tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63984533686712955362024-03-04T23:23:56.750-08:00I Was An 18-24 DemographicKellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.comBlogger158125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-51325404570964797142014-04-15T13:05:00.001-07:002014-04-15T13:05:23.890-07:00Things that I miss in regards to you I never thought that grilled cheese sandwiches would ever be something that I would miss. I still make them, obviously, but I don't make them for you anymore. There isn't that first slice that you eat--because you want cheese, dammit!--just like there aren't any more apple slices to make while the sandwich is grilling. It's simple, yes, but it's something that I really enjoyed doing because it was for you. Same with massaging your feet. I don't <i>think</i> I have a foot fetish, so it's nothing to do with that, it just made you really happy and you enjoyed it a lot and that was enough for me. It was more than enough.<br />
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Going back to the food side of things, I miss your cooking. Tofu had never been on a list of things that I ever thought I would like, yet there I was, all those times, eating fried cubes of tofu that were absolutely delicious! When you found out that I didn't like broccoli you apologized for using it so much, but damn if you didn't make it delicious and make me forget that I don't like it. You remain the only person that cooks broccoli in a way that I enjoy it. And lest I forget, Slurpees. It was never the Slurpees themselves, but the drive, conversation, and your satisfied expression as you enjoyed your banana flavored ice drink.<br />
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Speaking of driving, I miss having you in the passenger seat, holding my hand. Whenever you gave my hand a squeeze, my smile that followed was genuine. It's like that simple gesture was you telling me, without words, that you were there and you wanted to be. When we were lying in your bed and I was massaging your hands--for what turned out to be the last time--you laid your head on my shoulder. I felt so at peace in that moment that whenever I remember, think, or dream of it, I recapture that feeling. I've got that same goofy smile you like so much right now, this very instant.<br />
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Yep, still got it.<br />
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To be blunt, I miss your face. Not just because it's pretty--because dammit, it is! we've been over this!--but because of everything I could see in it. How expressive your eyes are, the way your brow would furrow in concentration, how your lips would purse if you wanted me to see just how not-really-but-pretending-super-hard-to-be serious you were. As easily as you could see through me, I could just as easily see into you; I still get chills when I see your face and the flashes of brilliance it so easily conveyed.<br />
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This entire entry could so easily devolve into a simple bullet list of things that have to do with you, but it would kind of miss the point; that I miss <i>you</i>. That's what makes all of this never seeing you again stuff so difficult. It's for the best, I know, but god <i>damn</i> if it doesn't make it any less painful. I miss you, Sage.<br />
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I always will.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-36370860646458548412013-09-22T16:05:00.002-07:002013-09-22T16:05:35.266-07:00Like Skywalker and his two bit, two sun life. When I attended pre-school, I would occasionally refuse to be known as Kelly. I would be Marty McFly or He-Man or--and this was the best--Luke Skywalker. Being unable to say my R's properly, this last identity switch would come out more Wuke Skywocko which, sadly, isn't considered canon. This was all to the possible detriment of the bus driver who had to call me by my new name if she hoped to get me on the bus. My mom will correct me in the comments on whether or not the driver found this amusing. Aside from enjoying being such awesome people, I think this has a lot to do with me absolutely hating the idea of going to school. They had to go, not me is what I'm saying.<br />
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This isn't really the case anymore. Back in '08 I enrolled at CBC and for three years I had a great time. It kinda petered out there at the end and I took a sabbatical that officially ends tomorrow (9/23) at 9:10 AM. It all came down to math, and that's what the following school year will be about. After that I'll hopefully get accepted to Eastern Washington University. That's been the plan for a while yet, so where I go after CBC might change. We'll see. That's not what this post is about though.<br />
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Going back to being Luke Skywalker, I can really relate to the guy. Before it was just the similar to mine blonde hair and wielding a lightsaber that made me like the character so much, but now I realize how much it can drain somebody to be stuck in the desert/desert planet while your friends go out into the world/galaxy. Luke had massive, external and extenuating circumstances keeping him stuck on Tatooine. While the only thing keeping me here is me. I'm terrified of what's out there. Ashen faced, can't sleep, white knuckled terror. The real problem is I've lost track of that terror's ratio of real to imagined. So I avoid it and believe that it'll eventually go away and I won't need to worry about it anymore.<br />
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Because that's what works, right? Spoilers: it doesn't.<br />
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I'm getting off this damn planet, but not like Luke anymore. I'll be doing it of my own accord and not because some catastrophe forced me to.<br />
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This is me and this is going to be awesome. Allons-y!Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-86750473479499527772012-05-15T10:52:00.000-07:002012-05-15T10:52:25.463-07:00A year already? Wow.A little over a year ago, April 22nd to be specific, I wrote an essay on my <a href="http://strangerandfiction.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">life as a dishwasher</a> and how, well, shitty it was. Alright, it wasn't <i>all</i> bad, but I was feeling pretty low. I had finally quit the job in spite of the fact that there were no other prospects lined up. On the day I put in my two weeks I rationalized my decision, saying to myself "I could get a job at Barnes & Noble. Yeah! They'd hire me, wouldn't they? I'm cool. Barnes & Noble... that'd be great!"<br />
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The joy strangling voice of reason either felt too sorry for me to speak up or it was drowned in my enthusiasm for a job I really had zero chance of getting (oh, <i>there</i> it is). I followed through and turned in an application there immediately. In the meantime I worked my last two weeks of dish washing and began and finished my essay on the last day, April 22nd. The essay was for the 2011 LitFest Writing Competition under the creative non-fiction category. I submitted a fiction and poetry entry as well, just to cover all my bases.<br />
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Less than two weeks later I got the wonderful news that all three of my entries won runners-up. I was ecstatic, to say the least. Even so, a week later I got even better news; a call for an interview at Barnes & Noble! I have to give thanks to my former professor Gwen James for putting a good word in to one of the managers. I honestly can't say what my chances would have been otherwise, having washed dishes for three years. At the competition awards ceremony on May 12th I got to read my poem and excerpts from my fiction and non-fiction entries and announce that I got the job at Barnes & Noble. It was such an incredible day.<br />
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On May 15th I went in for orientation and became an actual employee. A year later, I am still thankful to be working there. I'm also really happy to work there, which is an important distinction to be made. I have my bad days (even shitty days occasionally), but when I think back to working in a 125° 99% humidity dishpit, flanked on all sides by dirty dishes, I have a bit of well earned perspective.<br />
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It also helps that I am surrounded by friends when I'm there. In fact, I acclimated and opened up faster at B&N than any other job, class or school I've ever had or been to. I fit in. That doesn't normally happen to me. Some of my friends from Red Lion can attest to how closed off and shy I was my first few months, so to be openly conversing and joking around within <i>weeks</i> of starting at B&N is a miracle. I may not have the same comedic outlet I had with Brandon and Mike at Red Lion (<a href="http://stuartavenue.blogspot.com/2009/09/random-comedy-bits.html" target="_blank">spicy fries</a>, <a href="http://stuartavenue.blogspot.com/2009/11/fun-at-work-building-dish-structures.html" target="_blank">dish</a> <a href="http://stuartavenue.blogspot.com/2009/11/creative-dish-stacking-sub-fields.html" target="_blank">stacking</a>), but dammit I still have fun!<br />
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I also have the benefit of a scheduled day off, that day being Tuesday (today!), that I use to go write at the Starbucks down the street from my house. Thanks have to go to my manager Aaron for enthusiastically accepting the availability change when he learned what it was for. Because of the day off I have a working draft of a novella, a solid foundation for <i>another</i> novella (which may become a novel) and a short story I'll probably finish in the next couple weeks. I've never had this much productivity in writing and I am <i>loving it</i>. I look forward to Tuesday as less of a day off and more of a time to sit down, focus on my computer screen and <i>write.</i><br />
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To say I'm surprised that a year has gone by already would be inaccurate. The time that's passed has been enjoyably weighed down by friends, events and memories I'll remember for years to come. There are still times where I'll bring a book out to the floor from receiving and be amazed that I'm employed where I am. Working at Barnes & Noble represents a new step in my life and it makes me excited for whatever comes next.<br />
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That said, if I never hear "I'm looking for a book" or one of its many variants again it will be too soon!Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-41511723605478294162012-05-01T12:40:00.002-07:002012-05-01T12:43:46.133-07:00High School, amirite?I didn't want to go to sleep last night. The reason? I was too busy rocking out on my awesome guitar to want to! It was pretty sweet. When I finally began to wear myself out it was 3AM, and <i>Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion</i> had started on TBS. It's an alright movie in the way it merges <i>Dumb and Dumber</i> with generic high school fantasy movies, but the scene where the head bitch sticks magnets to Michelle's back brace actually rang true. High school sucked for those of us who stuck out and didn't have enough friends to dissuade bullies.<br />
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Thankfully this post won't be a never ending gripe-fest about how miserable I was throughout high school. It isn't true, for one. There were plenty of times when I was genuinely happy and, despite not drowning in them, I had friends. Still, there were assholes that bullied me and teachers that actively despised me (okay, <i>one</i> teacher). Y'know what, though? Just like I just said, I made it out in one piece!<br />
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<b>Those Rose Tinted Glasses</b><br />
If the movies are to be accepted as doctrine then high school is the best and most defining moment of life, stretched out over four years (five years in my case. we'll get to that). Unless you're still pining for those halcyonic glory days as you stand on the showroom floor of an appliance store, that's bullshit. I never went to Homecoming or Prom so I'm a little undereducated, but even those couldn't have possibly made up for slumping through the same boring halls with the same boring people day after day. I spent my time between classes walking to class and not once did I see any theatrics worth putting to film.<br />
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I treated that place like World War I, head down and charging forward, my headphones blaring Green Day, Foo Fighters, Blink-182 and Everclear like a sonically induced force field. I have fond memories, but they have more to do with the people and the moments than the location. I have to admit though; it was pretty flippin' awesome to watch our girls basketball team win State. It just was.<br />
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<b>I'm not an idiot</b>.<br />
Academically... good lord. I can't quite remember the exact GPA I graduated with, but it was something like 1.42 or less. I just did not want to do the work and I was way too lazy to even give a damn. It frustrated my teachers because they could see I was smart enough to not be scraping by on a low C. The teachers had it easy compared to my parents. My mom especially. Teachers were under the utterly false impression that my parents didn't care or even try to make me do my homework. While I wish that I had done better in that regard, I feel much worse for the stress I put my mom through.<br />
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My college GPA and the friendly relationships I have with some of my professors is proof enough that I could have very well kicked some academic ass in high school. If there was any reason to do it again, that would be the only reason. It would have to be one of those weird today-me waking up in 1996 and then-me's body, but one can't be choosy in their time travel escapades. Even then my second senior year was arguably my best, so I don't know if I'd want to give that up.<br />
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<b>Friend(les)s</b><br />
That bold font is lying. I had friends. What I had more of were friendly acquaintances thanks to whatever classes I had, but I had friends. If this is coming off as defensive, it really shouldn't be. Sure I spent a majority of my lunch hours alone in Mr. Woodford's classroom, but the guy had the internet. The internet! Those other people were suckers for driving to crowded Taco Bells and McDonald's. Some of the journalism crew were there too when I first started going, but they graduated and the next year I had the place to myself. Eventually some dorky underclassmen showed up and refused to leave, but they turned out to be pretty cool. So while I wasn't the social butterfly, and still aren't, I had friends... I totally did.<br />
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<b>Lookin' for love in all the wrong places</b><br />
This will be short. I had a girlfriend my freshman year, and sort of a girlfriend (for two weeks) my senior year.<b> </b>The former broke it off and I ended it with the latter. I think the best way to describe my attempts to "get with" the fairer sex, is simply to ask that you YouTube Michael Scott's most embarrassing/facepalm worthy moments and apply them to a geeky, awkward and severely introverted boy angling for a girlfriend in high school. Done? Cool. If you think that was bad it's even worse on my end. Because that was me. :P<br />
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<b>Life moves pretty fast...</b><br />
Ferris Bueller is a personal hero of mine. He was super popular, but it was because he genuinely did not give a shit about high school. Not in the way that he was unlikely to graduate or get into a good college, but that he was above the politics and drama so commonly associated with it. His was an attitude I tried to adopt for myself with mixed results. In the years since my tenure at Kennewick High I have truly succeeded at not caring about it and moving on. Except for the odd post rambling on about it every now and then that is.<br />
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My 10 year reunion will have been two years ago this June. I wasn't sure if I wanted to go or not, so I let my work schedule decide. I worked. I mean no offense and bear no ill will to those that went, but being stuck in a dishpit for four hours was probably a better use of my time than attending my reunion. After all, I was with a friend and got paid to be there. I can't say that for high school.<br />
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I had friends, dammit! Why won't anyone believe me?!Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-64076148932963527642011-12-02T14:24:00.001-08:002011-12-02T15:09:18.170-08:00Doing what I want.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOakoU3CAYKE-Dbd9-3C27F_Kng6pUKwT-0CB7c-GTwxNi6SIEvxHA_R8PSl7geCE9XZq4HXi8vBfr08R4W-kd22mEM4Umw40-9vh3xk_4J4H4fujyE2w4Vm4nPpwJj5UvtDsuIm1yAA/s1600/Sbux.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOakoU3CAYKE-Dbd9-3C27F_Kng6pUKwT-0CB7c-GTwxNi6SIEvxHA_R8PSl7geCE9XZq4HXi8vBfr08R4W-kd22mEM4Umw40-9vh3xk_4J4H4fujyE2w4Vm4nPpwJj5UvtDsuIm1yAA/s400/Sbux.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681671962989576450" border="0" /></a><br />For those of you that are my friends on facebook and have been paying attention to my posts on Tuesday, I have been coming to the Starbucks close to my house and writing. More importantly, my writing has been focused on a story that's been in the back of my mind for two years now. There are others that have been gestating for even longer than that (<span style="font-style: italic;">War of Time</span> wins that contest), but this has been the most nagging, irrepressible and so far enjoyable one to write out of them all.<br /><br />As much as I've wanted to write it, the desire to is greatly outweighed by the desire to write in the first place. I love writing, but it's something that I don't do nearly as much as I should. Even now with Tuesday's being singled out primarily for writing, I want to do more of it. I'm sitting in Starbucks right now, on a Friday, writing this, but I want to hurry and finish so I can go back to my story. Writing has become addictive enough that I look forward to Tuesday more than any other day, and even then it's not enough.<br /><br />This is what I've wanted to do since I was a freshman in high school, and even though it's taken 16 years I'm glad I've finally knuckled down and gotten at least moderately serious about it. I want to be a writer more than most things (wielding a lightsaber while riding a hoverboard wins <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> contest), and I firmly believe that I have the potential to be one. This little story I'm writing, it's not going to be my best. It will be my most personal, and potentially my most important, but I will always strive to do better.<br /><br />I plan on publishing it as an e-book when I feel it's finished enough, and I'll be surprised if I make more than a dollar for it. Profit won't be the point, because that way is a congested, potholed mess of a 16 lane freeway. I'll be taking the scenic route, which, while not exactly deserted, is much more enjoyable and will get me where I'm going in due time. I'm very excited to be on my way to where I've wanted to go since I was a kid; a writer.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-21627159475128614782011-09-10T01:41:00.000-07:002011-09-10T03:47:13.247-07:00MemorabiliaThere's been an important slip of paper in my wallet for the last few years, a list of sorts, and for whatever reason, I've been worried about it. Beyond losing my wallet I can't honestly say that anything will happen to it, but I have recurring and unnerving thoughts that something <span style="font-style: italic;">may</span> happen to it. It's just a slip of paper at its most basic form, but it represents a memory so potent and vibrant that I could never bear to part with it.<br /><br />I seem to invest a lot of worth into objects, and I don't see a problem with that. There are a lot of memories that I have tucked away inside my mind, but they can be so buried underneath the years that they're not so easily recalled unless I see a corresponding object. Whenever I come across my old CD player I remember all the times it carried me through the tough times I had in high school. There wasn't much that couldn't be solved by turning the volume up, and I never hesitated to do so.<br /><br />In the late 90's my favorite thing to do was going to the movies, and I have the ticket stubs to prove it. Since the ink wasn't exactly the highest quality the writing would fade, leaving only the soft pink or green color of the paper behind. I didn't want to have a collection of blank tickets so I bought a pack of plastic sleeves for baseball cards. They worked really well, and even today they read as clear as 11-14 year old ticket stubs rightfully should. I keep them in the top drawer of my dresser, so I see them whenever I root through it for batteries or a credit card I never use.<br /><br />My guitar is another piece of my life that has memories intricately tied to it, but since I have it next to my bed I tend to forget them. I've had it for over 11 years, and it was the coolest thing I had ever bought with my own money until my truck less than three years later. Next to a car, an electric guitar was what I dreamed of having the most (okay, lightsabers and hoverboards aside), so to actually have one was like fulfilling a life's dream. I'm not as good as I could be, since I'm entirely self taught and I only play for fun, but I know enough to get by.<br /><br />For all the memories I have that are attached to physical objects, there are immaterial things such as songs that cause the memories to well up. One song in particular stands out, and one particular instance of it playing will always be clear, cherished and kept safe. The moon was so full and bright that I could have driven on that back road with no headlights. It was cold outside, but I didn't notice or care because of who I had next to me, her head on my shoulder, holding onto my arm. That moment would be special to me even if there had been no song, but Whatsername by Green Day was playing, and it made the moment perfect.<br /><br />I put a lot of significance into things like that slip of paper, so it's not surprising that sometimes I worry about losing them. I know I'll always have the memories, it's not like I can lose them, but I like having the keys to unlock them. It makes them seem more tangible, and less likely to be forgotten.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-45448091231729321582011-08-09T00:50:00.000-07:002011-08-09T12:51:10.051-07:00Taking a drive... somewhereAs I was watching TV earlier tonight, a Taco Bell commercial let me know that their Nachos Supreme are 99¢ for a limited time. To me, cheap, edible and nachos are three words that go really well together, and as I was hungry, I decided I'd go and get me some. Now, a funny thing happens whenever it's the middle of the night and I'm about to make a quick five minute drive.
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<br />I get the urge to take a road trip.
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<br />If I have a number of days off in front of me the urge is intensified, because I have the time to actually do it. When I unlock my car door I think of how quickly I could pack a bag, toss it in the back and go. It's intoxicating. When I pull out of the neighborhood I look at the moon and imagine driving until it's sunk below the horizon and the sun rises behind it. I'd make sure to call home around 9 or so, and let my family know where I was, what I was doing and that I hadn't lost my mind. I can be fairly persuasive when I'm flying by the seat of my pants.
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<br />The only issue would be where I would go on my impromptu (yet prepared for) road trip. Driving down Vancouver or 27th I begin to get a few ideas. I could go to the Seattle area, but I get lost there so easily that I'd spend half the trip trying to find my way out. I could go to Spokane, but it's such a short trip that I wouldn't feel as if I was truly "getting away." Then the inevitable pops into my head, but I'm at the drive-thru so now I need to think about what I want to eat. Cheap, edible nachos of course.
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<br />I get my food, get back on the road and resume my thinking. I should explain that my thought processes work much like an old Sony Walkman, in that I remember exactly where I left off and continue exactly from that point on. My friends can confirm this with great enthusiasm. So, anyway, I snap right back to the inevitable place I would direct my road trip ambitions, and that place would be Missouri. Come on, tell me you're not surprised. I <span style="font-style: italic;">dare</span> you.
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<br />If you <span style="font-style: italic;">are</span> surprised, I'll happily explain. My friend KaTrina lives there, and I miss her. It'd be great to surprise her by suddenly showing up, and that would make the drive there worth it. The drive back would suck, which tempers to outright erases any and all chances of my ever making that trip. I would need a hell of a souvenir to break even on the investment.
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<br />So, as I turn into my neighborhood, my food sitting quietly in the passenger seat, I decide that a road trip, while awesome, wouldn't be the most practical of things to do at 1AM. I instead decide that blogging about it would be enough of a cathartic release, and much, much cheaper. I don't think I could say how many times this scenario has happened (cheap, edible nachos involved or not), but I never <span style="font-style: italic;">actually</span> got around to blogging about it. I guess when I'm standing in the driveway the fancifulness of my daydream ebbs away, and I no longer feel like taking the time to write it out.
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<br />Tonight though, as I stood in the driveway, I looked up at the moon just hanging there in the sky, slowly slipping toward the horizon. The excitement of making such a trip sparked again, and I felt the desire to write about it. Maybe one of these days I'll take such a drive, and I'll enjoy to the fullest getting away from it all. Until then, I'll think about it every time I drive somewhere close on a warm summer's night. Some of the best things in my life have happened while driving late at night anyway, so it might not be a bad idea.
<br />Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-23711084332411196952011-04-01T23:46:00.000-07:002011-04-02T01:53:56.240-07:00The WeatherThe weather is a very boring topic. I should be a bit clearer and say that <span style="font-style: italic;">nice</span> weather is a boring topic. Things like ice and lightning storms are awesome, and easily spice up any conversation, but nice weather is what strangers discuss. Yet as boring as nice weather may be, it's still lovely to have and worth enjoying. That's what this blog is going to be about: how I enjoy nice weather, and summer weather specifically.<br /><br />The first thing I think of when warmer weather rolls around is driving at night. Not just driving at night, but driving at night in flip flops, a t-shirt and shorts, with the windows <span style="font-style: italic;">down</span>. It gives me that feeling of "this is great" and "I should do this every night." After all those months of having to bundle up before going out it feels refreshing to do little more than slip on some footwear and go. It makes 1AM trips to Wal-Mart enjoyable instead of a chore, and that's an impressive feat. Why someone would go there at such an hour is known only to those that have, but we know and that's why we go. Besides, if you're up all night you need <span style="font-style: italic;">something</span> to do...<br /><br />When I was younger, I made a habit of staying up all night when I was on summer vacation. At first it was just to do it, but over the years I found a perfect reason: breakfast. Let me explain. Where I used to live there was a park just across the street with a smattering of trees, and it was in the middle of the neighborhood. In the park, there was a table in a prime spot for watching the sunrise. When the time came I would get a bowl of cereal and sit at that table, eating my breakfast while watching the sun rise. I must have been 14 or 15 when I first did it, and I remember just feeling satisfied.<br /><br />My parents were never too happy when I would stay up all night, but the simple act of having breakfast like that was worth it and I'm very happy I did it. For something that happens every day, the sunrise is one of the best. It's very calming, but exhilarating at the same time. I can't recommend watching one enough, especially when the weather is as nice as it is on a summer morning.<br /><br />One of my favorite memories is being woken by those first rays of sunshine, after taking a short nap in my car. I had been driving around all night, enjoying the wonderful weather we were having. That's not something I could have done in January. You need June weather or better. I'm happy that I live in a place that has distinct seasons. It makes beautiful weather much more special, and it's just, well, nice.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-17642975175581752272011-03-05T15:21:00.000-08:002011-03-05T15:31:53.264-08:00The Stalwart Lily Bart and the Traits and Tools of a Coward<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">_____</span>Of all the things that Lily Bart from House of Mirth may be (temptress, manipulator, spoiled, etc.), a coward is not one of them. A coward is someone who seeks out the easiest way to go through life, and even then they will find a way to expend the least amount of energy in doing so. For example, Lily intentionally botches her chance to marry Percy Gryce, and subsequently into money, just so she can spend time with the man she loves. She can feign surprise at Percy’s sudden urge to flee, but she knew what she was doing. When she let slip a few extra drops of her sleeping medicine, she knew what she was doing. She remembered the chemist’s warning, though she paid it little real thought, and took the one in a hundred chance knowingly (Wharton 342). Though she played with her life and lost, she had as much intention to lose as any time she played bridge or any other game of cards.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">_____</span>It’s easy to see why some people may believe that Lily consciously took her own life, or even subconsciously as the text indicates on page 342 (“ –darkness, darkness was what she must have at any cost.”), but that’s a matter of interpretation rather than indisputable fact. It doesn’t make any sense that Lily would force herself to write a check to Gus Trenor, only to not get the satisfaction of showing his pompous assed self that she was nothing if not true to her word. She had been ground to dust, leaving a thin layer of it on the floor of her former social scene, but she wouldn’t be swept away so easily. Killing herself would have made it all too simple for those she once counted as friends to well and truly brush her off their conscience and their shoulders.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">_____</span>Going beyond those fair-weather friends, there was also Selden to think about, which she did. As she slowly passed from the cruel waking world to the mercifully benign realm of sleep she remembered that there was something she must tell him. There was a word that would make everything better between them, and it scared her that she might forget it before she woke (Wharton 343). More than the check that had already been written and prepared for delivery, talking to Selden was a vital priority that demanded she wake up in the morning from her drug induced sleep.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">_____</span>I can’t say what that word is, and I’m sure even Wharton can’t say without a few grains of salty doubt what it is either, but I will venture a guess and say that it was marriage. With the money allotted to Trenor, and the incriminating letters to Selden burned, Lily had no reason to not accept Selden as her husband. It would no longer be a marriage based on money, but based on love, and if love isn’t a reason to get up in the morning then I shudder to think of how few options there remain to do so.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">_____</span>So with self-worth and love on the checklist of why Lily didn’t intentionally kill herself, I present the future for inclusion on that list as well. When Lily visits Nettie Struther’s apartment she sees a life of happiness, despite being in such close proximity to failure and poverty. Witnessing such love and dedication to living stirred something in Lily, and that something was her own resolution to making her own future. That future is shown as the baby Lily holds while she slides into her drug induced sleep. She takes great care to cradle the newborn, “…holding her breath lest a sound should disturb the sleeping child” (Wharton 343).<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"><br />_____</span>That baby, figurative as it may be, is the new Lily she alludes to on 328. Lily has succeeded in fully creating her new self, and there is no point in making and nurturing that new self if she’s going to kill it off with a few measly drops of soporific. It’s ludicrous to think that Lily Bart knowingly killed herself when she had given herself so many reasons to live. Suicide is a coward’s tool, designed to injure loved ones and escape what was never pursuing. Lily Bart is not a coward and she would never do such a horrible thing to those she loved or to herself. She just wouldn’t.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-17101327532800544282011-03-05T01:27:00.000-08:002011-03-05T03:15:18.201-08:00The Social Network Not-ReviewI've just finished watching <span style="font-style: italic;">The Social Network</span>. The credits are rolling at the moment and there's a very soothing kind of ambient music playing as the text rolls by. The credits are over now though, because I checked a few facts on Wikipedia and Google (Mark's birthday and proper italicization (that's a word?) rules respectively) so the following blog entry will be 'correct.'<br /><br />I'm halfway tempted to play it again from the beginning just so I can have it playing as background noise while I write this, but the menu screen is a few minutes long and is surprisingly conducive to my writing. Anyway. The one thought that popped into my head within the last few minutes of the movie was this, 'This is my generation's <span style="font-style: italic;">Catcher In The Rye</span>.'<br /><br />Granted, my generation's <span style="font-style: italic;">Catcher In The Rye</span> already is <span style="font-style: italic;">Catcher In The Rye</span>, but <span style="font-style: italic;">The Social Network</span> comes damn close to echoing what makes that story so powerful: I hate this world, but I want to belong.<br /><br />The Mark Zuckerberg we see in the movie, which isn't the real one, is attending Harvard. He's in an exclusive club with back doors that lead to lucrative and powerful positions all over the world, but that's not what he wants. He just wants to have access to them. To know that should he ever decide to use them, he can. But he can't. They're not listed among his Membership Benefits. He's got a Silver Account instead of a Gold or Platinum. To counter this, he starts his own club and succeeds wildly. He's now the youngest billionaire in history, but he's still the guy who just wants to belong somewhere.<br /><br />I can relate to that. Not the billionaire thing, but the desperation to feel like I belong. I have friends, and if you scroll down you'll see a lovely piece I wrote about how much they mean to me, but I just feel like it isn't enough sometimes. Of "friends" on Facebook, I have 79 while other's number in the hundreds. There's nothing wrong with that, but that doesn't make me feel any less secure when I think about it. I've been told I'm a great guy, but there's that number staring me in the face. It's not even committed enough to laugh at me.<br /><br />I've also been told that I have this amazing talent for writing, and though I've seen it for myself, I sometimes can't help but think I'm being lied to. If it was there, I should have already written reams upon reams of poetry, fiction and essays. But I haven't. The ideas are there, rattling in my head, fresh as the day they cropped up, but they're stuck there. They want desperately to be put to paper, even if it's digital, but they can't get out. I want them to come out perfect, but that's not going to happen <span style="font-style: italic;">unless they come out</span>. Even this rant is having a hard time finding its way onto the screen and it's not even fiction!<br /><br />I want to write, but I can't. I tell myself I will when I have time, but I already have it! I sit on my couch with the TV on and Facebook open, hoping people read what I post and comment on or even Like it. I post song lyrics and YouTube videos in vain attempts to grab somebody's attention, forgetting how <span style="font-style: italic;">well</span> it went the last time. I'll post those, but I won't post how miserable, lonely and disappointed in my life I am because I think it's a petty grab at attention towards my too small audience.<br /><br />I hate my life at the moment. I say 'at the moment' because I can't see (or stand to bear for that matter) how this life could last into my 30's, 40's and beyond. Yes, I'm in school, but not the one I want to be in. I still live at home, and though I'm surrounded by all my possessions, it all seems so meaningless. I hate my job that I can't quit and something else I deleted though it's no secret what it was I'm sure. <span style="font-style: italic;"></span>I'm scared because I have no idea what I'm supposed to do next, but I refuse to accept help because that's what weak people do. I'm a walking Catch-22 if ever there were one. I'm only happy when I'm miserable, but I'm always miserable so why aren't I happy?<br /><br />I just wanted to write about how much I loved <span style="font-style: italic;">The Social Network</span>. I wanted to say that Mark isn't an asshole. He's awkward, smart and a good guy, but damn if the good guy part doesn't get lost in the shuffle. I know what it's like to not fit in when by all accounts you <span style="font-style: italic;">should</span>, and to then go about being alone with a stiff upper lip. It sucks. It's soul crushing work that goes unrewarded as long as it goes.<br /><br />The film ends with Mark tapping F5 intermittently, silently waiting for the reason he's there to respond to his friend request. This blog entry ends with me posting a link to Facebook, warning people not to read it for how dreary and depressing it is. Then I'll be going to sleep. When I wake up I'll wring whatever joy I can from those few fleeting seconds where I can't remember what drove me to write all of this in the first place.<br /><br />Good night.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-11578687185811425272011-02-10T15:00:00.000-08:002011-02-10T15:30:28.972-08:00'Tough' and 'Competent'<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">____</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">There usually isn't anything good on TV from when I get home from school until I leave for work. So instead of good, I settled on mildly interesting and began to watch a special about the Space Program titled "Failure Is Not An Option." It wasn't long before the show went from mildly, to genuinely interesting, and it was cool to learn about the various successes and failures of the program. It eventually came to the Apollo 1 fire disaster.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">____</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">It didn't shy away from showing how reckless NASA was being. The fire and subsequent deaths of the astronauts Grissom, White and Chaffee were because of that recklessness, and they could have easily been avoided. It was a tragedy, but it was by no means the end. Gene Kranz, flight director for the mission, gathered everyone together on the Monday morning after the disaster and delivered a stirring speech. It was at this point the show went from interesting to damn inspiring. The speech, which Kranz can recite from memory, is as follows...</span><br /><br />____</span>"Spaceflight will never tolerate carelessness, incapacity, and neglect. Somewhere, somehow, we screwed up. It could have been in design, build, or test. Whatever it was, we should have caught it. We were too gung ho about the schedule and we locked out all of the problems we saw each day in our work. Every element of the program was in trouble and so were we.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">____</span>The simulators were not working, Mission Control was behind in virtually every area, and the flight and test procedures changed daily. Nothing we did had any shelf life. Not one of us stood up and said, 'Dammit, stop!' I don't know what Thompson's committee will find as the cause, but I know what I find. We are the cause! We were not ready! We did not do our job. We were rolling the dice, hoping that things would come together by launch day, when in our hearts we knew it would take a miracle. We were pushing the schedule and betting that the Cape would slip before we did.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">____</span>From this day forward, Flight Control will be known by two words: 'Tough' and 'Competent.' <i>Tough</i> means we are forever accountable for what we do or what we fail to do. We will never again compromise our responsibilities. Every time we walk into Mission Control we will know what we stand for. <i>Competent</i> means we will never take anything for granted. We will never be found short in our knowledge and in our skills. Mission Control will be perfect.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">____</span>When you leave this meeting today you will go to your office and the first thing you will do there is to write 'Tough and Competent' on your blackboards. It will <i>never</i> be erased. Each day when you enter the room these words will remind you of the price paid by Grissom, White, and Chaffee. These words are the price of admission to the ranks of Mission Control."<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">____</span>There's no particular reason I posted this other than I really like the speech and I'm glad that I heard it, but I think that everybody should at least read it. It's inspiring and poignant, and I challenge anyone not to be moved by it.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-13841900882471685022011-01-10T22:44:00.000-08:002011-10-15T14:33:08.023-07:00To My FriendsI don't usually do well with January. The holiday rush is over, I sulk over an entire year having gone by and it's cold all the time. January 2010 was no different, but 2010 as a whole was awesome. Oddly enough, it was awesome as a direct result of school. Near the end of the fall quarter my friend Jay, who I shared two classes with the previous year, was intent on restarting the Anthropology club at CBC. He got the paperwork going and I had signed on as the treasurer (I was really only the third to sign and got the position that way). All told there were 8-11 people that signed up. One of them was Ashley, who at this point was just a girl who sat behind me in class, signed into either vice-president or secretary of the club. More on her later.<br /><br />So, with the winter quarter underway, the anthropology club began meeting every Tuesday at 1:50. Jay and I were done with school at 12:30 so we always had time to kill before then. We'd go out to lunch to different places, usually for pho by downtown Kennewick or to a Hawaiian place near the school. It was so great to spend time with a friend on a regular basis, and it really brightened my day. The club meetings were just as enjoyable. I've always shied away from groups, but I was tired of being alone because of it so I made myself attend; and my change of tact paid off.<br /><br />During one of the earliest meetings, this really scruffy looking guy with a cane showed up. I didn't pay him much mind, but then I realized he was laughing at my jokes! That's good enough for me, I thought, and I eventually learned his name was Jake and he was taking Archaeology with Jay, Ashley and I. Now, I don't know the exact sequence of events, but I know that one day Ashley came to lunch with Jay and I. Soon after that, Jake would come along too. Before I go on, I'd like to give a short (no promises) description to each of them.<br /><br />-Jay is an outspoken guy who is damn near impossible to repress. If he's having a good time, everybody is. In fact, if it wasn't for him I wouldn't even be writing this. We'd had the same class, in the same room, with the same professor but at different times for Fall '08. For Winter '09 however, we had the same class, in the same room, with the same professor at the same time. One day early in the quarter he asked if I sat in the same spot the previous quarter, when I replied "Yeah." he yelled back (despite being only two feet away) "Oh dude, me too!" For the next five quarters we had a class together, and it was awesome.<br /><br />-Ashley is... well, in a nutshell, Ashley is incredible. She's every bit her own person and she has no problem speaking her mind even if somebody else is talking, especially if the somebody is me (a bit of a running joke). She took Cultural Anthropology with Jay and I in Fall '09, and sat right behind me. We both showed up before the class before let out, and we would stand in the hall completely silent. I always wanted to say something to her; to strike up a conversation, but I thought for sure she was too cool so I never tried. Even though I know now that she is too cool, I wish I had tried. I'm really happy I got to know her, and I miss being interrupted by her sudden excitement that would be triggered by whatever I was talking about.<br /><br />-Jake is, wait for it... intense (another inside joke). Seriously, you should see the guy when he hasn't been at the mercy of a razor or hair clippers for an extended period of time. On a slighty more serious note, Jake is the friend I wish I would have had for longer than I have already. He's so damn laid back as to make me worry less about whatever trouble I may be having. We have conversations as much as we have running commentary on any number of things. We are both jaded, yet expectant; cynical, yet hopeful; tired, yet enthusiastic. I wouldn't trade Jay (or Dale (Jay's girlfiend)(again, more later))) or Ashley for anything, and that goes double for Jake. There's a Japanese word without an exact English equivalent that means "more than friends, but not blood-related family"; nakama (仲間). Jake is my 'nakama.'<br /><br />-Dale, as I mentioned before, but haven't really talked about yet, is Jay's girlfriend, but she's so much more. She's like a lone voice of reason among the group, and we always manage to talk over her! She's incredibly sweet, very intelligent and just as irrepressible as Jay. They're about as married as two people can get without a ceremony, and we let them know this often. Dale also attends the prestigious University of Southern California, so that's really awesome too. Also, I'm sorry this is shorter than the rest Dale. It's nothing to do with quality, haha.<br /><br />So now where was I? Oh yes, the epic awesomeness that was 2010. I'll be more succinct going on. With the reformation of the Anthropology club came the issue of a club trip. Seeing as how Jay, Ashley and I made up the majority of the club leadership it came to us to plan the trip. The general idea of going to the Washington peninsula for a cultural event was eventually decided on. Jay did most all of the paper/legwork, but we soon discovered that because the trip fell outside of the Spring quarter we wouldn't receive any money from the school.<br /><br />Undeterred, we decided to make a smaller trip out of it with just the five of us. We would drive to Renton and spend the night at Jake's dad's place before heading out to Neah Bay the next day. Ashley, Jake and I drove together in Jake's "Magic Van" (the side door opened by remote, like magic!) while Jay and Dale drove up in Jay's brand new car! We had a great time at Jake's dad's. We barbecued and had what was essentially a slumber party in the living room. We had also decided it would be a camping trip, so with tents and sleeping bags in tow we made our way out to the peninsula, and Neah Bay.<br /><br />The cultural event we attended involved members from Native American tribes canoeing along the coast to this point as tradition. It was great being there with everybody, and it was really cool to see such a thing. Once that was done we went to a hiking spot within a few miles of the town and did some hiking. It was a lot of fun snapping pictures of what was truly beautiful nature. Among other things:<br />-Jay almost died trying to take a picture, but I saved him,<br />-We were on the very edge of Washington, which is where Jay almost died<br />-We met a nice older couple that took our picture, and refused to believe Ashley knew how to operate a camera<br />-Despite having a cane, Jake is very adept at navigating uneven terrain while hitting somebody <span style="font-style: italic;">with</span> the cane<br />-I don't think I'd have gotten as many cool pictures as I did if Dale wasn't pointing all of it out to us<br /><br />The time soon came for us to find a suitable camp site. After hours of driving we decided on a site about 45 minutes outside of Forks (yes, that Forks) mainly because it was the one with vacancy. We set up camp after procuring some supplies and had a grand time reminiscing about our trip so far. It was easily the best time I'd had all year, and I will always think back on it fondly. I was with friends I had come across purely by chance, but they are true friends no matter what the circumstances.<br /><br />For years I thought that I could go it alone because for years I had been alone. I had friends, but they were either online or not close enough (physically or emotionally) to spend that kind of time with me. I thought that I was strong enough to make it, and though I might be, after knowing such friendship again I don't want to find out.<br /><br />So to Ashley, Dale, Jay and Jake; I love you all. We might not be going out to lunch after school anymore, but I'm so happy that we did and I'm looking forward to future cool kid hangoutz, trips or just talking to each other. You have all made my life so much better, and I just wanted you all to know that.<br /><br />Thank you.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdW3OYAYkaHfFiWdJ8BpFOjRTJWZUpcWYE4Jah1IZ3gf8_xP-dQvUYWW837wO1zuwswmLvx_kflTBnDhM-9aU3BAmZz9tYNEp0IV532V1iCoxBmbqklEmKvbFiU6A8MB7J8hCQdeffdXs/s1600/IMG_0035.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdW3OYAYkaHfFiWdJ8BpFOjRTJWZUpcWYE4Jah1IZ3gf8_xP-dQvUYWW837wO1zuwswmLvx_kflTBnDhM-9aU3BAmZz9tYNEp0IV532V1iCoxBmbqklEmKvbFiU6A8MB7J8hCQdeffdXs/s400/IMG_0035.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560873185953403058" border="0" /></a>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-82999569308040426852010-10-26T12:06:00.001-07:002010-10-26T12:30:53.626-07:00A political message<span style="font-weight: bold;">Bloated, runaway military spending.<br /><br />Constant denial of rumors of a 'Death Star.'<br /><br />Continued proliferation of the Rebel Alliance.<br /></span><br />This is the legacy left behind by Grand Moff Tarkin. General Zevulon Veers looks to continue this trend of shady deals and back room politics<span style="font-weight: bold;">.<br /><br /></span>Admiral Firmus Piett has worked to fight against the kind of corruption Veers has brought upon the Empire. Piett is a veteran of the Battle of Hoth, and grew up in the Outer Rim, which is more than can be said of Veers.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>Don't let the rule of Grand Moff Tarkin continue. He's dead, and zombies make terrible leaders.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_JOuNlOGESxPrM0QALQy2NbpQNz_w8R3yZq2UrolidE6ok2J8sFnHfUMpWMs0a8YAY4cBG1JfNw73omWNzxixDfbJn8GdZ4HvptCbvK-8c8hl9SNFTW59d8yXizs2XGB8dOBh7K2RpNg/s1600/Piett.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 291px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_JOuNlOGESxPrM0QALQy2NbpQNz_w8R3yZq2UrolidE6ok2J8sFnHfUMpWMs0a8YAY4cBG1JfNw73omWNzxixDfbJn8GdZ4HvptCbvK-8c8hl9SNFTW59d8yXizs2XGB8dOBh7K2RpNg/s400/Piett.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532439348403837442" border="0" /></a></span></span>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-67409147706644254972010-09-22T00:11:00.000-07:002010-09-22T00:17:21.281-07:00A speech about me?Surely the title jests? Nope.<br /><br />School has started back up and I already have an assignment for one of my classes. The one I'm going to share is from my speech class. We had to write a two minute maximum speech to read in front of the class, and this is mine. I timed it to 1:25 in an uninterrupted somewhat speedy recital, so I should fit neatly within that two minute marker.<br /><br />And just so we're clear, the :rimshot: denotes an actual rimshot that I will be playing at that point in my speech. Oh yeah, I'm going all out.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">W</span>hen some of you look at me, I’m sure that what you may see is a shiftless guy in his early 20’s, coasting through life and is only in this class because it’s a pre-req for the AA he wants. Well, you’d be wrong. I’m in my late 20’s. :rimshot:<br /><br />I’m not any of those other things either, but the joke wouldn’t work otherwise.<br /><br />I’m 28, I like to read, watch TV, and write. I even came in first place in the poetry division for LitFest back in May. I play video games but not nearly as much as I used to, and I play guitar. I also like to watch anime and read manga. Not the kind some of you may be thinking of, just so we’re clear. That’s not really important, but it’s important to me.<br /><br />I work at Red Lion in Kennewick as a dish washer, and though I hate my job sometimes, it has taught me some valuable lessons. One of those lessons I even thought up myself; everything is a mess, it’s just a matter of how organized it is. If you saw the place after I’ve been gone a couple days then you’d know what I mean.<br /><br />Okay seriously though, I don’t like to take much seriously. I’m perfectly capable of doing so, but I feel that if humor can legitimately be found in a serious situation then it shouldn’t be ignored. It shouldn’t be unceremoniously trotted about either, but if you’ve been through enough crap in your life you’ll eventually learn the correct timing for such a thing. And a well placed rimshot, literal or otherwise, doesn’t hurt.<br /><br /><br />I like what I've got there, so all that's left now is to let my natural showmanship shine through and deliver one hell of a performance. It should be great!<br /><br />note: If I should bomb, let's all pretend this never happened.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-52120883014493337132010-09-12T19:48:00.001-07:002010-09-12T21:05:45.152-07:00Wrong numbers are funny thingsI have to warn those of you who are averse to swearing and practically non-existent grammar because the following blog post contains both, and will not be edited. I've got to preserve this for posterity after all.<br /><br />When I was at work today I received a phone call from an unknown number. I answered just to be sure it wasn't somebody I knew, and it wasn't. The caller asked for 'B', and I informed her she had the wrong phone number. When I didn't hear a response I hung up. I thought nothing more of it and went back to cleaning.<br /><br />Not wanting to listen to the radio anymore, I used a small set of speakers we have at work and hooked them up to my iPhone to listen to Pandora (I'll need to do a separate post about <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> bit of nonsense). About 20 minutes in, the song that was on started to skip. I chalked it up to the wifi acting up, but when I went to look at the artist currently playing, I saw the following:<br /><br />Unknown number: So now ur fuckin that ugly fat bitch... Fuck u Brian, ur a bitch in my eyes now. Live ur life without me now, forget u ever even knew me Brian... I hope ur happy now, and getting whatever the fuck i didnt give u. I dislike u so much and wish i would have never even knew u. U have broken me so bad, and i hope ur happy for that u mutherfucker.<br /><br />Now, I can only assume this young lady is upset. About what exactly, I don't know, but it obviously has something to do with Brian. Maybe even the previously mentioned 'B'. Possibly. I replied of course:<br /><br />Me: Uh, this isn't Brian. Sorry he made you so mad, but you might want to get the number right next time.<br /><br />I had a feeling this wouldn't be enough to persuade her I wasn't the Brian she was looking for, or to stop texting me. I was correct.<br /><br />Upset girl: Oh i got the number right bitch... I know u guys are fuckin, he puts it out there that this is his phone too... I know u'll relay this to him sence guys are together now. I hope he brakes u the way he has done me everyone of his other gurls. I hope u guys have a good life of hell together.<br /><br />Well now, whatever this Brian hath wrought upon this poor girl must have been a real doozy. I didn't want her to continue to waste her energy on somebody that didn't deserve it however, so I called the number and left a nice message that went something like this, though it's not verbatim.<br /><br />Me again: Hey, this is the guy who's number you keep texting. Like I said before, I'm not Brian and I don't know who he is. I'm sorry that he's given you so much grief. But hey, life can be like that sometimes and you really shouldn't let it get you down. Please though, stop texting me. I mean, I've got a pretty high limit anyway, but like I said, I'm not Brian. Laters.<br /><br />Just to be absolutely sure, I took the following picture and texted <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> to her.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKtTrtClp7Ou5AJlgW6kwq_xl4FrU_ONECxxde3JGWLtJ6sS6Mslm14WVKFhKYJYQwOZlY1UGfmFeTOcrRsnvAD_RG5X34N4qxym4k6te722nb0uMAqcATIZFPS7u6B_R-LLQ7ESaaQn4/s1600/IMG_0189%5B1%5D.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 236px; height: 315px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKtTrtClp7Ou5AJlgW6kwq_xl4FrU_ONECxxde3JGWLtJ6sS6Mslm14WVKFhKYJYQwOZlY1UGfmFeTOcrRsnvAD_RG5X34N4qxym4k6te722nb0uMAqcATIZFPS7u6B_R-LLQ7ESaaQn4/s400/IMG_0189%5B1%5D.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516238139856398130" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The phone call and the picture seemed to be enough, because I got another text a few minutes later.<br /><br />Calmer girl: Ok, Im Wrong... I Got The Numbers Mixed Up. Im So Sorry and Am So Embarrassed. Please Forgive Me About All This? It Wont Happen Again... Sorry<br /><br />Apparently she was sorry enough to capitalize all but one of the words. It was an honest mistake, and I replied as such.<br /><br />Me: It's okay. I hope you get the bastard good if he is cheating on you though. Have a nice day :)<br /><br />Her: U too! Sorry about that once again.<br /><br />Obviously I won't share the number, but I also won't share the name of the poor girl who felt the need to so vocally (textually?) lash out at whoever this asshole Brian is, or 'B' as his friends and loved ones like to call him. If only all wrong numbers could be this hilarious.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-35870535580363871512010-08-10T11:42:00.000-07:002010-08-10T13:34:52.865-07:00Jobs past come to haunt me...If you've worked retail, I feel it's only right that I warn you the following blog may dredge up long buried memories of idiots gnawing away at your sanity and IQ points with their never ending need of stuff.<br /><br />My first retail job was at Best Buy, but I didn't really have any problems there. Hastings is where the real problems with working retail started to crop up, and to this day I still remember some of the more... fascinating idiots and instances.<br /><br />The more readily remembered problems come from when I had to work in the book section of the store. Now, I love books. I don't read them as much as I should, but a lot of people don't either apparently. Despite this, they seem to have passing knowledge of books that may or may not have existed. It was common for somebody to ask for a book, but give only the barest of details:<br /><br />"Do you have a book?" (I don't know, do we?) "It has a dog in it, but I think the dog dies... maybe not. But the family is really sad because of something with the dog... but it might have been a cat. So can you tell me where it is?"<br /><br />I enjoy being helpful, I really do, but when I'm given an impossible task and then a dirty look/comment when I can't deliver (through no fault of my own), I want to get off the ride. There were a couple times when I had to work books that I would take off my name tag, sit down in a chair and read a book. At least I was lucky to be trusted enough to not be checked up on.<br /><br />Yet as bad as the book section could be, it doesn't hold a candle to working the register. After all, not everybody will go over to books, but they all will go to the register if they're buying something. I have plenty of stories to tell about stupid customers berating me for asking to check their ID when they pay with their debit card, or getting angry when I wouldn't help them cheat the buy two get one free system.<br /><br />No. They pale in comparison to the contingent promotions we had to suffer through. Y'know, the "If <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> doesn't happen, the customer gets <span style="font-weight: bold;">this</span>" kind of thing. The Hastings version was if the worker at the register didn't ask the customer if they wanted to buy a Snickers, they would get one for free. The promotion details were in plain sight at the register so it was hard to miss, and when something free is on the line it <span style="font-style: italic;">doesn't</span> get missed.<br /><br />Conceptually, it's easy to remember to ask a customer if they'd like to buy a Snickers, but it doesn't hold up in practice. Especially after five hours of it. It would be so damn frustrating to not miss a beat for hours, only to forget to ask an obnoxious jerk who rubs it in your face. For instance, a soccer mom who poked me in the chest and laughed, calling me incompetent as she did so. Is it any wonder that I can come off as bitter? There were so many times I wished I could fire back at them, like so:<br /><br />"Look, I'm exhausted. I've been at this for about seven hours now, and I'm here another two. So you have essentially outsmarted a practically non-responsive lump of clay. Good job. Here's your #$@&ing Snickers." And then I throw it at them. Or better yet, smash the Snickers and drop it in their bag. The promotion says nothing of the condition their candy will be in after all.<br /><br />There were a few shining spots where I was able to reverse my mistake. A teenage girl got all snotty and excited when I forgot to ask the question, to which I replied. "Well, I actually have until the transaction is over, and it's not. So would you like to buy a Snickers?" I'd never seen a smile wither into a frown that fast before or since. It made my day.<br /><br />What I've written here is just the tip of an iceberg that extends far into the frigid depths of the hell known as unrewarding customer service in a retail environment. For all the crap I put up with, I had friends there and they helped to make it pretty enjoyable. Maybe I'll talk about them some time for a happy blog post.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-6749978606018792862010-07-18T01:27:00.001-07:002010-07-18T01:27:52.237-07:00InceptionMakes me want to be the best writer I can be.<br /><br />I'll put more here when I get around to it.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-81305889180152232832010-07-03T14:23:00.000-07:002010-07-03T14:56:21.191-07:00You and Your Waylon Jennings: Live!Below is a video of me reciting my winning poem at the LitFest awards ceremony. Either because mine was the shortest of all the winning entries, or because none of the other poetry winners wanted to, I was the only one to read that night. I wanted to say a lot more, but I didn't really know how much time I had up there. So naturally, I said the one thing that I felt mattered the most: I wrote it for a friend, and not to win.<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='450' height='373' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxnD3RFO5poiwLC8D95XgKlq8iGtdH7-RKRjGxasn7ccwaZ9hh6tqMZNgntqx9u-G-Tf5_loVsArN2nVNSkWQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />It still amazes me that I won, and it's renewed my sense of confidence that I can be successful as a writer. I hope to do a lot of writing for my summer vacation, and I plan on submitting my stuff to different publications as well. Though I am planning to keep my expectations realistic, I think I have a pretty good chance of getting <span style="font-style: italic;">something</span> published.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-54719478587984688052010-06-07T08:35:00.000-07:002010-06-07T08:41:25.413-07:00If you give a mouse a cookie......it’s going to want a glass of milk. If you give it a glass of milk, it’s going to ask for a straw. If you give it a straw, it’s going to be much too big, and that little mouse will surely asphyxiate on the sharp red plastic instrument of death you gave it to drink the milk to wash down the cookie you gave it.<br /><br />Soon enough the mouse’s family will learn about what transpired and they will file a wrongful death lawsuit. Because the mouse you so heartlessly killed has such a huge family, they have many connections and hire some of the best attorneys they can get. The initial legal proceedings will seem to drag on forever, and no matter how you beg and plead, the judge will refuse to throw out the case simply because “they’re mice!”<br /><br />When the trial proper finally does start, it will not only be a major financial drain, but it will be an emotional one as well. The long nights staying up with your defense attorneys (who are frankly no match for the legal team representing the deceased mouse’s family) makes your wife feel neglected even though you’ve explained to her time and again that this is all necessary if she doesn’t want her husband going to prison for killing a mouse.<br /><br />A few months into the trial however, you and your wife have decided on a trial separation (y’know, just to give each other some space (which you already had because of the lawsuit)). With the added stress of your wife having left you, the trial begins to eat away at your sanity.<br /><br />Every day you have to fight to ignore all of the furious squeaking coming from all of the mice in the gallery, all there with the hope that you be found guilty. When it finally comes time for you to take the stand, you can’t believe what you are seeing: mice damn near everywhere, and all of them hate you (except for maybe Terrence, because he’s always had it in for Steve (the mouse you killed) but he has to act like he’s angry so he doesn’t arouse the suspicion of his family).<br /><br />Just as you are about to snap under all of the pressure and sheer lunacy of what has consumed your life over the past 11 months, Steve (the mouse you apparently <span style="font-style: italic;">didn’t</span> kill) storms into the courtroom and demands they set you free, as all along it was Terrence that tried to kill him. Terrence denies it, but he is arrested on the spot and you are allowed to go free.<br /><br />Months pass.<br /><br />Your wife has come back, and things are essentially back to normal. Unfortunately, Terrence has escaped from prison, and you are first on his list of things to do… IN!<br /><br />By giving animals rights, this kind of situation is to be expected. So, given all of this information, would you still give a mouse a cookie?<br /><br /><br />I wrote all of this for my Intro to Ethics class. We have readings assigned every day and we have to write at least a page about what we read. The page is called a ticket, and if I don't have a ticket I can't be in class that day. This particular reading was about how silly it was to give animals rights. So I decided to be funny with it.<br /><br />Also, at the end of every ticket we have to ask a question that pertains to the reading, which is why it's there at the end there.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-69191125183507706282010-05-19T13:47:00.001-07:002010-05-19T15:25:45.162-07:00Being fiscally (ir)responsible<div>For years, about 10 or so, the family television has served us well. It's a great television with a fairly decent sized screen and nice picture. A couple months ago however, it started to malfunction. The top of the screen began folding over on top of itself. Think of the TV screen as a slinky. When it's compressed, the picture is fine and whole. If you take the topmost coils and fold it in front of it, they'll be spaced apart and showing whatever is on that part of the screen. Not only that, it was getting worse.<br /><br />The original plan was to move my parents TV upstairs when they got a new one, or the problem with the old one became too much and they'd <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> to replace it. But I was given permission to buy a new one altogether. Me? Buy a television? Of course I've fantasized about owning such an electronic staple, but I never actually have. Since I was given the go ahead... well, let me explain that I don't pay rent in money, but in work. I really can't afford rent, so it would be a slap in the face to drop money I <span style="font-style: italic;">don't have</span> on something I don't need (see how the 'don't need' wasn't italicized?). But, anyway.<br /><br />I was given the go ahead to buy a TV so I started researching, and I decided that the TV I wanted would be 37"-40", 1080p and a Sony, LG or Sharp. Next was deciding where, but that was taken care of Monday night when I saw two options at Costco. One was a Philips 47" 1080p 60Mhz LCD, and the other a Sony 40" 1080p 120Mhz LCD and both were the same price. The Philips was bigger, but the Sony had double the refresh rate and looked bigger. I called my uncle Mike for advice and he asked about the refresh rate. I forgot the refresh rate for the Sony and assumed it too was 60, so I'm glad the call got me to take a close look at both. The Sony has a much clearer, less pixelized picture, so that's what I went with.<br /><br />So, I present the unboxing pictures I took of my awesome new TV. One that I plan on having for a very, very long time, because I don't like dropping huge amounts of money on any one thing. By the way, the pictures were taken using my cell, and I have no idea how to properly arrange pictures on here.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVQfzmQMe5eyHkC_K_PwJOyNNi2AkCMg28qEE0kpQcOmp-MVFBWsvtQ39keIspT1Ihl1JBk58lEB6VtDBrQvm59cj_SQD6UzgyoyfajmgGNG6jv9v2SIDNh2hchrnnJe9dvxmVuEnhkS0/s1600/100517_205524.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 256px; float: right; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473107578755110754" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVQfzmQMe5eyHkC_K_PwJOyNNi2AkCMg28qEE0kpQcOmp-MVFBWsvtQ39keIspT1Ihl1JBk58lEB6VtDBrQvm59cj_SQD6UzgyoyfajmgGNG6jv9v2SIDNh2hchrnnJe9dvxmVuEnhkS0/s320/100517_205524.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2zFu71u2yEIeMhY5Xw0RDZJUcLagdhAsR3RLYqwW1NHivpymACjq-2pGXKUYpvvVMOqKpZjxUdMmf3eNlOADYjH1Anrn4cgsCiN5uwWpbv4LbBSBTPlUW8i2BAwpCtOtoCFOFgY9gFg8/s1600/100517_203529.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px; float: left; height: 256px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473107466630745698" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2zFu71u2yEIeMhY5Xw0RDZJUcLagdhAsR3RLYqwW1NHivpymACjq-2pGXKUYpvvVMOqKpZjxUdMmf3eNlOADYjH1Anrn4cgsCiN5uwWpbv4LbBSBTPlUW8i2BAwpCtOtoCFOFgY9gFg8/s320/100517_203529.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ngEpmA8-NqS1Ir8USzLoky41k9NGJSEMmZ1qvgR0n_gAtciaHAv35J2oPDmX3jdlRq9ylF-tViBcSjx02xs00G_5K0FCkqha7jVz0ERdIUR9fBBSox3g04y1q7inflvKjLhm01YHHy8/s1600/100517_202918.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 256px; float: left; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473107188210994338" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ngEpmA8-NqS1Ir8USzLoky41k9NGJSEMmZ1qvgR0n_gAtciaHAv35J2oPDmX3jdlRq9ylF-tViBcSjx02xs00G_5K0FCkqha7jVz0ERdIUR9fBBSox3g04y1q7inflvKjLhm01YHHy8/s320/100517_202918.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhByr4VGI2p1ZgUh00KCEhyphenhyphenUJ0jH7DIIfBiuhfIM4rz3MDd4W1vPgivtz3_rjCYfc4x-kOYs5nqWjyC4uI3KA57i15bAwoybzL4USLyI7pE9UTbZXW90uE_zQBGdYUs5j6IKR2LSR1FvtU/s1600/100517_203122.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px; float: right; height: 256px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473107280901657138" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhByr4VGI2p1ZgUh00KCEhyphenhyphenUJ0jH7DIIfBiuhfIM4rz3MDd4W1vPgivtz3_rjCYfc4x-kOYs5nqWjyC4uI3KA57i15bAwoybzL4USLyI7pE9UTbZXW90uE_zQBGdYUs5j6IKR2LSR1FvtU/s320/100517_203122.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /></div><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 256px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473107736288419154" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiduM8Cqt2F3PXbGsnFGnmRXTiJXi5BzKjeLTFr_oP_3MYQwmYxyLpZsNnpTZBqEoZjZcXELlBXFRLQ8OInchF-gyEvQPnbtIlTmNgtZd1OBndtlFRD7mhKba8I8YrIdgkcY5QszSTr6ow/s320/100517_210836.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />ps. Love the TV, but I hate the way Blogger handles pictures.<br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-54870328855179281652010-05-03T21:30:00.000-07:002010-05-04T10:06:31.137-07:00There are so many people to thank...Well, not really. But the ones that do deserve thanks deserve big chunks of the stuff. If you're not a friend of mine on Facebook, or one of the people I called while all giddy with excitement (I can get giddy, why not?), I have won the writing competition of the Mid-Columbia Literary Festival. I'm under the impression that I've won the grand prize, which also includes first place in my category and division.<br /><br />I submitted a work of fiction, and a poem, and the poem is what won. My story didn't win anything, but that's not too surprising as there's a lot left to be done with it. It'll be a book someday, but only because that's what it wants to be. Anyway, my poem. I'll put it at the end of the post, so if you want to skip past all this to read it you can. I won't be offended.<br /><br />The poem itself was inspired by a girl I work with. She actually showed interest in what I wrote, and liked all of it. I told her I was going to write a poem about her, and it was going to be called You and Your Waylon Jennings. It didn't quite turn out the way I had expected, but I really liked what I had. She really liked it too, and that's really all that mattered.<br /><br />Then it came time to turn in my journal for creative writing last quarter. I needed 32 journal entries, four poems at least 14 lines long, and a story at least 6 pages long. I had the entries, story, and three poems,<span style="font-style: italic;"></span> and so I decided to toss in that one as well. When I got my journal back, the poem had a simple "Love this" written on it in red ink. I knew I'd be turning something in for the competition, so I figured why not this poem.<br /><br />I turned it in on April 16, and up until a couple days ago, I thought it had a chance to win. Then I looked over the rules and saw I'd get a call or letter in late April. It having just turned May, I shrugged my shoulders and gave a sigh of "Oh, well. At least I tried." It was until I got home from school today when my mom asked if I'd heard the "great news." Being all dreary I told her I didn't know of <span style="font-style: italic;">any </span>great news.<br /><br />When she told me I just about lost it. I couldn't believe that I had won. I thought at first I'd just gotten first place in my division, but she's almost positive I won the grand prize. I'm trying my best to stay level headed, but it's just not working. I'm stopping into the coordinator's office tomorrow to verify, but with how excited she was on the phone I think I got the grand prize. She even wants me to read it in front of the audience, which I'll be more than happy to do. I'll be leaving work early to go do it, and I'm secretly hoping I'll get to say a few words too.<br /><br />I'm just really happy that I won, and I'm hoping somebody :cough:Lisa:cough: will be able to record it all. I want the people I want to thank get to hear/see it :) So, without further ado, my poem...<br /><br />You and Your Waylon Jennings<br /><br />You and your Waylon Jennings,<br />crooning from your Toyota<br />factory standard speakers.<br />Is that how you hear him?<br />Or are you there,<br />inside the studio?<br />The crumbling black<br />of the padded walls<br />for better acoustics, not<br />the hysterics you must be in.<br />Watching it happen, laying<br />down the master tracks you love<br />so dearly. No static here,<br />or aged fidelity.<br /><br />And that's it... I still can't believe I won. I'm happy. :)Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-412918807667936192010-04-27T21:16:00.000-07:002010-04-27T21:35:44.950-07:00Read this. I'm not even kidding, just read itTonight at work, my friend/boss Brandon was cleaning out the freezer and found that box right there. He called me over and told me to look at what it said. As you can plainly see, it's a box full of Aunt Jemima's Original Pancakes. Nothing out of the ordinary...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqAClpI1dWnwLRfCWNXIvA3LMIknBVcKdr3PpEeUyg1zPqDo8Ueii8_angp5eDbXdf3UpBuFz_hfug6tH-A69HI99MuZX-s6IaFcWYpbdd320kFC7HCJRE-nRV58E_hKaIJidDEpb8Qw0/s1600/Oh,+pancakes.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqAClpI1dWnwLRfCWNXIvA3LMIknBVcKdr3PpEeUyg1zPqDo8Ueii8_angp5eDbXdf3UpBuFz_hfug6tH-A69HI99MuZX-s6IaFcWYpbdd320kFC7HCJRE-nRV58E_hKaIJidDEpb8Qw0/s400/Oh,+pancakes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465038618206497538" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Then he turned it slightly and showed me the words French Toas (let's just pretend there's a 'T' there, mmkay?) handwritten on the side. Okay, "That's a bit off" I thought. But then...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMT3W7moiH80evmcWJGFiyQz65lprm3mOKm7vEWkJaXaaOuVVr1MgDBbP5YsWmn17vyaJ18PSE_hOEIwnTV1JOH5cB7GAm53iknvWTDrrXTNkJieL7bwOrXv3zMoRyoCnukCvvrzqJj7A/s1600/Er,+french+toast.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMT3W7moiH80evmcWJGFiyQz65lprm3mOKm7vEWkJaXaaOuVVr1MgDBbP5YsWmn17vyaJ18PSE_hOEIwnTV1JOH5cB7GAm53iknvWTDrrXTNkJieL7bwOrXv3zMoRyoCnukCvvrzqJj7A/s400/Er,+french+toast.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465038622968391618" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Wait for it...<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS6ZZVGoVhZAiInzuatEnfBWSQ8-ef3W9C2yOXshY9IFPvc7_hxP8H7bpdBKPc15-DiMmdmTR6jv4Z5dB_mZjY6URfQehawZRQiFEpqpj92-4kssdWXWajWaeuBw7BFOr0Q1fErD3ecn8/s1600/What+the%21.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS6ZZVGoVhZAiInzuatEnfBWSQ8-ef3W9C2yOXshY9IFPvc7_hxP8H7bpdBKPc15-DiMmdmTR6jv4Z5dB_mZjY6URfQehawZRQiFEpqpj92-4kssdWXWajWaeuBw7BFOr0Q1fErD3ecn8/s400/What+the%21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465038635271116114" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Yes. Your eyes are not deceiving you, and this isn't a different box. There were waffles inside of the pancake box, marked as having french toast.<br /><br />I guess I should have warned those of you with a history of brain hemmorrhaging, but I didn't get a warning either. Anyway, these are the kinds of shenanigans that will be gotten up to in a kitchen environment.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-75683253062936149022010-04-25T14:02:00.000-07:002010-04-25T14:53:55.505-07:00It was supposed to be a "transient" position...Yesterday, the 24th, marked my two year anniversary of working at Red Lion as a dishwasher. This is the longest I've ever had the same job, and I owe that to the people that I work and have worked with. It also has a lot to do with the fact that I don't have to deal with the public.<br /><br />Directly anyway. Yes, I'm aware that I'm essentially dealing with the food remnants left behind by groups of people ranging in size from small, large and why don't you all just go somewhere else?!, but it's still easier to deal with than people. I don't think I would have been able to put up with it if I hadn't worked at Amazon.com before.<br /><br />I almost quit after a couple weeks because the previous dishwasher kept telling me how poorly I was doing. It's true that I wasn't the fastest dishwasher, but everything that came out of the machine was clean. It was this slowness that helped me to lose around 15 pounds. I never had time to eat, so I drank water which in turn was sweated away. Somewhat unfortunately, I got faster at my job and the weight came back. There aren't many healthy options when short order items are all you've got to feed yourself with.<br /><br />Working strictly evenings also made it easier when I decided to go back to school. The problem with working evenings however, is that I wasn't always able to get out at a reasonable time. I had a strong motivator to get out before 10, but sometimes even <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> wasn't enough. Like the time I worked a 13 hour shift.<br /><br />One day, a couple months after I started, I was scheduled from 11AM to Close. When I left the house, nobody saw me go and I didn't have a cell phone yet so I couldn't call or be reached by anybody; this would lead to trouble. There were three events that day that each had over 150-200 people, and I would be handling it all myself.<br /><br />It was hell in a poorly ventilated dishpit.<br /><br />Except for a 10 minute break seven hours in, I worked non-stop. I just kept telling myself that it would be over eventually and to just keep going. To illustrate how long this shift was, KaTrina called the hotel around 11:30 and asked to speak to the dishwasher. She was transferred to the lounge because I couldn't hear the phone, and Summer (the bartender that night, who still works there and is a friend) came to find me outside, emptying the trash.<br /><br />"Are you Kelly?"<br />"Yeah, that's me. Do you need something?"<br />"No, it's just you have a phone call."<br /><br />I was too tired to be surprised or curious, so I followed her back to the lounge and took the phone. The following is kind of a summation as I was half dead at the time it took place.<br /><br />"Hello?"<br />"Kelly, are you alright? This is KaTrina."<br />"Oh, hey. What's up?"<br />"What? Where have you been? Your family and I have been worried about you."<br />"I've been at work."<br />"At work!?"<br />"Yeah. Don't worry, I should be done soon."<br />"When did you get to work?"<br />"At 11. I've just been working."<br />"Okay, but you had us scared."<br />"I'm sorry. There's just a few more things to do and that's it."<br />"Good. Don't stay much longer. Good night Kelly."<br />"Good night. Thanks for calling, I should be fine now."<br /><br />And then I worked another hour and a half, haha. It's funny to think about it now, but that day just sucked. I've gotten a lot better, so that will never happen again, but it can still be really taxing to clean up after so many people. The huge Mother's Day brunch is coming up, and though it's my third time doing it, I'm still worried. Maybe that's why dishwashers never have the job for more than a few months.<br /><br />But I've always been an outlier when it comes to statistics :) Here's hoping I won't have a third anniversary post.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-85327265546319294382010-03-05T17:20:00.000-08:002010-03-05T19:45:25.817-08:0028th Birthday Post Mortem Pt 2: Happy EndingsSorry this took so long to get up, but I just haven't been in a posting mood. It was a chore to even get the last post up. Today was a really good day though, and it has something to do with my birthday so here we go :)<br /><br />Though I had my birthday party the day before, I was taken out to dinner at Red Lobster <span style="font-style: italic;">on</span> my birthday by my fabulous mother. I went through plenty of cheddar bay biscuits, and almost all of my shrimp. After that we went to the mall to get my birthday present: a jacket from Old Navy that I'd had my eye on for a couple months. Unfortunately, they were all out and weren't getting any more in. It was disappointing, but my Mom felt worse about it than I did. She suggested I leave it for my birthday, and, well, this happened.<br /><br />She more than made up for it by buying me five volumes of my favorite manga One Piece. It's going through a sped up release schedule, with five volumes per month, so it was a great help :)<br /><br />But that jacket. I wanted that jacket. It was so cool!<br /><br />It looked like this.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsx6gSxvQBTX8pUahywtwH9Tk49q3xAKH_ZKL4cVT0Qi2g44U2-DRfhNkXYYlprJmYteq5b4v9Ws3PvT4-Mu-5prdmk3PEBjPLQMsGkhQhLY4Bp00gluySkO_jFflEx9qq542ipHduyPU/s1600-h/My+new+jacket%21+-+Small.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsx6gSxvQBTX8pUahywtwH9Tk49q3xAKH_ZKL4cVT0Qi2g44U2-DRfhNkXYYlprJmYteq5b4v9Ws3PvT4-Mu-5prdmk3PEBjPLQMsGkhQhLY4Bp00gluySkO_jFflEx9qq542ipHduyPU/s400/My+new+jacket%21+-+Small.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445353490255406898" border="0" /></a>GASP! Is that the jacket that I wanted? Why yes it is! I had today off, and I was once again sitting on the couch, looking around online when I decided I would go out and DO something with my day off.<br /><br />I went out to the mall expecting to look around the few stores I frequent (Barnes and Noble, Old Navy, and GameStop) and have lunch at Chico's Tacos. After a quick glance through B&N, I went to Old Navy and began looking around not expecting to get anything when I saw it.<br /><br />Once I confirmed it was the jacket I wanted, I called my Mom to let her know she didn't need to feel bad anymore. She shouldn't have felt bad to begin with, as she was only telling me to be patient and responsible with my money.<br /><br />That doesn't matter now though, as she is officially off the hook, and I got the birthday present that I wanted. Since I was feeling pretty good about finding the jacket, I thought I would spoil myself a bit and maybe get something else while I was out. I got lucky though :)<br /><br />I bought a new copy Advance Wars: Days of Ruin for the DS for super cheap ($10 instead of the usual price of $35), and volumes 34 and 35 of One Piece (leaving 36-38 for later). I also treated myself to lunch at Chico's. All in all, a very good day. And now...<br /><br />... I can finally look cool.<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgovqhGAVSBJl5zQx-bo-nZ1X2fvRTe_w-UkSRou_G-nmIJCv4PWWZaZ9q5HcgwnPlcK3hTOrmHoG6b224HyECWv-CRTa82P4XJYqH_NxvUO4p-LLaQSwKWETXtpZZ8De17MJL78E09Lrw/s1600-h/Oh,+so+mysterious+-+Scaled.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgovqhGAVSBJl5zQx-bo-nZ1X2fvRTe_w-UkSRou_G-nmIJCv4PWWZaZ9q5HcgwnPlcK3hTOrmHoG6b224HyECWv-CRTa82P4XJYqH_NxvUO4p-LLaQSwKWETXtpZZ8De17MJL78E09Lrw/s400/Oh,+so+mysterious+-+Scaled.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445353486952734722" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The birthday posting isn't quite over yet. I still have pictures of the incredible cake that I had for my birthday, and that will take a post in and of itself.<br /><br />Not only that I was really hoping to hang out with my friend Amber on my birthday too, but she's been in the cold grip of multiple employers so unfortunately that wasn't an option. She even got me a present, so until I get it my birthday isn't quite over yet. Just come back for part 3!<br /></div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6398453368671295536.post-91652505161555898542010-02-23T10:38:00.000-08:002010-02-23T10:57:05.033-08:0028th Birthday Post-Mortem Pt 1.Celebrating my birthday came early this year. My sister Courtney got me my first present around the 11th. She got me chocolate frosted donettes from Wal-Mart, a thing of Peachy-O's, a couple balloons (helium filled, mind you) and a card. The outside of the card read: "Know what you're getting for your birthday?" and the inside was blank :) I got a great laugh out of it, and it might be one of my favorite birthday cards ever.<br /><br />Skip forward to last Friday, and the really cool stuff happened. I got to go see Everclear in concert! I've been waiting about 14 years to see them, and even though it's not the same lineup it was still incredible. I got my picture taken with Art and got an autograph too. I went with my friends Mindy and Andrew so the trip was a lot of fun too.<br /><br />I missed the deadline to request the entire weekend off, so I had to work Saturday, but that went by really quick. I did manage to request Sunday and Monday off however, so Sunday dinner became my birthday dinner with the family. Donald and Lisa got me an awesome song writing book, so I'll be putting good and extended use to that for sure. So Sunday was a very good and relaxing prologue to my actual birthday on Monday.<br /><br />When I realized my birthday fell on a Monday, I decided I would stay home from school. Yes, I can hear your collective gasps and takings of umbrage, but it's <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> birthday. Don't worry, I'm here today and I won't be absent again.<br /><br />So taking advantage of my truancy, I slept in 'til about 9:40 when I got a text from my friend Mike wishing me a happy birthday. He was second only to KaTrina, who wished it to me on Facebook at 5:19AM PST (7:19AM CST). She's always very punctual. I didn't get a present from her (yet?), but then again, I never told her what I would like.<br /><br />I have an idea in mind, but I'll leave that for Part 2 of my 28th Birthday Post-Mortem Extravaganza Spectacular!Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03116522230896455608noreply@blogger.com2