Filed under: College, Late Night | Tags: complaining, Falmouth, future, happiness, moving out, summer, work
-Do I stay up tonight and feel like shit in the morning, or just go to sleep now? This is a problem I have faced every day for the last five years. Anyone who has ever been my age will understand completely.
-Do I write ‘exempt’ on my tax return and get most of the money I earn, or do I write ’1′ and get a nice hefty tax return next Spring? Today I started my second job. I immediately put down ‘exempt’ on my W-2. Why? Well, the whole point of having a second job is for extra dough. I want to spend this money. But only this money. It is a great way to budget, don’t you think? However, I wasn’t expecting to have to fill out another tax form at my job from last summer (Glass Onion.) I mean, they already have my data on file somewhere. Why would I fill it out again? Alas, Josh approached me with all the paperwork I need for taxes and to return to the payroll. So now I am faced with this dilemma– and I have no idea what to do. While forced savings are nice– there is no doubt in my mind that my tax return was anxiously awaited and thoughtlessly spent this Spring– I would like to be able to see all my earnings from the Summer on September 1st, as opposed to waiting. Which is the better choice? I cannot decide.
-Is this something that my parents would approve of? Well, I find whenever I have to ask myself that question (which is less than even I would expect,) the answer is usually “no, they would not.”
-What do I want to do with my life? Perhaps I will ask myself this very question every week of my life until I am 54, but it seems to pop up every hour at the moment. I finally moved out (finally! I’ve talked about it on my blog for years, and I know that you were all as excited as I was when I finally broke the news) and my roommates are… smart. Ambitious. Destined for unbelievable things. And I, I work at a restaurant and schmuck around beaches and walk on sidewalks. A few years ago, I had wild dreams for myself, but now, I am content with finishing a book, or enjoying a day of laying in bed and watching Instant Netflix, or ranting via skype to my best friend (who is at school in Scotland) about nothing in particular– although we especially love to rant about how we don’t envision the same things our parents that had/have in mind for us. I confessed to my roommates that I once had ambition and drive, just like them, but my summers in Falmouth were likely the cause of my sudden… lack of any kind of motivation. They laughed. The only two desires I am certain of are publishing a novel and being happy. Nonetheless, I still don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life. I am confident that coming to Falmouth for the summer is at least a step in the right direction for the latter goal…
-Am I dying? Sometimes I think that I am. Thankfully, people like Chicken remind me that even Wayne Campbell thought he had mono, and it turned out he was just really bored. I did get one decent beach day in last week, as I meandered Falmouth, seeking entertainment of any kind, and wondering when in God’s name I would finally go back to work again. Ironically enough, once the sun finally came out (though for only a day), I got the call to come back to work for Saturday night. I’ve worked two G.O. shifts and I have doubts about if I would like to work all summer or not… Perhaps this is due to some strife with friends (yup, give me a week, and I will make you hate me. It’s easy,) but at the same time, I question how fabulous it will really be… And I swear, this has nothing to do with the fact that I am picking the spores of portabella mushrooms out from underneath my finger nails.
-What the fuck is in the corner? Well, last week, this question was more along the lines of ‘what the fuck is that sound?’ This house creaks and howls in the wind and makes terrible sounds… all the time. Especially at night. But yesterday I moved from my cozy, awesome upstairs bugalow (which was a little small), to the fantastically spacious, though chilly and slightly frightening basement bedroom. But I have a huge closet, a tv, and plenty of space for chairs and guests and maybe even another mattress for friends to stay. Reed has suggested I enter and exit strictly via bulkhead. Once it’s warm and sunny, I may actually do that. To be honest, that’s the fastest way to the fridge in the kitchen, anyway.
-What will happen if the Bruin’s lose? Possible answers: Rachel’s Dad has a heart attack, swaths of fans riot in the streets of Boston, I cut off my finger with a kitchen knife because I made the mistake of listening to the game on the radio while cooking. (Thankfully, they won Game 2 tonight.)
Filed under: College, travel | Tags: bus, cell phones, complaining, frustration, life, music, quotes, rules are meant to be broken, silence, strangers, travel
“Buses are like a box of chocolate. You never know what you’re gonna get.” – Forrest Gump, or someone like that…
All my life I have taken the bus. Before I went to school, I took the bus with my parents from the Newton Campus to Shea Stadium for Boston College football games. I went to school, and every year, I took the bus. I even took the bus senior year when I had no car and no ride. (Yes, I was mortified.) Now that I am at college, I take the bus to get around. I take it on campus, to CVS, to the mall, to go home, to go anywhere.
After all this bus riding, I have learned that a bus is, in fact, a box of chocolates. No two buses are ever alike. I have had phenomenal bus rides, complete with cool neighbors, no car sickness, and a great playlist. But I have also had God awful bus rides. ones that make you want to attack the driver, shank your neighbor, and drown yourself in the lavatory toilet at the back.
There are a lot of factors that can make or break a bus. For example, showing up early can be beneficial. I’ve been the first one in line before, so therefore, I got my pick of every seat on the bus. However, sometimes it is nice to be in the middle of the line. You get to pick your bus buddy, as opposed to the other way around. This can ensure that you don’t end up next to someone with body odor or listens to their music just a little too loudly. Usually, in either scenario, the bus ride will be rather bearable.
But if you miss the bus, like I did this weekend on an impromptu jaunt north, you should just consider yourself destined for a crappy ride.
For whatever reason, I found myself in the company of people who either A) had never ridden a bus before or B) were just plain inconsiderate. They didn’t make mistakes by accident. These people were in blatant violation of the Laws of Travel.
Here are some of the atrocities I witnessed in my weekend travels.
Bitching about the process. In Philadelphia, those headed toward New York had to go through a minor security check. They asked us if we had any drugs, alcohol, weapons, cell phone tasers, whatever. These two women in line with me gave the guard so much lip. It was unnecessary and totally against the rules. Rule #1: No complaining about anything. If you acknowledge something as a problem, it becomes a problem. You don’t want other people to get in a bad mood because you’re in a bad mood. But when you think about it, is it really that bad? It took one minute of your time, and for crying out loud, we were sitting around on benches in the middle of the night anyway. It did more good than harm, so just shut your pie hole and relax.
These women went on to also Complain about the driver. There is nothing that can be done about this one. (Actually, there is one thing you can do: drive your own car!) I know that we almost crashed into Jersey barriers, and that the bus practically flipped over when we sped through the hairpin turns before the Lincoln Tunnel. But gossiping about it and saying ‘Oh lord!’ loudly for the bus to hear, well, that accomplishes nothing.
Don’t disrespect the art of packing. While I am aware of the difficulties of packing reasonably (even I just want to throw it all in,) as well as the difficulties of sleep (my habits borderline nocturnal,) you need to follow Rule #2: Be smart. This being said, don’t carry more than two bags and don’t sleep outside. I watched this girl break a lot of rules at once. Not only did she over pack, complete with an animal print rolling suitcase, with the expansion zipper, a backpack whose seams looked like they wanted to scream out ‘TAKE SOME SHIT OUT OF HERE!’, and a sad purse, who hung limp and broken from the crook of her arm; but she also decided to throw it all on the ground and sleep on it. Luggage aside, she should’ve known Rule #37: Never sleep in Port Authority. But she had the gall to sleep on the ground, on top of her luggage! She made some novice mistakes, but God did she make me mad. Learn how to pack properly. There is no way she could’ve needed all that shit. There is no way any self-respecting person would have slept on that filthy tiled floor like a bum from the streets of New York! Were you tired from lugging all that shit around? I bet you were!
What if your mother was riding the bus with you? You would probably follow the standard conventions of life. Which is to say that you don’t make out on the bus. It is such an easy rule to follow. But the preppy couple in front of me couldn’t resist. It was as if he was leaving with the army tomorrow and they just had to get in every last passionate moment together. This violates Rule #3: Keep your shit together. I really didn’t want to watch these two make out, or snuggle, or share sweet-nothings. I’m sure that I was not the only one. I don’t feel the need to elaborate on this one… If you wouldn’t do it with Mom around, then don’t do it on a bus. (And don’t try to tell me you’ve made out in front of your mom. That’s bogus.)
Music related crimes. There are several ways to go wrong with this one. This weekend, I witnessed them all. There is always the classic ‘I listen to my music so loud that my earbuds have microexplosions every beat that cause you to hear the music too’ debacle. I listened to one woman’s second rate rap music for ninety minutes. I wasn’t sure if the old ladies nearby noticed, but I know it drove me crazy. This was a violation of Rule #7: Be aware of your surroundings. This doesn’t happen quite as often as one would think, but today was a terrible case- the lady in front of me was rocking the Dr. Dre headphones… and singing out loud. She sang well, but she also sang very LOUDLY. Although she sat in the front seat, I am sure the entire bus could hear her. An unusual first happened today: some schmuck tested out all the ringtones on their phone, trying to pick a new one. The bus was silent aside from the murmur of wind and the buses engine. But then, the phone starts singing… and after one song, it sings another, and another. At that point, I was ready to turn around, stand up and shout “HEY FUCKER KNOCK IT OFF” in my big scary voice. I didn’t, but I am sure you can imagine me actually doing this. This brings me to another set of crimes:
Phone related crimes. These crimes are the equivalent of rape and murder in the travel world. In fact, Peter Pan bus lines outright banned cell phone use on the bus because it is so disruptive. It’s just as awful as farting in an elevator. Do not talk on your phone on the bus. I repeat DO NOT TALK ON YOUR PHONE ON THE BUS. If you don’t believe me, it’s Rule #10: Don’t talk on your phone on a bus. Today, I on my four hour leg from Boston to New York, I sat next to the world’s worst bus buddy. Not only did this bitch schmuck look at me through her mascara crusted eyes as if I were swine, but for at least three of those four and a half hours, she talked on the phone. (I should have known it would be bad from the moment I asked if I could sit next to her.) She tried to be quiet, I’ll give her that. But after twenty minutes of hearing her repeat “Mhmm, mhmm” over and OVER, I wanted to smash her Blackberry against the ground and cripple her fingers in an unbelievably vile and painful way. I debated telling her how much I hated her for being “that guy” when the ride was over, but I kept my mouth shut.
The most important rule of all: Rule #100: Roll with it. Let people do what they do. Accept things for what they are. People break the travel laws, just like people break the real laws. Maybe I was destined for a less-than-awesome weekend full of bus rides, but maybe I had nothing to do with it. There were times that I wanted to hurt myself (okay, mostly others,) but sometimes it is just better to let off some steam by abusing the courtesy wifi. After all, if you can’t verbally harass them, then you might as well get even by using all the bandwidth.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness | Tags: complaining, iTunes, music, Rant, sadness
- Trust no one. You can put a lot of love and devotion into your relationships, whether it be with a friend, parent, or piece of software, but they will probably still flake on you. It is totally possible that they will lose all your stuff, or that they will just disappear from your life.
- No one is perfect. Shit happens, you just gotta roll with it. Crying is a great stress relief, but beyond that, it doesn’t get you anywhere. Accept things for what they are. Be prepared for unreliability, mistakes, and a multitude of other faults.
- Shit gets lost. Remote controls, thousands of music files, and socks all get miss placed. So what do you do? Remedy the situation – fix it. Look for whatever crap is lost. You may never find it. But, if you do, I can guarantee it will be in the last place you look!
- It pays to properly name things. This rule applies to people, files, and cars. Frank Zappa may have named his children Moon Unit, Dweezil, Diva, and Ahmet, but that doesn’t mean you should. Files should indicate title and artist; there should not be spaces. Dates, track numbers, and other numerical data are also nice to include for filing purposes. Cars should not be named until they have been driven for at least a month. If you don’t name something correctly, something shitty is bound to go down.
- You always hurt those you love the most. iTunes, you have disappointed me yet again! I am losing patience- all too quickly. I don’t know what else I am to do. I care so much for your health and for my music. WHY? WHY?
- Jesus hates techno. That’s why when you add it to your music library, iTunes warns you: ‘Jesus hates techno. Are you sure you would like to proceed with adding this techno bullshit to your library?’
Filed under: College, Rants & Ridiculousness | Tags: Are you kidding me?, college, complaining, perks of college, Rant, Stress
Lately I have been preaching a lot of feel good this and that. Enjoying the small moments. Living for contentedness.
I don’t want to sound two faced when I say this.
But Jesus H. Christ, I just want to complain right now. God, I am unhappy and moderately miserable and very much pissed off. I want to bitch, whine, and complain with a cheap beer and a bottle of Jack. I want to throw things at brick walls, shout a neverending “Fuck” outside at the top of my lungs, and leap off a bridge… Into a large warm jacuzzi.
I feel like there isn’t enough coffee and ice cream to keep me from acting sane, normally, with civility.
If someone wanted to get into a boxing match right now, I would kick their ever living ass.
Please don't make me get all Muhammad Ali on your ass.
It is just one of those days, my friends.
With that being said, I also belief it is extremely helpful (and healthy) to get out your frustration with a variety of hyperbole, unhealthy consumption of food and drink, as well as to write scathing emails to, well, everybody. Fellow college students, especially lately, seem to totally understand my frustration. I don’t have to say a word- a piercing glare from down the hall will do- and they completely understand. They nod with approval, fist bump, and move along with their equally shitty day.
If you get this piercing glare, back off.
It’s the college code: don’t step on the feet of anyone who looks less than chipper. Let them ride out their angsty, wrathful afternoon. It will pass, and eventually they will step the fuck off. (Right?)
I like that. In high school, and at home, if you look mad, people are going to butt their nose into your business. Everyone has to know everything about everyone. But in college, no one assumes anything or asks any questions. If they really want to know what’s up, they will ask you later. If they really don’t care (which is usually the case and thank God!), they don’t ask any questions.
Bitch fit, pissy parties, and mental breakdowns are like animals at the zoo. You might watch for a little while, but usually you move on and do something more interesting, you know, that doesn’t involve animals in cages or zoos.
Tonight I am rip roaring angry as hell and I don’t want anyone to so much as look at me. People here are smart enough to know to leave me alone. Thank God for that.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness | Tags: bitch whine and complain, bullshit, class, complaining, deadlines, frustration, honesty, Rant, review, sleep, St Augustine, Stress, stupidity
I’m not sure if I want to scream, kill something, or throw my laptop off the roof of the business school.
I spent just about my entire night awake, writing a horrific essay on St. Augustine’s view of love. It was utterly painful to write, and certainly my acute writer’s block as of late was of no help. But I managed to shit out some crap onto four pages, enough to hand in for peer reviews today.
I am so pissed I spent my night writing this crap, when all we did today was have our peers edit our paper.
The paper itself wasn’t actually due to my professor, like I had anticipated.
I only cranked out this fluffy awfulness so my peer could do a half ass read over of my shitty ass essay on St. Augustine of all things.
I stayed up all night, writhing with caffeine, frustration and exhaustion. I got up early after my 5 AM nap to continue with this wretchedness. I was really actually concerned with my grade on this one. I made sure I had my shit together so I could get to class and hand in my paper on time!
For nothing. For absolutely nothing.
So some chick in my class could bullshit an “editing” of my paper. I see not one comment in the margins. Not one. Her comments were limited to the bare minimum required by my professor on the reverse outline. Single sentences. Seriously?
Sometimes I hate myself for loving to write. When I am assigned to edit someone’s paper, or a friend asks me to read it over, I provide all kinds of insight, information and mechanical information about their essay. I try to be honest, and I try to give my all into the advice I give them. I do this, not only out of the kindness of my heart, but because I would LOVE for someone to provide me that amount of feedback on my writing.
In total, I got less than 6 “sentences” of feedback on my four and a half pages of writing.
If you saw the paper I had read, you would’ve seen the margins and spaces littered with my messy handwriting. Comments, critiques, and arrows galore. WHAT THE FUCK?
Moral of the story: Shit happens.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness, Uncategorized | Tags: complaining, discomfort, drinking, family, holidays, katieism, kids, kids table, parade, Rant, ridiculousness, Thanksgiving
A good friend of mine is spending her first Thanksgiving abroad, or rather, is having her first year sans Butterball, hoopla, and football games. But being the friend that I am, I decided to remind her of the realities of Thanksgiving, or rather, that Thanksgiving is a kind of shitty holiday anyway, and that Chrismahanukwanzika/New Year’s/St. Patrick’s Day are way better holidays anyway.
My advice to her: “I encourage you to have a beer, watch a bootleg version of “A Christmas Story”, and read this list of the top reasons why Thanksgiving Sucks, and You Aren’t Missing Out Anyway.”
So here it goes.
1. Watching your parents get drunk all afternoon- It’s one thing if it’s the summer and everyone is kicking back margarita’s at the BBQ. But in the winter, it’s a bit different dynamic. Everyone is bitching about their job and their shitty football team. Plus getting drunk with other family members is entirely different from getting drunk with neighbors. Family feuds, old slides/photographs from the Triassic era, and handle races surface. (Okay, so maybe not handle races, but it certainly does seem like your father and your uncle are trying to see who can drink more of that Johnny Walker, doesn’t it?) Best part of all: you get to be stone cold sober all day. Gotta love being underage.
2. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade- Parades are overrated, and that is fact. It’s one thing when firefighters (or Apple Blossom Queens) are chucking tootsie rolls at your 8 year old head, hoping they get extra points for getting you in the eye, but it’s another to watch idiots-dance-on-floats/giant-balloons-of-characters-from-children’s-television-walking-through-a-city hundreds of miles away… on TV. The coverage is always littered with commercials, people singing about Christmas (you got the wrong holiday, dumbass!), and obnoxiously perky journalists dressed like they are stuck in the Tundra (wimps- like New York is even cold.)
3. The Kids Table- Personally, I have been sentenced to Life at the Kids Table, (even though I was already taller than my Grammy at age 10.) Since graduating high school, I am now not only sitting at the kids table, but I am Resident Bitch (RB) of the Kids Table. I wipe snot and ketchup off their grubby faces, make sure no one eats the stick of butter, and that a food fight doesn’t erupt. And, in my free time, I listen to the chillens discuss the latest from Pixar and Thomas the Train, while I cut their turkey into bite size pieces and their parents get sloppily drunk off cheap booze in the other room. It really brings joy to my heart knowing that I am helping the community. Not.
4. Being Uncomfortable- It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving if I didn’t sit in an exorbitant amount of traffic, sleep on a futon, or have to get crammed in the middle of five people in the backseat of a mini van on the way to the high school football game. But Thanksgiving doesn’t stop at physical discomfort; there is always social and mental discomfort too. Like when Great Aunt Emily comes to town, so does her nasty choke-up-mucous-and-old-lady-cooties cough, and questions about my bowel movements and dating. The Thanksgiving visit might only be a pregame to Christmas, but in and of itself, the discomfort of dealing with her is still one hell of an ordeal.
5. Black Friday- Great, I can buy dvds for $2.50 a piece; yeah, if I buy at least ten, and I arrive before 6 AM with my store flyer, a frequent buyer card, and manage not to get run over by a frantic woman driving a Hummer through the parking lot. Pass. Selections suck because everything gets picked over by the time your hung over ass feels like getting out the door (okay, okay, you snuck your own whiskey from home with you), crowds are uncontrollably large, rude and demanding, plus you lose an hour of time alone circling the damn parking lot for a space (you settle by parking half on the curb, half on a melting snow bank, and cross your fingers you don’t get a ticket from that mustachioed cop near the store entrance.) It’s the shit show of all shit shows. I’ll take Cyber Monday. I do much better with beer and a computer.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness | Tags: bitch whine and complain, bitching, BWC, complaining, friends, katieism, Paige Calisi, Rant, whining
A friend of mine asked me to explain the rules to a BWC.
And it suddenly dawned on me: people don’t know what a BWC is, or how to effectively host one.
A BWC is a Bitch Whine and Complain Conference. The term was coined by Paige Calisi circa 2006. While it started off as a lunchtime ritual on report card day, the BWC has evolved over the years to accommodate a host of different problems, including men, parents, shoes, and just about anything that could possibly piss you off.
To keep a BWC from getting out of control, usually there are some unspoken parameters.
- Everyone has to have a chance to say their piece.
- Try to avoid bitching about specific people, especially if in a public setting, but really, anything goes.
- There should be a time limit on the BWC. (An hour is a good maximum.)
- Once the BWC is over, no one is allowed to complain about any of the subjects discussed in the BWC until 24 hours has elapsed, or until another designated time (which should be predetermined before the BWC begins.)
Any number of people can participate in a BWC. Sometimes it is nice to give everyone a turn, like Chick A starts first, bitches for 10 to 15 minutes with others chiming in, then Chick B goes, then Chick C, etc, etc. This let’s everyone’s complaints get heard, and ensures that everyone feels the wonderful relief of the BWC.
Sometimes a moderator is nice, too. The moderator should try to abstain from giving too much opinion or having a whiner moment themselves. The moderator really should stick to their task of moderating.
The goal of a BWC is to cleanse the soul of nagging negativities, annoying afterthoughts, or gregarious gossip. This is the best way to share with a group, yet also make sure that everyone gets rid of their bad mood at once. Talking it out facilitates a purge of the bad energy, and gets everyone on the right page together, making for a better second half of the day. (While BWCs usually occur in the afternoon, there is no set time they have to occur, although I recommend avoiding any time before 9:30 AM. I mean, c’mon, at 9:30, if you aren’t still hungover, you can’t have possibly had something so atrocious happen that you feel the need to ravage a village or start drinking again.)
I encourage all friends to practice BWC and to embrace it for its healing powers.
Sometimes there is nothing better than hashing it out and forcing others to listen to you go on and on about something you absolutely hate.
