My immediate response to having a shit-tastic morning was to write my best friends Trixie (alias) and Jazz (also an alias) an email, and then a blog post to tell you about it.
But now that I'm writing you, I don't feel like whining about stupid people who drop last minute projects on my desk, expecting me to deliver it in a minute or two. It just seems so trivial, even though my emotions are still heated. I mean, I'm a bit steamed... I felt like just, writing my friends, to let it all out. But now, I don't feel like talking about it. I'm so silly.
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- Favourite smells: Unlike you, I'm not as auditory or olfactory oriented. I think I'm a visual person... But I must say, my favourite smells are our sheets freshly out of the laundry. The smell of N's favourite love-worn (from wear!) sweatshirt after he's worn it. Gardenia's. Freshly baked pastries and croissants. Vegetarian (Morningstar Farms) sausage patties as they crisp up. Did you know you can put them in the toaster instead of microwaving them or cooking them in a pan? So good.
- Color: I have never seen a color that ever brought me back to certain memories. I've always read about it, or even heard stories.
For example, there was this time when I was in college, there was this dude in the Ministry/Seminary/Religious Studies program who date raped this delightfully vivacious girl I was friends with... months later she had broken all form of communication with him and his friends, and one day she was walking down the street and she saw something on the ground--a coin, I think--and she stooped to pick it up, and she saw the colour of her nails, a minty, metallic green, and she immediately felt anger bubbling up in her, and she was so, so filled with rage, that she punched the ground instead of picking up the coin, injuring her hand. She later told me she realized that the nail lacquer was the same colour of the boy's car, and it must've recalled scenes from when he hurt her.
I have never had such a lucid connection or memory from just looking at a colour or print or pattern, but I am strongly drawn to colors. - On that note: I think a bright, but earthy jade-ish/lime-ish (or a cross between, like a dark, dark chartreuse) and teal and royal blue and red are refreshing and empowering colours. I'm wearing teal eyeshadow today, and that limey, jade-y green. I'm not rocking red lips today, but if I feel like shit, I often pull out the red lipstain I always carry in my purse, and fill in my lips with a layer of it.
Red lips require confidence and an internal ferocity because the shade elicits so much attention. Not for the faint of heart... so I wear it when I'm feeling less than optimal, because then it demands I start to at least act confident. Fierce mouth, chin up, stiff upper lip, carry on.
I also like purples or yellows lately, but I hardly ever have anything in my wardrobe of either color. Like you, I have an array of white, grey, black, and blue shades in my arsenal... But I'm not much of a neutral lover. I always try to have a pop of colour, because I feel some of the colour's energy and verve and vim will somehow absorb into me. - The worst job I ever had? I'd say this one but then again I've never been 100% happy at any I've ever had. In high school, when I was a sophomore, one of my many jobs on my K-12 campus was janitorial squad. We cleaned the elementary bathrooms--public washrooms, and classroom loos. There was this one day that a kid decided to have explosive, atomic poo in the urinal, and no one else wanted to clean it, and being the smallest out of the five of us, I was naturally bullied into cleaning it. It was probably the worst thing I'd ever seen as a kid, and probably one of the worst things I'd had to smell until recently.
My 45lb terrier often eats things that make him sick. He has a very tender digestive system. About a month or more ago, his food or something made him very, very sick. I made sure to take him for a long walk and make sure he was drained of any fluids and solids before I went out to meet my blogger pals in Detroit. I came home about midnight to find a 1 foot puddle and a 2 foot waterfall stain of chunky, projectile poo... That was probably worse than cleaning up an 8 year old's diarrhea out of a urinal. I probably won't blink at much now, unless I get poo on my face.
I also worked in a doctor's office that mainly catered to trans-gender people, or people who wanted to become trans-gender or change gender... and the doctor there had the worst case of bi-polarity I've ever, ever experienced in my life. One day he loved me, the next day I was fired. I was a file clerk. All I had to do was file patient charts back in the stacks at the end of the day after school.
One day a stack of patient charts went missing. The Doctor blamed me, and fired me on the spot, even though I hadn't even come into work yet that day. We all knew it was the chubby front desk admin girl who snacked too much, and gossiped with the patients more than doing her job... she had likely left out the stack at the end of the day where she sometimes did during the day, instead of putting them in the "to file" bin which was locked at night... it was likely that it was knocked over into the trash when someone was walking by (it'd happened before, but they caught it), and then they got discarded by the janitorial staff.
I'd only been working there a month. Apparently, he said some very nasty things about me. I don't think he was on enough lithium. - There has never been a defining, mortifying moment in my life in recent memory that particularly stands out. I was humiliated and picked on a lot in elementary school and so I always had some emotional/insecurity issues, though.
I remember, as a kid, I hated being put on the spot... or people seeing when I made a mistake I couldn't recover from. Every few months, we would have a piano recital. It was always a big deal. Food/drink, performances in our Sunday Best... well, I remember one particularly humiliating performance in which I got to the middle of my piece and I couldn't remember a whole section of it to get to the next section... I kept stumbling, terribly, I started crying and stopped... and it was only with a lot of cajoling from my friends and my mum that I tried my best to haltingly finish. I kind of flubbed it really badly until I got to a part I remembered and I finished the piece. And although the people clapped for me, I still felt awful. My face burned, my palms were soaking and clammy. I ran to the bathroom where I bawled my eyes out, humiliated and ashamed. My best friend came in and cried with me.
I'm not even sure I've had a moment that's ever rivaled that moment. I think I was 11 or 12. I continued piano lessons until I was fourteen, and then I quit.
I have pretty much lost most of my piano skill since then. Sad, really.
Whew! Your turn!
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