(no subject)
*sidles into view*
Hiiiiiiii~
*flayed, recovers*
...So. I have no excuses. Except that I have spent the past several hours catching up on my f-list for little to no reason. I bet I had a reason when I started, but if I did I don't remember it now. *cough* I left no comments, and made the startling discovery that my f-list ENDS after 140 entries. Astonishing. ...and I still hadn't caught up on everything I wanted to. #^^#
Life Update: Ya'll know I don't get out much. I had a short period a few days ago where I was sicker than I've been in a LONG time and was crying at the drop of a hat, but I'm okay now. Mostly. My Mom had me go to the eye-doctor yesterday with Barbie (fourth grade) and Michael (second grade, first blond born, incredibly dorky). Michael received his first pair of glasses about nine months ago, and has broken five pairs in the meantime. He's the whole reason we were going, but Barbie needed her eyes checked too. I'm supposed to get a new pair of glasses in two weeks, my third pair EVER after I got my first pair in second grade, my second pair in fifth grade, and I haven't had my lenses changed for awhile. They need it. I need a new set of contacts.
ANYWAY. Mall. First we dropped by Brian Johnson's house.
Brian Johnson is the head/founder of the Tucson Baseball Academy, which my Dad helped bring into existence last this year, he used to be a baseball player and now he's a talent scout for some team I don't care enough about to remember. Said to be a good guy. I wouldn't know, I've been boycotting my brother's (and sister's) baseball/sports careers after some bad circumstances caused me to quit gymnastics and the piano, and I was a jealous little shit because I had to quit for THEM. And then they asked my sister to play on a BASEBALL team, instead of softball, and I was pissed off enough to just quit going. Not that I went a whole lot in the first place, you understand, babysitting's why I quit all these other things.
So. Never met the dude. I'm sitting in the car and waiting for my Mom to finish up so we can head out (because, of course, the only reason I'm along is because of BABYSITTING. Sitting in the car with Barbie and Michael. Noooo, I'm not bitter~) and this black woman flounces down the driveway smiling (I was and still am in a terrible mood) like Christmas's come early and she peers into the front seat of the car where I'm sitting hunched around my copy of Good Omens and ignoring the rest of the world and she says, "Oh, Marion! Is this your oldest?! Brian come out here! Have you ever met Merisa before?"
I'm not the most social of creatures. At least not until after a few hours, and I'm far away from any of my family. But here my Mom comes, giggling up a storm (the woman enjoys my pain, I tell you) and I just stare out the window at this female trying very very hard to disappear. It's not that hard, my hair was down and as frizzy as ever.
So Brian comes out, and I pay a bit of attention to him. My brothers love him as a coach, and my Dad's close to calling him a friend. (oh, you want my Dad? Think about an over-stressed version of Shrek. He has his good points, but I don't say them often enough because when I talk about him I wind up complaining.) He's carrying a little girl that looks fourish down the driveway, and he waved at me, friendly as can be.
I was this close to panicking.
So then the woman compliments my 'beautiful curls' (what is she ON? I love my hair, but it's NOT beautiful. Scary, definitely.) and says how 'young' I look and goes, "Why, are you sure she's the oldest? This is our famous Merisa? She looks younger than Regan!"
What. The. Fuck.
Regan, for those who don't know, is a year and a half younger than I am. She's bouncy, irritable, amusing, easily manipulated, and a ten year old at heart. She's a fanbrat in the truest sense, and I'm grateful every day that she doesn't have the attention span for fandom. She's also a Gaia frequenter, with a taste for obscenely colorful clothing, pirates, and rainbow socks. She's a walking color-blindness inducer. (I wonder how many words I made up THERE.) Regan is enthusiastic, tanned, and LIVELY. She can be a major bitch, but I blame that on genetics. Looking at any of our female ancestors I'm sure you would too.
I, on the other hand, have been called a grandmother at heart by many friends and relatives over the years. I'm pale where she's tan, withdrawn where she's flamboyant, and the internet has exposed me to more things that shouldn't be seen than I ever dreamed existed. Regan cried on September 11th when I couldn't, because what was worse than her incomprehension of what had happened was how I comprehended it. She was shocked, I was not. She was horrified... I was thinking about the future. I don't think I've ever mourned the dead, and I'm not sure I'm capable of it.
As you can see, this woman's comment bothered me a LOT.
At the time I was more shocked than anything else. So I turned back to my book and eavesdropped a bit. We left a few minutes later for the bank where my Mom got out and let me babysit again. I tried to read, but wound up eavesdropping on random pedestrians instead. This particular bank's in a really bad neighborhood, and it was interesting to see the men with guns go around the corner.
Needless to say, I was happy to leave.
So we went to the mall and I had a sneezing fit as we walked through Dillard's on the way in. Perfume/cologne = bad for health. School was hell in eighth grade, girls spraying crap everywhere and I was physically ill on more than one occasion. And the teachers wondered why I went home all the time.
The eye doctors office... as an emphasis on the youthful thing I might as well write a bit more about that than I'd planned. We walked in, place was empty, and Michael was first up for the Chair. Yes, it's necessary to capitalize it. xD So my Mom asked me if I'd go in with him, and I went and the doctor thought I was his mother.
This isn't the first time this has happened, not by far. I've been called the mother of every sibling of mine EXCEPT for Regan, Jackson, and Rebekah (Barbie) at this point. It's still a shock. I thought it was hilarious and I played along with it, in contrast to Brian's wife saying I looked younger than Regan. There have been several occasions where people have believed that I was my father's wife when we were out in public with no one else, and I bet that I wouldn't be carded if I so chose to take advantage of it.
The exam was over fairly quickly and Barbie went in with my Mom, I was bored enough to take Michael around the corner to a small game store, puzzles and board games and the like. I've been there a handful of times, and I've loved it more every time. Great store. Whenever I have spare petty cash, I should beg someone to take me there so I can pick up some of the puzzles (beautiful, and varied) and send them to random internet folks.
We went back a few minutes later just in time for Barbie to come out of the exam room. I really wasn't supposed to leave the office with Michael, but oh well. The two midgets spent twenty minutes with my Mom picking out frames *shudder* and we went up to the desk where someone commented on my hair, asking if it was heavy at all. I told her I wouldn't know, as I'd grown into it. :) Amusing.
THEN we were told the glasses'd be ready in an hour or so. I suggested going to a movie, and was glared at for several seconds by my Mom. We wound up walking around various stores, and I was ASSAULTED in the middle of the mall by this poor young Italian woman who decided to try and straighten my hair.
She dragged me over to her booth, and my Mom LET HER. The woman really couldn't understand that I didn't give a damn about my appearance, and explained the hair straightener with a heavy accent and comments about my hair needing to 'breathe' shortly after my Mom had told me that no, my hair was not alive and I was NOT under ANY circumstances allowed to tell the women in the optometrist's office otherwise, no matter how humorous it was.
And this woman goes on about my hair breathing.
So my little sister (who's hair has always been straight and doesn't seem to comprehend that I LIKE my hair) is off smirking while I'm being told to 'pamper myself' by this poor woman who looks so shocked while I'm trying to explain that no, I REALLY don't care. And my Mom's off giggling herself to death at my expense while the lady repeats herself.
We left a minute after that, assuring the woman that we'd consider the hair straightener. We didn't say that we'd be considering it for Regan, not me.
We went through the women's underwear section in Dillard's next, making bad jokes all the way. At least, Michael and I teamed up in an effort to REALLY giggle my Mom to death (and I still don't understand how the second grade boy understands more about women's underwear than a fourth grade girl) and suggesting who each item would go to if they were bought.
Then, to my astonishment, my siblings and mother went through the evening wear section groping clothing. It's as dirty as it sounds, I assure you. They were FEELING the clothing to see if it was 'just right' and comparing and rubbing up all over it...
I was highly disturbed.
We went to pick up the glasses and we left. Michael's pair was messed up inside one of the machines, so my Mom's gonna haveta go back next week to pick up another.
And then there's today.
I'll talk about Gussy later. Post is too long as it is. xD
Hiiiiiiii~
*flayed, recovers*
...So. I have no excuses. Except that I have spent the past several hours catching up on my f-list for little to no reason. I bet I had a reason when I started, but if I did I don't remember it now. *cough* I left no comments, and made the startling discovery that my f-list ENDS after 140 entries. Astonishing. ...and I still hadn't caught up on everything I wanted to. #^^#
Life Update: Ya'll know I don't get out much. I had a short period a few days ago where I was sicker than I've been in a LONG time and was crying at the drop of a hat, but I'm okay now. Mostly. My Mom had me go to the eye-doctor yesterday with Barbie (fourth grade) and Michael (second grade, first blond born, incredibly dorky). Michael received his first pair of glasses about nine months ago, and has broken five pairs in the meantime. He's the whole reason we were going, but Barbie needed her eyes checked too. I'm supposed to get a new pair of glasses in two weeks, my third pair EVER after I got my first pair in second grade, my second pair in fifth grade, and I haven't had my lenses changed for awhile. They need it. I need a new set of contacts.
ANYWAY. Mall. First we dropped by Brian Johnson's house.
Brian Johnson is the head/founder of the Tucson Baseball Academy, which my Dad helped bring into existence last this year, he used to be a baseball player and now he's a talent scout for some team I don't care enough about to remember. Said to be a good guy. I wouldn't know, I've been boycotting my brother's (and sister's) baseball/sports careers after some bad circumstances caused me to quit gymnastics and the piano, and I was a jealous little shit because I had to quit for THEM. And then they asked my sister to play on a BASEBALL team, instead of softball, and I was pissed off enough to just quit going. Not that I went a whole lot in the first place, you understand, babysitting's why I quit all these other things.
So. Never met the dude. I'm sitting in the car and waiting for my Mom to finish up so we can head out (because, of course, the only reason I'm along is because of BABYSITTING. Sitting in the car with Barbie and Michael. Noooo, I'm not bitter~) and this black woman flounces down the driveway smiling (I was and still am in a terrible mood) like Christmas's come early and she peers into the front seat of the car where I'm sitting hunched around my copy of Good Omens and ignoring the rest of the world and she says, "Oh, Marion! Is this your oldest?! Brian come out here! Have you ever met Merisa before?"
I'm not the most social of creatures. At least not until after a few hours, and I'm far away from any of my family. But here my Mom comes, giggling up a storm (the woman enjoys my pain, I tell you) and I just stare out the window at this female trying very very hard to disappear. It's not that hard, my hair was down and as frizzy as ever.
So Brian comes out, and I pay a bit of attention to him. My brothers love him as a coach, and my Dad's close to calling him a friend. (oh, you want my Dad? Think about an over-stressed version of Shrek. He has his good points, but I don't say them often enough because when I talk about him I wind up complaining.) He's carrying a little girl that looks fourish down the driveway, and he waved at me, friendly as can be.
I was this close to panicking.
So then the woman compliments my 'beautiful curls' (what is she ON? I love my hair, but it's NOT beautiful. Scary, definitely.) and says how 'young' I look and goes, "Why, are you sure she's the oldest? This is our famous Merisa? She looks younger than Regan!"
What. The. Fuck.
Regan, for those who don't know, is a year and a half younger than I am. She's bouncy, irritable, amusing, easily manipulated, and a ten year old at heart. She's a fanbrat in the truest sense, and I'm grateful every day that she doesn't have the attention span for fandom. She's also a Gaia frequenter, with a taste for obscenely colorful clothing, pirates, and rainbow socks. She's a walking color-blindness inducer. (I wonder how many words I made up THERE.) Regan is enthusiastic, tanned, and LIVELY. She can be a major bitch, but I blame that on genetics. Looking at any of our female ancestors I'm sure you would too.
I, on the other hand, have been called a grandmother at heart by many friends and relatives over the years. I'm pale where she's tan, withdrawn where she's flamboyant, and the internet has exposed me to more things that shouldn't be seen than I ever dreamed existed. Regan cried on September 11th when I couldn't, because what was worse than her incomprehension of what had happened was how I comprehended it. She was shocked, I was not. She was horrified... I was thinking about the future. I don't think I've ever mourned the dead, and I'm not sure I'm capable of it.
As you can see, this woman's comment bothered me a LOT.
At the time I was more shocked than anything else. So I turned back to my book and eavesdropped a bit. We left a few minutes later for the bank where my Mom got out and let me babysit again. I tried to read, but wound up eavesdropping on random pedestrians instead. This particular bank's in a really bad neighborhood, and it was interesting to see the men with guns go around the corner.
Needless to say, I was happy to leave.
So we went to the mall and I had a sneezing fit as we walked through Dillard's on the way in. Perfume/cologne = bad for health. School was hell in eighth grade, girls spraying crap everywhere and I was physically ill on more than one occasion. And the teachers wondered why I went home all the time.
The eye doctors office... as an emphasis on the youthful thing I might as well write a bit more about that than I'd planned. We walked in, place was empty, and Michael was first up for the Chair. Yes, it's necessary to capitalize it. xD So my Mom asked me if I'd go in with him, and I went and the doctor thought I was his mother.
This isn't the first time this has happened, not by far. I've been called the mother of every sibling of mine EXCEPT for Regan, Jackson, and Rebekah (Barbie) at this point. It's still a shock. I thought it was hilarious and I played along with it, in contrast to Brian's wife saying I looked younger than Regan. There have been several occasions where people have believed that I was my father's wife when we were out in public with no one else, and I bet that I wouldn't be carded if I so chose to take advantage of it.
The exam was over fairly quickly and Barbie went in with my Mom, I was bored enough to take Michael around the corner to a small game store, puzzles and board games and the like. I've been there a handful of times, and I've loved it more every time. Great store. Whenever I have spare petty cash, I should beg someone to take me there so I can pick up some of the puzzles (beautiful, and varied) and send them to random internet folks.
We went back a few minutes later just in time for Barbie to come out of the exam room. I really wasn't supposed to leave the office with Michael, but oh well. The two midgets spent twenty minutes with my Mom picking out frames *shudder* and we went up to the desk where someone commented on my hair, asking if it was heavy at all. I told her I wouldn't know, as I'd grown into it. :) Amusing.
THEN we were told the glasses'd be ready in an hour or so. I suggested going to a movie, and was glared at for several seconds by my Mom. We wound up walking around various stores, and I was ASSAULTED in the middle of the mall by this poor young Italian woman who decided to try and straighten my hair.
She dragged me over to her booth, and my Mom LET HER. The woman really couldn't understand that I didn't give a damn about my appearance, and explained the hair straightener with a heavy accent and comments about my hair needing to 'breathe' shortly after my Mom had told me that no, my hair was not alive and I was NOT under ANY circumstances allowed to tell the women in the optometrist's office otherwise, no matter how humorous it was.
And this woman goes on about my hair breathing.
So my little sister (who's hair has always been straight and doesn't seem to comprehend that I LIKE my hair) is off smirking while I'm being told to 'pamper myself' by this poor woman who looks so shocked while I'm trying to explain that no, I REALLY don't care. And my Mom's off giggling herself to death at my expense while the lady repeats herself.
We left a minute after that, assuring the woman that we'd consider the hair straightener. We didn't say that we'd be considering it for Regan, not me.
We went through the women's underwear section in Dillard's next, making bad jokes all the way. At least, Michael and I teamed up in an effort to REALLY giggle my Mom to death (and I still don't understand how the second grade boy understands more about women's underwear than a fourth grade girl) and suggesting who each item would go to if they were bought.
Then, to my astonishment, my siblings and mother went through the evening wear section groping clothing. It's as dirty as it sounds, I assure you. They were FEELING the clothing to see if it was 'just right' and comparing and rubbing up all over it...
I was highly disturbed.
We went to pick up the glasses and we left. Michael's pair was messed up inside one of the machines, so my Mom's gonna haveta go back next week to pick up another.
And then there's today.
I'll talk about Gussy later. Post is too long as it is. xD