catymaybe

Oh Roommates...

2009-02-28T09:01:47Z

Claudia, recently, whenever I have trouble sleeping on a night such as this, I have taken to thinking up raunchy names to call my terror of a roommate (because "rotten bitch" just won't cut it anymore).

Tonight she is a: crusty muff, oozing twat, unctious snatch, fiery cunt.

If she were fat, I might call her blubber biscuit.

Seeping jizz-sock.

Point is, she's a big nasty and I hate her.

She lets her dog tyrannize my shit. I literally cannot leave anything in the living room while I'm away, because when I come back, it will be in pieces. My couch. Oh so many of my shoes. The fucking awesome mask I made for the party I went to last Sunday. My computer. Oh, yes, Claudia, someone has fucked up my very expensive computer that I just got fixed. The screen is all cracked and the LCD is leaking out. Neither of my roommates claim to know anything. Someone is most certainly lying to me. If I had to put money on it I would say it was that used-up cum-catcher, Veronica.

Veronica.

Does anyone know a "Veronica" that doesn't suck moldy cock for lube money?

Cause I sure don't.

She's one of those stupid girls who thinks she can do whatever she wants because she's pretty. She makes bad decisions and is sociopathically self-absorbed (which, come to think of it is probably the reason for the bad decisions). She's one of those girls (and there are too many, Claudia) who thinks she's way smarter than she really is.

It's kind of gotten to the point where I don't even want to leave my room when she's here. In my own house. I pay rent just like her--more than her, in fact; I should have a right to keep my shit where I want (within reason, of course) without it getting torn up, and I should certainly have the freedom to leave my room at my leisure.

Now, Q, you know as well as I--better than I--that I have my flaws as a roommate. And I'd like to apologize, formally and with all sincerity, if there were any times when I made you feel unhappy about living with me. I honestly think that's something I couldn't realize until a similar situation was reflected back on me. But to carelessly allow an animal I am responsible for to destroy hundreds of dollars of someone else's stuff is something I would never do. That can never be justified.

Veronica. Double fuck that bitch. I don't think there's anything I could possibly say that can let you know how completely she licks the splooge out of the scummy cum trough.

September officially double sucks

2008-09-02T22:10:11Z

After the car ordeal last night, I came back down to McAllen. I left in the Back-Up at about two this afternoon.

I am now back in McAllen.

The Back-Up didn't make it.

I'm down to my last option: the bus.

Holeeee Shit.

August was great...

2008-09-02T00:48:51Z

...but September is going to suck.

I know it's mighty early in the month to pass judgments on it, but I think it's one of those fucking things that you can just tell, you know. One sure sign is the fact that I am sitting, car-less, in a McDonald's in Fal-fucking-furrius, Texas, waiting on a tow service. Needless to say, the AAA membership I have not needed at all in the last year expired two weeks ago. Fuck, man.

I don't think anyone could argue with me when I say that this is an incredibly inauspicious beginning to the month of September. Which is really fucking disappointing after August was so awesome. I turned 21 and had an awesome birthday, I moved into a bitchin' new house with a yard and everything. I had a great birthday party, I started school, I've bonded with Amanda (which has mostly involved smoking a lot of weed), and to end August with a bang, I went down to McAllen to see my boyfriend and family.

Which is why my car is now broken down about 3 miles south of Falfurrius.

Shit. September is gonna fucking suck.

catymaybe @ 2008-02-20T22:50:00

2008-02-21T06:21:03Z

It's amazing how much less dramatic drama seems now-a-days. Like, the high-school-me would have thrown about ten kinds of hissy-fits by now for just the silly little things that are not exaclty how I want them to be right now: the no-job-having because Threadgill's can't get their shit together (maybe not--high-school-me was adamantly opposed to jobs, however not so opposed to paying rent and other various bills), the stupid rhetorical criticism class not letting me do well in it (admittedly, I have thrown a fit about that one--I don't know what that woman wants from me!) the boyfriend being generally jobless and un-school-ing and depressed, which sucks because it makes him act kinda lame sometimes (wait--never mind, high-school-me was way too awkward to have a boyfriend). And I deal a lot with high school kids (three of my siblings are at that age) and just want to pat them on their tender young heads and tell them that, while the bullshit continues to fly all over the place, you have to realize that it's never as big a deal as you think it is. Ever. Unless you're, like, that little girl who got her arm bitten off by a shark while surfing, or you're dying of some thing or the other, or something like that. And, in any of those cases where it does happen to be a big deal, just marginalize it, and everything will be peachy.

I think that one's contentment with life has a very close relationship with one's ability to gloss over the shitty things that are totally out of your hands. If my twenty short years have taught me anything, it's that things generally fix themselves anyway, and the one's that don't--well, you're gonna have to buck the fuck up and live with them just the same. I am not advocating that you willfully deceive yourself into believing that nothing ever goes wrong, because you'd have to be pretty damned obtuse to be able to do that. It's just, like, get the fuck over it already: people have bigger problems--like that girl who got her arm bitten off. She'll never grow that shit back! But did you see her crying in her room all day? No! She went on Oprah and other myriad talk shows and smiled about it! She took a really shitty situation and exploited it into a quick 15 minutes of fame. Good for her! May she serve as a beacon of hope to us all!

A lot of you might be thinking to yourself "Right, Catherine, you say that, but have you really gone through that much bullshit?"

The answer: yes.

And to hell with you who disbelieve me.

So maybe I haven't watched my parents murdered ala Bruce Wayne, but, yes, my daddy hit me and said mean things to me, and you know what, I still think he's a great dad--among the best. Yes, the person I loved most, fucking idolized, was suddenly ripped out from under my very shocked feet, and I miss her, but I haven't stopped living. Yes, I've had my share of broken hearts and near misses. I've known rejection and disappointment, and utter fucking failure. I have had the average amount of adversity for someone my age.

Like most my age, though, I can't say for sure whether I've found the secret to true happiness. The "glossy" thing can't actually solve any problems. I think it's more of a way for you to relax and realize that most problems don't really need any active solving, and all the hissy fits in the world simply aren't going to change the fact that your place of employment is taking longer than estimated to remodel, or that your class is something that you're totally unused to and you're still adjusting to it, or that your boyfriend is... in a rut? I mean, you can do your part, like study, or whatever, but ultimately you're gonna get your arm bitten off by a shark anyway (metaphorically speaking) and it's okay to pout--for a little while. But you're the one who has to keep your metaphorical bandages clean, or else you'll get a bitch of an infection (metaphorically speaking). And Oprah just doesn't want your gangrenous arm on her show (and that's just common sense).

Pretty New Things

2007-12-07T03:18:39Z

My dear friends and brethren, I'm afraid the last you heard of me was less-than-wonderful. Everyone gets in those places, now and then, and I just wanted to let the three of you who might happen to read this that I am doing much better. New things take adjusting, and you'd think after 20 years of existence I would have figured that out and not throw a shit-fit over it.

But yes. So Christmas is coming. With more new things.

Yes, there are the material new things, that are often pretty and shiny. Very rarely are they scary, and even more rarely do they take any real adjusting. Those aren't necessarily the "new things" I have in mind.

I think--and this, dear ones, is what is most foreign, newest, to me--that I am a grown-up now. I am in the very early stages of grown-uphood, this is true, but when I think back to how I was, even six months ago, I feel like I just think differently.

For one thing, I actually like kids now. I'm not supposed to do that! But every time I see a baby, I just want to play with it, or something. I catch myself thinking "Aww, I want one!" Like it's a damn new car, or coat, or something. And then, I realize what I just asked for--"I can't have a baby! Especially not now! I still have, like, a million years of school! And then I have to start things like careers and savings accounts! And, Christ, if Brian gets me pregnant, I don't know if I can make him the father of my child for the rest of my life--I mean he's nice and all, and I love him muchos, but... I'm only 20. Even if I do have to have a baby, it'll have to wait for many, many years. Probably another 20." Then, of course, I get all motherly-and-shit and just want to, like, marry rich and just stay at home all the time and have 70 kids, or something. Very adult-like, huh?

Eh. On the note of relationships, Brian and I have been together for almost eight months now, which is odd to me. Maybe he has been as much impetus for my new found grown-upness as my actual aging? Who knows.

Also, I have decided on a career path, which seems to be another passage to adulthood. And this isn't the nursing kick I got on a couple of years ago, either. I was wary of that from the beginning; this just feels right. What have decided upon, you may ask? I think I want to be a speech pathologist--it seems to combine the two areas I like most: biology and, of course, speech. I don't know. This will probably go the way of my nursing and English degrees, but I'm going to start working towards it this upcoming semester.

I even do responsible-ish things, which I kind of steered away from in earlier days. Like, take initiative and study sometimes, or actually set up appointments for things I need to have appointed. I clean my house occasionally and take care-ish of my car. I buy things I need more often than things I want.

So as half-assed as this budding grown-uphood may be, I think it is definitely budding. I think the main thing that has changed, though, is the fact that I am letting, even encouraging it to bud. I think six months ago, or maybe even three months ago, I resisted growing up, because... it's scary. I still want to sit in my mommy's lap sometimes (in a totally non-Oedipal way), and let her sing me "Puff the Magic Dragon". Sadly, I don't know if I'll ever grow out of that. But, I also want to grow-up now. I want to become a shiny, new person, and see what becomes of me.

This is majorly emo, I have to warn you

2007-11-05T04:50:10Z

So I'm here, I'm more than halfway through my first semester at UT (an actual university, woo!), I'm living on my own, nearly independent of my parents (definitely independent of their rules), I'm working, I'm living, right?

I am not happy.

I am living my dream. A year ago, this, the point I am at now, was the ultimate in Catherine-happiness: if I could make it to UT, to Austin, I would be able to start my life as a true individual. I would be my very own complete person.

I didn't foresee the loneliness, though. I didn't realize that I would actually start making ties in the valley with people who I would miss. That I would actually find a boyfriend who I love very much and that I would be bordering on actual physical pain for missing him. That, over the next year, my family would become absolutely the most important thing to me. I didn't foresee living by myself, that the closest thing I would have to company would be listening to the upstairs neighbors stomp around, have sex, open and close drawers, make their dog bark, listen to music, have people over.

I didn't realize, and this was simply naivete and shortsightedness on my part, that the classes at this "higher level institution", this "actual university" would be essentially the same as all of the other classes I've ever taken, except with a lot more work. A lot more work.

I didn't expect to be stuck here, in Austin, for months, because who has the money? who has the time? to go places. Austin has everything. It's a little micro-world, right here under my nose, why would I possibly need to go anywhere else? I thought. But the same unsettled feeling has gotten into me, just like it has everywhere else I've lived. I just need to take just a day or two and just go... just go.

So Austin has not lived up to my dream. I guess I was setting myself up for disappointment; moving here was the magic solution to every problem I've ever had, ever. I would magically lose 30 pounds from all the walking I would do here, my face would magically be spotless, just from leaving the dirty air in the valley, I would be witty and charming and the life of every party with this new UT education I would receive. How could anything possibly live up to that? My vision of Austin was a dream, and silly me for thinking that dreams do well when translated to real life. Because, in real life, you can't control what's going on. When things in real life start getting scary or frustrating, you can't say "this sucks" and wake up next to your boyfriend. You can't wake up for a couple of seconds and then start over with something entirely new, maybe a superpower, maybe a baby. This dreamworld, here in Austin, is quite painfully real. Things just won't fall in to place like I planned for.

I guess that's the moral of this escapade: dreams should be left for the sleeping, plans should not be treated as certainties.

I don't want to hear it!

2007-09-29T00:33:13Z

Q, seeing as we are roomies now, many LJers may think it superfluous to write to you; what could I possibly have to write to someone I see every day. But, as you have mysteriously disappeared for the week, and Bob only knows the next time I'll get to talk to you, I rather do have something to say.

Now, this isn't referencing you, specifically, Q, but a certain number of my friends seem to think that I care to hear about their sexual exploits, and have taken to indiscriminately sharing them with me. Well, QClaudia, be it known to everybody, everybody, that I absolutely, under no circumstances, want to hear you talk about the coital relations between you and your partner. This includes, but is by no means limited to: hand jobs, blow jobs, spanking, whipping, t-bagging, Snowballing, Sanchezes sucios, Cleavland steamers, golden showers, any variation on cunnilingus, and, especially, any endeavors into anal sex.

You might suppose, my beloved Q, that I am just bitter because my own, personal, boyfriend and light of my life is currently 300 miles away and I'm not getting laid nearly as often as I'd like, and was, indeed, heretofore used to. Whether this supposition is correct, I cannot say; but, what I will say is this: even when I was getting booty somewhat regularly, I didn't share my sexual endeavors. I never once wiped off, pulled out my cell phone and scrolled to the first person on my speed dial to say, "Hey, guess what I just did! Brain was plugging me in the ass then he pulled out and came in my ear!" (Which, incidentally dear QClaudia, is so untrue on an unfathomable number of levels). And while I might intimate a few vague details to a couple of very close friends, it's usually to seek advice, rather than to throw my sexuality in their faces.

The fact that I feel compelled to post this on LiveJournal is sad, I know. But, as the person(s) in question have not yielded to my requests, I'm hoping that once they see this written down, they will realize how indecent and insensitive their actions are, indeed.

catymaybe @ 2007-08-06T12:52:00

2007-08-06T18:25:15Z

QClaudia, isn't it nice when someone gives you a compliment, like a really nice compliment? You get this warm fuzzy feeling that's something like self-confidence all day.

Like the other day I went to the bank and some random black man (I think he was actually God in disguise. I mean, I think it's perfectly suitable that God should be some jolly black dude that drives a really old boat-looking car, like an Oldsmobile, or something.) stopped me and said that I had a pretty smile. "Why, thank you!" "You have a nice day, now--and smile more!" "Well, I most certainly will!"

And for the rest of the day I was all grins. It was nice.

Just thought I'd share that with you Q, because it made me happy.

Something else that is making me happy: upcoming move to Austin with you! Woo!

Something that is making me not-so-happy: leaving Brian behind. I kinda love him, Claudia... well, not "kinda"... more like "really, really"... and even though he has been a little un-fun lately, I'm still absolutely crazy about him... Yeah, this is making me even more sad, so...

Something I have very mixed feelings on: the impending 20th birthday (this Thursday). Yikes. That's half-way to 40, Q! I'm getting old. On one hand, I won't be a teenager anymore, so that's one step further from things like parental restraint and MIPs, and one step closer to adulthood. On the other hand, adulthood is scary. Adulthood means I'll have to start doing adult-like things, like reading the newspaper and filling out a W-2 form. And I might even have to have kids... ugh...

Something I am extremely happy about: going to UT! I get to actually learn something (hopefully)! STC was miserable, Q. At UT I might actually get to take classes that interest me. STC, I think, is a remedial college, for the kids who couldn't get good grades in high school, so they need to have the same coursework at the same level of expectation all over again.

Anywho... I will see you in nine days, Q!

I am in the Philippines, Claudia!

2007-05-20T12:49:07Z

It is so beautiful.

It is almost equally hot.

The people are nice.

I will never eat rice again.

I miss Brian and my mommy.

I got you something; I hope you like it.

Layovers Suck

2007-05-14T20:14:48Z

Bah. My Claudia, I am currently at Houston Intercontinental, eagerly awaiting my Philippine adventure, but not so eagerly awaiting my three and a half hour flight to San Fran, and the subsequent 16(?) hour flight to Manila. I have another three hours of layover here, and for some reason MySpace is blocked on this connection, so I figured I'd give all my beloved (but meaningless in comparison to you, love) LJers an update on the few things I have going on.

1. I AM GOING TO THE PHILIPPINES! TODAY! WOO! Yeah, I'm really excited, but I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do there for a whole week, and I'm definitely dreading the trip over there. Especially since the only person I am traveling with is, you guessed it, our Favorite Uncle Tommy (the one with the boots). He keeps talking about this chick I used to work with he is currently sleeping with; I'm not sure how I feel about the two of them, but I am sure that I don't want to hear about it, in any, any detail.

2. NEW BOYFRIEND! WOO! I like him, Claudia. In fact, I am absolutely crazy about him. His name is Brian and he's really cute and dorky, and too, too sweet. He likes to cook for me, and even opens the car door. And he bought me flowers... aww... I don't know what I'm going to do without him for a week... I think he's going to take me to Austin when I get back. Woo!

3. Laptop! Woo! I have one now. It's nice. Brian helped me pick it out. Aww... a whole week...

4. Meh. I really don't have anything else to report.

So yeah. I hope there's some form of Internet over on Calibo (the island I'm going to) so that I have something to entertain me other than Tommy and Joey (both of whom I love very much, but would get very agitated with after a week).

catymaybe @ 2007-04-09T23:30:00

2007-04-10T07:27:40Z

Well, my Claudia, my only and best beloved, I am sorry if I disappoint, but I have recently found out, with the utmost assuredness, that I am not--NOT--not in any way, shape, or form--a lesbian. Admittedly, I was a little bit curious about being involved in girl-on-girl love; girls are pretty, and boobs are great, so why not be a lesbian, right? Well, I let my curiosity get the better of me last Sunday after work and agreed to go with David and several other co-workers to the strip club.

Oh, my Claudia. I don't know if you've ever been to a strip club, love, but it's definitely not something you want to do sober, which was, unfortunately, the case when I went. The first thing I noticed was that it was absolutely freezing in there, which I suppose they do for aesthetic as well as practical purposes (drunk people get hot, cold nipples get hard). The whole place smelled like cigarette smoke and, oddly enough, my deodorant, and was filled with drunken, leering men (and a surprising number of drunken, leering women). When I saw the first girl dancing onstage, I thought it was probably one of the most pathetic spectacles I'd ever seen. As she finished and knelt down to pick up her discarded clothes, I couldn't help but think "You poor girl. If only you could recover your dignity as easily as that top."

After a while David got really drunk and decided it was time to drag me to the stage and buy me a dance. He, of course took his turn first, while I watched on in my "pity and disgust" face that I really only wanted to come off as wonder and curiosity. The stripper, I believe Black Diamond is what she called herself, must have mistaken this for jealousy. "I'm sorry," she said as she hooked her leg around his head, bring his face directly into her cooch, "is this your boyfriend?" Before I could answer, David said "Yeah. In fact, we're getting married tomorrow. Hey, it's her turn now." My protests were muffled by boobs in my face.

Even in a room full of writhing naked women, with everyone at the table was getting progressively more drunk while I was, most unfortunately, not drinking at all, I found myself thinking that this was not the most awkward situation I'd ever been in.

You should never, ever find yourself thinking that, my Claudia, because the laws of irony state that if you do ever find yourself in a quasi-awkward situation, and doubt for a second the full potential for awkwardness, David will buy you a lap dance.

Of course, he had to bring Black Diamond over, since he was such a fan of her earlier work.

If you are not familiar with strip club protocol, love, there are the stage dances, where you go up to the stage, offer a dollar, and the girl dances in front of you for a minute or so, touching as she feels fit. This is what I had experienced earlier, and it wasn't too, too violating. Then there are the lap dances, where you pay twenty dollars, and for an entire song, which, in my case seemed to last about thirty minutes, a black chick with an incredibly boisterous ass will come rub said ass all over you, in addition to her titties, crotch, and upper thighs, and even go so far as to grab your hands and place them on the various aforementioned body parts while everyone in possession of a penis stares in awe of the "hot chick-on-chick action" and you just feel very intimidated and slightly cheapened.

"Intimidated" and "cheapened," my heart's delight, are not anything close to sexual arousal. I noted this as I left Sunday evening, and decided that, sober at least, I am just not gay. I think I'd be willing to give the strip club another try, but not before I acquire a convincing fake ID, or turn 21.

But... eh... I'm still pretty sure that I am not a lesbian. And I'm sorry if that is bad news, my Claudia, but don't be too concerned; you know no man could ever take your place in my heart.

What's with boobs?

2007-03-12T08:34:34Z

My Claudia, the weirdest thing happened at work today: I was walking back to the kitchen to put in an order, I saw this little kid--a boy, probably around five or six--on his way back from the bathrooms. Not that unusual. He was doing that silly little half-skip/half-walk dancey thing that five/six year old kids do, also not unusual.

However, when he passed me he, for some reason, felt the need to stick his hand in the air, which would have worked out fine, if my boob hadn't been in the way. I won't say he grabbed my boob, because there was no hand-clenching involved, but it was definitely somewhere between a pat and a graze. Maybe a brush?

So the kid makes casual contact with my boob and skip-dances on for a couple of steps; then he stops, faces me, very politely says "I'm sorry," and continues on his merry way.

I vaguely said, "It's cool," but I don't think he heard me.

But, my Claudia, I don't believe that anything in my past social intercourse has taught me how to deal with that. The closest example of males touching my boobs when they shouldn't that I can think of is, well, virtually every time I hang out with Topher, which is an entirely different context, because he's gay and he's allowed to do that. I had no idea how to react to this, though. First of all, I don't know if the boob-touch was even intentional; I do think he meant to touch me, as his arms were pretty much by his side at every other moment I saw him, but I really don't think he was aiming anywhere specific. And if he was, he's a little kid, he probably thought I had candy in my shirt pockets, or something. And, if he was aiming specifically and if he did know about all the taboos concerning brushing upon strange women, what could I possibly do about it? Slap him? Scold him? Tell his parents? I didn't feel violated, so there was really no need to traumatize the child over something that was probably an accident. No harm, no foul, right?

Then David invited me to go to the strip club with him, which I had to ultimately decline.

catymaybe @ 2007-02-06T03:08:00

2007-02-06T09:08:00Z

I think the thing, my Claudia, my angel, my only, that I hate the most about the valley is that actual eventful events only happen once every, oh... six weeks or so. I'll have two or three days wherein I am so busy, or entertained, or intently debaucher-izing, or whatever, that I can only make time to sleep (by this, I of course mean plug myself in to recharge) for a total of six hours, then I'll have that painful stretch of weeks where I have absolutely nothing to do (except for brood; I have serious amounts of time for brooding).

For example, my Amanda and her Max came down to visit me this weekend--highly eventful (more on that later). There is literally nothing else scheduled until I leave for the Philippines in May (Woo! That actually materialized, my love! My uncle bought the ticket today; I leave the 14th, get to travel for 30 fucking hours and arrive in Manila the 16th. I come back the 21st. I am about a hundred kinds of excited at the moment!). I'm sure something will happen before then; there's Spring Break in March, and... nothing. But my point, Claudia, is this: why can't I have mild amounts of fun on a regular basis, as opposed to excruciating periods of nothing peppered with very short but highly concentrated bouts of activity? I mean... don't get me wrong, I love any chance I get to not sit there and brood, but the fact that everything has to happen at once makes things pretty exhausting. And the do-nothingness is really exhausting, too, because brooding takes up way more energy than most people seem to realize.

Oh well. I guess I'll save the rest of my "the Valley sucks" rant for later and tell you about my weekend.

My Amanda came to visit! (I knew there was a reason I love her...) I got to know her boyfriend a little better, and I do believe I approve. He's nice and considerate and has this really endearing habit of sticking his foot in his mouth. We went in to Mexico (of course) and some bar-hopping, sword-fighting, and clay-penis flute-purchasing ensued. Before Mexico, I had to get up at about seven in the morning so I could judge for Sticky/Satan's speech tournament. Junior High kids are fucking lame. I only had one kid show for the first round I judged--a waste of my time. After Mexico, my dad made Max attempt to bond with him by forcing the poor boy to sit outside and watch Dad burn chicken breasts and smoke cigars, while Amanda slept off some very stiff margaritas. When she woke up we went and had coffee and non-burned food at IHOP, where there were some questionable pictures taken of us that are now floating around. They left Sunday morning just before my dad forced me to church, which was fine, because I had to work later anyway.

Work on Sunday bought a whole new level of uncomfortableness to serving.

In addition to being the exact opposite of slow, like they told me it would be, I was utterly traumatized by this guy at my table. My flirting ability, understand, Claudia, is incredibly limited. I'll sometimes make a really sad attempt at it to coax a tip off of single guys, usually to no avail. So, I was just doing my typical "smile and nod" routine with this guy, staring at his horrid porn-stach and vaguely listening to him tell me how he's from Louisiana and (I shit you not) how he likes to eat "coons and opossums," when, out of no where, he says "I'm staying at the Best Western over in Weslaco. You should come out tonight."

I couldn't see my face, my best beloved, but I imagine my jaw dropped about six feet. I responded "Ummmm...uhhh... I... I get out pretty late."

"It don't matter. I'll be up. Come out. We'll have have a few drinks... I'll be real gentlemanly. You may not believe it, but I am a gentleman."

"Ummm... uh..." (uncomfortable shifting).

"You're not coming out, are you?"

A stammered, "Probably not," was all I could muster.

"Well, all I want to see right now is that pretty smile; we'll worry about the rest later."

"Um... I just got another table, I have to go." I could only imagine what "the rest" was referring to.

I think this guy, the "When I'm Not Terrorizing Woodland Creatures I'm Terrorizing Young Women" guy, totally took the "I'll Give You Ten Dollars Just to Touch It" guy's number one spot on my list of "Creepiest Guys in the World, Ever." After that, I went to a well deserved Girl's Night at Abby's and got fairly toasted.

See, my Claudia? A very full and satisfying weekend. Now I'll have to wait about a zillion weeks to do something half-way entertaining again.

Pan's Labyrinth

2007-01-14T22:28:12Z

EVERYONE NEEDS TO GO SEE THIS MOVIE! It was, quite possibly, the most amazing thing I've ever seen in my whole life, including both Versailles and Cake (well... maybe not Cake).

If you haven't heard of it, it's about this girl (Ophelia) who goes with her pregnant mother to live with her step-dad (father of pregnant mother's expected child) in some military camp-type thing out in the woods right at the end of the Spanish Civil War in 1944. Step-dad is the merciless totalitarian Captain of military camp-type thing, and just a general douche bag, so Ophelia does the whole escapist thing with books of fairy tales, etc. Ever the curious child, she happens upon a fairy in the woods who leads her to the labyrinth, where a faun tells her she is the long lost princess of some crazy magical kingdom, and, to prove that she still has her "immortal soul" or whatever, she has to perform some wacky tasks. But, all the while, there's this whole paralell plot going on with the realities of having an ailing pregnant mother and being in the middle of a civil war, so don't go expecting to see David Bowie strutting around in tights and throwing babies all over the place, because this movie is fucking dark.

It's great, though, and the ending will have you bawling.

Here's the link to the website, in case my wonderful summary was inadaquate:
http://www.panslabyrinth.com/

Oh yeah, it's foreign (Spanish), so the whole thing has subtitles. It's so worth it, though.

In the Unlikely Event You Were Curious

2006-12-30T08:55:03Z

So, my Claudia, my wife and beloved, I've decided that, since I'm wide awake and it's nearly two in the morning, it's about time to update my LiveJournal. I'm sure all you and all of the wonderful (yet insignificant in comparison with you, my angel) LJers are nothing but interested to know how things are working out for me in the Tragic Valley.

Things are okay, in the loosest sense of the word. At least, okay-er than they have been in a very long while. I've finally made some friends; a very eclectic group of people who share my inability to fall asleep before 4 in the morning and therefore hang out at the IHOP on North 10th on a nightly basis. And, for those of you have might not have heard, there's one IHOPer in particular that I don't mind dressing up for. He about the nicest guy ever, and he's a lefty, and he spontaneously took me to the beach, and he totally laughs at all my lame lame jokes, and he wakes up at two in the morning when he has to be up at six and calls me just because he hasn't talked to me all day and he misses me, and he keeps a sweater in his car just for me because I get cold a lot, and he spontaneously took me to the beach, and we have the same taste in music, and movies (he likes chick flicks!), and other random bits of pop culture (although he is, sadly enough, rather partial to anime), and he spontaneously took me to the beach! How cool is that? I think I'm rather looking forward to a nice, low key New Year's Eve with him; that would be a really refreshing change from the last one... yegh... (how embarrassing).

In more recent news, Catherine fulfilled her inner bandit last night. My mom and I were coming home from work at about midnight, and we noticed that, as a result of the extremely intense winds earlier that day, a Quiznos sign had blow down off the marquee. There was, of course, no option other than taking it. It was surprisingly big, though (my estimate is 7 feet by 3 and a half feet, although I'm really bad at guessing lengths), and it was some difficulty getting it into our car. But we succeeded, and I now have a really big Quiznos sign that I hope my dad doesn't notice needing to be hung in my room. It's beautiful. Nothing short of ethereal, in fact.

Let's see... There was the Christmas thing, that was okay. I got Guitar Hero II (which rocks) and a cell phone (kinda, anyway. I have to share it with my mom and my sister. I guess message me on MySpace if you want the number, but I'll probably be forced to invest in one on my own a few weeks, anyway), among other things of varying degrees of utility. Not that anyone cares, but my brother got the most badass Nurf gun in the history of mankind. It's got a fucking Nurf bazooka on it, in addition to like three other guns. You can use them all individually, or you can connect them together in one big Nurf gun conglomerate that would probably be the weapon of choice for the Terminator, if he were to come from a future wherein all they use is Nurf guns. As for the non-materialistic aspect of Christmas, which many claim is the most important, things were pretty good. My family was fun and loud and crazy and there were like forty-five people jammed inside a house the size of a large-ish closet. I got to see you, my Claudia, the light of my life, even if dinner was a little disappointing, and I got to see Mr. Stupid-Face-Let's-Get-Ourselves-Hit-By-A-Car and placate my conscience, even if it just kind of augmented my worry.

I'm going Christmas shopping tomorrow. My list is really short this year, though, so don't feel bad if you get excluded (which you, my Claudia, my best beloved, most certainly are not. I mean "you" in reference to all virtually of the other LiveJournal peons). I still love you, in my way, which, (if it makes you feel better to think of it like this) is a way that is so profound that it cannot be manifest through mere material things. But mainly I'm trying to save up so that I can move out of my house and away from the stupid, tragic Valley in the fall.

Yeah, so that's what's up over here. Not too interesting, but I thought you might like to know.

catymaybe @ 2006-11-25T02:34:00

2006-11-25T08:34:24Z

This year, I was thankful for...

Hmm.

I always hated, Claudia, giving those generic answers like "I am thankful for my family," or "I am thankful for the food we eat," or "I am thankful for God," and all the other bullshit that spoiled 8-year-olds never even think about until their teachers force them to spew it onto the card they're going to give to their parents, who will faun over how cute it is for about 12 seconds and even, if they are really loving, hang it on the refrigerator.

I would always try to think and think of the perfect thing to put on those cards, but it took me too long, and I always just put something generic anyway, so I would have time to color the turkey like a rainbow.

So, this year, Claudia, I was thankful for...

...

Let's think... This Thanksgiving I...

Went to Vattman (a tiny-ass town that consists of one Catholic church), per tradition
Had to share a twin top-bunk bed with my aunt (who is at least my size)
Got extremely weirded-out when my aunt's boyfriend, mistaking me for her, came and kissed me good night on the forehead. Luckily, I was half-asleep, so I didn't really react at the time. Still, that was odd. (On a side note, my aunt's boyfriend is an odd character altogether. Also, he's Jewish, which, in addition to making me want to refer to him as "Jewboy," doesn't necessarily sit well with my very Catholic family)
Went and ate six pounds of food (mainly stuffing) at the church picnic, per tradition
Won a really cute, yet highly impractical, purse at the silent auction
Played bingo for four hours straight and didn't win a damned thing, per tradition
Magically turned 21 for a couple of hours at the stupid dance by donning a pink wristband (Sadly enough though, I did not get drunk because all they had was beer, which I detest. I decided that I looked too pansy-ish, gagging down the last couple of sips)
Knew way too many of the country songs played at said dance for my own comfort (I even had a sing/dance along with my uncle to David Allen Coe's ever popular "You Don't Have to Call Me Darlin', Darlin." Yegh.)
Drove home at midnight so I could be at Gap by six this morning.

Upon recollection, it was a pretty good one. I really have quite a bit to be thankful for: lots of laughs, lots of love, lots of stuffing. All of that, of course, is thanks to my family, which is pretty great, despite my complaints.

So, as generic as it may sound, Claudia, there is actually a little more thought to it than it would seem...

Eh...

This year I am thankful for... my family.

Blame Canada

2006-11-17T08:02:59Z

My Claudia, Canada just lost some major cool points. Not because of any national fuck-up, or because the governor (or whatever they have up there) of the Yukon Territory suddenly decided to declare himself the second coming of Christ, or even because they say the word "about" wrong ("a boot" is a thing you wear on your foot in the snow, motherfucker. You should know that because you live in a frozen wasteland). Not because of anything that could be considered remotely pertinent to anyone but myself, but only this: the only Canadians that I can honestly say that I've had any kind of interaction with suck.

Suck, suck, suck.

Like, major caribou balls (since, in Canada, there are, to my knowledge, no donkey balls on which they may suck).

They were mean and rude and hurtful, and the fat gay one had the goddamned audacity to tip me a quarter. He actually wrote "$0.25" on his credit card receipt! Can you fucking believe that?

I'm sorry, but just because you think you're country is better than mine does not give you license to come over here and treat me like shit. That is the most American fucking attitude! That totally strips away any dignity that might be inherent to being Canadian and puts you on the level with all the other self-righteous nationalistic bastards out there. You suck, Lardy McJizzbreath, you sleazy Canook! And you wear horrendous sweaters! And your friend, the one with the stupid hat (which, by the way, he did not take off at the table), he's a douchebag too! I'm sorry I didn't bring your goddamned bread out with your drinks, it's my fault for not reading your mind and following the standard that the bread is brought out with the salads! It's also my fault the bar ran out of Jack, which you so pretentiously referred to as "JD!" I sneaked in last night and threw a fucking party and we drank all the fucking "JD," because I knew you were coming and I thought that you should not be able to enjoy your "JD and Coke."

Roar. Yeah. Can live without fat gay self-righteous Canadians, I think.

But Claudia, this, among other things, has given me significant evidence to declare the whole "karma" thing to be bunk, which is a shame because I was rather taken with the idea. "I get back what I put in? Wonderful!" Lately, though, I am convinced that that is not necessarily so. Sure, there is the occasional (and I feel I can't emphasize the word "occasional" enough here) beneficiary who feels obligated to return a favor, but, by and large, the nice people in the world get shit on. By other people, by fate or luck or happenstance or whatever you wish to call it; whatever the case, you never hear any actual stories where the good guy comes out on top and the bad people get there comeuppance.

I'm not trying to say, here, that I am just a little piece of divinity, but I try my damnedest to help where I can. I give my time, my money, my possessions, my listening ear, my helping hand, my best wishes, my genuine concern, anything I feel I can, freely to anyone who expresses a need, even a desire, for the things I'm able to give. At least, I try, try my damnedest, and I'm getting better all the time. Not that I do this with any conscious design, but every once in a while I remember about the karma thing and think "Where's mine?" Admittedly, I have a lot to be thankful for: a family who loves me, some of the most amazing friends. There are no great tragedies in my life, and I am fully aware that I really blow out of proportion the things that do go wrong.

But where are the little things? The doors held open, the extra tables cleaned, the people who leave me the twenty-two percent tips, the people who will take me to see a movie, or get my dinner (which never goes unnoticed, love, and is greatly appreciated, despite my protests). I don't, by any means, plan to stop doing these things, because I love to do them; I think I just have to, yet again, adjust the philosophy behind them.

Because it definitely drains a person, my Claudia, my best beloved, to put so much effort into doing things for the sake of some kind of greater cosmic justice, and just ending up with the life that everyone else gets, too.

I'm tired of all the expectation, Claudia. I guess that's my fault, though, for being so gullible as to actually expect something in the first place.

catymaybe @ 2006-10-31T00:48:00

2006-10-31T07:24:29Z

Well, my Claudia, it's been about three weeks now since I've been able to sleep in my own bed. I miss my soft, soft sheets and my many, many pillows and my comforter and being able to go into my own goddamned room with out having to knock. I miss not having to climb a ladder before I can go to sleep (because there are few things more degrading, to me, Claudia, than having to scramble up a ladder, especially one that leads to a top-bunk).

Melissa, I think, needs to go.

Not through any fault of her own, of course--only because I am being a spoiled child and want my room back. I am also definitely not saying that I made a mistake in helping her out; everyone needs a helping hand when they're down and I hope someone would do the same for me if I needed it and all that other self-righteous bullshit. But, Jesus, I'm almost to the point where I would lend, nay, give her the down payment on the apartment of her choosing if it meant I would have my room back tomorrow.

Because sharing a room with Stickyrice really grates on your nerves after a while...

And Dad won't stop asking me why Melissa never gets home 'til one in the morning (she's actually due back any time now), no matter how many times I tell him "I don't know and it's none of your business anyway."

I think it's making Mom mad, too. But then, you really can't tell with Mom; she's a catty bitch most of the time anyway. I wish she'd stop that. I picked up a second job. Can't that prove to her that I'm serious about this "Phase II" thing? It's really getting to me. Like, at her birthday party this weekend, there were a lot of relatives we hadn't seen in a long time (including my aunt Mickey, who I was very happy to see, and who reminds me so much of my gran). They all politely asked how school was going and, somehow, she'd always pop by just to say, "Oh, it's not going at all; she quit," in such a disdainful way; like I was some kind of bum that she took in from the street, and I had officially worn out my welcome. Kind of like Melissa, I guess.

But Claudia, I have to say, despite all of Mom's bitchery, things are really looking up. I made an actual decision, Claudia! And a good one--I think anyway. For the first time in a very long while, I'm excited about the future and new and different and bigger and better and shiner and funner and independenter things. I might actually be a grown-up one day, Claudia! How exciting!

Although, honestly, I'll never grow out of wanting to sleep in my own goddamned bed.

Bitch-work is unavoidable

2006-10-19T06:14:21Z

I have come to realize, Claudia, that being trained to do things really, really sucks.

Huge, throbbing donkey balls.

Whether you are interning somewhere or training for a position where you work for commission or tips, trainees have to do everyone's bitch-work for very little pay; sometimes, for no pay at all. Take, for instance, the Clinical portion of the nursing program: the nurses on the floor see your yellow student badge and automatically equate "student nurse" with "my own, personal bitch (for free!)." They send the poor green little student around to give bed baths and change diapers and do all the other bitch-work that causes the faint of heart, like myself, to want to curl up in a little ball at the instructors' feet and cry, cry, cry (and ultimately discontinue the nursing program).

The same is true, as I found out this evening, while you are training to be a server. I busted my ass today taking orders and getting refills and running food and just being generally servile--not only helping the customers, but every last goddamned server on the goddamned floor--and I was tipped well for my hard work. But, the thing about being a trainee is that the server gets to keep all of the tips, if he so chooses. Nice trainers will split the tips according to the amount of work they feel their trainee did. The vast majority of trainers, however, are selfish and bastardish and greedy and keep all of the tips to themselves, like Frank, my trainer today.

That douche bag only took two tables all day. The rest were mine! I made that fucker at least sixty bucks and not one penny of that slid my way! He even admitted to me, as he shoved my money in his pocket, that, "Wow, Catherine, that's pretty good. I usually don't even make that much on a Saturday." Like, I mean, what the fuck! I'm sorry you suck at your job, but don't I deserve some sort of reward for making you look good? True, as a trainee, I am getting paid about a dollar more per hour than him, and some people say that's just compensation, but I say that's bullshit. He watches me carry trays all day and that's supposed to make him more deserving of the cash that I worked hard to earn? Something, my Claudia, is not right with our system. Or, more probably, something is not right with Frank's conscience.

Oh, and I think Gap hired me, so Catherine will continue to bust her ass in the upcoming months. All for you, my best beloved, and our lofty--yet attainable--goal of Austin in the fall.

Nurse no mas

2006-10-13T03:42:55Z

Well, Claudia, it's officially official: I am no longer a member of the associates degree in nursing program at South Texas College. It was a very difficult decision to come to, and a decision that has caused everyone in my house to hate me. In fact, Catherine is just feeling very generally unloved by everyone at the moment--excluding your fabulous self, of course. Just one of those things, I suppose...

Anyway, I applied at a couple of places and will hopefully be picking up a second job pretty soon, so that I may save up and go to Austin next fall. We'll see how that works out. Hopefully well.

Meh. The nursing thing was a lot harder to give up than I thought it would be.

Well, wish me luck on Phase II.

Just a reminder

2006-09-14T05:06:16Z

HEY, EVERYBODY.

For those of you who haven't been paying attention to your calender, NEXT TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 19TH, IS INTERNATIONAL TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY! (As if you forgot!) Be sure to celebrate very, very vocally and, like, wear eye-patches, and swords and stuff...

DO IT BITCHES!!! I MEAN MATIES!!!!!!!!

Have I ever mentioned that I am somewhat neurotic?

2006-09-06T19:17:14Z

Last night, Claudia, or, actually, this morning after I turned off my alarm, Claudia, I had the most terrifying dream in recent memory. I was absolutely horrified. I couldn't even run or scream for help, and believe you me, my Claudia, I tried; all I could do was lay in bed (actually, in the dream, I eventually slid off the bed and laid there terrified on the floor) and just be scared shitless for what seemed like hours.

Would you like to know, Claudia, what scared me so much? (No, Richie, it didn't have anything to do with Chucky.) Claudia, in the dream, the light in my fucking closet was on! That. Is. It. There was nothing in the closet, there was nothing coming out of the closet, there was nothing making noise or moving around and making scary shadows from under the door... The light was just left on. I was petrified--to the point were I got all panicky and tried to scream for my sister (yes, I tried to scream for Elizabeth of all fucking people) in the next room because I had forgotten to turn the light off when I went to bed the night before.

And it was so real! Like, I can actually see myself veritably pissing my pants because when I woke up the next morning the light in my closet was left on. Because, Claudia, I got to thinking, and I really can't get to sleep if I don't do my little routine, correctly. Turn off computer, turn off light over living room (if on), turn off light over computer, turn off light in laundry room, turn off light in dining room, turn off light in closet under the stairs (if on), close closet door (if open), turn off light in kitchen, turn off light over the table, turn off light in bathroom, close bedroom door, TURN OFF LIGHT IN CLOSET, TURN OFF LIGHT IN CLOSET, TURN OFF LIGHT IN CLOSET, close closet door, TURN OFF LIGHT IN CLOSET, close closet door (this must be repeated until I am satisfied that there are no axe murderers lurking in my closet), turn off bedroom light, turn off bedroom light, turn off bedroom light (this also must be repeated until I am satisfied; sometimes, just for good measure, I'll even redo the closet bit--with the bedroom light on, of course). It gets just a little more important to me every time I do it.

Don't get me wrong; by no means am I one of those people who can't go out in public because "oh-my-Jesus-fucking-Christ-there-are-three-cars-waiting-for-the-light-to-change-in-this-lane-but-only-one-in-that-one-so-someone-should-move." Not to say that that shit goes by me totally unnoticed, but it's not to the point where it's a burden, or even to the point where I would call it OCD. I'm just kinda... quirky.

But Claudia, the dream worried me a little. I mean, I can tell I am getting worse about that kind of thing, but I didn't realize I was so bad off I should be having nightmares about fucking up my routine. That's for crazy people, right?

It's quiet. Too quiet...

2006-08-05T07:17:20Z

Claudia, I decided to make myself some delicious Pop-tarts as my 1 am snack (I have hourly snacks between midnight and about three... usually they're healthier than Pop-tarts though, so please don't jump on me for being a piggy-heifer) and realized that my house was so abysmally silent that I could hear the toaster... I did not know that toasters even made noise, and there the little guy was, just a'buzzing away like it would turn my Pop-tarts into honey, or something.

I checked into it, and discovered that it was not a drug induced noise, because, perhaps unfortunately, I am not under the influence of any drugs. And I'm pretty sure it was not a malfunctioning noise because there were no sparks or flames or plumes of smoke. (On that note, the toaster is the one kitchen appliance that I can use without it producing smoke, flames, etc. more than, maybe, 10 percent of the time. That is why I love the toaster. Also, there was that awesome movie about the brave little toaster that I watched about six million times when I was a kid. Yeah, toasters are great.) So, with my superior deductive reasoning skills, I concluded that it always made that noise, it's just never been quiet enough in my house for me to hear it.

Now Claudia, you might wonder to yourself, "With six other people living in your house, Catherine, how is it so abysmally silent, even at one in the morning?" The answer, my dear Claudia, is that each and every one of those six other people are not here.

Yes. I am, yet again, at home alone on a Friday night, not getting wasted. I am 18 years old (19 on Wednesday), for Christ's sakes, I should be puking out of my eye sockets right now! I should be so stoned I think alliterative names are funny right now! But no! I can't do that because I am too sad and shy and neurotic--Claudia, do you know what my excuse for not having people over tonight was? Because I just mopped the fucking floors!!!! I somehow found it justifiable in my crazy, crazy head to not have any wholesome-ish teenage fun because, "Well, I just spent two hours mopping yesterday, and if people were going in and out all night, they'd track all kinds of dirt in..." I sound like a fucking Grandma! My mom wouldn't even say that shit!!

I don't know, Claudia, I just don't know...

In other news, the crazy scary guys at work still won't leave me alone. The old coke-head one won't stop telling me he loves me so much he just wants to hit me sometimes, and the creepy voyeuristic one has taken to sneaking up behind me and doing the whole "Boo! I got you!" thing. Egh.. if you ever have the great misfortune of working in a restaurant, you should avoid the cooks at all costs.

Also, one of the servers hit me in the head with a tray today. It was not pleasant.

Though, now that I think of it, that might explain the buzzing...

catymaybe @ 2006-07-26T14:30:00

2006-07-26T20:18:38Z

Claudia, I don't know if I've ever told you this, but my job is boring. In take-out, all I do is roll silverware into the little napkins and sit there--I probably just sit there with literally nothing else I could be doing for about three hours every day. I thought hosting was bad; at least you usually had someone to keep you company at the host stand. Now, I am by myself in a little cubby hole, with only the occasional passing server to keep me company.

So, obviously, I have plenty of time for introspection.

Mostly, I plan for (or maybe fantasize about) our superly awesome road trip that is just two weeks and one day away. Sometimes I worry about the impending nursing school, because, while I might have thought that I was taking the easy way out, upon further reflection and a very scary orientation meeting I feel I might have been a teensy weensy bit... ehh... well, I was wrong. (Goodness, Claudia, do I hate saying that.) And every now and then one of those random "What the fuck?" thoughts will slip into my head, like how useful an extra pair of arms would be (I could get all the sliverware rolled in half the time) or how ridiculous team names are (like all those teams named Pirates, or Vikings, or whatever. Pirates and Vikings killed and plundered anything they came across. They were bad. Definitely not people you want your high school or college student to aspire to be. In a few decades will people start naming their teams "the Nazis" and have a big-headed dancing Hitler as their mascot? And then there are the really lame names like the Hawian Rainbow Warriors or that school in New Braunfels the Unicorn as its mascot. What the fuck? Who would be intimidated by that? Yeah, team names are stupid).

I don't know. Just was in a bloging kind of mood and thought I'd share.

Oh, and in case you have forgotten: my birthday is exactly two weeks away (not that excited to be turning 19, though. It seems a very useless age to be.)

And I am super excited about our superly awesome road trip (but mainly who is waiting for me at the end of it)!!!!!!!!!!!!!

catymaybe @ 2006-07-08T02:33:00

2006-07-08T07:35:58Z

Hmm. Claudia, I am really tired of my little picture thingy. I don't think it accurately describes the current state of Catherine. If you (or any of you lesser beings out there) have any suggestions, they would be much appreciated.