Eight days a week is not enough to show I care…

-The Beatles.

{I have a strange reason for using that song’s lyrics, you’ll find it out if you read on}


Not a whole lot has happened since my last entry, four days ago.
Our drier was fixed, so luckily I won’t have to be subjected to the horrible country music playing in the laundromat. 😉
I went back to school to hang out with people on Thursday, and I had a blast for the most part, but a few things I used to wonder when I was actually in school came to mind again. Like, if there is a person a few of my friends don’t like, they’ll act all nice to them and then say what they really think once the person leaves. I often wonder if they do the same thing with me. Act all normal with me when I’m there, but the second I leave, I’m afraid that they talk about me like that, like I’m the friend they don’t want around and wish wasn’t there, etc.

Even though that is stupid. My friends are pretty open with who they like. Jarrod and Chris [in particular] are very vocal about who they like and don’t like. Yet, I still find myself wondering these things.

Friday was not very fun. I had an argument with my parents in the morning, before it was even like 7am.  I can’t even exactly remember what it was about. The day before, mother had asked me to clean the bathroom, do the dishes, etc. She asked me in a hoity toity tone exactly what did I use to clean the sink bcause it wasn’t very clean. Then dad had to comment on something. When there are a crapload of dishes to do, I will do them a little at a time so it’s not so overwhelming. I’ll run super ultra hot water and stick the dishes in there, then go away for like half an hour, then do up the dishes. That morning, dad informed me I’d be doing the dishes all at once. Being already aggrevated by mother’s comments, and the fact that my moods were on a dysfunctional roller coaster due to it being that time of the month, I asked if he was saying that just to be an ass. He told me he was saying that because I was a lazy bitch. Or something like that.

I just cried. I’d worked really hard on the dishes and cleaning the bathroom, and all I was getting was complaining that I didn’t do it the way my mother or father would have done it. I was like, if they didn’t like how I did it, they could do it their own goddam selves.

Just because I do it a different way doesn’t mean it’s “not the right way”. Another testament to the fact that I really goddam need to get out of this house.

So anyway. There is a series of kareoke contests in bars around Belmond, etc. You can win a 50 dollar gift card, or cash (depending on what bar you go to), and you get into the finals in December, for a chance to win up to 1000 bucks in cash and prizes. I decided to go that night. I didn’t know if anyone I’d know would be there, but I wanted to go anyway. I needed the sort of charge I get from singing in front of people.

But, Jenny and her sister were there. Which was great because I’d been dying to see them, but bad because it meant I’d have some damn good competition.

Not everything was judged though. For a while they were just running regular kareoke, and I sang my kareoke song, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, by Elton John. I looked at the screen once. That is how well I know the song. It’s so fucking great. Look it up on youtube. Elton John=win.

Anyway. For the actual judged contest part, I sang my standard “I will always love you” by Whitney Houston, and it was one of only like two times that I remember everyone in the bar bursting into thunderous applause.

The final tallies ended up being very close. There was a one point difference between the three highest scores. I won by one point. I’m assuming Jenny and her sister were the other two, because quite frankly we were almost the only people that sang who could actually carry a tune, and do it well. There were others that were okay, but Jenny, Amanda, and I were the best there. And I usually don’t have an ego, so that’s saying something. ^^; Hopefully next week,  Amanda or Jenny wins. I was going to go back next week to hang out with Jenny and such, but I can’t. I have to work.

Anyway. Moving on.

So, this morning, I did a bit of shopping around town with my mother. I made her go to the second hand store, where I got these two cute little glass things that my mother says are supposed to be vases but I think they make cute little swanky glasses. They probably hold a couple shots so the way I see it they’re just elegant shot glasses. 😛 And and and.. Omg. In the vinyl department, I got yet another K-Tel compellation album, and “Close to You” by the Carpenters, with my all time favorite Carpenters song, “We’ve Only Just Begun” on it. In the 45’s department, I got a beat up copy of “It’s too late” by Carole King to make into a clock (At a gift shop at some museum, someone had made clocks out of old 45s, that’s where the idea came from), and and and…

The EIGHT DAYS A WEEK single. I could have cried. It’s in perfect condition. More about that later though.

Anyway. I worked today, washing dishes for a wedding. Last Saturday was kind of bad, even though I was only there for about four hours. Today, I was barely there for three.

It’s kinda bad, though. See, our clocks at home and the clocks at work are off. I can leave when our clocks at home say five minutes before the hour, and end up getting to work on time or early. Today, apparently my mother freaked out and called home because I wasn’t there right when the work clocks said six pm. Thing is, it probably wasn’t even ten till on our clocks, and I literally only have a like, two mile drive to work. Sometimes I barely hear one full song on the radio, that’s how quick it is.

Anyway. Work was not a breeze but by no means was it terrible. It was actually quite easy, it was just the fact that we had a lot of strange dishes. Not just cups and plates, etc. I brought in my brother’s old boombox because the clock radio I used to have at work no longer functions.

And. I had previously thought the boombox’s cd player didn’t work, but I tried it out tonight and lo and behold, it did. So, my co-workers got to listen to random songs from Def Leppard’s “Songs from the Sparkle Lounge” album. They probably heard ‘Go’ about three times. xD

I was also given some good news. As you know, my boss at PM Park owns another restaurant. She said, a dishwasher there is quitting so, I’m going to get Tuesdays and Thursdays, and possibly Saturdays there. This means I’ll have a regular job, guaranteed. Granted, it’s only three days a week and that is not enough to survive on, but at least it will be some regular guaranteed income. I’ll still look for more work, but the situation won’t be as dire as it was, say, when I was looking for a job before, what with going to temp agencies, finding no luck, parents constantly yelling at me and threatening to kick me out for not having a job, etc.

A song comes to mind. Good News, by Dobie Gray.

“Aint that good news, man, ain’t that news.”. 🙂
On that note, I have to go to the other restaurant on Wednesday for training. Then I work Thursday and Friday (But not Saturday) at PM Park. On that note. I could still go hang out at the bar with Jenny and her sister, I’d just get there late. Whatever.

Anyway. Back to work tonight. Considering I had to park in the boonies, I got really freaked out having to walk to my car in the dark. Then, when I got to my car, I was suddenly paranoid that someone or something was around it or in it, which was of course stupid and unfounded.

Anyway, I took a bath when I got home, as we’re going to a Renaissance festival in Minnesota tomorrow morning, really early (or else I’d have waited until then).

So anyway, after that, the Eight Days a Week single I spoke of earlier just begged to be put on the record player downstairs, to see if it was as immaculate as it looked. And it was. That version was a bit slower than I’m used to, but I swear, it wasn’t even warped or anything, it played perfectly. After that, I figured as long as the record player was on, I’d play a few more 45s. I played “My Kinda Lover” by Billy Squier, and it played just fine. I put on “Desert Moon” by Dennis De Young and it was seriously so badly warped, it was scaring me (I have strange music related fears, one of these being distorted, warpy, wrong speed sounding record music). It didn’t look like it was warped, only like it had a few minor scratches. But then it had that stupid skip where it repeats, and I was like, “Fuck that, I’m turning this single into a clock”. Or maybe I’ll try to turn it into a candy dish or a little wall plaque or something but I am NOT ever ever ever playing it again. So after that, I put on “When you close your eyes” by Night Ranger. I’d played that single before and it sounded just fine, but this time, it was sounding almost scarily warped as well. It wasn’t as bad as the previous one, but it just sounded a little off. I decided to stop the song before it was done. I lifted the needle and went to put it away, and it seriously felt like someone ripped the needle thing out of my hand and snapped it back to the middle of the record. Of course it wasn’t still spinning or anything, but that freaked me out a lot more than it should have.

I was rambling as if in the mania stage of manic depression. I was talking a mile a minute, going “I knew I shouldn’t have played records today, I thought I was over the fear of stopping records before they’re done, but now I’m practically straight back to where I was, I hate that, it freaks me out and I really really hate it, etc etc”.
Which I realize is retarded, looking back at it now. Still. Why would it freak me out so much at first?

I don’t know but I think my paranoia is getting worse and worse. My brother seems to think it’s all normal, but then it just reiterates my paranoia because when he said that, I thought to myself, “But what if it is paranoia, what if my mental health is going down the shitter, what if there’s something wrong with me and people are just writing it off as normal or as a behavioral issue”. But, I can’t really afford to do anything about it, because we still owe the mental health center 500 dollars from way back when I used to go there.

Which is funny. The mental health center is supposed to help people with mental illnesses but I actually feel more insane when I’m forced to go there. It’s like, I get trapped in this mentally unhealthy energy cloud because of all the people with mental issues that have been there before. So it’s not really an accurate representation of any problems I might have because it feels about ten times worse when I’m there.

Anyway. Tomorrow, as I said before, we are going to the Renaissance Festival in Minnesota, in a city I can’t spell but whose name has something to do with ‘shock’ and ‘pea’. I am pumped for that. Even though it’s supposed to be rainy, it’s going to be a whole lot of epic awesome (even though I am not going in costume, boo)… Lots of pictures will be taken. Speaking of that. I need to finish this entry up to clear my camera up, so my entire 512MB memory card will be available for picture taking Renaissance themed fun.

Toodles. You will probably not hear from me until tomorrow night, depending on when we get home.


One thought on “Eight days a week is not enough to show I care…

  1. Yeah I think your parents just want you to be more active and “responsible” and …well, acting like an adult. Doing chores right and all at once as opposed to them getting on your case like a 9 year old who won’t do her chores. They’re scared b/c you are 21 and nt any further than most people in freshman of high school.Instead of complaining they want you to do something about it.

    Going to get help, well, isn’t it better than the alternative? if you actually get help, as opposed to letting things fester on their own?

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