, but I just hope that something good will come out of them.
July 14 was Bastille Day. I've always been sorry that I didn't get to be in France for that. And whatever I would have done in France would have been hella better than the fuck-tacular Bastille Day I had here. This is a word-for-word conversation I had with my mom this morning:
Mom: "Are you and Sara paying your car insurance separately?"
Me: "Yeah."
Mom: (pissed) "What does that mean? Did you forget about it again?"
Me: Silence. I didn't say anything because there was nothing to say. Her response said it all. There is no right way for me to talk to that woman. Every word out of my mouth, even a simple yes or no, just pisses her off. I won't go into why the rest of the day sucked.
Adam and I caught a few good episodes of Star Trek, which comes on for four straight hours on Monday nights, including the episode where Warf delivers Keiko's baby. Warf! Ugh. Really, there is no one on that ship I would less like to deliver my baby.
Since no one bothered to ask *hmph*, the new title of my journal (When we get the swell, we'll sail for treasure island) is a lyric from the song "The Captain's Kid," by Sybil Jason, one of the most charming and under-appreciated child actresses I know. And I just figured out how to convert said song from YouTube and add it to my iPod! I also just finished filling out a ton of job applications. My hand is hella sore, but I just hope that something good will come out of them.