| short and sweet. just like me. |
[Jun. 9th, 2006|11:42 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  anxious | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | i can't hear, remember? | ] |
I am blessed with random bouts of hypochondriasis.
To date, I have diagnosed myself with multiple cancers, heart problems, kidney failure, "organ pain", serious mental ailments, a sensorineural hearing loss, a nerve disorder, ADD, dyslexia, the ability to stroke out as desired, and most recently, the flesh eating disease.
Try to take me seriously. I know it's hard.
But I googled the symptoms. "Redness in the affected area", "Swollen", "Painful", "Warm". If you ask me, these are undoubtedly serious. And I have them. On my arm. Some might say it's the devil residing in my limbs, trying to escape through the affected appendage; aka: the flesh eating disease.
However, some slightly less dramatic and therefore a waste of time individuals may conclude that my sypmtoms are nothing to pitch a spaz about, and that I need to settle right down. But you know what? They aren't in my body and they don't know how I feel.
Here I go to simultaneously stroke out, go deaf, suffer from serious eye twitching, and forget how to read. All side effects of a debilitating anxiety attack, no doubt. |
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| see ya, wouldn't wanna be ya. |
[Jun. 2nd, 2006|09:30 am] |
So I rename people. A lot.
The following is an example of the thought process it takes to get to an appropriate nickname:
Emily: "What's his name? Ray?"
Jay: "Levi."
Emily: "Oh. I am going to call him 'Jean'."
Laura: "I'm sure he's never heard that before."
Jay: "Yes, very original."
Emily: "Five pocket!"
Emily: "Boot cut!"
Emily: "Wide leg!"
Emily: "Flare!!!"
Emily: "Light wash..."
Emily: "Stone wash..."
Emily: "Saved by the Bell!"
Emily: "Oh, I'm calling him Zack Morris."
And that was that.
Also, I realized today that I have a serious attitude problem. That's not earth shattering news, I know. However, when encountered by people I do not know, I automatically assume that they are an asshole. Most people, upon making eye contact with a friendly stranger, will smile and say "hello!". My first reaction? "WHAT." Followed quickly by "Get Out Of My Life." Maybe the world has jaded me and I have serious trust issues. Or maybe it's just the fact that I really think I am better than everyone. |
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| "I'm a poet". |
[May. 22nd, 2006|09:19 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | don't mess with me. | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  ecstatic | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | dispatch. the general. | ] |
Let's talk about how good I am at exploiting other people's inadequacies and delusions.
I am very good at it.
Now that that is settled, I would like you all to pay special attention to the word "ADJECTIVE". There is a "c" in there for a reason, and the reason is NOT so it can be silent. Also, please don't replace the "t" with a "d". It's just rude.
Say it slowly. With me.
"Ad - JEC - tive".
Moving on: please take care when using the words "then" and "than". There are proper uses for each, and confusing the two is completely unacceptable.
In conclusion, "Mentally, I felt that it had to be this way...because the moon told me, and it's watching us right now." --Adam Kerbleski.
BYE BYE. |
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| i wanna be a big fish in your small pond. |
[May. 1st, 2006|01:27 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | stalker? | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  sick | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | i feel like death. | ] |
Let's not talk about how much joy it brings me to walk around campus listening to Celine Dion's "it's all coming back to me now". So epic. So heartwrenching. So dramatic. Of course I am talking about the extended version, containing the secret verse that I bet most of you have not had the pleasure of filling your eardrums with. The motorcycle. The nightgown. The open window and blowing wind. I am getting chills just thinking about the music video. Let me reiterate. Epic, heartwrenching, dramatic. It indeed makes me want to flail my arms around and punch myself in the chest, while wearing The Heart of the Ocean around my neck. (I know I know...wrong song. But this is my goal, not yours. So leave me alone.)
Any.
Ways.
Let's talk about campus. And how lame people are.
You would think that I would have noticed the group of people causing a scene right outside the door of Brooks. But I didn't. Let's blame Celine and her musical wonders. So. Turns out there was a group of idiots trying to catch a bird right in front of the door. That's right. "Catch" and "A Bird". In their hands. Of course, I was horrified.
THEN.
The dumbass bird was thinking "IDIOTS." and flew in to Brooks. And I followed, thinking that I could get enough ahead of the group and escape this terrifying situation. And again, let's blame Celine for the fact that I seemingly forgot that when birds enter a building, they pitch a spaz. So there I am. In Brooks. With a bird that's in the middle of stroking out. And then what? Well then it decides to swoop down and fly right in front of my face.
I think that's enough. I think we all know what happened next. Picture: Emily. Flailing. Just. Like. Celine.
And ever since then, I have felt like crap. My body is rebelling against me, and I must say, I don't approve. And also, I know it's the bird flu.
Because come on. How ironic would it be for ME to die of the BIRD flu? |
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| don't even read this. |
[Apr. 9th, 2006|09:48 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  aggravated | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | human torch music. | ] |
Alright friends.
Upon going through my itunes, I have come to the realization that every single song is about love. Falling in love. Being in love. Losing love. And worst of all -- loving yourself.
And if it's not about love, it's about sex. Something about needing "just a little bit" or "lovely lady lumps". A good point is raised, however. I never did think about what I would do with all that ass, all that ass inside my pants.
IMPORTANT: I got my nose pierced. That is not the important part. If you ever decide to pierce your nose, you should never ever forget that you did, in fact, get your nose pierced. Because you will scratch your nose and you will not be happy. PROMISE.
I decided that I would like to be stuffed into a glass bottle. And then thrown at sea. People will find me on beaches around the world. And I will have a message for them. And I assure you, I have a lot to talk about. Messages of bitterness and denial. Pain and fire. What I am saying: whoever finds me will not be disappointed, as I will give them life-altering advice. And they will thank me and throw me back into the sea. And I will continue my life as a human message-in-a-bottle.
Remember how terrible of a student I am? I kind of do. But thankfully, the mini strokes that I have been blessed with having upon the continous realization of how much work I actually have to have done before this Thursday have paralyzed the "memory" part of my brain. So therefore, I can't remember a damn thing, including how terrible of a student I am. I feel good about it.
Screw this entry, I hate it. It is sub-par and so am I.
I'll return with "more" and "better" later. If I don't spontaneously combust this week. Which, secretly, I hope I do. |
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| emily hoste's theory of "this is bullshit and I am going to set it on fire" |
[Jan. 23rd, 2006|10:44 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  exanimate | ] |
Hey.
It was recently recommended to me that I write a paper on Arnold Gesell's Theory of Maturation. At first I very clearly and politely declined this offer, as I have better things to do with my time than write about a million year old theory arguing nature vs. nurture -- which, by the way, will never be solved. Can't we all just accept that we are a) human. b) survive on food and water. c) need no more than a good strong drink and a swift kick in the face to remind us what life is really about? ie: suckfest after suckfest, leading us to arson and drugs.
So, pals. This is my theory for development. Maybe one day I will get this published in some college textbook and they will charge an insane amount of US currency to kids that don't care about anything to read and annoyingly highlight with blue, fading highlighter.
I'll skip the whole "conception" and "childbirth" part. Because we all already know that every thirty six hour labor is all Eve's fault for eating that damn apple, and that every baby is born ugly.
So my theory? Three simple steps.
1. We are born. We learn to walk, talk, and feed ourselves.
2. We inevitably learn that life is one big disappointment after another, but that cake fixes everything.
3. We eat aforementioned cake.
3a. We become bitter and cynical, because as we mature, we realize that cake only gets us so far...and the door to happiness is not through baked goods. Unless they were baked "special". Then maybe.
Find me one person that hasn't gone through this fixed sequence "maturation", and I will give you...well, I won't give you anything because I am bitter and cynical and you don't deserve it because, while we all go through the same stages, the rates of development are unique to the individual. So I will take pity on you and await you entering 3a and then you can be my bitter and cynical friend.
Now, Nature vs. Nurture can be brought into my theory. For example, is it my genetic and biological predisposition that makes me hate life? Or can it all be traced back to the fact that my mom threw away my She-ra doll when I was five because I bit my brother on the arm?
I'd like to think that it is a little bit of both. |
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| bah f***ing humbug. |
[Dec. 13th, 2005|12:25 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  happy | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | santa claus is coming to town. | ] |
EXAM.
WEEK.
KIDS.
I had to resist the urge to jump someone today and steal his lunch money.
I almost reverted back to my bullying days from the fifth grade.
Man, everyone was so scared of me.
It is finals week here at the ugly, uncultured "I feel like less of a person after attending this accredited? university" CMU. Unacceptable. What is with devoting an entire week to "testing" students? If you wanted to truthfully "test" me, why not just stick me outside in the middle of winter without a scarf and mittens. In an alley. At night. With dirty cats and even dirtier homeless people digging for food in the nearby dumpster. Then you can "test" and see if any of the unimportant "facts" and "knowledge" that you have so graciously stuffed in my brain for the last sixteen weeks -- then you can see if it has paid off. Because I am sure that a starving homeless person that wants to eat me will care that I know all about how to teach special education students with language and communication difficulties.
What I mean to say is that school is worthless and I have had to resign myself to the fact that I am going to be in collections for the rest of my life for the thousands of dollars in student loans that I have had to take out in order to learn un-valuable lessons that will not help me in life, let alone a dark alley.
And then there is the fact that everyone is ugly during finals week. Clearly unacceptable. Look, just because you are stressed out and haven't slept in four days doesn't give you permission to let yourself go. No one wants to see that.
So here is my proposition:
Let's burn the motha down. To the ground.
We will, of course, need disguises.
I will dress as Santa. Except instead of a "bowl full of jelly" tummy, I will have a "bowl full of explosives" tummy.
No one will ever suspect that SANTA exploded the school. And if caught, I will have successfully drained all the joy out of little faces, and crushed millions of children's Christmas wishes as they will see Santa on the news, explosives in hand, without remorse for the arson that "he" committed.
Hell, they shouldn't be waiting at the window to see if reindeer really know how to fly anyways.
It's a win-win situation. |
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| dfamntercvhnology. |
[Oct. 17th, 2005|09:35 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | iamgoingtosetsomerthingonfire | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | fucvkmykeryboardfdodadoda | ] |
heryberstfrierndfs.
trytoreadfthis:
itisfunny
thatwhernihaver
aTONofhomerwork,
idecidferitisagoodideatospillLEMONADEinmyDFAMNkeyboardf
therefore,notallowingittodfomyhomerworkproperly.
IAMCVOOL.
readfingthiserntry
willberfun
becauseritwillalmostberlikeryou
arehavingaSEIZURE
minusthererxtremehealthsadnerssthat
SEIZUREScauser.
Iloveryouall.
thedashersdontwork,
ermily. |
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| "hey let's load that them there potato gun!" |
[Oct. 10th, 2005|02:36 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  hungry | ] |
So I worry about being white trash.
No, not right now, as I know that now, going on my twenty-third year of life, I am still quite classy and attractive.
But what happens in a year when I am done earning a higher education? And quite nearly homeless due to the fact that my college work study income will no longer support anything resembling life, including me.
This is stupid because it is inevitable.
I will be reduced to wearing stretch pants. Growing my hair out far too long, stringy and greasy. Using a scrunchie to hold my long, stringy and greasy hair back off of my face, which will be covered in hot pink lipstick and "Much Too Blue" eyeshadow that God never intended anyone to buy, let alone actually wear. Except, of course, White Trash Emilee. That's right, I will of course need to change the spelling of my name to go along with my new way of life. I will even dot the "i" with a heart. Or a small trash can, to show how I have embraced my newfound trashiness. I will be forced to marry some revolting member of the opposite sex, who thinks "Harley Davidson" t-shirts and mullets are still, or ever were, an acceptable fashion trend. My weddin' dress will be one of two things: either made out of garbage bags, because they can be bought in bulk, or huge with a lot of bows. Large bows. And I will get my nails done for my special day -- hot-pink-bordering-on-fluorescent-orange beautiful. We will, unfortunate to society, procreate. Little Bobby-Joe, Shelly-Jo, and Tammy-Jo. We will stuff the chillin' in our rusty pick up truck and frequent The Walmart every night after our feast at The KFC.
I would really like to go on Jerry Springer, too.
Just to throw a chair or two at some hussy that wants my man and thinks she can go breakin' apart my family.
Man, what a fulfilling life I will lead. |
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| COOL. |
[Oct. 5th, 2005|07:31 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  determined | ] |
Kids, this is serious.
I know, I know. "A serious Emily Hoste livejournal entry?"
YES.
While I was pissed off today, I walked past the library. And what do my wandering eyes see? Oh yes. HUGE pictures of dismembered babies. Extreme cases of late-term abortions. Come to think of it, my "wandering eyes" did not, in fact, have to do any of the aforestated "wandering" but more just "exist" and have HUGE protest signs in front of them.
Did I mention that I was already pissed off? This did not help alleviate my rage. I find it rude that people, especially middle aged men, and one nameless lady that I found out was dumb as dirt, protest on issues that they, in reality, know very little about.
Telling me that "birth control IS abortion" and that "being on birth control will start a downward spiral" and that as a result I will "have no relationship with God" is not the way to go about saying that abortion is morally wrong. Attacking campus with offensive pictures, while they find it to be a way of "educating" and "informing people of the love that God has for them, and the consequences of abortion" -- all while proving to be hypocrites and saying things such as: "if someone that has had an abortion sees these pictures, they deserve to see what they did and suffer" -- is not, the way to get any point across.
Did I mention that they had ZERO points to get across? Take, for example, the older lady that I chose to approach. I simply, and politely, asked her what she and the rest of her group were trying to accomplish by standing in the middle of campus with these pictures and pamphlets. The conversation started off wonderfully, as she chose to ignore my question completely. Instead, she showed me pictures. More extreme case pictures of late term abortions. A story about a baby name Malachi, at which point she *tried* to quote the Bible, but failed miserably. I honestly listened to what she was saying, due to the fact that if I had been presented with a valid argument or facts that I was not aware of, I would acknowledge them and the rest of the twenty minute conversation I had with her would never have had to take place. But instead!
"So are you the same group of people that are always on Mission protesting by Planned Parenthood" --Angry Emily.
"We don't want anything to do with Planned Parenthood, they are evil people." --Old.
"Why are they evil?" --Angry Emily.
"They perform abortions." --Old.
"You do know that the Mount Pleasant Planned Parenthood does NOT perform abortions, right?" --Angry Emily,
"Oh, I am sure that they do." --Old.
"......................." --Angry Emily.
"They DO NOT have a CLINIC to do ABORTIONS" --Angry Emily.
"They make referrals and they want everyone to have an abortion" --Old.
*sidenote: I do know that her "they make referrals" part of the previous sentence is, in fact, true....however, I had to continue the conversation as she said "they want everyone to have an abortion." I am sure you understand.
"They inform people." --Angry Emily.
"They give out (gasp) BIRTH CONTROL." --Old.
"What is wrong with birth control?" --Angry Emily.
"Birth control is abortion." --Old.
"I am on birth control." --Angry Emily.
That's enough. As you can see, I was not in the mood to let this woman "educate" me on birth control, abortions, God and yes, even adoption. She told me that I should "accept whatever God does to my body". I asked her if she takes cold medicine when she is sick, or aspirin when she has a headache. She replied with "Yes." I stared blankly at her.
She then told me that I will be infertile due to my usage of birth control (which, ps: I am not even on birth control.), and I asked her for facts. Statistics showing me the number of cases of birth control related infertility. She then rattled off five people that are infertile due to their "more than 2 year" use of birth control. Oh yeah, those five people were all members of her family. So! Naturally, I said "I don't trust your "figures" as they aren't "figures" and you have no medical knowledge to back up what you are telling me." She stared blankly at me.
She asked me if I would rather adopt a child, or birth one that is half my genes and half my husbands genes. I said "I want to adopt children", but I should have said "I am a lesbian." Unfortunatley, I did not have time to open that can of worms.
I am not even going to go into my feelings on the seven year old girl that later tried to hand me the same pamphlet. Except I will say that her parents suck real bad.
I think you get the point. And I later learned that these people were escorted off campus by the police.
I told you: SERIOUS BUSINESS, FRIENDS! |
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| thank you, thank you, I won a reward. |
[Sep. 20th, 2005|01:11 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | hungry | ] |
Dang kids, it's been awhile.
True stories from the past two months:
--I was interviewed by a delightful and polite young journalist for the CM Life. He asked me a series of questions, and then asked for my feelings on the CMU Promise that Mike Rao and so many others are just so excited about. I answered his questions truthfully and I gave this short interview my all. The best of Emily Hoste. However, upon reading my quote in the paper, I realized that this young journalist is neither a) delightful nor b) polite. In fact, he is rather rude, as he quoted me all wrong, decided that I was a junior, not a senior, and then published the picture of me in which he stuck the camera pretty much on my face, causing me to look all "alsdhgadhfg" in the paper. He did find it acceptable to get my hometown correct, though. Good thing, too -- otherwise I would have been all up in his grill. Bitches.
--I am still living below poverty level. It's a fulfilling existance, really, and I just found out that I am eligible for food stamps. And! I found out that the new food stamps are really in debit card form, so holders of these "stamps" can buy food and still be considered attractive. As I clearly have no problem being thought of as "attractive" and I feel that I am getting by eating tortillas and pasta, I decided to pass on these magical debit cards.
--I aquired one of them there "boyfriends". He is in search of a sugarmama. Applications can be sent to me, as I will review them and pick an appropriate, wealthy "mama" for him. Applicants must be: rich. a car owner. freakishly unattractive. PS: Don't you even think that due to the fact that I am "happy" and "with boyfriend" that this is the end of my angry, couple bashing, "love is for the weak" journal entries. Because it isn't.
--I do still look like a freshman. So for fun, the first week of school, I would randomly pull out my campus map, proceed to look around all confused-like, and then ask where An-spach was as I was very clearly standing in front of it. Too bad that is not a true story...it would be funny.
--People still annoy me. More specifically, everyone still annoys me. |
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| damn you, Hoste boys. |
[Jul. 11th, 2005|03:04 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  enraged | ] |
Quiz time!
Question: What is the appropriate definition of "Yes! We are coming to visit you tomorrow!!!"
A) An excited proclamation and exclamation of "tomorrows" events.
B) "We". are. coming. to. visit. you. tomorrow.
C) "Oh, we didn't know that 'yes!' and 'We are coming to visit you tomorrow!!!' actually meant, 'Yes! We are coming to visit you tomorrow!'. Instead, we thought it meant 'We are continually going to lie to you, get your hopes up, then throw them in your face and laugh at you. We are your brothers, and we are jerks.'
If you chose "C", well...DING! DING! You are correct.
Apparently "Hoste", when attached to the name "Brooks" or "Nathan", means: "butthead".
So, when used in its correct context:
Brooks Butthead.
Nathan Butthead.
Nevermind the hours upon hours that I spent cleaning my apartment to welcome you into my clean home, or the countless cookies that I *thought* about making for you to enjoy, or the "goodie bags" that I contemplated thinking about putting together for you to commemorate the first time that either of you have came for a visit in the four years I have been living in central Michigan. NEVERMIND ALL THAT, because I clearly didn't want your bodies in my apartment anyway. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 23rd, 2005|01:26 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | happy | ] |
Dear Lady-with-small-screaming-ugly-child-in-Walgreens,
It is considered rude and impolite to venture into population if your child is clearly sucking a lot on the day that you feel it is absolutley necessary to purchase bird seed and M & M's.
Seeing as the aforestated "bird seed" and "M & M's" were the only two items that you saw fit to purchase today at approximately 1:12 in the pm, I do think that your afternoon trip could have been postponed, due to the previously stated "sucking" of the child you chose to breed, and due to the lack of interesting items that the Walgreens had to offer.
Also, it is foul to continually run into other Walgreen-ers as they are standing in line. With your obnoxious offspring in a large metal object resembling prison on wheels (at least if you are age 5 or under). You ran into me multiple times and I don't really think you understand how close I was to reaching on the counter, grabbing one of the lighters, and setting your face on fire.
Love,
Emily. |
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| The Michigan Geographic Alliance. |
[Jun. 14th, 2005|10:33 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | thirsty | ] |
Hey losers.
[I have a bone to pick witchu.
Yes, I fully realize that I have been severely lacking in my Livejournal updates. I have not written a decent entry in approximately two months, and I am becoming dangerously close to being the "today I woke up at 7, ate cereal for breakfast, took a shower, went to work..." livejournal write-er-er.
I blame you.
All of you.
See, I have no motivation to write anything of substance, as I am getting nothing but crap in return. No one updates regularly. No one writes anything worth reading, save the Giant's forever long survey that was recently posted, and actually, took up about 7 minutes of my workday, which I am forever grateful for.
However, the rest of you. UNACCEPTABLE.]
Also, I cannot help but wonder why all the "Improve Your Life! Find the Real You!" self help "Make My Life Better" crap always finds that the answer/best advice for living the best life possible is to find your soulmate. LOVE. "Find Someone Who Doesn't Make You Gag" and you too can have a successful life.
I am terribly sorry that I disagree with the idea of validating your existance by finding someone to "chill" with everyday, and paying them to say nice things about you. In the long run, friends, this is just going to cause more pain and anguish, as you will eventually find out that they were lying. You really are ugly, and you would have been better off eating.
Things that are better than the aforementioned "LOVE":
--Summertime. (without allergy and sinus problems, of course.)
--Puppies.
--Bunnies with little fluffy tails.
--Being buried alive.
--Watermelon. And a lot of it.
--The ocean.
--Acid rain.
--Clamping your hand in a hot straightning iron (which I had the pleasure of experiencing this morning. pure bliss!)
--Making shapes out of clouds.
--Green grass.
--Spontaneously combusting.
My advice? A lot of spiked Slurpees.
[And if someone doesn't start updating regularly/giving me something to pass the time at work with while at the same time stimulating my brain, well, we are no longer on speaking terms and I will jar up the ants that seem to like living in doubleyouseven and release them in your bed. beds, if plural and necessary.] |
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| journal. this is my journal. |
[May. 25th, 2005|11:46 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | hungry | ] |
INTRODUCTION:
upon composing an email I realized that - while an acceptable "emily hoste trademark" - refusing to use capitalization and appropriate grammar markings LOOKS STUPID. i look like an uneducated fool, and i refuse to believe that it is in fact too much of a workout for my fingers to stretch a little further to the "shift" key to capitalize and utilize the apostrophe keys.
So the previous string of sentences was the last paragraph that I will compose where I neglect to look like an intelligent, twenty-two year old college student. Also, I will benefit from this as the computer keyboard here in the Michigan Geographic Alliance office is especially "clicky" and a joy to my eardrums, so any excuse to gracefully strike keys in excess is much appreciated.
Yes, I am employed by the Michigan Geographic Alliance. Shut the hell up, I like it. I do not know anything about geography, however. I get confused when I look at maps. I don't know much about Michigan, either...other than we live in a mitten and Mackinac Island makes fudge that some deem "delicious" but kind of makes me gag. I used to want to get married on Mackinac Island and ride around on a horse buggy thing, but then I visited there -- and while it was beautiful, a friend (who shall remain nameless) drove off on one of those two seater bikes while I was only half on. She dragged me down the damn street. I looked like an idiot, and therefore, I can never return to Mackinac Island, as the horses will laugh and poop at my feet.
None of this, however, is what I intended to discuss during this journal entry. I have a belated complaint to address here: People that leave comments on other people's journals and do not leave an appropriate "return address" (meaning, the label that parents think necessary to grace a child with after the birthing process -- the title that generally gives hints to the gender, personality, and style of an individual) are not my friends. Yes, even if you decide to leave a comment such as "I think somewhere deep inside there is a nice girl" -- a comment that is very nice and appreciated, however rude if left without a name -- you clearly are uneducated to the stylings of "emily", as if you knew her at all you would understand that she hates incognito comment-leavers.
Dear Anonymous,
How dare you.
Love,
Emily.
(Also, if any of you out there wish to use the phrase "I could care less!"...well, I will kick you very hard (most likely in the mouth). The correct saying is "I COULDN'T care less!" as if you say "I could care less!" you are admitting that you do, in fact, have a heart and COULD CARE LESS. Meaning, YOU CARE. And therefore, the phrase is just stupid and doesn't make sense or have an impact in the context that so many use it in. Gosh that annoys me.)
BYE BYE FRIENDS. HAVE A BLESSED DAY. |
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| i like the word "conglomerate" |
[May. 4th, 2005|10:34 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | happy | ] |
for awhile there i feared that i lost my sarcasm. my cynicism. my general hate for people that aren't me. my personality.
what. the. hell. man.
i just sat here, staring at the blinking cursor on my "update journal" page for approximatley 12.3 minutes. i felt like a freelance writer who has dissapointed his wife and four kids by, well, becoming a freelance writer and therefore making wifey work 8 jobs (including standing on the corner of 8 mile and gratiot) to bring home the bread, alcohol, milk and eggs.
for those long and painful 12.3 minutes, i feared that i would...be...happy. perky. a ray of sunshine shining down, bringing peace and joy to everyone i come in contact with, for the rest of my life. and then i quite nearly enjoyed throwing up at the thought of all those cheerleader-like characteristics invading my soul.
who stole my sarcasm? consider yourself on my list entitled "throw dirt in these peoples eyes" from this day forward, as you are incredibly rude.
however, on minute 13.5 i witnessed something beautiful. i noticed a woman. rolling her backpack around dow. running her rolling friend into anything and everything that she passed, and i thought to myself "what a moron". it was also at this time that a professor walked in and nearly killed me by asphyxiation due to the abnormal amounts of cologne he was donning, and i thought to myself "you bastard i hate you." ALSO. i decided that i am going to start going up to ugly people on campus and telling them that i pay the campus beautification fee, and therefore, they need to vacate the premises.
and now i realize that my future of being a sarcastic, mean, and contemptible human being is stable and secure. |
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| em-i-ly. |
[Apr. 11th, 2005|04:33 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | okay | ] |
here's a game.
ever read my livejournal and think to yourself "she's amazing. i wish i knew more about her." ?
i know you do.
so here is everything that my friends should know about me. also, this list will prove to come in handy if you are thinking "i kinda might maybe want to be her friend, but im not really certain that is a good idea"...
--i own three pairs of doc martens and three pairs of birkenstocks. in total (not including tax, fools), these six investements add up to $800. all out of my parents wallet. i don't take proper care of any of these accesories for my feet, and i wouldnt give my birkenstocks away at church for the salvation army, because i am a horrible person.
--i once stuck a purple bead up my nose and had to go the hospital to get it out.
--in my senior year of high school i got trampeled on and stuck under my entire senior class. my friend saved me by grabbing my arm and pulling me across the gym floor. in front of the entire school. my mother later thanked her for saving my life.
--i have the worlds shortest fuse. but i hear that i am funny to be around when i am mad. so go on...make me mad and we can see. i dare you.
--once i yelled outside to the parking lot and "surplus sale" attenders that i had just gotten "dumped". they all looked sad for me, and im sure some of them were sending telepathic hugs my way.
--last summer i was talking to laura on the phone. when i hung up, i tumbled down the stairs, sprained my ankle, and could barely walk for a week.
--i hate birds with a passion. mostly this goes for any flying thing, but especially birds. here is a true story: once i was in the car with my mom and i was telling her about my phobia/disdain/desire to kill every bird that takes up residency here on earth, when a damn crow-type-thing flew right into the car window. the window that i was sitting next to. i think i suffered eighteen heartattacks in those few seconds, and my mom quite enjoyed a laughing fit at my expense.
--i once left a dentist appointment in tears. and yes, i was nineteen at the time. coincidentally, this was another time that my loving mother enjoyed a laughing fit at my expense.
--my car, in high school, was named "chewy". after chewbaca.
--last week i was walking to class and i saw an old man trying to cross bellows. i spent the rest of my walk to the health professions building trying not to cry. old men make me REAL sad. i dont even know why, so dont ask.
--i can tell you oodles and oodles of stuff about the human brain and voice production and the complicated workings of the human ear....but put a simple algebra problem in front of me and i want to spoon my eyes out.
--i call my little brother and sister "stupid" and tell them that it is okay to cheat in school.
--i was once told by a dear, dear friend that i would not be "me" if caffeine wasnt constantly flowing through my veins.
--i am, FOR SERIOUS, addicted to chap stick.
--i hate sitting on the end of a row.
--likewise, i hate sitting right smack dab in the middle.
--brooks used to call me "emily witchy smile" and then he pushed me into the corner of my bed (causing me to get 18 stitches in my eyebrow at the young age of three), and a few years later let go of the belt that we were playing "tug of war" with, only to knock my front tooth out. the point of this story? i had a hard childhood. love me.
sidenote:
when my brother was about....ten (?)....we got those special glasses to look at a solar eclipse with. when you put them on, the world around you is black, but you can see the sun do its thing....when theres an eclipse...yeah whatever. anyways, he put them on and started running around the front yard. keep in mind that he cant see a damn thing....so he's all running, laughing, enjoying his youth...when BAM. he runs right into the parked car in the driveway. cut to emily cracking up. cut to nathan bleeding all over the place. cut to my mom, coming outside telling nathan that he is an idiot and she is "going to kill him", because she had to take him to the hospital to get stitches. we have amazing affection-showing ways in my family.
--also, i am very awkward and socially inept. but i really dont care.
--i fear spontaneous human combustion, and i once watched a documentary on it and took notes, so i can prove to all ya'll that - IT. IS. REAL. also, i fear being buried alive.
--i hate chocolate. and if you dont believe me, give me a large solid-chocolate bunny (like the kind the easter bunny always leaves me, despite the threats [both verbal and through the mail]) that i give him, ever so gently reminding him that chocolate makes me want to die, and see what happens. i will stick that chocolate bunny head first down the garbage disposal, so all you will hear are his cries for help until his throat hits the spinning blades, and then mr. chocolate bunny is bye bye.
--my mom calls me "elephant woman" because apparently i am loud, and my dad calls me "emmyemberleaners" because apparently he is crazy.
--enjoy this story, too: once i was at work when my boss, jim, called me. from his house. on his day off. "emily, i need you to count all the ceiling tiles in the store" --jim. "excuse me." --emily. "i need to know how many tiles make up the ceiling do it now." --jim. " .... " --emily. so i count "all" the tiles. i call jim back with the number that i clearly made up because i lost count about eleven times. "no, fax me a picture of it."--jim. "damnit jim this is stupid." --emily. so i faxed him my illustration of the store, numbering every ceiling tile, and with a nice little note saying "if you make me do this again, i quit." he thought i was kidding, until i really did quit two weeks later, leaving my mark by thumbtacking teddy bears to the wall when he told me to "find a home" for them.
--i am bored with this and i am sure you all are as well. |
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| oh, bye bye. |
[Apr. 6th, 2005|11:03 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | aggravated | ] |
ARSDJGHSDJKGHSJKFDHGQWPUKSLDJGSDG/
the following is a list of things that annoy me to the point that "ARSDJGHSDJKGHSJKFDHGQWPUKSLDJGSDG/" is all i can manage to form into a semi-thought that, if phonated and projected, will sound almost like a sentence.
--the mom in phonetics. learn how to use a computer, woman. or - better yet - let me do everything. i do not mind giving you credit for my work, if it means that my sanity will remain intact.
--when people use their pens to scratch their heads. ok, maybe not *everyone*. but definitely - DEFINITELY - old women. like, the grandma in my religion class. i am sure that she is a sweet, dear old lady that loves her grandchildren with all the love and adoration that one woman can give...but when she uses her bic pen to scratch her gray head...i want to throw my sharpie (a much better and more acceptable writing utensil) at her. maybe, just maybe, the pointy end will jab into her head and stay there...wherefore being a constant reminder to her that emily a) hates the sound that her scratching makes, and b) hates her.
--i also hate the sound that cold hands rubbing together make. only cold hands. and if you add cold hands touching looseleaf paper...well, you might as well just kill me, because if you are touching paper with cold, dry hands in the vicinity of...anywhere...well you obviously want me dead.
--when short-skirt-wearing girls wont get out of my way i get real mad.
--this one girl in my anatomy class always comes in 3 minutes late. and ALWAYS has this look on her face, like either shes going to burst into a crying fit, or shes just really worried about being late to class. either way, i want to punch that look right off of her face.
--when i absolutely have to go to lab today, but really really really dont want to...i also get real mad. and i know i will most likely end up skipping, and then get even more annoyed because i will probably miss a quiz....and then my rage will be taken out on the professor because he had the audacity to give a quiz when i wasnt there, due to being in an already horrible mood and if i were forced to sit next to "mom" for two hours...well, haha, i might throw the computer monitor at my head.
someone buy me something to put me in a good mood. right quick. |
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| love is a battlefield. |
[Mar. 29th, 2005|08:46 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | cold | ] |
i am certain that all of you remember my amazing plan that i made up for Laura and I and our quest to find our "soulmates", or, at least someone that is good enough for us that we can use to procreate with.
as the appointed date of "true love" draws near...i am reminded of something.
birdies. bunnies. blue skies. frolicking.
or...
pain. anguish. death. aka: being single.
yes. the latter. therefore, I have come to the conclusion that i was hopelessly optimistic the day i wrote "the plan". now, having returned to my usual cynical self, i admit that the plan needs some serious revising.
--april 22nd will no longer be the day that Laura and I find happiness. april 22nd will be a day of protest. dont just look out for, but look forward to Laura and I marching through campus. protest signs in hand. chanting the blink 182 "song" that is actually just a string of cuss words thrown together in a rather poetic way, and put to a slight...i repeat, slight...melody. at first glance it may appear that we are bitter. no no, friends. we are helping the entire population of single people be free. we are liberating them from the stress and pressure of finding someone to love. we shall be an...an anti-cupid, if you will. minus the graphic words of blink 182, we will have have nothing to throw at people (as i still find cupid incredibly rude and i still think he is a bastard), but that is ok, because words can hurt just as much as being punched in the head ten times. or being shot in the heart, with cupid to blame. of course with this public display of irrational behavior mixed in with the ever present rage that Laura and I experience on a daily basis, we will also be helping the idiots that are already in love. that have found their "honeydeardarlingface". that have no idea about the going-ons of the world around them, because they are blinded by a pretty face and nice arms. our song and signs will FOR SURE strike a chord on their hearts...a much different chord than the one that ass hole cupid struck. the entire campus will come together with one goal in mind: to be single forever.
--of. course. with our hot signs and our sweet sweet words, all the boys will want us. how could they resist, really? and seeing as we will have successfully broken every couple up...Laura and I get first dibs. give us at least a week to go out and search for the ones we want to try out, then at least another week to allow for a non-stop "dating week." we will discard of the ones we disapprove of, and we will throw them back into the world, for everyone else to try out. this appears to be fully negating my previous paragraph about being single forever. i contradict myself on regular basis. several times a day. i cant make a freakin' decision to save my life, so deal with that. the boys like my hypocrital contradictory spaz of a mind, i can tell.
--once this idea of "dating' has been drastically changed to fit the exact specifications that Laura and I have, all will be right with the world. think of it as a clean slate...no one will have ever been in love before. no one will have ever been dumped 18 times by the same guy (which, would actually be pathetic and i think that any woman of sound mind would have killed the guy on the 3rd "incident"). no one will have all the extra baggage. Blink 182, Laura and I are going to start a revolution. we have the power to change the world and its collective love life, forever.
--and we will all live happily ever after. and if not, we only have 8-9 more years of holding onto our beloved "morals". once we hit the 30 year mark...go for it. you know what I mean. "it". with anyone. and everyone.
(is it bad that hearing that the ugly mom from audiology is now failing anatomy put me in a good mood yesterday? you know, i really dont think so.) |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 21st, 2005|04:30 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | thirsty | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | stellastar. my coco. | ] |
Things that I fear about growing up:
Walking down the aisle at my wedding. Honestly, this makes me really, really nervous. I don't like people all looking at me, even though I am going to be stunningly amazingly good looking at my wedding. I don't like eye contact. I know I'll trip. I know I'll sneeze or cough, or get the hiccups as I am walking. I know I'll end up running down the damn aisle because I want to get it over with. I know I'll be walking down the aisle, and catch my husband eyeing my bridesmaids. This is why I just decided that my bridesmaids are going to be wearing the world's frumpiest dresses. Potato sacks, even.
Having kids. Minus just the abnormal fear of childbirth that I possess, I am also scared of having ugly kids. I mean, what if I pop that thing out and then decide that it is hideous and that I quite possibly never want to see it again? I know I know, “you'll love your kid! There's no way you'll think its ugly” is what you are all thinking. Excuse me, but I have babysat for ugly kids. I know if a baby is ugly. and if I think my baby is ugly…man I don't know what I will do. Divorce my husband and fight for him to have sole-custody? That's an option, I suppose.
Learning how to cook. I don't want to. I'd rather survive on macaroni and cheese than learn how to make a ham. a) I don't like touching uncooked meat. and b) I don't like touching uncooked meat and then eating it knowing that it was once uncooked. and alive. with eyes.
Having a “real person” job. It's rude. NINE TO FIVE? EVERYDAY?
Watching my kids grow up. Ok, not really a fear. I mean, sure if they are the appropriate level of “attractive” I don't think I will mind watching them blossom into young adults. However, if my daughter possesses even the tiniest desire to be a cheerleader…I think I might die a premature death. How in the world would I be supportive of that? I wouldn't. What if my son becomes a babydaddy at 16? What if my kids are NERDS? I don't want them hanging around the house every Friday and Saturday night, without friends. they will be social, damnit.
Picking the name for a household pet. Uh, I'm picky. If my kids want to name a dog "princess" or "pookie" or "fluffy", they are going down. That's right, I'll slap the princesspookiefluffy outta them and they will learn that I have no patience for their uncreative minds.
Of course all of this is dependant on April 22nd being the day that I meet my future husband. Something tells me that I grossly miscalculated life and 42205 will come and go just like any other stupid bitter day.
So I guess I have nothing to fear, really. |
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pervinblueshirt's journal
amused