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I fell off the learning curve
Apr. 5th, 2004 12:38 amI'm horrible at girly stuff. Applying nail polish (which I just spent a few minutes trying to do - I gave up when I realized I couldn't even manage it with my dominant hand), maintaining my hair in a style outside of the usual ponytail or upswept with interlocking combs look, dressing in anything halfway fashionable (when I head out with my bro he can't help but shake his head at me...and walk a few paces behind), plucking, trimming, and otherwise removing various body hairs (let's not even get started on that one) - it's not going to happen.
I'm also rather awful at interpreting anything that has anything to do with romantic/sexual interest. Popular media would have me believe that it's guys that are always bumbling and clueless, but if any proof was needed to the contrary, here it stands. Or sits. Or, rather, lies on its bed while watching Sportscenter. I think my problem is that I have such a low belief of myself that anyone that expresses any sort of interest in me is automatically on my shit list; I mean, if he/she likes *me*, he/she must have fuckin' low standards, eh? That ridiculous logic leaves me ignoring any possible signs of interest in others, and my self-loathing leaves me incapable of believing that anyone would like me.
At this point I feel like a dog trying to catch its own tail. Catch-22ish, circular logic and all.
Hmph. Anywho, today's the countdown to Chocolate Bunny day. That means Holy Week, and in my household that means no meat for the entire family, not just the bro and I. Bro No. 2 forgot all about that little rule change, and decided to rustle himself up a pepperoni individual pizza. He had to sneak it down in the dining room while mom and dad were busy in the kitchen. Forbidden pizza must taste pretty damn good.
Mass today consisted of the usual Passion play/skit. It's somewhat annoying (dude, every year with the same scripture!), but it's generally interactive, with parishioners being wrangled in to read the chorus parts. But this year, perhaps to compete with Mel Gibson's Passion (which the priests seem to plug week in and week out), a bunch of kids did the reading. It was all snore-worthy, but the kid that played Pilate seemed to be a disciple of the William Shatner School of Acting: every line was over-emoted and belted out. I wanted to grab a nap during the number, but every time that kid said something his voice would boom through the church and wake me up.
Promised the aunt I'd swing by the shop tomorrow morning, but I'm just going to not go. Because I am a pathetic, lying bastard that likes sleep and wants to use her aching leg as an excuse to stay in bed. *sigh*
I'm also rather awful at interpreting anything that has anything to do with romantic/sexual interest. Popular media would have me believe that it's guys that are always bumbling and clueless, but if any proof was needed to the contrary, here it stands. Or sits. Or, rather, lies on its bed while watching Sportscenter. I think my problem is that I have such a low belief of myself that anyone that expresses any sort of interest in me is automatically on my shit list; I mean, if he/she likes *me*, he/she must have fuckin' low standards, eh? That ridiculous logic leaves me ignoring any possible signs of interest in others, and my self-loathing leaves me incapable of believing that anyone would like me.
At this point I feel like a dog trying to catch its own tail. Catch-22ish, circular logic and all.
Hmph. Anywho, today's the countdown to Chocolate Bunny day. That means Holy Week, and in my household that means no meat for the entire family, not just the bro and I. Bro No. 2 forgot all about that little rule change, and decided to rustle himself up a pepperoni individual pizza. He had to sneak it down in the dining room while mom and dad were busy in the kitchen. Forbidden pizza must taste pretty damn good.
Mass today consisted of the usual Passion play/skit. It's somewhat annoying (dude, every year with the same scripture!), but it's generally interactive, with parishioners being wrangled in to read the chorus parts. But this year, perhaps to compete with Mel Gibson's Passion (which the priests seem to plug week in and week out), a bunch of kids did the reading. It was all snore-worthy, but the kid that played Pilate seemed to be a disciple of the William Shatner School of Acting: every line was over-emoted and belted out. I wanted to grab a nap during the number, but every time that kid said something his voice would boom through the church and wake me up.
Promised the aunt I'd swing by the shop tomorrow morning, but I'm just going to not go. Because I am a pathetic, lying bastard that likes sleep and wants to use her aching leg as an excuse to stay in bed. *sigh*
