| stupid hurricane? |
[Aug. 28th, 2006|11:41 pm] |
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The thing is I'm exhausted so a couple of hurricane days will be good. On the other hand, I'm all hormonal and lonely so isolation sucks. Then again, when I'm lonely and sad, I do crazy things. Sometimes, I get drunk and take my pants off in front of the company. It runs in the family. Sometimes I make wild (though somehow accurate) accusations such as, "I know why you're here, you want to put your penis in my cousin." That's right, I'm gross. I'm sad tonight because I screwed up a friendship or something. Mostly, my world is awesome these days. I got a teaching assistantship this year, a movie is coming out that I sang in, I just got cast in a play that's going to be on the 2007-08 season at the Centaur, my mom is most probably cancer free and will be starting phase 2 of treatment, I have a nice friend in Florida who looks out for me and has a beautiful baby girl who she lets me play with. And yet, I'm sad. One lost, you know? I have made five to ten friends and sort of friends, but I lost one. So, I'm drinking a 1.88$ king can of Foster's in my underwear. I may start on a bottle of white merlot next... I don't make a habit of getting trashed alone but... I might listen to 'Piano Man'. |
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| OMG |
[Aug. 5th, 2006|08:08 pm] |
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So I totally forgot to write about this but Alex and I were at the Family Dollar in West Palm Beach and we fully saw a fat lady wearing nothing but a halter top. That's right, no slacks, no underpants, big bootie on display. |
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| Argh |
[Aug. 3rd, 2006|01:35 am] |
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Just so y'all know (by y'all I mean Coco and Alex because no one else is reading this shit), I really cannot work this thing AND THAT IS NOT MY TBI SPEAKING. I keep attempting to validate my email so that I too can make comments in your journals. Alas, I'm unable. In frustration, I quit. Know that I saw all the old pics of us and tried, in vain, to comment. I'm not ignoring you, I'm just dumb. |
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| traumatic brain injury |
[Aug. 3rd, 2006|01:17 am] |
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That's right, I have a grade three concussion, grade three being the worst out of three types. It is otherwise called a "traumatic brain injury". I guess it sounds worse than it is. The most scary thing that happened is that the day after I bonked the back of my head, I went out for drinks. Bad idea. Do not go drinking with a head wound. I had three drinks, that's right, count 'em, three. I was so crazed that I could not remember what street I was staying on. Fine. But when I took out my cell phone to call my room mate for help, I had no idea how to make a phone call. THAT IS NOT NORMAL. I deleted all this stuff from my phone because I knew I had to push a button to reach someone. I never did figure it out. I regret not going to the hospital immediately because then I would have known what to expect. I threw up for about 24 hours, had tunnel vision, I still have a headache, and I'm crazy emotional (that is also a symptom! Who knew?). I have to go to the traumatic brain injury clinic because you can become depressed after this happens or have severe memory loss - they follow you to make sure you're coping alright. Imagine. Anyhow, my "recovery" might get all messed up when I go back to America in a couple of weeks. No more TBI clinic. I was told to inform my doctor at school that this has happened and try to be seen regularly. Well, I guess that's it then. |
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| I wanna go home now! |
[Jul. 25th, 2006|10:54 pm] |
Right, well just when I thought I was getting the hang of this journal business (Alex helped me verify my email address and all that), I accidentally posted an anonymous response to my own damn entry. I understand nothing.
We had our dress rehearsal tonight. We were held up at the top of the show because a cast member had 'explosive diarrhea'. It was a result of the nasty ass cafeteria food they've been feeding us all month. Really, it could have happened to any one of us - and it has happened to most of us at some point over the last 28 days. I mean, you can't even really call this stuff food. It's gross. I guess that's really all I have to say - except that I miss Montreal, real food, my boyfriend, Natalie Charles, and all my buddies and my fam. HisssBoooo West Palm Beach. |
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| hysteria! |
[Jul. 25th, 2006|01:37 am] |
Today I learned a new word: pepino. It means cucumber in Spanish. It's going to be my pet name for Nik. He's not happy. I fail to see why. I think it's cute.
My big news today is that the girl who was too hung over to come to rehearsal on Sunday, commented on this other girl's drinking: "Be careful who you hang out with," she said, "Those girls drink A LOT." When the accused found out that hang over girl was talking about her, she rushed over to her dorm room, pounded on the door, and yelled, "Come out here you fucking bitch." And this is a Christian University! (Ha, the married girl with the Jesus fish tattooed on her thigh "It's my values, that won't change." was spotted making out with not her husband in the parking lot.) Anyways, it was hilarious. |
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| Ghettolicious |
[Jul. 21st, 2006|10:38 pm] |
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Today I went to ROSS. What a zoo. T-Shirts cost $3.99 and they fully busted someone swiping one. Now that is ghetto. |
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| hmph |
[Jul. 20th, 2006|12:32 am] |
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Well, I'm in West Palm Beach doing this opera program. My room mate just broke up with her boyfriend. and unfortunately for her there are only like six guys here. Two of them never speak, two of them are gay, one of them is seventeen. Then there is Greg or whatever his name is. She just managed to lure him to our room with cookies. He happily went through our stash of Latin Playboy while drinking my reduced fat soy milk and trying to guess which of the models had real boobies. I had this sneaking suspicion that as he was walking past my bedroom window, he might have seen me wearing nothing but my bra... He said he hadn't. He stayed and made polite conversation. He tried to guess my age. I told him I was forty-seven. I don't think he believed me. His phone rang at about 12:10 (earlier he had said he had to be in by 12:15). It was his room mate (one of the two gay guys) claiming to have clogged the toilet. Apparently, it was quite catastrophic. Maintenance was on the way already. What's his name contemplated borrowing our plunger but then decided that he couldn't return it to us after it had come into contact with his room mate's shit. When I told him he should probably pee at our apartment, in case it took a super long time for maintenance to fix their toilet, what's his name said that he only peed once a day. Weird. I know that girls on TV are always getting their friends to save them from bad dates... Could gay room mate have invented a toilet clog to save what's his name? Well, I can't think of anything less sexy than an erupting toilet. As he was leaving, he confessed that he had indeed seen me in my bra. Hopefully, it looked better to him than his room mate's crap. |
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freedamunda's journal