I now have a mop. Well, a Swiffer. With wet and dry pads, so I can use it as any kind of mop I want, even though I purchased it mostly saying “DEAR GOD THE KITCHEN FLOOR.” Bear in mind I have about six square feet of kitchen floor.

I’ve been trying to put this damn apartment in order. I’ve realized the couch is too big (anyone need a couch?) and I’m not sure where to put the bed, really, although I like it where it is, and without having a clue where stuff goes, it’s murderously hard to put any art on the walls. Not to mention I have one REALLY BIG WALL and then two with windows in them, so I really have no idea whatsoever what to do with it.

I’m thinking at this point that I need to make a sort of media corner thing on the wall at the foot of my bed, putting in a short bookcase as a footboard and then stepping up to a couplea big bookcases on the wall. Then I was thinking I needed a bigger beanbag chair in that corner (where you can still see the tv) and a smaller couch. And something to keep crafty desky stuff in, and possibly a sideboard behind the couch for linens, and a shoe organizer and a recycle bin and to set my desk up like a real desk and all that dang stuff all at once.

The next place I live, i’m getting a dishwasher.

I need to get back to doing things that make me happy. I’m not on this planet to live for other people, and sometimes things aren’t always going to go the way the rest of the world wants.

I mean, I’m not going to go out and start robbing banks or anything, but I’m going to stop letting other people dictate what I’m feeling at any given time. I’ve got this habit of being too willing to bend over backwards for the sake of other people, but combine that with a wicked sense of justice and an abnormally short fuse for things that are just purely stupid and you’ve got someone who gets caught in the middle trying to fix everyone else’s problems until she can’t see a good way out for anyone, least of all herself, and then just goes off on all involved parties.

And frankly, I’m tired of being everyone else’s host-body right now. So here’s my new resolution.
People are not allowed to use me as an intermediary.
People are not allowed to tell me the same sob story more than twice.
People are not allowed to use things that are otherwise out of humanity’s control as a way of attempting to control me.
People are not allowed to leave emotions unvoiced and expect me to know what’s going on OR have any desire to fix it/give a damn.
People are not allowed to use material possessions as a source of power, emotionally or mentally.
People are not allowed to dredge up past events simply to pick fights.
True friends do not try to one-up the others, whether’s it’s for status, money, love, recognition, egomania or user tendencies.

So says the Teka. End transmission.

(And before any of y’all start getting all up in my grill about “I didn’t do that!” or “I didn’t mean it!” or any of that, I’m not targeting one or more person/groups of people specifically. I’m targeting where I see weaknesses in my ability to deal with life situations. Step off, it’s not all about you In the words of the immortal Eleanor Roosevelt: “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” This is my list to myself of ways to refuse consent. )

I’m attempting to see if this cross posts to LJ. It should, which should mean that the LJ world isn’t just getting a series of inane Twitter posts. Sure, those are fun and all, but not as fun as they should be.

My father said something ridiculously profound to me tonight.

“Too bad the fact that you are not alone in your experiences in life are not apparent or communicable at the time you are experiencing them. It would make things so much easier to cope with.”

I just got finished watching the DVD of “Bang Bang, You’re Dead.” I don’t know if anyone’s heard of it-it became a pretty notorious problem-solving play after Thurston and Columbine, and it’s a free online download to read/perform.

It’s the first time in years a movie has hit me quite this hard. I’ve thought before to myself that there but for the grace of something went I, as Thurston and Columbine and all the other school shootings made the news. I’m not going to say I was any part of the Trenchcoat Mafia or that my parents abused me at home… and I think that’s why Bang Bang hit me so hard. It’s a normal kid, good student, suddenly starts getting terrorized by the “populars” at school, is an outcast without really knowing why, starts questioning who he is, what he’s doing and how in hell you’re supposed to get along in a place where they’re just trying to churn out citizens by the truckload.

That was me. Almost to a T.

Elementary school, fine, but as soon as we got to the materialistic Middles where it was what you wore and who you knew and the crap you had I was sunk.

And sadly enough, I think it was part of that outcast kid who came back to flaunt herself at Evergreen, when the prof claimed I made death threats against him. There, I don’t think it was so much a taunting as a not being able to find my place intellectually and having people like him refuse to understand.

On some level it’s the fact that I managed to come through all of it relatively unscathed that makes me think I need to be a teacher. If I can, as my father said, communicate to people at that age that they aren’t alone, whether they listen or not, at least there’s a voice there. I remember in middle school when I was in the lowest point having a teacher say “How can we help you?” and “It can’t be that bad.” I want to be the one to say “It’s that bad. It gets that bad. I have been in that bad a situation, but I managed it and so can you.”

I don’t know how I managed it, truthfully. I don’t know what beyond that I can tell a kid. I know that some part of me saw suicide as a cop out, and some other part of me realized that if I did ever kill people I might as well commit suicide for the amount of life I’d never get to have via the repercussions, and somehow that little catch22 was enough to stop me from ever acting out in a major way.
I don’t know if the kid would even listen, because god knows, even NOW I don’t want to listen when people tell me they’ve been there, but the shock of having someone say “It’s that bad” instead of “Just cheer up” seems like it might be change someone needs to open their eyes or be willing to take an offered hand for even a little while.

I want to change the world… I’m just waiting for the moment to come.

When I went to Mystic a few weeks ago, I woke up on Sunday with what everyone seemed to think was a tick bite on my neck. Fast forward to now, two-ish weeks later, and I’m developing a head cold-sore throat, phlegm and all. Now, I happen to know that the allergen count here has been ridiculous for the past few days, and one of my housemates has a head cold currently. I’m not experiencing any other flu-like symptoms like chills or aches or anything, so at this point do i hedge my bets and believe that this is a friend-induced cold, or do I believe that I’m getting Lyme Disease? There’s just never a dull moment when you’re me.

Unless that is, you’re me in the middle of our last big roller derby bout. We played our area rival last Sunday… well, THEY played our area rival last sunday, as I was doing my best AHL callup impression and sat on the bench until the last jam, and then only got to play for :45.
I’m trying to not still be bitter, but the coach keeps saying that I have to earn my permanent spot on the big team and then pulling crap like that-how am I supposed to prove anything in :45? Even crappy hockey players get 4 or 5 shifts and 5 whole minutes to show that they’re worth keeping, and I have to cram it all into 45 seconds? Not to mention, i realized that it was the last jam and the only time I was going to be in, and felt the pressure of performing up to expectations in that coming in COMPLETELY COLD after sitting there for almost 60 minutes not doing anything.

I’m seriously considering just using my derby dues to learn how to play hockey and finding a beer league that’ll let me play instead, because at least I’ll get more than :45 of playing time.

In other news, I’m considering being Sara Palin for Halloween-I figure if I do the ugly Goodwill suit, a long brown wig done badly, bright red lipstick and carry a hockey stick I can probably sucker someone else into being my pregnant daughter.

That is, unless the internet can come up with something better.

I’ve hit one of those occasional life places where I just don’t feel like I have a set path to follow to get done all that needs to be done. We’re only a week into the semester, and I’m freaking out about finishing my thesis in time, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be late on a knitting project I promised would be finished, and I’m absolutely unsure which (if either) derby team I’m going to be on, as I’ve been told basically that my fat ass is going to be a problem, because I can’t get it moving fast enough. Add to that the fact that I just saw a picture of myself in a swimsuit from over the summer, and I really just sort of want to secede from life right now and study the fine art of anorexia.

I’m also iffy on whether i’m going to bother to go to DC for hockey camp, as everyone seems to have abandoned that but me, and god forbid I have any idea what kind of future job I’m looking at.

In short, this is a horrible no good very bad night. Blah.

For those of you as Olympic-aquatic crazy as I am, why on earth aren’t you watching Canada get stomped by Spain at men’s water polo? Right now I’m streaming that game online, watching Michael Phelps set a new world record in the 400 IM on TV, and wishing to god I had a third way to watch synchronized swimming once it started. If I could do it all underwater as well, you can bet I would.

It actually surprises me that more people DON’T watch olympic water polo, but after watching part of this coverage from NBC, I start to see why. There’s no commentary on this feed, meaning that if you have no idea what’s going on, it’s just a bunch of whistle blowing and dots floating in a pool. It’s sort of related to the Hockey Problem, where nobody seems to be able to figure out how to film the sport so people can watch it. Of course, I’m a fan of the birds eye view shot for both, really, but I do like seeing a good attempted drowning up close and personal when it happens.

One of the other big issues when streaming it online is that if you’re watching dots in a pool, you really can’t have pixellated dots in a pool, or alll the dots start blurring together, especially when we’re talking blue and white dots in thrashing pool water. I can see the blue dots, as they’re dark blue caps on the Canadians, but the Spaniards in white just get lost in the whitewater.

Right now, we’re in the third period, and Canada’s losing 5-11. Of course, I’m going to blame a lot of that on Spain’s goalie, who’s just a ridiculous beast, as the Canadians are putting up a pretty darn good show. And if I can be shallow for a minute, if all the Canadian hockey boys are taken, I’d definitely be willing to settle for one of their polo guys

Man, I need me a polo team.

Today, I’m wearing a dress.

I know, it’s completely out of character, but I found it yesterday on the Great Wallet Replacement search at Pac Sun, and decided that because it didn’t make me look like Blimpo the Wonder Girl, I could spend part of my government money stimulating the clothing retailers of Hershey.

What gets me, though, is how much more attention I’m getting from people today than any other day. I’ve had at least three comments on the dress specifically, and two other people telling me that I look generically “nice” today.

Okay, people, what gives? I didn’t do anything more to my hair than normal (less, really, as I didn’t even part it today) and I’m still wearing the same ratty flipflops, so why am I all of a sudden unto a fashion goddess?

I think it’s moments like this that I object to being female, simply because I’m expected to go out of my way to be cute and stylish every day. It’s kind of crap in my mind that I’m suddenly realizing that I probably ought to be considering spending some of each paycheck on enough clothes to get me through a week and a half at a time in a corporate whore position, just in case I can’t score a liberal workplace that likes random layers and kitchy t-shirts…. which, as a historian, is probably unlikely, unless I really REALLY luck out and Plimoth Plantation’s textile artisans turn out to be history-minded theatrical costumers (oh please oh please oh please.)

My last few days in bullet points:

• It’s sick how much I’m contemplating renaming my thesis “Who Taught You To Live Like That?: Female Fans and Ice Hockey” just for the line in the song that says “since I wrote the thesis/I think i know better than you/ who taught you to live like that?” It also doesn’t hurt that I get to make liberal use of MVP in the chapter I’m writing now. (psst: \”Who Taught You To Live Like That?\” by Sloan (aka the MVP theme))
• Wordpress-slash-the entire Wordpressy world doesn’t seem to make/have/know of a theme that does what I want forTHTM. Really, is ghosted blog/fixed background/three column/header image/widget capable so much to ask for?
• Have ungrounded and completely unreasonable crush on 16 year old. AUGH. I will not lust after jailbait coworkers, I will not lust after jailbait coworkers, I will not lust after jailbait coworkers.
• Should really start packing for Le Big Move. Of course, every day but today it’s been 91 and humid, so I haven’t really wanted to touch anything. Today, well, I got wrapped up into a bunch of random stuff. I’m debating painting one wall of the room I’m moving into some crazy color like bright teal, so it’s not overwhelming but there’s a little extra color in there somewhere.
• Freebase interviewed me about their website design to the tune of a $40 amazon gift certificate. Now I’m trying to figure out what I can do with Freebase, as it actually seems to be a really cool concept. I’m also trying to figure out what to do with my $40 OMG. The evil nasty part of me is whispering “get more PSP games!” but the sane logical part is saying “buy new headphones, as yours are busted on one side!” Bah, logic.
• It’s peach and cherry season finally! Although our grapes are meh and our apples are bland and the salmon on this coast sucks, they can grow some damn fine peaches on this side of the Might Mississip. Obviously, I must marry an ethnic hockey playing llama rancher with a peach farm.