The Diary of Queen Mothy |
Mega Update written @ 8:40 PM on June 25, 2002 Everyone throw some confetti, Sam finally worked up the heart to update this damned thing. Let's see, the last I left off was the night before my eighteenth birthday. It was a nice, low-key birthday. I got a lot of nice stuff and new clothes. You know what? Let's fast forward a little; I don't really remember much from a month and a half ago, and to tell you the truth, even though I crossed the "threshold" into adulthood and I can enter Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes without Mom's signature, it was really just another day. Moving on. The last couple of weeks to school were murderous and lasted forever, it seemed. Seniors were exempted from final exams, which was really nice considering some of the holy hell classes I took. I finally finished The Monstrosity (the panoramic picture of the school that Ryan claims has hidden phallic symbols in it) and sold the damned thing for $200 to the school. Yeeeeup, maybe this artist won't starve after all. I bet I could have asked for $50 more, but I'm too nice a person and I hate myself for it. Well, it's bound to cause them problems now. They have to figure out how to frame the God forsaken thing. I finished it a week after we got off from school (the senior picnic was fun), and a night before the graduation rehearsal. My maternal grandparents, and my paternal aunt and uncle came to visit for graduation. I had a really good time with them here. You won't believe what I got for graduation presents: a Toshiba Pentium 4 Satellite laptop and...... drum roll...... an emerald green 2002 Ford Escort ZX2. I was like, "hhhhhhhhhhhhooooowoooooow..." *sigh* I guess this means I have to get my license now. It's a nice car. It's a good size for me and drives as smoothly as a kitten purrs. I have 17 driving hours to go before I get my license now. Plus I have a unicorn bobble head in the back! It kicks ass. My license plate was going to read UN1CORN, but the BMV doesn't have that available, so I'm going to try UN1KORN or UNYCORN. Yeah, I'm not a spoiled Lakota brat! The actual graduation ceremony itself was very nice. But you could tell nobody really cared to be there and was mapping out the routes to the parties on the back of their diplomas. I went party hopping that night after a very expensive but by far one of the best dinners ever at Jack Ruby's in downtown Cincinnati. *yawn* I don't know. That was three or four weeks ago, and I really don't remember much. And because so much has happened since then, I really don't care for you nosey diary readers to possess all my personal memories, eh? Just kidding. I'm just being lazy. I got a job. It's a horrible job. But because nobody's willing to hire an 18 year old without work experience, I didn't have much of a choice. I am now a hostess at Bob Evans. Quit laughing; I have to start somewhere, or so friends and relatives like to say to abate my bitching. I go in at 6:30 every morning and stuff kids packs for about two hours, maybe bus a table or two, before things get busy. And you know what? Bob Evans is a breakfast place-- EVERYONE in the tricounty area comes it between the hours of 8 and 11! And you know what else? I'm the only goddamned hostess on the floor until 10. Then they're kind enough to give me a 30 minute break, where I can grab a single salad and a coffee-- when I'm lucky. I tell you, the first week working there I lost 4 pounds. On top of all this, one must deal with the morning waitresses. The morning waitresses are older women who have been serving for their entire lives. Let's just say they're a little short in the morning, and when you accidentally double-seat them, prepare for the Medusa. They have me doing everything there except cooking and serving at this point, and at $6.50 an hour and an average loss of 2 pounds a week since then, it's really not worth it. But what am I going to do? There are no other jobs out there for someone with my background. And, as Mom likes to point out to me, "It's just a summer job, not a career." Oh yeah? Try and tell that to corporate, who has a life insurance plan for me and a 401K thing. But I really don't want to talk about work. Nobody I work with has any personality, except my old manager, who was fired because she was crazy, and I still didn't like her. I kinda like working with the customers, except for the truckers and construction workers who come in and flirt with you and do dances for you as they request Halls from the candy counter. And except for the customers who bitch because of soggy fries. As if I exert any control over that! And except for the guy that come sin with smart ass answers to the simple question, "How was everything today?" "I don't know about everything, but food and service was satisfactory," he mutters with his hick accent between his fluffy beard and mustache. Yeah great, buddy. I now think the movie "Office Space" is even funnier than before because I understand it in its fullest context. But enough about work. Work sucks. "Awe, look at this naive soul fluttering her wings on the sidewalks of corporate America. Welcome to the real world, Sam." Screw the real world. Halfway into my first week at work, another tragedy struck. This time my home computer. I can talk about it now, but if you had attempted contact with me earlier, I would have thrown a fit and exploded in a noreaster of tears and fits of misery. One Thursday night in early June, I had double-clicked on the icon to the folder that held my novels. Nothing happened. So I double-clicked it again, because, you know, sometimes you realize that you really didn't double-click. Still nothing happened. So I went down to my Start menu thinking that the computer had frozen. Nothing happened. All of a sudden, the entire screen flashed, and all my folders ended up in the margin next to the Start menu. Everything else returned to normal. So I began attempting to pull my folders out of the margin. From the looks of things, it seems as though my main folder had produced copies of itself over and over. I was like, "Okay, bitch, that was weird." And I proceeded to delete all these "copies." Only guess what. They weren't copies. They were the folders that held my novels. And I COMPLETELY DELETED ALL 14 OF THEM. At first, I thought it was all a dream. It seemed so surreal that I had just deleted my novels, and I was in a state of denial. Then reality hit me, and I went through a brief depression. I cried more tears that week than I have over an entire year. I had back-up disks with my novels on them, but the problem was that one of the novels was too big to fit on a regular disk, two others were incomplete, and the two that I spent the last eight months editing I had planned to save later that night. God, I was so pissed. I still can't talk about it without getting tense. So then my dad got some software from work that helps you recover deleted files, and we installed that on my computer in an effort to fish my books out. Guess what. THE DAMNED SOFTWARE RECOVERED EVERY SINGLE GODDAMNED FILE I DELETED IN THE HISTORY OF MANKIND EXCEPT MY BOOKS. So now I have to resurrect my old computer, get my old copies of my novels back, and start all fucking over. I was not happy. I was not happy at all. In fact, it was a good thing that Kat and Ryan rescued me from the blackened depths of my soul for a day. Only they brought me to Borders Books and Music. And while it's normally heaven there, it didn't help my mood much. I ate my way through the next two weeks and recovered much of the weight I lost from work. But now, after much thinking about my loss and how important my books are to my well-being, I am quite convinced that I have a good concept for my novel series, I am in the process of making maps and fleshing out characters, and I think I'll be ready to start writing again by the end of the summer. The latest by Christmas break. This should be a fresh start. I also got my college class schedule and my room mate. I have Drawing I, 2-D Studio, Stagecraft I, Stagecraft Lab, Mathematics for Liberal Arts Dummies (for people who scored an 18 on their ACT... I scored a 26, so I should have no problem), and Immigrant Experiences for my Honors course. I'm carrying 15 semester hours. My room mate's name is Sarah, and she lives in New Vienna Ohio-- wherever the hell that is. Nobody I asked seems to know. I haven't called her yet. I'm too shy. And I hate the telephone as a personal policy. And I'm afraid that she may be my polar opposite as far as my personality goes. I mean... she doesn't have to like unicorns. But what if she HATES unicorns? These things I often think about as I lie in my bed at night-- and I've been getting funny dreams lately too. Last night was something out of Lord of the Rings, only it was a magic QUARTER with a Kentucky picture on the obverse that I had to keep from Sauron's evil minion, who looked like a cross between Heath Ledger and the evil Lord Dar/the demon Kherris from Book 5 of the Chronicles of Fantasm (my book series). It was weird. You could tell I had a lot on my mind. Also been researching my family tree. I had a couple major breakthroughs since I hounded Mom enough to let me have a subscription to Ancestry.com. I won't get into details; this entry is already long enough. Let's see, what else? The posse came over for a pool party at my house two nights ago. Sean left for boot camp in Oklahoma. Dad has since become coach of the Lakota East Ice Hockey team, Kathy Klink-approved, and is looking to open up Reno's Sports Cafe off of Route 4 in Liberty Township. That man is losing it, but I kind of like this new eccentric side of him. Mom is mom. And Jonathan is, unfortunately, Jonathan. Today I did oddball stuff. It stormed. I was not chipper. I babysat Ashley's cousins this morning; what an interesting clan that side is. So, now that I've updated the main ideas, I'm going to... I don't know... do stuff.
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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