2002-04-13|9:21 a.m.
This Saturday morning I am at work. Yeah, what's with that?! My store is having a sidewalk sale and it means that they needed someone to come in and set up the drawers so that management could be outside to supervise.
I am really bad about arguing and especially with people that I have closer relationships with. I never give up on it, and eventually it just stops. Sometimes I can even get mean, depending on the topic. The bad thing is, I don't even want to hurt anyone's feelings. Most times I don't even realize that I do. This is something I am going to work on. Promise.
My stepsister had a party at our house last night. I left before they started kicking holes in the wall, fortunately. I really can't stand her kinds of friends. None of them care about anything outside their small sphere of life, except for beautiful celebrities, pop music stars, and models. I can imagine a conversation between one of them.
ME: "So, what do you think about the Kurdish issue in Turkey and the role that US foreign policy plays in it?"
HIM/HER: "Curds are in milk, right?"
ME: "Um, yeah. I am going to go get another beer."
Ok, I note that this makes me sound like an elitist jerk. And maybe in some ways I am. But, the point is, I have nothing in common with these people. In fact, all through high school these people spent a lot of time showing me that we had nothing in common.
They spent a good deal of the night playing with one of the girl's breast implants. Apparently, breast implants, when new, have to wait to "fall." This girl's breasts are yet to fall. When she would raise her arm they would make a loud suction noise. It amazed me how easy it is to get people to play with your breasts when they are NOT REAL.
This week I bought myself something�a clarinet. A beautiful, new, well-made clarinet. I can't wait to get it. I miss playing one. I took lessons in school for about six years and I am not sure why it lasted so long. It wasn't even my choice in instrument. I wanted to play the french horn, because there was this beautiful long fingered girl named Simone that played one and I wanted to be like her. But, my dad found a clarinet at a yard sale and had it repaired. Band teachers would compliment my recognition for tone and urge me to practice more, saying that it was "my instrument." I would get bored of it. I even tried playing the bass clarinet in marching band, but shortly after I quit playing altogether. I gave my clarinet, which needed serious repairs by then, away. Now, as my appreciation for old jazz and ragtime type music grows, I can't help but pick out the recognizable, solemn sound of the clarinet. It is like people who complain that the town they live in has nothing fun to offer, but when they move away and come back to the town to visit its familiarity is comforting.
Maybe if you come and visit, I will play you a song.
Word of the Day: conventicle- an assembly of an irregular or unlawful character/ a secret meeting for worship not sanctioned by law