Archive for Things that REALLY tick me off

Attack of the hair rats.

Ever since I cut my hair to facilitate a more leisurely and hair-care-free lifestyle, I seem to have developed an automatic belligerence are prejudice against girls with long hair.   This may be due to how impractical it all seems now, especially if they obviously spend more than fifteen minutes working on it every morning when they could be using that time to sleep or eat–two doubly more important parts of life, especially college life.  However, this prejudice is tripled when they are of the “poofy hair” genre.  I am not talking about the poofy hair of the texans–this actually looks not-so-bad because they have the all-over body and curl and it’s just so… Iconic.  No, I am talking about the Utah poof.

This is the hair that symbolizes Utah–hair that looks pregnant.  Much like a large percentage of the women in Utah.  Hair that makes you wonder what they’re hiding up there (probably one of those newfangled godless contraptions called the bump-it).  [I actually just tried to watch the commercial for bump-its and almost died.  Seriously.]  Hair that may also resemble a waterfall, or perhaps some sort of brain tumor.  They may also looks like cat ears.  The varieties are endless, but they all have one thing in common–ratting and a straight iron.  Lots and lots of both.  Oh, and hairspray.  Lots of that as well.

Anyway, this really has very little to do with what I am actually feeling belligerent about, other than my roommate, who is also cousins with my other roommate, has employed this travesty as her everyday look, and it irritates me to the core.  BUT… What I am actually irritated with is that today, Sunday the 21, was her birthday.  We shall call her Heather because that’s what I call her anyway because I categorize her actual name and this name, Heather, under the same heading of “boring teeny-bopper names [who probably have poofy hair and have seriously considered buying a bump-it].”  The cousin-counterpart [let’s call her Nelly, after that mean, controlling girl from little house on the prairie] cleaned the kitchen this morning for a celebration they were to have this evening, which is I think is very nice–however, the moment she saw me this morning she immediately pounced on me, trumping my every thoughts of making any sort of mess in HER kitchen.  I was to keep the kitchen clean–in perfect condition–and if I were to make any mess, I was to have it all cleaned up by 7:45.  I kindly informed her that I could make no promises as I was to be making lasagna that night because lasagna makes me happy and cleaning obsessively does not (minus the last part).  But I would try.  She then went on to explain that she had “reserved” the kitchen like, forever ago, which got me wondering where the playplace and crappy arcade was, and whether our apartment was suddenly Chuck-E-Cheese’s.  I again stated that I was still going to be making lasagna and I could make no promises because I wasn’t sure when JD would be around to help, and after a bit more dialogue, she decisively stated “It WILL be clean by seven forty-five because I said so.” because apparently I’m five and she’s a big scary nine-year-old.

Again, I rephrased what I said before, that I would try, but it might be seven-fifty or seven-fifty five by the time I finish cleaning up, at which point she thankfully seemed to have given up.  And thus was my morning.  I’ve been angry all day since.  But my lasagna was delicious.  And I probably showed up in a good few of her birthday pictures, looming in the background like a dark cloud amongst her poofy-haired high-voiced friends and male friends who watch football, and like tackling each other and shooting things.  But there were a lot of them, and almost all of them brought gifts.  Seriously, how does one amass that many friends who are willing to buy them birthday presents?  So many anomalies…

UPDATE:  I just realized I have the same shirt as one of the girls in the instructions for bump-its… I question if I can continue to wear it without shame.

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Things that try… But not really.

This is a post about things that try… But only about halfway.

Such as my car.  Last Sunday, as I was rushing out the door to go to church, I stepped in my car, put in the key, and turned the ignition.  I enjoyed the sound of the revving engine for a few seconds, until I realized that it was going to continue revving and not actually turn over.  I found this very odd, since I had just filled it up with gas the day before.  So, I tried again.  And so did it–it tried really, really hard to start, but it just… couldn’t.  It was quite pitiful.  So, now I have a dead car in my driveway and no time to do anything about it.  Luckily, I have another music major friend with her morning classes at the same time, so she gives me a ride to school.  Then I’m stuck at the school for the rest of the day until I can convince JD to take me back to my house.

Another thing that tries hard, but not really?  My fingers.  I have recently been… Ah… asked… to play a piece titled after a swear word that rhymes with “Slam,” with the percussion ensemble.  I have not taken clarinet lessons in two years and seldom practice technique anymore because I am a VOICE major and clarinet is just a fun thing on the side in band.  I believe the only reason I was asked to do this is because I just so happen to be dating one of the percussionists, and the percussion teacher seemed to have decided we just don’t spend enough time together as it is.  Anyway, the piece is by a guy named John Mackey, a guy who seems to take great pleasure in creating some of the most bizarre fingering combinations at the most obscenely fast tempos that are absolutely impossible for someone with as little technical skill as myself.  Seriously, I feel like the IQ of my fingers (negative a million) is seeping into my brain when I attempt them.

I’d come up with a third thing, but my brain isn’t really in the mood to try very hard right now.

 

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Tech Savvy

So, I recently moved into an apartment-type-living space, which is more like just a house connected to another house on one side.  There was no internet set up yet, and I already had a contract leftover from my previous living space and a router, so I took it upon myself to get the internet set up.  The guys next door wanted to go in on the internet as well, which I figured was a lovely idea.  So, we got it set up and left it unlocked for the time being.

My father set up my internet so, when I lock it, only those whose MAC addresses are on the list can access the WiFi.  I informed the guys next door to give me their MAC addresses so I can lock the WiFi from unwanted intruders.  I left a note on their door and four days later recieved a list back from them.  The only problem?  It included one MAC address for and iPod, and two IP addresses.  In what world would they think that TWO different things are both the right thing?  Normally, I wouldn’t have a problem with it, however, I told them on the note to LOOK IT UP because it is kind of confusing to find it using Windows–on a MAC, it takes approximately three steps.  I know, ’cause J.D. showed me.  I even told them EXACTLY what to google to find out how to find their MAC addresses.  So, I sent the note back, circled the correct MAC address with a note “THIS IS RIGHT” and “THIS IS WRONG” next to the IP addresses, and then told them, again, to look it up.

That was something like three weeks ago.  I still haven’t gotten a reply back.

So, this week, as I was trying to make my way through the internet, and taking occasional breaks from homework to watch some Hulu, I noticed that things were working a bit slowly.  So, I decided to lock the internet.  Then it started working much faster. 🙂

Perhaps this will give them some incentive to get me the right addresses.  Although, now they’ll have to go all the way to the school to find out how to find their MAC addresses.  Silly boys…

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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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This blows, dude

For those who live in this state of Utah, it may come as a surprise to find out that it is, in fact, March.  Yes, it has been spring for a good two or three weeks now.  Of course, we would never know, because it’s snowed at least fifteen times in the past “spring” time.  What makes it worse in my area is one thing — WIND.  And this is no normal wind.  This is wind where you can look out one window in your house and it will be blowing one direction, and you can look directly across the room out another window and it will be blowing in entirely the opposite direction.  Perhaps even blowing up.  Or straight sideways.

This vortex of wind creates a very interesting (and rather painful) phenomenon known as NO MATTER WHICH WAY YOU’RE WALKING, THE SNOW IS ALWAYS BLOWING STRAIGHT IN YOUR FACE.  Well.  My face.  I don’t know about everybody else, but that’s what it does to me.  However, today, as it is not snowing, it is more often blowing sideways, which i am perfectly okay with as long as I’m not wearing a backpack.

Wearing a backpack in this wind is another story.  I am not the largest person, nor the most grounded (both mentally and physically), and have nearly been knocked over by this wind on many occasions.  I don’t have the smallest backpack (as I am quite an over-achiever and have many books in my backpack along with my heavier-than-rocks laptop [which I am so grateful for anyway!]) and this broad, sail-like side is not conducive to staying upright in a windstorm.

Moral of the story, I want spring to be here.  I’m really okay with the wind, as long as it’s warm.  But it’s not really all that warm today, and I am sad.

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Morning Musings

I wouldn’t necessarily say that it is morning as I’m typing away.  Technically, it is, as it is 1:15 in the morning, but morning doesn’t officially start until I wake up, even if I don’t wake up until noon, it is still morning until I have breakfast and take a shower (which might be a while as I have to do laundry tomorrow before I can take a shower).  And I wouldn’t necessarily call what I’m about to write musings, but rather random snapshots of thought, that may or may not be coherent, and may or may not take me forever to type due to the fact that I seem to be having recent problems making my fingers do what I tell them to do.

Perhaps the most pressing matter to address at this moment is the fact that the end of April is drawing nigh and with it brings the end of spring semester and — no joke — finals week.  The thing I’m still trying to get my head around is that it is, in fact, April, and soon will be May, when I still feel like I’m stuck in March, and I’m left wondering if March even happened.  I then have to look at my calendar and assure myself that yes, March does follow February and is followed by April, and it did in fact happen because I did in fact cross out the days in March.  March and April aside, today (being Sunday, and not Monday, as my Sunday has not yet ended in sleep) marks the end of Hell week and the beginning of the end of Spring semester.

I call it Hell week because that’s perhaps the best way to describe it.  Tuesday choir concert (which sadly failed to get recorded), Thursday Orchestra of Southern Utah concert, Friday band concert (don’t EVEN get me started…), and Saturday… Well.  I’d rather not say much about Saturday other than it was a long, useless day spent in a building with no outlets and therefore nothing to do but sit around and shuffle cards all day or sleep.  Of course, it could have been spent socializing, but really… What a useless activity.

Of course, there were some good things that came of Hell week, perhaps aided by the law of averages.  I was able to pass my aural skills final, which means no more sight singing in Locrian, dorian, or any other -ian, and no more trying to figure out if that last chord was a Neopolitan, German, Italian, or French, only to find out that it was merely a secondary dominant of the dominant (which I don’t expect many to understand, don’t worry — you’re not ignorant).

I was also able to accomplish quite a bit in the little time I had between classes, practicing, and sleep, spending more time in the library in one week than I had nearly all year just printing stuff out.  So many trees…  Ironic that my tree-killing escapades fell on Earth week.  But hey, I’m going to drop off some plastic bottles to be recycled, so it all evens out, right?

But of course, bad and frustrating things happened, too, but at the end of the week, at least I got to spend some time with a rather nice (however slightly smelly) cat purring on my stomach while I watched countless episodes of Nova on my laptop.  Which brings me to one in the morning and procrastinating going to sleep, because the sooner I go to bed, the sooner I have to get up and buckle down on the projects that I should have been able to do on Saturday if I hadn’t had to go to that blasted “competition.”

Grag.

apple_itrip

I also happened upon a coupon book of a plethora of $15, $5, and $1 coupons to the movie theathers around my school that my father gave to me sometime last year.  i think I’ve used a total of one coupon from it in the entire time that I’ve had it — I leave next week, and they expire at the end of June.  Perhaps I will go see some movies by myself this week, as I don’t really have anybody to go with.  But frankly, it makes me wonder if I’m a total weirdo — wouldn’t a normal college student have been able use that up the month she recieved such a bounteous gift?  Is doing social things supposed to be a priority, other than the fact that it’s the only way to find someone who is willing to room with you?  Perhaps I take too functional a view of my social life… Eah.  Another story for another day.  This post is way too long, and if you’ve gotten this far, I commend you for your patience.  Really, you deserve a round of applause.

joker-clapThis is the only picture I could find that involved clapping.  Sorry if you’re sick of seeing batman stuff.

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Miss America — It’s better than being shot in the face — Oh wait. Nevermind.

I am furious.  Absolutely furious.

This evening was the extremely-publicized and worked-up Miss America Pageant, that was supposed to be completely updated and extremely different from the years and years of big hair, safe answers, glitter, over-glamour, bikinis, and “dancer’s face.” 

So much for that idea.

I guess the only way to win was to sell-out.  The only ones who didn’t sell out was Jill Stevens, miss Utah, and Sadie Quiley, Miss Idaho.  Of course, I am from Utah, but again, she was they were only girls who refused to conform to the world’s new form of beauty — barely-there bikinis, dresses to show off their “best assets” (boobs, butt, back, and thighs — I thought it was supposed to be their brains?), hair that resembles that of a senator’s wife, and makeup that kind of reminds me of how a lot of the girls in Jr. High looked like when they were first allowed to wear makeup and had yet to be educated on the beauty of subtlety.

I’m so infuriated I am giving up on making my sentences coherent.

Miss Michigan (our new Miss America — What a cop-out) sang possibly the MOST SUNG SONG OF AAAALLLLL TIIIIIIME.  Although, it is a fantastic song, if you’re REALLY trying to update the show, SING SOMETHING THAT HASN’T BEEN SUNG TWO MILLION TIMES BEFORE!!!  And frankly, I think she slaughtered it.  I literally cringed and was writhing in pain during most of the train wreck.  Her dress basically looked like she was wearing nothing but glitter in all the right places.  So much for the “cotoure” thing.  Also, they really didn’t need to take the crown off the previous Miss America, because frankly, they could have been the same person.  White, blonde, with hair with enough hairspray in it to create another hole in the ozone layer.  She could also have been Britney Spears:

See any similarities?(for full-size image, go to http://img32.picoodle.com/img/img32/4/1/26/f_brittneyandm_f074ea1.jpg)

Just goes to prove that if you are white, blonde, use enough hairspray to create another hole in the ozone layer, and wear sparkles in all the right places, even YOU can become famous!

I was very disappointed that America’s choice was eliminated the first chance the judges got.  She was the only one to wear a one-piece (or rather, was able to show it off — Miss Idaho would have worn one too, and fought very hard to be able to, Kudos to her)– a very bold move that apparently scared the judges out of their pants.  “Holy — Wha??  We don’t want America’s women to stop wearing bikinis!!  We want to see those navels!  OFF WITH HER HEAD!”  I have no words to describe my fury…

I believe that the judges should have gone through the reality check.  An especial favorite judge of mine was Jason La Padura — Casting director of the atrocity that is High School Musical, the ridiculously popular Disney movie that is proof that in order to make money in the acting business, you must sell out, and sell out hard, which is exactly what La Padura did.  Thank you La Padura for endorsing selling out to make it big.  You make us proud.

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