French is hard, yo. I'm officially a full time student again. This will be my last semester at a community college if all goes according to plan (what whaaaat!!). This is, of course, if I pass my classes this semester, and if I complete my requirements with whatever university I transfer to. I've been accepted to one out of three schools so far. *fingers crossed*
Making the decision to go back to school full time was hard, but I'm confident in my choice; my education should be my #1 priority. Did I plan this whole thing out thoroughly before I quit my cushy office job? No. Did I get my finances in order first? No. I was impulsive, over-confident, and careless, and I'm paying for it now. But no one else can earn this degree for me, I have to do it myself. If I hadn't been impulsive and careless and taken the leap, I wouldn't have discovered who has my back, and I wouldn't have discovered that I CAN do this.
...maybe. My French professor sent us an email (entirely in French) containing an assignment that was due on LE PREMIER JOUR DE CLASSE!!!! I'm sorry, an assignment due on the fucking first day?!? Are you out of your mind? Apparently Mr. French Prof didn't get the memo that all we do on the first day is go over the syllabus and take role to weed out the superfluous crashers/wait listers.
Then, there's Biology. In addition to the lecture, bio has a lab, 3 hours, once a week. We had a quiz on the first day. I don't even have the fucking lab manual yet, how the fuck are you expecting to quiz us?!? There were 4 people out of 22 that already had their manual. I'm completely ignoring my History class until the book comes in the mail (it's an online class) which will probably bite me in the ass on Saturday when I realize I have a shit ton to do before Sunday. Oh well.
I will say that although this semester will be challenging, I finally feel like I have my head on straight. Kinda. I met up with a classmate to study this afternoon, and might actually have my French homework done before this weekend. Plus, the professor taught us how to say that we're fucking up what we're trying to say, so at least I can appropriately mock myself...
It can really be exhausting pretending to fit in. Don't get me wrong, I'm good at it, but I'm silently judging you while I pretend to belong in your group. Luckily, my lifetime of craftinglies terminological inexactitudeshas prepared me for situations like this. I work at a small hotel in a rich neighborhood. Although I may LOOOOOVE expensive things (go ahead, call me a brand whore, I don't give a shit) I am far from rich... I mean, I'm living out of my car, for fuck's sake!
Working at the front desk of a hotel makes me the person you go to if you want any sort of recommendation (or apparently lube, but I digress). People ask about restaurants most of the time, and I'm familiar enough with the area that I can make a decent recommendation if you tell me what you're in the mood for. However, this being an expensive neighborhood catering to "well off" clientele means that most of the restaurants nearby are quite costly. These restaurants don't have dollar menus, so I can't eat there. Here's where the terminological inexactitudes come in.
If you want seafood, I'll point you to the most popular (very expensive) seafood restaurant up the street. If you want steak, I'll point you to the most popular (even MORE expensive) steakhouse right by the seafood place. I can even recommend a little hidden gem you're going to LOVE, no matter what you're in the mood for. I'll tell you the food is amazing. I've never eaten the food. You're asking the college student who works at the front desk of a hotel. If you ask my personal preference in this class of restaurants, I'm going to lie to you. I cannot afford to sample the cuisine at every high end dining establishment in the vicinity, especially when there are SOOO MANYYYY!!! If you ask me about the bars, however, wellllllll... ;P
But don't we all do this? People pretend to be educated in subjects they know nothing about all the time, especially when trying to prove a point (just listen to politicians!). A girl will pretend to like sports to win over a fanatic. Parents pretend to know the answers to off the wall questions their kids ask. And it even goes deeper than that. Girls crop their facebook photos or take them at certain angles to make themselves appear thinner. And have you ever overheard someone slip out of their customer service voice when they didn't think you could hear? They aren't so sweet sounding, are they?
As for me? I pretend to fit in with the rich. My glasses are Dolce & Gabbana. Every article of clothing I'm currently wearing was purchased at Nordstrom, Express, or Victoria's Secret. My purse is Coach. My watch is Citizen, and yes, those are diamonds. My wardrobe is expensive and I wouldn't have it any other way. I fit in perfectly in this area and my customers come back and thank me for the wooonnnnnnderful restaurant recommendations all the time.
And then there are days like today. Days when I think my cute little flats are in my backseat, and I arrive at work and realize I've left them at one of the houses I'm crashing at.
Sometimes a little bit of Kat creeps into Katrina's world, and I'm okay with that.
I've been avoiding twitter for quite some time now, but have recently been toying with the idea of getting one. I'll admit, I was tempted when Charlie Sheen had that unfortunate case of mouth diarrhea (who can resist a good train wreck?! Not me...)but still managed to refrain. However, Jenna Marbles' last video(http://youtu.be/yCjKlGMhIBA) has me thinking about social stalkers and social media in general.
I don't think there's anything wrong with checking up on people you haven't seen in a while through facebook. Besides, it feels SO GOOD to see that the girl who made fun of you in school is super fat now, or that your ex's new girlfriend (or boyfriend) looks like a transvestite donkey witch.
It can also be comforting in other ways, though. To see that someone who seems so put together is going through something similar to you can make you feel less like a failure(it helps me, anyway). So many people my age are moving home to save money, or going back to school, or dealing with the aftermath of a divorce. It's nice to know I'm not the only 26 year old fuck up.
When you fall flat on your face, it's your real friends that will point and laugh, take pictures, post them on facebook, tag you, 'like' the photo, then help you up and dust you off. And why shouldn't they? I'm gonna laugh at you, 'like' the photo, and then comment with support and tell you about the time I fell on my face pulling my dog on my skateboard because I got scared of the speed wobbles and jumped off. Even though your face is bleeding, someone like me has done the same fucking thing and laughs about it now. Share it with the world!
Before the days of gays and parades on the daily, Mr. Jeffrey Beene and I were forced to communicate via our primitive cellular devices and actually coordinate conjugal visits to the hills of crest. Now I know this may confuse those of you who are used to us being attached at the hip and have watched us conquer that town without ever smudging our mascara, but it's true.
Enter the FaceTime Dance Party.
Now if you're unfamiliar with FaceTime,why are we friends? it's the video chatting feature on the iPhone 4 (and 4S. Siri, you will be mine...). So when too much time passed between his visits down to SD, one of us would call the other on FaceTime, play a song, and we'd dance while holding our phones. It truly is an art form. Lady Gaga works best, but any old pop song will do. You're welcome. And if you don't have an iPhone, what the fuck is wrong with you?[Like, seriously. I pulled mine out of a fucking TOILET yesterday (fully functional today btw, woohoooooo!!!!) and would still rather put toilet water on my face than carry any other smart phone.]you still have options. Read on.
Fast forward to when Jeff and I finally lived in Hillcrest, where if we couldn't walk to it then it wasn't worth going to. FaceTime Dance Parties evolved into Backalley Dance Parties and Pants Off Dance Offs. If you don't have an iPhone, you too can take part in these ridiculous amazing time wasters!!(Disclaimer: they're way more awesome when intoxicated, but if you didn't pick that up from the fact that we actually started Pants Off Dance Offs, you're giving us too much or too little credit).Simply pull out your favorite music playing device, and play DJ while you walk/dance your way to your destination. We took the alley home from 7-11 one particular day, and decided a Backalley Dance Party was in order. Jeff played DJ, and we danced our asses off through the alley back to the apartment. Well, Jeff isn't so great at walking and scrolling through his insane music library, and walked right into a low hanging tree branch coming around a corner. As if this wasn't perfect enough, through gasps of laughter, his response was "That tree almost clothes-pinned me!!"
This is what I pictured:
Just wait for it... This is gonna be the next big thing in the WWWWWF...
So I started this new blog last year, and promptly dropped the ball. Well, since a new ball has dropped, this is as good a time as any for some changes. Resolutions orsomeshit...
I will update my blog at least once a week.
I will have no credit card debt by the time I buy a new bikini. (You like that one?? Summertime. It's a combo, I'll have to work out too! haha)
I will stop being late to EVERYFUCKINGTHING.
I will try to be more careful/less clumsy.
That's all I got. Besides the whole, make better decisions thing... That's one I'm not so good at (cough*dui*cough). For instance, I made the decision today to bring my phone into the bathroom with me while I was dumping the coffee into the sink at work. I also made the decision to hold it instead of setting it down, and the fucker JUMPED out of my hand, and right into the fucking toilet. Of course. So now my poor iPhone is sitting next to me, hopefully drying out. The speaker and exterior buttons seem to be on strike.
I was hoping 2012 would be the light at the end of the tunnel I've been searching for, but I'm worried the light is an oncoming train...
Oh well. Positive thinking. It's a new year, bitches!