Watch out, little villiage.

My grades aren't slipping so much as landsliding into an unsuspecting village. This semester can't be over soon enough.

I changed my major AGAIN-- dropping the secondary education crap; I'm just going to hope to god I can get teaching certification after my 15 months post graduation working at Burger King and Old Navy simultaneously with a BA in ~history~ and ~creative writing~.

Bitter. I just bombed a geology test. What happened to my genetic makeup that I'm not good at studying or reading or taking tests or generally doing anything? Maybe I would make an excellent ditch digger and I just haven't tried yet.

I don't know what I'm doing. I'd say "I don't know what I'm doing anymore" but I don't think I ever knew in the first place.

This semester.

I realize a lot of my negativity is streaming from one thing-- this particular semester is driving me crazy. I'm taking two sciences (I don't want to use the term "hate", but I'm not very good at science and don't particularly care for it.) an english class I honestly feel like I'm too good to be in, basically a repeat of high school speech and two Saturday labs for said sciences.

The English arrogance? It needs to stop. I'm in a nut up or shut up situation-- yeah? You're so ~awesome~ at English, Sinclair? Why don't you have an A? Work on getting an A. Don't chalk it up to the class being too easy, because that frankly sounds ridiculous. Admitedly, the "I did poorly because I was bored." excuse works for a while, but I'm paying to be here and I can force myself through an hour and a half of review twice a week. Plus Miranda showed me a paper writing trick I'm kind of excited to use. Even if in some alterreality I am "too good" for the class? Who cares. Learn something in patience, then.

I'm quickly learning that science is much like a needy little kid; even if I'm no where near a test I need to study. Sciences are such a world apart from what I'm used to, but I'm quickly learning diligence if definitely a key.

Off to geology!

A Truth.

Four weeks into a magical world of mediocrity the Treasure Valley likes to call "College of Western Idaho", aka the community college I am currently (begrudgingly) attending.

I'm halfway between a "FUCK THIS PLACE" and "Well. . . this is alright!" statement when talking about my new institution.

The Financial Aid department can suck a ring of throbbing anus. You don't have mile long lines outside of your office at 9am anymore-- why aren't you processing my paperwork? We're almost a month in and I still don't have my financial aid. I don't have my books.

On that note, I think my English professor thinks I'm an asshole. . . unfortunately, I feel a little entitled to being a bit cocky in an English class, as that is my major, and at good ol' College of Idaho I was taking 300 level literature classes. . . granted, I was pulling C's in them, but that's not the point. (Yes it is) She's basically trying to teach a 102 composition class and I'm in the back, trying to make it as complicated as possible because. . . that's what I do.

The drive is shorter, the people are far less intimidating, and I feel far less inadequate about taking two years off between high school and college. A good portion of my classmates are well over 25. This makes my age old 21 year old self feel much, much better.

And of course, being myself, I have to look at everyone, pick out their flaws and decide if they're better than me or not. If they are? I need to pick apart why or become better in that sense. It's much like playing tetris on facebook, where you can see the next persons score.

I feel like, at this point, the most important thing is to have a plan. Unfortunately, that is stressing me out and not actually working. . . just because I think it's important, it's really goddamned not. I keep freaking out about two semesters from now, two years from now. . . where I'm going to grad school. What I'm doing with my life. When I have a have a full time job, how much of my free time am I going to dedicate to writing? and art? How long am I going to wait before trying to get published?

I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm freaking out. I should probably stop writing this because it's giving me the jitters. So long and good night.

I NEED COFFEE.

You and I both have set eyes on those stupid deco glass mugs in sale at Hallmark and little cutesy fluffy coffee shops: an exaggerated and very 90's looking picture of a haggled woman with some lame saying like, "You want it WHEN???" or "Give me the coffee and nobody gets hurt!".

Like me, these probably disgust you to an unreasonable point.

Unfortunately, yesterday I learned I'm slowly evolving into one of those people. I need coffee.

I got up in the morning like any other morning (swearing and kicking the cat out of my way, obviously) but on this particular morning I decided to be proactive and have some bagel action before I ran off to work.

Bad friggin' idea.

For the first hour or so of the morning my stomach was awkwardly laughing going ". . . Haha, okay dude, seriously. Where's the rest of breakfast. You said we were having breakfast." I shut it up, and kept working. Around 10am? It began to rebel by plucking it's grimy fingers on my nerve harp.

I became irrationally angry. I was hungry. It was ridiculous how hungry I was. Everything customers were doing made me want to leap out and strangle them. Everything my co-workers and managers did made me want to feed them into a wood chipper. The clock was mocking me. The fitting room in all of its uncleanliness was mocking me, no matter how I tried to scrub and sanitize.

I kicked the folding carts. I screamed into my arm a few times. I washed the mirrors bitterly. I decided to try and focus my energy on what I would do after I got off work if I wasn't hauled off by the popo for manslaughter.

I realize that nothing in my life has never sounded better than coffee. Black coffee. Coffee with sugar and cream. Not espresso, not tea, fucking coffee. Joe. The midnight oil. Oh my god it sounds amazing.

I begin to form sick half fantasies in my head about breaking the window and dashing off to the nearest gas station to get a cup (doors tend to be a waste of time in my imagination) and mentally list off all the places I could go to get some.

I can't properly describe how miserable I was yesterday morning. I honestly thought I was going to turn into some kind of dawn of the century hulking animal and rip someone to shreds; but needless to say I didn't. I called Miranda, snarled a few choice words at her and decided that we would meet at a diner in downtown Nampa (Le Barons Honker Cafe in downtown Nampa. Go there and eat forever and ever).

Even though I knew I was mere minutes from deliciousness, I still swore loudly about how many people were downtown on a Monday at 12:30pm, slamming my door and throwing my keys in my bag, as if to do some form of damage to them. Inside the first thing out of my mouth was "COFFEE PLEASE" between gritted teeth. I was brought a large. . . thermos? Pot? Hmm. A large contraption for the table top filled with it. They fed me an omelet and the rest of my day went swimmingly.

Needless to say, I made a pot this morning. It's 8am, and I'm doing pretty damn alright :)

in which a local business freaks me right the hell out.

Okay so, there's this giant ~SHOPPING CENTER~ over by a freeway exit in Nampa. It was built a few years ago and. . . there are pretty much no stores in there. Pretty much a Macy's. I'm feeling adventurous on my drive home from class and decide to turn in and see if there's anything over there yet, as the actual set up of the shops is really kind of neat.

Awkward "FURNITURE IMPORT" place that gives me the feeling that several people have probably been molested on whatever furniture they sell there. Yeugh. But! I turn a corner, and among all the "NOW LEASING" signs and empty windows, I see a bakery!

Espresso! Deli! Pastries! The sign informs me in bright lettering.
I like all these things! I inform myself.

So. I park and go in. Ding a ling goes the door bell. The inside is cute. Little tables and deli case set up in an adorable and appetizing fashion. There are three people inside, probably the folks that own it. All three of them are staring at me. I feel like I've done something wrong. I'm sorry, was this your house? I'll be on my way now.

I remind myself that customer/retailer communication is really the only form of communication I'm versed in. So, I take a few steps forward towards the counter. The lady and (I'm assuming) her son are behind the counter. The woman caws something at me-- I don't hear quite what she says but say good afternoon regardless. The son, admitably, is. . . pretty. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Younger than me, but then again, my fat ass at the ripe age of 21 probably looks somewhere around 30. Anyway.

"Hi!" I greet. "This is uh. My first time here. Any recommendations?"

Any form of attractiveness from the lad goes flinging itself out the window. "Er yeah. Theeee. . . cookies are good. We've got some uhhh. . . pastries."

I assure you, it's not often that someone makes me, the queen of social backwash feel uncomfortable. I quickly pick a cake from the counter and ask for it to go. The boy obliges and starts to pull it out when I notice a little note on the side of the register: sorry, no debit.

. . . Dude, guys, I'm sorry. What. You've left me cocking an eyebrow, why would you start up a business and not take debit? I say this because the rest of the place is well put together, decorated, organized. Frustred, embarrassed and confused and quickly mutter I have no cash, I'll get some and come back later.

All three of them stare at me as I back out. No one says a word. I apologize again. Still nothing. I resist the urge to run screaming to my car, but the sudden fear hits me that if I make any form of noise in the painful silence and break their stare, something terrible will happen.

Ding a ling goes the door, and I'm back out.

Royal Bakery, I'll try you someday, I promise. I read good things about you. And (making me feel like a giant anus) it turns out upon further research, they're a Ukrainian family. Derp, hence the reason the woman nor the man said anything to me. Regardless, the day left me at an unease. We'll try this again later.

THE BUS.

Whoo! Been busy! First week of college has gone by. . . awkwardly. Put on the tea kettle, I have stories.

I think I mentioned somewhere before this that I was going to attempt to start using public transportation when I didn't have work-- which, this week, amounted to just Tuesday and Thursday. Okay, get up at 6am, be out of the house by 7am, walk to the bus stop (a 20 minute-ish walk) and wait a few minutes for the bus to come.

Of course it's late and I'm at the stupid stop 10 minutes early. It's 7:20am and everyone in the fucking valley is commuting to work down a magical main road in Nampa that the bus stop happens to be right alongside. Hi, passing traffic. Quit looking at me like I got a DUI, I'm riding the bus because I want to.

My fat ass settles into the curb and I kick back to read some H-Piddles while I wait.

And then. . . .it comes.

Okay, okay. What am I supposed to do? Got my CWI ID in my pocket to flash at the driver, got my book securely in my bag so there will be no goofy falling and tripping all over hell. No wacky shenanigans today- I'm off to community college.

Though hyperventilating, I get on the bus just fine. I do the school thing (three classes; geology, biology and English, 10 minutes in between them. Eugh) and go to get on the bus to go home. You can imagine at this point I'm feeling preeeetty cocky. Bus? Aw yeah, I've nailed that bitch.

The 53 arrives, I get on feeling pretty good about life. The bus rolls all the way to the other side of the parking lot where. . . it stops. It changes drivers and it changes numbers. This is now the 52. . . what? Shit shit shit.

Okay, maybe it's one bus in one direction and my intended route the other.

Halfway around the other side of Caldwell an hour later, and I'm calling shenanigans on my theory. The bus changes numbers again, and I resolve to just get off when we get near Nampa. Bolting off at the post office and an angry call to Miranda later and I'm home, confused and frustrated that I spent 2 hours on that stupid ass bus.

As for now? I think I have it figured out on Thursday after, God forbid, just asking the bus driver if he was stopping on 16th. My death trap of a Ford looks like goddamned utopia compared to that uncomfortable, on the edge of massacring the bus (finally gutting myself with the katana, because after all, DISHONORRR) experience.

Fuck the whales, I'd drive my car to the living room to get the mail if it meant never talking to a bus driver again.

THE UPSIDE! The morning route is easy; most everyone on in the morning is there for CWI or a transfer stop at it. Plus the parking lot is literally filled to the brim in the mornings so. . . not such a bad idea I suppose.

I'll rant about the actual classes later, probably laced with a lot of vague references and swear words.

Until next time kiddos!

gettin' my associates at mcdonalds.

Obviously my book challenged failed miserably, hence avoiding the blog for a while. Shame, you keep me where I belong.

Nothing terribly exciting; I'm trying to transfer schools two weeks before it begins (to quote myself [because obviously I am the most clever person ever] Transferring from private school to community college is like being taken out of a premiere steak house and being shoved into a mcdonalds) which is proving to be stressful. Almost everything has been taken care of in these past three (hectic) days, thankfully. Just some tuition stuff to take care of (WHY DON'T FAFSAS PROCESS IMMEDIATELY?) and I'll be set.

So far my schedule entails two sciences (biology and geology) oral communication and writing composition. I won't piss and moan that I've already taken 300 level english classes and shouldn't have to take "english composition". At least I'm in school, at least I'm a bit closer to graduating and starting a real life. Or something.

Ugh, optimism. You drain me.

imma gonna read goood.

In light of the fact I spent this whole week sitting around watching television (or, television downloaded onto my computer) I figured I'd put myself up to a little challenge this coming week.

Read three books in 7 days. I have no idea how/if I'm going to be able to do it, but I figure it's worth a shot. I'm thinking if I accomplish this, I'll kick it into hardcore mode and not watch tv at all. . . but damnit, I'm addicted to Community! IT'S SO AWESOME.

So, my choices aaaare--

• American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
• Walden by Henry David Thorough
• The Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure (Fanny Hill) by John Cleland

I know, Fanny Hill isn't that long, but I figure I'll start easy. If this works out I'll be thrilled and try it again.

I'm really glad I've gotten into writing again. It's taken kind of a backseat the past couple of months but now it's back at the forefront of my mind and it feels. . . right. Like it's supposed to be there. I'll spare you my crisis, but I realized being an animator isn't my destiny, rather, I think I exist to tell stories. It's much more broad, but I honestly think I was so entranced at the idea of making movies I love distracted me from why I love them-- the stories they tell. As a result, I'm bitter at art. I'm bitter that I'm majoring in it and bitter that it isn't what I want it to be. I hate it right now. I don't want to draw, I don't want to look at anything that has been drawn.


Now, to put pants on and be social! Good night!

In which stupid televison makes me want to work on an unrelated story.

I love group dynamic in stories. Mostly; it is flushed out in it's full potential television, I think. I haven't seen it so well in writing, probably because of how difficult it is. Or. . . at least difficult for me. I don't know about anyone else.

I've struggled for YEARS over a story. ONE particular story. Why?

It has 7 main characters.

While there's a technical "leader" of the group, all 7 of them have huge impacts on one another; I have all the siblings of the main boys down, I have my 'villain' and his accomplices perfected. As a result, it has very little plot. Bad guy does bad things, good guys try and stop them. How awesome.

Yes, it's all well and good to have a character piece, but if that was my goal, I probably shouldn't have done it in a fantasty setting. Over the years, the story has become more about them than any important thing they're doing. They're so developed, I've even tried sticking them in a realistic world with less. . . fantasy 'noise' to deal with, but then they become incredibly uninteresting.

What is constant advice I hear? Just start it! Pound it out! Get it done!

Well. It changes about every two days. I initially came up with this story in my freshman year of highschool- I've had these boys over five years. Which I am thankful for! It's cleared away some of my teen angst and made my sad characters more desperate than obnoxious, made my cocky characters more brash than assholish, and gave my main character motivation other than being the golden boy.


























But still. It's hard to work over. There are certain things it simply can't do that I wish with all my heart could. Specifically, a romantic motivation between two of them. I want more than anything for these two to dramatically confess to one another their undying love to each other. . . but it really can't happen. It's against both of them.





Anyway. I rant about "My Boys" (because the stupid story doesn't have a title after all this time; the old one doesn't make sense since I changed some vital parts of it-- go figure) probably because I've been watching Arrested Development and Community all day.

Ohhh don't give me that look; it's summer. I'm supposed to be lazy.

I love the dynamic all of these have. Arrested Development is wonderful-- even though every single one of the kids has a different personality, and a vital peice to the dysfunctional puzzle, they have similar traits because they're family.

I love Community for a similar reason- they're not family, but each one of them has a peice and they work together in that way. This program kind of makes my heart ache in a weird way; this is what I honestly thought college was going to be like- I was going to arrive and fall into a group of rag-tag rejects and make buddys with people who were nothing like me. Of course, therein is the obvious flaw in the dynamic- there is little chance that all of these people would be hanging out together like this. Thus the commanality- their Spanish class.

But anyway. I love seeing groups together in an episode form; I think that's what I honestly always hoped my story would flow together as. In episodes.

In other news; I realize I have pracctically the same mannerisms and personality of Buster Bluth. There are really no other words to describe how awkward and pathetic I am. I'm glad I can finally sum it up properly :D

hello internet!

Stretched across the internet are probably a good 20 "real" blogs I've started and never updated; I came up with a catchy title and name- I came up with a theme (because all good blogs have themes, like 'news' or 'political commentary' or 'things I would do to that bitch in math class') and even put commas in the right goddamn places so I don't sound stupid on the internet.

But here I am, trying again. Wish me luck, world.

I am just a salseman; I'm pleased to meet you.
Can I show you around?