Oh. It’s November.

And I’m full of contempt.

My thoughts on family:

-Joey is a freaking douche.
-As long as he wants to smoke pot and jack off all day with certain boys all the time, I want nothing to do with him.

My thoughts on school:

-The head of the Japanese department would do well to realize that she only has a Japanese surname because she married a Japanese man. She’s actually Australian, and having a superiority complex won’t make her younger, or prettier.

-I’m convinced that no matter which Japanese class I am in, it will be majorly filled with people who love anime, even if they tell me they don’t “really” watch anime.

-If Sweden mass produced cartoons and had a subculture that enjoyed wearing costumes for no reason, I think these people would want to speak Swedish instead.

My thoughts on those last few thoughts:

-It’s okay to like cartoons, as long as you can do productive things, too. Having a job, for instance.
-It’s NOT okay, however, to spend all the money you make on toys.
-Watching cartoons, dressing like a porcelain doll, and having tea parties is something five-year-olds can do.
-I wonder, in strict societies like Japan, if having such a strenuous childhood can cause you to act childish when you’re older in order to compensate for lost playtime.
-Michael Jackson?
-If you’re going to end up like Michael Jackson, at least be able to sing and dance like a badass.
-Fsck this, I’m taking Portuguese next semester. Or something.

My thoughts on work:

-Macy’s is still cold and lonely.
-Monday, I’m starting bar tending classes (apparently “bartending” isn’t a word).
-Friends on Facebook gave more feedback when “I’m going bartending (…thwart you, spell check) school” appeared in my status, than they did on my birthday.
-Apparently Facebook is less about staying in touch than it is about knowing when and where there might be alcohol.

Happy November, everyone.

R.I.P. Petey

Petey, the family budgie of fifteen years, died today.

I had been blubbering all week about his suffering. Today when I came home from work, no one was home, but mom had taped a picture of a bird cage with its door open to the wall of the staircase.

I kind of hate how she has to do that. Or maybe I hate how I understand what it meant. I always felt she spent more time being creative and productive than being a mom. Whether she did it intentionally or not, she created me and Joey, so being her own worst critic, she picks at us relentlessly.

And yet, I’ll take her visual communication over trying to talk with her any day. Talking to her makes everything ten times more painful. I was able to not feel sorry for Petey, or sorry for myself, because there was nothing sad about it. He wasn’t suffering anymore. He looked quite peaceful, and a large part of whatever has been making my chest hurt, removed itself when I went to look at him. I even stroked him a bit and didn’t cry, but I did wonder why things become so cold once they die. You’d think they would at least be room temperature. And it doesn’t happen to plants.

But then mom came home. She stood in my doorway and sighed. I didn’t turn around, so she sighed about five more times. I don’t know how she does it. I just wanted her to leave because I knew it was coming. Her way of dealing with things conflicts with my way of dealing with things, and there’s no way to tell her that without TELLING her that, and whenever I TALK with my mom…

Blah.