Thursday, October 03, 2002

dismissive people suck
I'll say it again: dismissive people suck. Today was quite horrible, between trying to track down Dobrenen so I can get the cross country results for my article before deadline, asking cross country runners (and one in particular who absolutely knows nothing) about their information, and getting the door slammed in my face (by Dobrenen), literally.

Called my friend. Listened to her soap-operatic love life filled with the requisite ex-boyfriend, potential new boyfriend, dramatic farewells and emotional letters. Take all these ingredients and toss in a couple more twists and turns (including stalker-ish behavior by one party), and you've got a Dave's special. Not naming any names of course, but if super cool people can figure it out. =)

Tuesday, October 01, 2002

Some lady called, and it turns out that I am distinctive after all. Great/excellent/wonderful news. I'll call the travel agent again tomorrow, I just hope she's actually able to pick up the phone for once.
I have four tests tomorrow, which means I should buckle down, get offline, and start cramming for dear life. There's also an appointment for National Merit stuff tomorrow. Unfortunately I haven't touched the packet at all. Nothing. Nada. Not even my name is filled in. Now I need to write a glowing essay about my extensive commitments in various community projects that demonstrates my leadership potential.

Saturday, September 28, 2002

Girl Power
Am I a Woman of Distinction? I hope I am, guess I'll find out Monday morning when I call. It better not be a glitch! Because I am distinctive (yea, me and about 1000 other people)!
Oh, and a word on Friday, I really hope that I infered what was implied correctly, or else I'd look like the biggest fool on this side of the Pacific.

I hate patronizing people. They are so damn irritating, although I probably do contribute to them causing my irration.

Sunday, September 15, 2002

another day of absolute zero productive-ness
Bad. Bad. Bad. But anyways. I actually brought a real, tangible journal a couple days ago. It's pretty. And elegant. But not so stuffy that I'd feel weird writing crushes or stupid mundane daily happenings in. I went to Hollywood Bowl with journalism last night. A Dream of Africa. Then there's fireworks near the end. It was gorgeous. The singer (supposedly a "national treasure" of African music) is 70, but she kept making these weird rasps when she spoke, as if it took her a supreme effort to get out the last few syllables of a word. I know I am being terribly judgemental and nit-picky (after all, she is 70), but still. It just irrated me a bit, that's all. But overall, very nice night.

Someone is really getting on my nerves. For that someone, who shall remain nameless, fuck off. Please. I mean that very nicely, and you are a very nice girl, and we have become somewhat decent friends. If you intend your remarks in jest, I am not amused. If you mean it otherwise, repeat: fuck off. ...*deep breath* I mean that in the best way possible, really. =] I have to get rid of this negative energy, the ones that "someone" sends off, and the ones that I get as a result of her negativity. So basically she sucks and now I suck. Because she sucks. I am making sense, to myself at least.

Wednesday, September 11, 2002

I am feeling quite bitchy right now, with a dash of frustration and a big handful of listlessness tossed in. My head hurts. My throat hurts. My heart is beating abnormally fast.
I miss... things. I miss the phone calls, I miss the laughter, I miss the silly moments. I miss what was never there.
No. I don't really miss it. It's like a reflex, to say that I do. Like you immediately say "bless you" automatically when someone sneezes. It's almost an involuntary reponse over which you have no conscious control. So no. I don't miss it. But it's easier to say I do, sometimes. Otherwise there's just this vaccum there. Filled not by sadness, but neither by joy.
Then again, why the hell am I thinking about this? Right now I should only have a one-track mind. (The college-track!)

Round 1:
Calc kicked my ass. Just got back from the test. Royally fucked up. Feeling extremely un-confident. BLAH. This is not a good start. Not at all. @^#%!

Tuesday, September 10, 2002

me: we keep a hectic pace designed to break spirits and stifle creativity
him: lol bout the same as us, we have a bunch of sckool creativity stuff cuz our art department is good, but sckool spirit is really low

...I find this incredibly hilarious. One funny moment in a day otherwise characterized by gloom and nervous anticipation.

Care's on right now. And I kinda wanted to im her. But then I stopped. We don't really talk anymore, and we used to be pretty close. But now it's like... we've drifted too far apart. It's sad, really. I tried, I used to call her and try to make plans and whatnot. Usually then she'd need to call her bf or someone else, and our schedules are so busy. It's not anyone's fault. Although at times I did feel a little miffed that she's not there anymore. Well she's there. But not there. I guess that's what happens. Friends grow apart. Distance sets in. But I hope she's doing okay.

On another note, I had a calc study session with Christina. I hope it helped. Must study more later on, especially about domain and range. Who cares about domain and range?! ...Nicholson does, therefore my grade does, therefore I do. So it all boils down to this: in calc, I am but a mere puppet of Nicholson's twisted number-churning, trig-happy mind. Blah. Still got econ test to study. My god Milhiser is so, so, extremely boring. He seems to be a nice guy, it's just that he goes off on tangents, on tangents of tangents until it bears no resemblance whatsoever to economics. (example: he chased out a couple of gun-toting "guests" at a school dance ten years ago or something, without knowing they had guns.) Exciting! But it's waaay better than doing homework. So in conclusion, Milhiser's not too bad.

Monday, September 09, 2002

I guess I was really mad in the last entry. Fortunately, mom and dad seem to have made up. So now everything's peachy again. I guess they love each other, I mean, as much love as could be expected. I don't know. I hope my mommy's happy.

I want to fly. And sleep in the clouds. When I die, I want my spirit/soul/inner essence or whatever to snuggle in the fluffy clouds all day long. That'd be some eternal life. =D

Ugh. mom and dad are semi-arguing in a semi-loud...okay, very loud, voice. About the tanking stock market and how we should've sold our mutual fund and pay off the house, and how about we should've diversified our porfolio instead of lumping everything in the now-worth-next-to-nothing tech stocks. And now, mom's getting mad about dad's apparent not-sticking-to-his-position-ness. And now she's throwing words like "attitude", and "personality", all words used only in arguements/lectures/un-fun things like that. Dad says she's only arguing, mom says she wants to discuss. Stupid freaking Bush. All areas of discord in my house center around the big fat buck (now the little skinny buck), thanks to Bush Jr. and his infinite wisdom in leading our nation. I hate this.

It's weird. I know college's going to cost my parents so much money. If by some stroke of miracle I get into the school I want to go, the sticker price per year is $35,000, after tax. Four years? $140,000. And that's not even counting inflation and tuition rise.

And now the very loud voices has risen to a full-fledged shouting. This is perfect. Didn't they pay attention to newspaper experts that says fighting in front of children is detrimental to their emotional balance and sense of well-being?

Dad is such a...#@(&$#^$. ARHGHh. He's so freaking lucky to have mom. And of course he screws up. What the hell. What the hell. Mom deserves better. She really does. So I don't see a picture of an unhappy marriage. But it's not... entirely happy. It's not. I guess that's where I get my cynical view of relationships. I'm promising myself, I will never, ever, let myself be in a position like this. If I ever get marry and find myself unhappy, I will get out. I will get out because I owe it to me. And I will remember everything mommy sacrificed for me. I love her. I need to do well, and get a high high high salary, and invite her to go on cruises and spas. And give her money every month. Because she deserves that. And I'm so scared that she's only staying in this because of me, because she's used to it, because it's better than being alone. Repeat: if I ever find myself unhappy in a relationship, I will get out.