Monday, July 18, 2005

Waiting to get into Disneyland for it's 50th birthday, 7/17/05. Posted by Picasa
Still waiting to get in. Posted by Picasa
Um, still waiting... Posted by Picasa
Hotel stayers waiting to get in. Posted by Picasa
Almost through the gate! Posted by Picasa
So much gold... Hey, is that Sleeping Beauty and her man? Posted by Picasa
Behold, the complimentary birthday cupcake! Ooh, such heavy frosting... You can't tell in this photo, but there were gold sparklies all over the thing. Posted by Picasa
Getting ready to take the class photo down Main Street. Posted by Picasa
Diane Disney-Miller at the 50th anniversary ceremony. Boy, does she look like her dad. Except more feminine and minus the mustache. Posted by Picasa
Oooh... Posted by Picasa
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty..." Yeah, few people were that day. Lots of people spent the night in their cars waiting to get in. I had basically a four-hour nap and a brush through my hair between work and Disneyland. Posted by Picasa
I think I was about to change my smile to a grin in this one. Posted by Picasa
The Firehouse... Four. Posted by Picasa
The Dapper Dans! Posted by Picasa
My buddy, henceforth on this blog known as Del Drama. Posted by Picasa

Friday, July 15, 2005

This is what I do

I, Pretty McSomethin, being of sound body and mind (as far as I'm aware), admit to the stupidity I have been involved in, as well as continuing to be in. I therefore, reluctantly yet willingly, accept any consequences my actions will create.
I have a second job at a healthy grocery store in the Fairfax district. It will help me out greatly, once the paychecks actually come in (next week). I have a loan on the way, which will probably reach me by the end of the month. And my first job's paycheck comes next week, as well. Tips have been pretty lousy, with my average shift generating about $30. At our meeting, yesterday, my manger made the announcement that some lunch servers were going to be trained for dinner, and my name was mentioned. Naturally, this pissed me off. My angry side took the announcement to mean after all the suffering and crap I've gone through these past few months, they're going to forgive me. Oh, thank you, wonderful employer. I'm so grateful, I'll work the rest of my life for you!
*That was sarcasm.
Besides that rant, I am about $450.00 in the hole. And guess what? I'm not going to deposit any money into my account until sometime next week. Why? Three words: Disneyland's actual birthday.
This Sunday on July 17th, 2005 is Disneyland's actual 50th birthday. I must be a part of it, as this is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing. My annual pass is blocked-out for this day, so I'll have to pay a discounted (I hope) price to get in. I've asked friends and family to come with me, but no one wants to go. But I won't be alone. There is rumored to be over 75,000 people in Disneyland that day. I'll just take my free cupcake and stand in a corner of the park, packed in with thousands of other people around me. I'll get there around 7:00am and be there until around midnight, so I'm sure I'll make friends with somebody in that time.
Meanwhile, I'm really tired. Having a 65+ hour work week, and sometimes working as much as 18 hours a day, is tough. And providing I don't get fired from either job, this schedule will be maintained for 228 more days. When that time is over, I am going to move back in with my parents. There, I will help them out, help myself out, and work on my acting career. I've been living in L.A. for six years, and I haven't don't a thing towards my career, besides take classes, in that time. Wow, I, love, commas.
I think one of the first things I'll do when I move back home is nothing.
I just want to find a way to live and not just survive. I classify living as having the time and resources to be around the ones I care about, and do the things I want to do. There are ways to get there, and I'm just not there. I think I left home too early and entirely unprepared. So I will work on that when I move back home.
These are the things I think about. This is what I do ith my free time.

Sunday, July 3, 2005

Death, Money and PMS (part 2)

So, that whole PMS and greiving thing. Yeah, not working out for me.
In case you haven't noticed by my previous posts, June was not my best month. In fact, 2005 isn't turning into the stellar year I thought it would be. Sure, there are still six months to go, but 50% is an "F" in school, my friend. Maybe I can get extra credit? Yeah, it's gonna get better.
On the plus side, I got a second job. I haven't started it yet, but it'll really help me out.
On Wednesday I called my mom up and suggested to her that we should probably agree to disagree on politics. I also suggested we never talk politics again (a girl can dream, can't she?). Mom complained that she had no one to talk politics with; that she and Dad completely agree. I then said that I didn't feel like we discussed politics, because anytime I brought up a point that was even relatively good, she would dismiss it and then start preaching at me, and I didn't like that. Well, anyway, I thought we agreed that we wouldn't discuss politics, again.
Today my Mom forwarded me an email, with pictures, explaining that this country was in fact founded on Christianity. It was full of pictures of Moses and the ten commandments being displayed in the supreme court, quotes from the first supreme court justice, John Jay, saying that Americans should chose Christians over anyone else for our "rulers" (his word, not mine). Then it said that 86% of Americans believe in God, so the other 14% "should sit down and shut up!" It also asked to please forward it if you agreed with them.
You know what I did? I cried. I've been crying on and off for about three hours, now. Partly grieving for my manager, partly angry at my mom for sending that to me and all the things it may imply, and partly for how crappy everything has been. Then, after finishing crying for the first time, I went back and replied to my Mom's email with a cynical response. I said things like I knew she wasn't actually emailing me that from her, but rather she was showing me what some stupid people emailed her. And I agreed with her that those people were stupid, and isn't it great that we live in a country where we can believe in an all-accepting God who can forgive those people who think they're better than everyone else. I assured her that I would research all of my young, Democratic, idealistic literature to find some happier, more patriotic facts (or at least some insulting ones about John Jay) that she could shove in those peoples faces. I also pointed out in the pictures of the ten commandment tablets that they were written on in Hebrew. I also said that that attitude of "we're-better-and-we-can-prove-it" is the same attitude that led certaint cults in other parts of the world to crach planes into the buildings of people who didn't believe like them. The same attitude, only more desparate.
So I sent that horrible, mean mess, and then I cried. A lot. I wonder if I'll get a response? I wonder if Dad sent it? Boy, will he be in for a shock. But he knows better than that. That's a definite Mom move.
I'll talk to Mom, tomorrow, even if she doesn't want to. We're both behaving like children, and this has got to stop. If she starts talking politics, I'll just have to be assertive.
I don't like being the parent.
Maybe moving back in with my parents isn't a good idea? Oh, wait. I hadn't brought that up on here, yet. Well, next time.

Saturday, July 2, 2005

Death, Money and PMS

Grieving and PMS are not a very good combination.
Last Friday, I told my manager that I was having problems coming up with money, and was there a later day I could pay the rent? He said if I paid on the 3rd, he wouldn't deposit it until the 10th. Later on that day, I saw him walking his dog, a little chihuahua named Butch. Apparently, Butch really liked me, though I couldn't tell from my angle. My manager told me Butch had recently been fixed, and when he was happy, you could really tell. Then as an aside to me, he said,
"Between you and me, I wish I could do that, sometimes."
I have a little strawberry shrub outside my apartment, and there was a little strawberry on it, ready to be picked. My manager said if I didn't eat it, he would. When I did picked it, he came over and put it in the middle of a little coconut shell with coconut ice cream in it. I asked him to share it with me, but he told me to enjoy it. As he went back to his apartment, I called my mom to let him know about the nice thing that had just happened. When I was off the phone, I had finished the dessert. So I rinsed out the shell and took it back over to his placed. The music was playing very loudly, and I knocked on the door a few times. But no one came to the door. He was already dead by then.
I didn't know it, though. He played his music loud, before. Later that evening there were sirens outside. But in L.A. (especially in this area, for whatever reason) there are always sirens outside. As the week went by, my manager was nowhere to be seen or heard. Suddenly, there were flowers and a couple candles around our birdbath. Then one day, my managers headshot was taped to the birdbath. I guess I knew by then, but I thought of alternatives, first. Maybe he's on a trip? Maybe that's his brother's picture? Maybe he and his partner are pagans? It could've been anything.
But then on Thursday, I saw my neighbor and asked her where our manager was, and she asked,
"You mean, you don't know?"
That's really the answer right there, isn't it? Especially when all the clues are pointing in the right direction.
Aparently his partner found him in the apartment, already dead. They don't know how he died (so I'm guessing anneurism or massive heart attack). His partner started putting notices on people's doors, but ran out, so only the upper floor got them. If you're as anti-social as I've been, lately, it can take a while to find these things out, I guess.
Today, I put two strawberries on the birdbath. For his next life, I hope my manager gets a ten-year vacation as a dog.