Yeah… So um… Yeah

Yeah.  It’s been a while since I last posted… I seem to have a bit of problem keeping up with these–mostly due to not being able to finish any thoughts beyond single sentences, which, in my opinion, do not make good blog posts.  Perhaps twitter posts.  Luckily, I made the resolution long ago to never get pulled into such a beast as Twitter.  Even though I’ve been pulled into every other popular social sharing website available.  I feel this semester thus far has been kind of a bloggable experience, but I apologize beforehand–I am not exactly the most pleasant person at the moment.  My friends tell me I need to find a job at a rainbow factory.

Anyway, here is a more recent story from my semester, occurring quite recently… Ah, who am I kidding.  I can’t think of anything right now.  All I’m thinking about is the fact that we don’t get a fall break and I’m going absolutely bonkers.  I sincerely apologize to anybody in my path who I choose to bestow my moodiness on, whether it be my outlandish excitement, bitterness, or dog-gone-tuckered-out-ness.  Luckily for most, they’re only there for one of the four.  My guy, on the other hand, has to suffer through all of it.  Poor guy… But seriously.  No fall break??  What were these people thinking?  I’d like to see the statistics this year, see if it has affected grades at all compared to other schools.  University of Utah is getting a full danged week!  Really??

As you can see, I’m rather bitter about this, which is doubling my other aggravations toward other things, such as poofy hair, over-done makeup, and trucks.  Yes, trucks.  I came home from rehearsal tonight to find a giant, black-hole of a truck in my driveway (my roommate’s boyfriend’s monster, I’m assuming, who I think I’ve only met once, but once I realized he was the one driving the truck, I decided then that I really don’t like him).  I can’t imagine a reason for a college student to be driving a truck like that other than… Over-compensation.  Poor self-image.  I don’t know.  But all I know is that I can’t stand trucks.  And truck PEOPLE.  I once had the misfortune of getting in a conversation with a truck person of the worst kind–I believe the man owned not one, but THREE trucks, all of them louder and bigger and more ridiculous than the previous.  Me, I feel terrible when I drive down the street and my car starts making loud noises that may cause annoyance to the poor souls in the homes I happen to be driving past.  I can’t imagine WHY anybody would feel comfortable driving through a neighborhood at six in the morning with one of those growling monster-like things.

The following is a text-based reenactment of what occurs when I hear said noise.

Me: Tralala I’m enjoying my peaceful music

Truck outside: RAWR I’M GOING TO EAT YOUR CHILDEN!!

Me: Oh my goodness there’s the SEMI IN MY HOUSE!!  AND IT WANT TO EAT MY CHILDREN!!

Truck: BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

And that’s the best I can do.  In essence, the noise they create is like unto death.  And I don’t understand.  If anyone can provide me with a logical explanation to the draw of driving one of these things every day and scaring the crap out of me, feel free to tell me (of course, there aren’t that many of you, so oh well).

I hate trucks.

 

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