I'm making this post now because I just got home from my weekly piano lesson and needed to vent frustration NOW, before I say something to someone that I'll regret later. Both my parents (and one of my brothers) smoke. Fairly heavily at that. They do it outside, not in the house, which is thoughtful of them. But it becomes fucking unbearable when they do it in the car. Which they do. Alot. And today, on the way home from that trip, mum asks me to get her ciggarettes out and her lighter from the bag. Yea, safeguarding your kids from picking up your habits gets kicked in the head somewhere there. So I do, and she lights it up, and after about 20 agonising seconds she rolls down her window slightly. And when I push my nose under my jumper, to muffle the smell just so little, she complains. "Don't do that. I know you don't like it, but to bad." FUCK YOU. I don't like it because IT KILLED MY FRIEND IN CASE YOU'D FORGOTTEN. I DO NOT WANT IT TO KILL ME EITHER. She goes on"Smoke rises so it goes out the window anyway." FUCKING IDIOT. The window is not the highest point in the car. THE AREA JUST ABOVE OUR HEADS IS YOU IDIOT. The smoke does not go out the window WHEN YOU HOLD THE CIGGARETTE JUST ABOVE MY FUCKING LAP. You berate me for not checking for cars on our home street, which is always fucking empty, because it is dangerous. LYING DOWN AND GOING TO SLEEP ON THAT ROAD IS LESS DANGEROUS THEN TAKING ONE OF YOUR FUCKING THINGS, OF WHICH YOU GO THROUGH 4 PACKS A WEEK.
I do not care if you people want to slowly kill yourselves and claim it is a stress relief. I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU FREAKS, BUT HASTENING MY DEATH IS NOT A RELIEF TO STRESS. DO NOT DRAG ME TO THE GRAVE WITH YOUR SICK HABBITS.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Colors.
I just know that I'm never going to be satisfied with the colorscheme, and that every time I come here I'll end up spending more time fiddling with it then I do making a post, but thats more my fault then anyone elses.
Today's post is more in honor of me setting up shifts for work at mcdonalds then anything else. It's in footscray, true, which is meant to be like, where druggies go when they've hit rock bottom for druggies, but hey, I live there too, and I walk past a partly demolished pub (Well, a truck drove into it, but it still did a fair bit of damage) that is used by squatters and whore's. I can deal with serving these people dinner. Plus, my most super awesomeest friend every, Lucky, works their, and I'm amazingly glad I'll get to see her more often again, since after she got to old for band our only regular contact has been through the web. And I have a feeling that me getting the job after months of downtime is due to more then a little intervention on her part, and she's already helped me so much with it that I am grateful enough to kiss her, were she in the same room as me and were I not crippling shy in RL social events.
that seems to short for a blog post. Bugger me. Well, I was feeling all proud for restarting this thing, then I looked at it and it said "Last post 5 days ago!" like some horrible accusation. That reminded me not to let it die quiet so quickly this time, so I'll try to be nice and ramble for a few more occassion yet. I mean, ideally I wouldn't be such a lazy bastard and would update it to a schedule of some kind, but fuck, I'm not Yahtzee, this isn't fullyramblomatic and I am in possession of a little thing called an attention span. I mean a little thing when I say it folks.
Final thoughts; My brother has now got more of his tattoo done. Hm, this is going to more then a fleeting final thought kiddies. Its a coy? fish, or something. Japanese, he says it symbolishes strength and endurance. I say it symbolises forgienness, and combined with the southern cross on his shoulderblades it symbolises stupidity. Then he hits me. It hurts. Theres still like 3 more sessions before it is finished, to get all the color in. He already has The previously mentioned southern cross, his year of conception on his foot (Yea, makes plenty of sense.), and a man with a lawmower just above his groin. Okay, that one is amusing. I think the tattoos are a foolish thing to get now, more because supposedly later on he'll think about what a dick move it was, but hey, it's his skin, not mine. Okay, I'm done. No one is allowed to implode, as that'll be how I die, okay?
Today's post is more in honor of me setting up shifts for work at mcdonalds then anything else. It's in footscray, true, which is meant to be like, where druggies go when they've hit rock bottom for druggies, but hey, I live there too, and I walk past a partly demolished pub (Well, a truck drove into it, but it still did a fair bit of damage) that is used by squatters and whore's. I can deal with serving these people dinner. Plus, my most super awesomeest friend every, Lucky, works their, and I'm amazingly glad I'll get to see her more often again, since after she got to old for band our only regular contact has been through the web. And I have a feeling that me getting the job after months of downtime is due to more then a little intervention on her part, and she's already helped me so much with it that I am grateful enough to kiss her, were she in the same room as me and were I not crippling shy in RL social events.
that seems to short for a blog post. Bugger me. Well, I was feeling all proud for restarting this thing, then I looked at it and it said "Last post 5 days ago!" like some horrible accusation. That reminded me not to let it die quiet so quickly this time, so I'll try to be nice and ramble for a few more occassion yet. I mean, ideally I wouldn't be such a lazy bastard and would update it to a schedule of some kind, but fuck, I'm not Yahtzee, this isn't fullyramblomatic and I am in possession of a little thing called an attention span. I mean a little thing when I say it folks.
Final thoughts; My brother has now got more of his tattoo done. Hm, this is going to more then a fleeting final thought kiddies. Its a coy? fish, or something. Japanese, he says it symbolishes strength and endurance. I say it symbolises forgienness, and combined with the southern cross on his shoulderblades it symbolises stupidity. Then he hits me. It hurts. Theres still like 3 more sessions before it is finished, to get all the color in. He already has The previously mentioned southern cross, his year of conception on his foot (Yea, makes plenty of sense.), and a man with a lawmower just above his groin. Okay, that one is amusing. I think the tattoos are a foolish thing to get now, more because supposedly later on he'll think about what a dick move it was, but hey, it's his skin, not mine. Okay, I'm done. No one is allowed to implode, as that'll be how I die, okay?
Thursday, October 9, 2008
This is the area that scares me.
Making up a title is harder then writing the blog, damnit. *ahem.* Er ... Blame Aleatz again. Seeing her ubdate so often like a little busy person made me feel lazy, and being bored overcame lazyness and resulted in this. I won't make any promises I can't keep this time, so I'll may update again after this one. Anyway, another reason I didn't update was my layout looks shit and I suck to bad to find a new one. Maybe, now that I've gone and said it like that. ... Perhaps.
Well, I have nothing to write about now, but I figured a topic would come to mind after I started. And it did, sorta. Glasses. See, I wear glasses (and if you didn't know this I must ask where your brain is), and I like them. They're efficent, good at what they do and generally only cause me pain on really hot or really cold days, when the metal hot/cold burns the sides of my head. Other then that though, they're good little chaps. However, I do have a fair few pet peeves with glasses in general, which, since I'm like that, I'll share with you.
1) Dirt. Not dirt from the ground dirt, but mess nonetheless. My eyes, being fucked up and a can of soup besides, need fucking massive glasses. I mean, ground, compressed and still bigger then what your nanna wears massive. So they sit on top of my nose. Too low and they flop right off. Meaning every single time I blink, it leaves a smear. Being blind and also used to it, I don't notice them, but other people do, and constantly complain about my glasses being "dirty." One memoriable teacher from primary school said that I must smush them up in my weetbix every morning to get them so bad. (Oh yes, sir, I haven't forgotten. And the lego set you confiscated, AKA stole? Oh, I remember. I remember it all.) So, I feel the need to clean them often. You know how many blinks it takes for them to get messy again? I do. I counted. 1. 1 blink, and were back where we started.
2) Nerd. Why is it that because I wear glasses I'm instantly labeled nerd? Oh, I know theres countless other things, like body posture, speech mannerisms, facial expressions, blah de blah, but its the glasses that seal the deal. I know. For the 4 months I wore contacts, I was the cats pajamas. With strangers at least, who'd never met me before and thus didn't know of my prolific knowledge on the subject of everything and your mum. So glasses get me labeled as a nerd, and getting labeled as a nerd gets me, for lack of a more pathetic term, bullied. I hate that term. It makes it sound like bullying is something successful, something that does in fact make me scared to go to school and see my "oppressors" who "make my life hell." HAHAHAHAHA. I relish in their "tormet." One kid in particular, until recently (Beware, a tanget develops!). a fat one. I say that as a understatment. This kid is ... morbidly obese. And to top it off, he's in year 7. thats right, an oversized year 7 is "bullying" a year 11. He tried so hard, too. But he screwed up bad. Most of you may not no this, but three weeks ago on thursday we put my dog down. That was the day before school holidays. The next day, fatty followed me home. He had the audacity to stalk me. When I got of the train station near my house, I made it clear to him not to try it again. In short, I grabbed him by the throat, pushed him up against the wall, and held him their until he was purple and crying. I'm not a violent person, but bugger me if I'm going to roll over and take shit like that from crap like him. Thats not the end of the story though; in short, at the start of this term he saw me and said (Quiet visible bruised around the neck and standing out of arms reach. Like it would help his lard ass.) That his "friends" were going to beat me up. I reminded him I lived in Footscray (Think ratty, then double it. To get to the train station I walk past a pub that closed down and is now home to some not so friendly squatters.) and that if any of them tried something I'd kill them. Oh, and I punched him in the face, too. Since then I've been carrying around a chair leg (Hollow metal pole, bassically) in my bag, just in case. More on it, should it develop. (Backing up a few kilometres.)
3) Taking. What is with people taking my glasses and trying them on? It pisses me off. Sitting there, minding my own bussiness, and suddenly a hand reaches from the ether of my peripheral vision and yanks them off my face. Then some hooting voice asks how they look with them on, says I must be really blind because the glasses are so fuzzy for them, and then complains about having a headache because of them and blames me for it. sigh.
4) They caused me to write a list on a blog I hadn't updated in 4 months. See how many reasons I have?
Eh, I'm done saying stuff for now. Blah blah blah, glasses are practical but sometimes annoying, fat year 7's pushed me past my breaking point, I have a chair leg in my bag, my socks smell funny. Bye for now.
Well, I have nothing to write about now, but I figured a topic would come to mind after I started. And it did, sorta. Glasses. See, I wear glasses (and if you didn't know this I must ask where your brain is), and I like them. They're efficent, good at what they do and generally only cause me pain on really hot or really cold days, when the metal hot/cold burns the sides of my head. Other then that though, they're good little chaps. However, I do have a fair few pet peeves with glasses in general, which, since I'm like that, I'll share with you.
1) Dirt. Not dirt from the ground dirt, but mess nonetheless. My eyes, being fucked up and a can of soup besides, need fucking massive glasses. I mean, ground, compressed and still bigger then what your nanna wears massive. So they sit on top of my nose. Too low and they flop right off. Meaning every single time I blink, it leaves a smear. Being blind and also used to it, I don't notice them, but other people do, and constantly complain about my glasses being "dirty." One memoriable teacher from primary school said that I must smush them up in my weetbix every morning to get them so bad. (Oh yes, sir, I haven't forgotten. And the lego set you confiscated, AKA stole? Oh, I remember. I remember it all.) So, I feel the need to clean them often. You know how many blinks it takes for them to get messy again? I do. I counted. 1. 1 blink, and were back where we started.
2) Nerd. Why is it that because I wear glasses I'm instantly labeled nerd? Oh, I know theres countless other things, like body posture, speech mannerisms, facial expressions, blah de blah, but its the glasses that seal the deal. I know. For the 4 months I wore contacts, I was the cats pajamas. With strangers at least, who'd never met me before and thus didn't know of my prolific knowledge on the subject of everything and your mum. So glasses get me labeled as a nerd, and getting labeled as a nerd gets me, for lack of a more pathetic term, bullied. I hate that term. It makes it sound like bullying is something successful, something that does in fact make me scared to go to school and see my "oppressors" who "make my life hell." HAHAHAHAHA. I relish in their "tormet." One kid in particular, until recently (Beware, a tanget develops!). a fat one. I say that as a understatment. This kid is ... morbidly obese. And to top it off, he's in year 7. thats right, an oversized year 7 is "bullying" a year 11. He tried so hard, too. But he screwed up bad. Most of you may not no this, but three weeks ago on thursday we put my dog down. That was the day before school holidays. The next day, fatty followed me home. He had the audacity to stalk me. When I got of the train station near my house, I made it clear to him not to try it again. In short, I grabbed him by the throat, pushed him up against the wall, and held him their until he was purple and crying. I'm not a violent person, but bugger me if I'm going to roll over and take shit like that from crap like him. Thats not the end of the story though; in short, at the start of this term he saw me and said (Quiet visible bruised around the neck and standing out of arms reach. Like it would help his lard ass.) That his "friends" were going to beat me up. I reminded him I lived in Footscray (Think ratty, then double it. To get to the train station I walk past a pub that closed down and is now home to some not so friendly squatters.) and that if any of them tried something I'd kill them. Oh, and I punched him in the face, too. Since then I've been carrying around a chair leg (Hollow metal pole, bassically) in my bag, just in case. More on it, should it develop. (Backing up a few kilometres.)
3) Taking. What is with people taking my glasses and trying them on? It pisses me off. Sitting there, minding my own bussiness, and suddenly a hand reaches from the ether of my peripheral vision and yanks them off my face. Then some hooting voice asks how they look with them on, says I must be really blind because the glasses are so fuzzy for them, and then complains about having a headache because of them and blames me for it. sigh.
4) They caused me to write a list on a blog I hadn't updated in 4 months. See how many reasons I have?
Eh, I'm done saying stuff for now. Blah blah blah, glasses are practical but sometimes annoying, fat year 7's pushed me past my breaking point, I have a chair leg in my bag, my socks smell funny. Bye for now.
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