And then I found five dollars
A few days ago, I printed out these articles for my politics of education course. About five articles, approximately 40 pages. (By the way, don't you love it when people say "approximately 43 pages?" approximately 43??? 43?! People need to use how to use the word "approximately.") Anyhow, so I print them out, but I had cleaned my room earlier, so I had moved the printer around to get under my bed (which is a scary thing. I have to admit, I'm 21 years old, and sometimes I get really afraid of reaching under my bed. Not because of monsters. Because of possible bugs.) So I had moved the printer and in the process, I had moved the little plastic print tray on the side - that thing that sits there and holds all the printed pages in a neat, ordered way. It's funny, how much you can miss something as simple as that when you don't have it.
Or not at all.
So I push print, go downstairs, and come back to my room about 15 minutes later. What greets me? Oh, about 50 pages all over the place on the floor. It looked like someone came in and played 52 pick-up with my floor, only with full 8x11 pages with lots of similar looking writing on them. Thiiiiis looked promising.
I begin to put all the pages in order, right? Yeah, not so fast, Nancy Drew. I took another look and guess what, all the articles were from the same journal, yes, but different ISSUES. And here's an added bonus: they all were from pages five - fifteen. So I had five page fives, basically, and five page sixes, and you get the idea. Saweet.
Have you ever been really angry at yourself? That was me. I was so annoyed at my stupidity. I started mumbling self-deprecating swears at myself, which made it all worse, because I reminded myself of some homeless drunk wandering around asking himself where all his money went to and scaring young children (ok, scaring me) and quite frankly, I think it's sad when you remind yourself of a homeless guy. So I tried to stop talking to myself, and instead I just made these awful grimaces.
I'm about twenty minutes into this glorious project - I'm reading the last line of each page and the first line of the next to match them all up - when I notice the top right hand corner of the paper. It has an entirely different number. Hmm. So do all the others.
Yeah, that's right. They were all in a book or some sort of collection, and they all have different, sequential numbers in the top right hand corner. Five minutes later, I'm done.
I'm finally feeling better about the entire incident when I get ready to staple all of the articles, the most satisfactory of finishing touches. And then what happens? I find out I'm all out of staples. Seriously. Does this stuff happen to other people?
In other upsetting news:
A month ago, on Columbus Day, I decided I'd had enough of the piles of crap in my room so I cleaned everything. I even went under my bed and organized all my stuff. I ended up getting rid of tons of stuff, filling up tons of bags and throwing them away.
Fast forward to October 23. I'm working the World Series (which, ps, the Sox won) and I go to get some gloves. Hmm. Can't find them. (Do you KNOW where this is going?!) Whatever, I think. I have to clean my room again anyhow because believe it or not, in two weeks of working like a crazy person and watching games until midnight only to be back at the same table by 6 PM that day, well, I haven't had much time to make sure all my stuff is in its place. So I figure, whatever, in a few days, I'll find everything.
Well, we're at the few days. So I go looking for my winter hats, gloves, mittens, scarves. Nowhere. I decided I have to take apart my room, because they have to be here somewhere, right? They're in a Gap bag, I know that much.
So then on Sunday, I finally get to finding them. And I'm at the bottom of one of my bins and I see the elusive red Gap bag. Sweeeet!
Hold up there. You know that line that people use all the time, where they say, "It's like someone said, okay, take a big step forward, claim your prize, and then you took the step and suddenly it was like, 'whoa there, not so fast!' just to you, so you have to go back?" Okay. Maybe I'm the only person who's used that, but that's what it felt like. Because I figured, everyone else who finds a red Gap bag gets to have their favorite hats and mittens in it.
Only I find a red Gap bag full of garbage.
Yeah. That's right. I threw away a bag full of winter stuff. And I kept a bag of garbage.
It's not even funny, really. I mean, there was a good chunk of money in that bag. I'd collected that stuff over years. I have a favorite hat and mittens, and actually, it hurts to write that I won't have them anymore. It was this pink and cranberry colored thick stripe thing, and it was great. Wow. What a set. And now, it's all in a junkyard somewhere. Oh man. I'm pretty upset about it all to tell you the truth.
I can't believe I did that.
Don't think laughing about it makes it any better.
It doesn't.
Also, in additonal upsetting news (and I haven't even TOUCHED on the election), I saw the movie Ladder 49. I've told a lot of people I saw this movie because it was very upsetting to me. I mean, they show you this great guy, a nice - a QUIETLY nice - guy. By quietly nice, I mean that he wasn't pointing out to everyone all the time how nice he was, but he was the type of guy who was just nice. You'd want to be friends with him. Like, I'd want him to be my kids' dad. I think he'd be great at family barbecues and always playing with them and stuff. I'd want him to teach my kid how to ride a bike. That's really what it comes down to I think - you know, when you meet a guy, think, "Would I want him teaching my kid to ride a bike?" (Girls who take this too seriously will actually do that and freak out every guy in a 50 mile radius.) But I mean, it's a pretty good test of someone. You don't have to have him be the kid's father (i.e. your husband) but just think, would this guy be nice to a kid who's nervous trying to balance himself on a two wheeler for the first time while going down a really big hill for the first time in front of all the neighborhood kids and her dad's video camera? And would he be the kind of nice guy to come help the poor kid up after she thought a car was going to run her over (god only knows why) so she swerved into the grass and a brambly bush? I mean, would he be good in that situation?
And the thing is, to get back onto Ladder 49 and away from my bike trauma, this Joaquin Phoenix guy, he would have been great in that situation. I feel like he wouldn't have been cheesy but he would have been like, "ehh, you're still okay" or something like that. In the movie, he played that kind of guy.
So you root for him, and you root for his family, and you hold your breath while he fights all these huge fires and you almost cry when he gets all burned up and gets a little freaked out by the job. And then you think he's going to be rescued.
Yeah, well. You're a naive stupid person.
That was me. Only add like buckets of crying all over the place. I looked around the movie theater and all I saw was a whole lot of tears and snot. I'm not even joking. Then they play this song at the end which makes you just want to crawl in a hole.
I'm a masochist though, so I went home and got the song and played it over and over again. And then to add to it (whhhhat the fuuuuck?) I decided to go to the movie site and watch the trailer or something. Like to put pictures to the movie. It's like I wanted to be sad, only I didn't. I had to go through things in my life that were good. I actually - seriously - said to my friend on the way out, "The Red Sox won the world series. I should be okay." That's how bad it was.
Don't ever see it. Not because it's not a good movie - it is - but because you don't want to feel the way I felt. Some people say it's a good thing to be able to be that sad about a movie - just like I always want to cry when I see a fat person eating by himself - they're like, "oh that means that you actually have this huge heart and you really care about people" but you know the truth? It's not that good, because you get sad real easily about stupid things, like a John Travolta movie!
I feel like I should watch Jerry Maguire. Life is always better after you watch Jerry Maguire.
I went to buy some shoes today. I was very excited about these shoes. I wanted red sneakers. They only had them in kids. Stupid jerks. But I went to another store and found some other shoes that I liked. So I actually bought them, and as I'm paying, the girl goes, "Oh, PS, these aren't waterproof so when you're going to be wearing them, and what you bought them for, like casual days when it's raining and stuff and when you just want to walk around a lot and not worry about your shoes, well, they're useless for that." Or, she said, "By the way, these aren't water resistant," but the whole first part was definitely there - just not vocalized. So I had to buy this spray stuff for my shoes so they don't get ruined.
I wasn't really happy about this, but I felt like I had to complete the transcation. Does that ever happen to anyone else? Because sometimes I feel like people have invested all this time in me, I have to go through with it even if I don't want to (umm that sounds really bad like sexual assault. good god.) But here's an example: last year, I went to Express and tried on a whole bunch of clothes. A girl working offered to get me all these different colors and sizes and stuff and she was being very helpful. I didn't want to buy anything in the end though. But I felt like she'd given me all this help and all this time, so I had to do something so she'd get a little commission or something. So I bought this shirt. Two weeks later, I brought it back. Only to a different Express, so she wouldn't see me. It's sick. I bought the shirt KNOWING I would return it.
So today, I knew I wasn't going to keep the shoes or the stupid spray. But I bought them anyways and then I went all the way to Copley to a different store to return them. Like 15 minutes later. And, the guy there was like, "You just bought all this." And because I didn't want to get into it, I said, "Yeah, I bought them for my friend, but she just called and said she found them in another store so I can return them."
It's a sick thing. It really is.
Or not at all.
So I push print, go downstairs, and come back to my room about 15 minutes later. What greets me? Oh, about 50 pages all over the place on the floor. It looked like someone came in and played 52 pick-up with my floor, only with full 8x11 pages with lots of similar looking writing on them. Thiiiiis looked promising.
I begin to put all the pages in order, right? Yeah, not so fast, Nancy Drew. I took another look and guess what, all the articles were from the same journal, yes, but different ISSUES. And here's an added bonus: they all were from pages five - fifteen. So I had five page fives, basically, and five page sixes, and you get the idea. Saweet.
Have you ever been really angry at yourself? That was me. I was so annoyed at my stupidity. I started mumbling self-deprecating swears at myself, which made it all worse, because I reminded myself of some homeless drunk wandering around asking himself where all his money went to and scaring young children (ok, scaring me) and quite frankly, I think it's sad when you remind yourself of a homeless guy. So I tried to stop talking to myself, and instead I just made these awful grimaces.
I'm about twenty minutes into this glorious project - I'm reading the last line of each page and the first line of the next to match them all up - when I notice the top right hand corner of the paper. It has an entirely different number. Hmm. So do all the others.
Yeah, that's right. They were all in a book or some sort of collection, and they all have different, sequential numbers in the top right hand corner. Five minutes later, I'm done.
I'm finally feeling better about the entire incident when I get ready to staple all of the articles, the most satisfactory of finishing touches. And then what happens? I find out I'm all out of staples. Seriously. Does this stuff happen to other people?
In other upsetting news:
A month ago, on Columbus Day, I decided I'd had enough of the piles of crap in my room so I cleaned everything. I even went under my bed and organized all my stuff. I ended up getting rid of tons of stuff, filling up tons of bags and throwing them away.
Fast forward to October 23. I'm working the World Series (which, ps, the Sox won) and I go to get some gloves. Hmm. Can't find them. (Do you KNOW where this is going?!) Whatever, I think. I have to clean my room again anyhow because believe it or not, in two weeks of working like a crazy person and watching games until midnight only to be back at the same table by 6 PM that day, well, I haven't had much time to make sure all my stuff is in its place. So I figure, whatever, in a few days, I'll find everything.
Well, we're at the few days. So I go looking for my winter hats, gloves, mittens, scarves. Nowhere. I decided I have to take apart my room, because they have to be here somewhere, right? They're in a Gap bag, I know that much.
So then on Sunday, I finally get to finding them. And I'm at the bottom of one of my bins and I see the elusive red Gap bag. Sweeeet!
Hold up there. You know that line that people use all the time, where they say, "It's like someone said, okay, take a big step forward, claim your prize, and then you took the step and suddenly it was like, 'whoa there, not so fast!' just to you, so you have to go back?" Okay. Maybe I'm the only person who's used that, but that's what it felt like. Because I figured, everyone else who finds a red Gap bag gets to have their favorite hats and mittens in it.
Only I find a red Gap bag full of garbage.
Yeah. That's right. I threw away a bag full of winter stuff. And I kept a bag of garbage.
It's not even funny, really. I mean, there was a good chunk of money in that bag. I'd collected that stuff over years. I have a favorite hat and mittens, and actually, it hurts to write that I won't have them anymore. It was this pink and cranberry colored thick stripe thing, and it was great. Wow. What a set. And now, it's all in a junkyard somewhere. Oh man. I'm pretty upset about it all to tell you the truth.
I can't believe I did that.
Don't think laughing about it makes it any better.
It doesn't.
Also, in additonal upsetting news (and I haven't even TOUCHED on the election), I saw the movie Ladder 49. I've told a lot of people I saw this movie because it was very upsetting to me. I mean, they show you this great guy, a nice - a QUIETLY nice - guy. By quietly nice, I mean that he wasn't pointing out to everyone all the time how nice he was, but he was the type of guy who was just nice. You'd want to be friends with him. Like, I'd want him to be my kids' dad. I think he'd be great at family barbecues and always playing with them and stuff. I'd want him to teach my kid how to ride a bike. That's really what it comes down to I think - you know, when you meet a guy, think, "Would I want him teaching my kid to ride a bike?" (Girls who take this too seriously will actually do that and freak out every guy in a 50 mile radius.) But I mean, it's a pretty good test of someone. You don't have to have him be the kid's father (i.e. your husband) but just think, would this guy be nice to a kid who's nervous trying to balance himself on a two wheeler for the first time while going down a really big hill for the first time in front of all the neighborhood kids and her dad's video camera? And would he be the kind of nice guy to come help the poor kid up after she thought a car was going to run her over (god only knows why) so she swerved into the grass and a brambly bush? I mean, would he be good in that situation?
And the thing is, to get back onto Ladder 49 and away from my bike trauma, this Joaquin Phoenix guy, he would have been great in that situation. I feel like he wouldn't have been cheesy but he would have been like, "ehh, you're still okay" or something like that. In the movie, he played that kind of guy.
So you root for him, and you root for his family, and you hold your breath while he fights all these huge fires and you almost cry when he gets all burned up and gets a little freaked out by the job. And then you think he's going to be rescued.
Yeah, well. You're a naive stupid person.
That was me. Only add like buckets of crying all over the place. I looked around the movie theater and all I saw was a whole lot of tears and snot. I'm not even joking. Then they play this song at the end which makes you just want to crawl in a hole.
I'm a masochist though, so I went home and got the song and played it over and over again. And then to add to it (whhhhat the fuuuuck?) I decided to go to the movie site and watch the trailer or something. Like to put pictures to the movie. It's like I wanted to be sad, only I didn't. I had to go through things in my life that were good. I actually - seriously - said to my friend on the way out, "The Red Sox won the world series. I should be okay." That's how bad it was.
Don't ever see it. Not because it's not a good movie - it is - but because you don't want to feel the way I felt. Some people say it's a good thing to be able to be that sad about a movie - just like I always want to cry when I see a fat person eating by himself - they're like, "oh that means that you actually have this huge heart and you really care about people" but you know the truth? It's not that good, because you get sad real easily about stupid things, like a John Travolta movie!
I feel like I should watch Jerry Maguire. Life is always better after you watch Jerry Maguire.
I went to buy some shoes today. I was very excited about these shoes. I wanted red sneakers. They only had them in kids. Stupid jerks. But I went to another store and found some other shoes that I liked. So I actually bought them, and as I'm paying, the girl goes, "Oh, PS, these aren't waterproof so when you're going to be wearing them, and what you bought them for, like casual days when it's raining and stuff and when you just want to walk around a lot and not worry about your shoes, well, they're useless for that." Or, she said, "By the way, these aren't water resistant," but the whole first part was definitely there - just not vocalized. So I had to buy this spray stuff for my shoes so they don't get ruined.
I wasn't really happy about this, but I felt like I had to complete the transcation. Does that ever happen to anyone else? Because sometimes I feel like people have invested all this time in me, I have to go through with it even if I don't want to (umm that sounds really bad like sexual assault. good god.) But here's an example: last year, I went to Express and tried on a whole bunch of clothes. A girl working offered to get me all these different colors and sizes and stuff and she was being very helpful. I didn't want to buy anything in the end though. But I felt like she'd given me all this help and all this time, so I had to do something so she'd get a little commission or something. So I bought this shirt. Two weeks later, I brought it back. Only to a different Express, so she wouldn't see me. It's sick. I bought the shirt KNOWING I would return it.
So today, I knew I wasn't going to keep the shoes or the stupid spray. But I bought them anyways and then I went all the way to Copley to a different store to return them. Like 15 minutes later. And, the guy there was like, "You just bought all this." And because I didn't want to get into it, I said, "Yeah, I bought them for my friend, but she just called and said she found them in another store so I can return them."
It's a sick thing. It really is.
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