"You can always count on Americans to do the right thing - after they've tried everything else."  magically_delicious
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since 1985.
Debater+
6823 points
24/F/, California
Join Date: Oct 2007 |
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My study group ditched me!!! Why oh why! They forgot to email me and now I am doomed! Doomed to failure!!!!!!!!!
In other news, I'm heavily caffeinated and ready to rock!! | |
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1st. I just started school at University of the Pacific in Stockton, one of the highest rated private schools in the nation. I've been enjoying my time here, and it's expensive, 16,000 a semester plus fees. I have scholarships and my G.I. Bill covers a good portion. I want a more specialized degree than what they offer here, and I'm looking at going for the gold and enrolling in Berkeley College of Music, the top music school in the nation. I'm not sure if this is a good decision for many reasons, including the fact that I would have to dis-enroll and wait till next fall to continue college. The price is about the same, so I'm applying and auditioning to see what happens. My main reason is I want to major in production, and they have a production and song writing concentration. Right now I'm majoring in music management, which includes production, but not enough for what I want to do in the music industry. 
Current Music: Father of Mine
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Which I'm O.K. with, I mean I'm a total b**** to most people so I suppose I should expect it. But for the ones that I actually am nice to, it always seems to be a one way street. I'm there for them no matter what, but if I'm even remotely down in the dumps or upset about something, I am completely on my own. And once again, I'm fine with it and I'll survive. But sometimes I wish I could be like most everyone else and have people I can actually talk to.. but I don't.  | |
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| So this past week has been kind of icky. My poor husband is not feeling very well, and for once the distance between us physically feels about as far as the distance between us emotionally. I pretty much feel like a jerk, because I expect everyone to feel sympathetic towards me when I am not at my best, but when he is in need I get impatient and apathetic. I think that makes me an a** hole. Really, it's not because I don't care, I just don't really know how to deal with him when he's not at his best. I am used to be taken care of, not vice versa. So this is my apology to him, as well as an outlet for my frustration. I know he really misses me, and I just keep myself busy enough to not think about it. We have walked a long, twisted road to get where we are now but soon it will all be resolved. Anyway, off to bed. I love my husband and thanks to all who read. | |
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I can't believe I got negative kudos for the truth. 
No one is going to convince me that younger women IN GENERAL are not as good of parents are older women are. It is a fact, not just my opinion. Especially amongst the poorer classes of people. So whoever did it can go suck a cock, and get pregnant again, and enjoy having their daycare raise their kids for them. | |
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My poor beautiful horse! I recently moved him up to Reno so he could be with me while I'm going to school, and I made the mistake of keeping him with a friend from highschool that is a white trash b****. I guess she decided that feeding him wasn't part of keeping him there, even though I paid for his food. He has lost so much weight in the past 6 weeks, over 100 pounds! It's cold here in Reno, and she knows how to keep weight on a horse, she just decided I guess that his health wasn't important, and when I came back from 29 Palms he was so thin that all his ribs, hips, neck, and flank are sticking out. He has hoof marks from other horses, peices of skin and hair missing from being bitten, and worst of all, she decided to take it upon herself to cut off his beautiful chest length mane! My poor baby's beautiful mane is gone This is what he looked like before she got ahold of him, I've got to get a good after shot tomorrow... but I'm so f*ing pissed I could just kill that dumb b****!
link [i19.photobucket.com] | |
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When I was growing up, one of my favorite things to do was just sit by my window and look outside. I probably wouldn't have liked it so much, had I not been raised in one of the most wonderful locations in world. I lived a block from an outdoor theater company, 7 blocks from the beach, a block from my best friend, and 2 houses down from one of the coolest Canadian blues icons, Stu Hayden. When sitting in my room, I could hear a myriad of chattering birds during the day, and the thunderous ocean and the outdoor theater at night. I loved the smell that came with both; always the same salty mist in the air muddled with thick smoke from wood burning fires. The smell didn't even change with the seasons; it was always cold and wet enough to build a fire at night, no matter what time of year. Carmel always had this resounding timeless quality; the one place on the planet where nothing ever changed and everyone was always pleasant. There was nothing to do there besides go to art festivals and nice restaurants, and the worst type of crime was the occasional petty theft... and most of the calls were from little old ladies who were lonely and scared. Thinking back it was a pretty boring place for a kid, but even so, I loved it then just as much as I do now.
Sundays were always the laziest day of the week because it was "family day". I absolutely hated the notion of family day because it meant no hanging out with my friends, but Sunday was also "Pancake Day", so I accepted the occurrence. Sunday afternoons were usually spent in my room daydreaming, and I would often hear two whimsical recorders playing Sousa duets. The songs lazily seeped through trees; almost too faint to recognize. I heard it quite often, sometimes on Saturdays as well as Sundays. One day my friend Becky and I decided that we were going to investigate who and where the sounds were coming from. Turns out it was two little old men, so rickety with age they must have been in their nineties when we met them. Brazen and young, we knocked on the door of their little cottage to get a better look. Both men were cordial, inviting us in and they played us a few songs. Their enthusiasm and patience more than made up any skill they lacked, and I remember having such a nice day with them. The men had both been in one of the world wars, I believe WW1 but I can't quite recall. They had been friends since the war, and now that their wives had passed, they would get together on the weekends to play. Life went on after that day, and Becky and I grew up. I know that I didn't think too much of it, but I did enjoy listening to them intermittently each week. It was several years before Sunday afternoons were only graced with the sounds of busy scrub jays. On great occasion, you could hear a lone recorder; dutifully playing its part of the duet, until a few months later there was nothing.
It's hard to think back to that memory without becoming a little teary; it was a wonderful part of my childhood. It hurts my heart that this generation of kids cannot experience something so innocent and pure. It's also hard to know that those two little old men, who were once great American war heroes, had only their memories and each other to cling to in old age. I can only pass on my tale of the two sweet little old men, and hope that someone might see the beauty and enjoyment in it that I do. | |
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