Sunday, October 28, 2007

As if I'll ever grow up!

My friend MichelleL tagged me with the task of explaining to you what I would like to be when I grow up because I'm a lazy ass blogger with little inspiration. She's stepped in to save y'all from another bitch and moan session from moi. However, she's assuming that I actually want to grow up, which is debatable! But here ya go.

'Write five things you want to be when you grow up. Big dreams that seem like folly, but in your heart of hearts are very real and dear to you. Things that maybe you have forgotten about in the ebb and flow and toil of the everyday, but that never really leave your soul. What you would do if anything was possible?'


1. A doctor. From the time I was able to talk, until I was in 7th grade, a doctor is all I ever wanted to be. I am fascinated by the inner workings of the human body. Blood and gore do not disgust me or even make me queasy. They intrigue me. I love science and everything related to it. Had I not met Mr. Tenbrook in 7th grade Algebra, I'd have pursued a career in medicine. At that time, he informed me that I was too stupid to be a doctor and that if I tried, I'd end up killing someone. If anything were possible, I'd go back to 7th grade and tell Mr. Tenbrook to go fuck himself, and told mini-me to ignore him.

2. A professor. I love teaching. I am a teacher. But there is an allure associated with teaching at the college level that does not exist for the high school teacher. Teaching adults, students who want to be in class and can participate in intelligent discussions is a tantilizing prospect. If I had the money and the time, I'd pursue a master's/doctorate so that I could teach at the college level. I wouldn't want to teach Spanish though. I'd like to teach linguistics or Englich language acquisition classes. As soon as I win the lottery I never play, I'll be making this happen.

3. A chef. I. Love. Food. I love cooking it, and I love eating (most) of it. The things people do with food fascinate me almost as much as medicine does. If I could, I'd go to a culinary academy and learn how to create the artistic masterpieces I see them create on the cooking shows on TV, and put Rachel Ray out of business. I'm tired of seeing her manhands.

4.A CSI. And not because of the show-which isn't all that close to reality anyway. Again, I have a love affair with science. The information gathered and processed by CSI/Forensics team and lab are tantamount to magical in my book. I'd LOVE to nail creeps with their own DNA for a living.

5. An author. For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to write a book. I just can't decide what about. There are just too many idiotic and freakish events and stories in my life to choose from, and then there's the shit I make up in my head. I've actually started two books, but haven't finished either one, not even close. I get started and then get distracted. So, on the same day that I win the lottery I never play and become a graduate student, I'll sit down and finish a book or two.


Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand, that's it. All the people I know on here who would do this, have already been tagged, save one. So I tag Amy Lane and any other passersby who feel the need to share.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

I'm tired.

I'm tired of irresponsible people. I'm tired of hyper-sensitive people. I'm tired of ghetto-ass ignorant people. I'm tired of people who don't know what they think, but like to argue. I'm tired of people who have nothing better to do than meddle. I'm tired of fragile egos. I'm tired of people who want to be something they're not. I'm tired of jealous people. I'm tired of bitter, angry people, who've no right to be neither bitter, nor angry. I'm tired of the people who have let themselves fall so far down the rabbit hole, they couldn't claw their way out if they wanted to, and I'm tired of them trying to drag me down with them. I'm tired of the emotional retards I seem to be surrounded by. I'm tired of the walls I've built up and can't seem to knock down. I'm tired of working in the ghetto. I'm tired of lazy speech and limited vocabularies. I'm tired of the foolishness that passes for appropriate behaviour anymore. I'm tired of seeing asses hanging out of pants and boys who waddle instead of walk to keep said pants off the ground. I'm tired of people who refuse to let their kids grow up. I'm tired of people who refuse to accept responsibility for the choices they've made in this life. I'm tired of people who cannot handle confrontation. I'm tired of not being enough. I'm tired of allowing other people to 'make' me feel anything. I'm tired of taking shit and owning other people's misery. I'm tired of being sad. I'm tired of being strong. I'm tired of being it. I'm tired of being stuck. I'm just tired. I think I need a nap.

Monday, October 22, 2007

Freakish dreams

When I dream, I dream so intensely, vividly, and in detail, that I wake up tired from the dreaming. But with an infant in the house, and in my bed most of the night, it's rare that I sleep well anymore, let alone well enough to dream. Last night, however, I managed to sleep deep enough to have a freakish dream that I cannot thoroughly explain. There are a few things that are obvious representations of things going on in my real life, and a few that I just don't get. The telling of it may involve a little TMI, just sos ya know.
Here's the dream:
I finished pumping and was cleaning myself up, putting things away and getting my bra back on.(I am breastfeeding/pumping milk for the aforementioned infant in real life.) I went to put the pads back in my bra, only they weren't pads. They were square chocolate muffins. And they were HUGE. So I'm sitting here, on my couch, shoving chocolate muffins into my bra, snapping the bra closed, all like this is completely normal. When I pull my shirt down over my bra, I have square boobs, which I walk to the mirror to check out. Instead of being horrified, I smooth my shirt down over them, stick my chest out, and the start smooshing the corners of the muffins with my fingers, trying to round them out. Having successfully rounded my corners out, I brush the crumbs off my shirt, look down and see the crumbs on the floor around my feet, and proceed to pick them up and put them BACK IN MY BRA.
This whole scene repeated itself 3 times before I woke up.

So, I ask you, wtf is wrong with me that on the one occasion in the last 10 months that I've gotten decent sleep, my brain decides to give me chocolate square boobs? Anyone? Anyone? Yeah, I don't get it either.