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Nov. 22nd, 2002 12:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rachg82My head thinks it's going to order me around, and make me go to bed, but it's got another thing coming! You hear that, head? I laugh at your pitiful attempts! I spit on this "migraine"! *spits* See?
Hee. Okay, I'm nuts. Every once in a while, though, I just get so sick of giving into my headaches and lying down and all, that I just want to rebel and say to Hell with it. Like, "fuck you, head! You didn't bother me enough already today? Those three excedrin weren't enough for you? Kiss my white, flabby ass! I'm staying up! That's right! If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me!" Heh, like I have to show the head who's boss here, you know.
Stupid head. Stupid trolls and their stupid conspiricies. I have told you all about the trolls, haven't I? I used to have this joke with a friend of mine about trolls (although they were more like little gnome dudes, but we called them trolls) who lived in our bodies and conspired with our various organs and body parts to try and like bring us to ruin, basically. They wear lederhozen, smoke cigars, and yodel occasionally, as well. They get together and have little meetings, discussing how much they hate me, and which organs they still have to convince to get in on the mission.
Heeeee. Okay, that still makes me laugh. I mean, come on! Gnomes! In your body! And they have pointer sticks! All right, whatever, guess you had to be there. Heh.
Except it doesn't just wage outright war against me, blatantly. Instead, it likes to tease me. Before I left for work today, my hair looked so fucking good. All shiny and sleek, and purty. But after being out in the wind, walking to the bus stop and all? Sigh. Total lost cause. The wind will whip around the front of my hair and completely ruin what the flat iron accomplished, so that it's all wavy and shit by the time I look in a mirror. Not only that, but the sleek and shiny thing? Yeah, whatever. I get to work and look in the mirror and there's just a gnome standing on top of my head, giving me the finger.
What's worse is that guy I'm sort of lusting after, at work? Always ends up seeing me, when I look fugly like that. You could put it in the books as a scientific principle, and call it Rachael's Law. If my hair is poofing and frizzing like a mofucker? That's when he'll walk by. Guaranteed. I suppose it doesn't really matter though, because he's never even given me a second look. Some guys still check me out and stuff, regardless of how cracked out my hair looks. Not him, though. Like, at all. I should just throw myself at his feet sometime, and scream "LOVE! MEEEEEEEEE!" Heh. Or pull a Margaret Cho and be like "STICK IT IN!"
Asshole. Who does he think he is? Walking around, being all hot and well dressed and cute, and not being desperately in love with me? The nerve! Heh. Crushes are fun, when you can actually sort of flirt with the person, and pick apart every glance they give you and every word they say, like "He asked me what time it is! He totally wants to make sweet, sweet love down by the fire!" Oh, and when you actually can get all nice looking, when you know you'll see him. But when the stupid WIND (*glares at sky, through window*) messes up that opportunity, and you never get the chance to talk to the guy, and he doesn't even notice you when he's around? Not quite so much fun. *weeps*
Le sigh. So cute. So very, very cute. With the pants and the waist and the butt and the hair and the fitted shirts and the eyes and the smile and the yeah, that's enough. Hee. Sorry about that, I got a little carried away. Damn him! And damn my stupid, I don't know, everything! Although he's short too, so at least the oompaness itself probably isn't a real drawback here. Too bad there's still everything else. Hmph. Meanwhile, my sister apparently got stopped by model scouts for like THE THIRD TIME ever, today. We hate her.
Okay, so I don't hate her, but still. Let's pretend I do. She always tells the people no, but she took their card this time, and I was like "What is your problem? DO IT! You could get money for this, you dumb ho!" Guess how many times I've been stopped by model scouts? Lemme think here. . .hmm. . .oh, right! That would be never! But I mean, it's not like I'm jealous or anything. Heh. Riiight.
Anyway, there wasn't much more to my day, other than that ramblyness. Work was fine, and I got home in time to watch ER, and the Sally Field/Maura Tierney version of my Mom and I. Hee. Good times, good times. I watched it with my Mom, and was like "Look at what a little woman Sally Field is! Just like my Little Woman!" I call her that, by the way. Hee. Sometimes it's just Woman, though. I'll yell it, when I'm trying to get her attention, and do the Woman Song from "So I Married An Axe Murderer." Except without the back up musicians to accompany me. Pity, that.
Hmm, what else? Last night, I started writing down the stuff I was finding online about my Granddad's mother's family, and I've got a bunch of pages copied now. Most of the women in it had like an average of fourteen children. One right after the other. So many of the kids died early, though. It's hard to imagine what that must've been like, to have to lose so many of your children. Not to mention going through so many pregnancies and stuff, never even knowing if the kid would make it through their childhood. I mean, how would you balance out the possible joys and hopes, with the knowledge that they could so easily be dashed? And what would it do to you, after it's happenned two, three times? Losing a child once is bad enough, but multiple times? I can't even imagine.
It reminds me of this thing we read in Cultural Anthropology, the summer before last. I don't remember the name for sure, but it was about mothers in Brazil. And how they dealt with the high rate of infant mortality in the slums. The mothers had become really detached and everything, and would only display any feelings of bonding with the babies, once they could see that they were healthy, and had a good chance at living. The ones who they said had the "spirit to want to live." The other ones, even if they weren't really that sick (and could've been brought back to health, possibly) were sort of just neglected (left on the floor and ignored, in some cases), and were therefore more likely to die. Like, this woman talked in it about how she'd tried to educate mothers in the area about what they needed to do for their babies (the ones who were labeled lost causes, basically, and neglected) and the mother would be like "This baby's spirit doesn't want to survive. I've lost too many children to get attached and try to save it, just so it can get sick and die. It's God's will" or something. It was a really sad article. Anyway, that sort of stuff just always makes me think, and makes me wonder about what life was like for the people behind the dates and names.
Hee. Okay, I'm nuts. Every once in a while, though, I just get so sick of giving into my headaches and lying down and all, that I just want to rebel and say to Hell with it. Like, "fuck you, head! You didn't bother me enough already today? Those three excedrin weren't enough for you? Kiss my white, flabby ass! I'm staying up! That's right! If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me!" Heh, like I have to show the head who's boss here, you know.
Stupid head. Stupid trolls and their stupid conspiricies. I have told you all about the trolls, haven't I? I used to have this joke with a friend of mine about trolls (although they were more like little gnome dudes, but we called them trolls) who lived in our bodies and conspired with our various organs and body parts to try and like bring us to ruin, basically. They wear lederhozen, smoke cigars, and yodel occasionally, as well. They get together and have little meetings, discussing how much they hate me, and which organs they still have to convince to get in on the mission.
Heeeee. Okay, that still makes me laugh. I mean, come on! Gnomes! In your body! And they have pointer sticks! All right, whatever, guess you had to be there. Heh.
Except it doesn't just wage outright war against me, blatantly. Instead, it likes to tease me. Before I left for work today, my hair looked so fucking good. All shiny and sleek, and purty. But after being out in the wind, walking to the bus stop and all? Sigh. Total lost cause. The wind will whip around the front of my hair and completely ruin what the flat iron accomplished, so that it's all wavy and shit by the time I look in a mirror. Not only that, but the sleek and shiny thing? Yeah, whatever. I get to work and look in the mirror and there's just a gnome standing on top of my head, giving me the finger.
What's worse is that guy I'm sort of lusting after, at work? Always ends up seeing me, when I look fugly like that. You could put it in the books as a scientific principle, and call it Rachael's Law. If my hair is poofing and frizzing like a mofucker? That's when he'll walk by. Guaranteed. I suppose it doesn't really matter though, because he's never even given me a second look. Some guys still check me out and stuff, regardless of how cracked out my hair looks. Not him, though. Like, at all. I should just throw myself at his feet sometime, and scream "LOVE! MEEEEEEEEE!" Heh. Or pull a Margaret Cho and be like "STICK IT IN!"
Asshole. Who does he think he is? Walking around, being all hot and well dressed and cute, and not being desperately in love with me? The nerve! Heh. Crushes are fun, when you can actually sort of flirt with the person, and pick apart every glance they give you and every word they say, like "He asked me what time it is! He totally wants to make sweet, sweet love down by the fire!" Oh, and when you actually can get all nice looking, when you know you'll see him. But when the stupid WIND (*glares at sky, through window*) messes up that opportunity, and you never get the chance to talk to the guy, and he doesn't even notice you when he's around? Not quite so much fun. *weeps*
Le sigh. So cute. So very, very cute. With the pants and the waist and the butt and the hair and the fitted shirts and the eyes and the smile and the yeah, that's enough. Hee. Sorry about that, I got a little carried away. Damn him! And damn my stupid, I don't know, everything! Although he's short too, so at least the oompaness itself probably isn't a real drawback here. Too bad there's still everything else. Hmph. Meanwhile, my sister apparently got stopped by model scouts for like THE THIRD TIME ever, today. We hate her.
Okay, so I don't hate her, but still. Let's pretend I do. She always tells the people no, but she took their card this time, and I was like "What is your problem? DO IT! You could get money for this, you dumb ho!" Guess how many times I've been stopped by model scouts? Lemme think here. . .hmm. . .oh, right! That would be never! But I mean, it's not like I'm jealous or anything. Heh. Riiight.
Anyway, there wasn't much more to my day, other than that ramblyness. Work was fine, and I got home in time to watch ER, and the Sally Field/Maura Tierney version of my Mom and I. Hee. Good times, good times. I watched it with my Mom, and was like "Look at what a little woman Sally Field is! Just like my Little Woman!" I call her that, by the way. Hee. Sometimes it's just Woman, though. I'll yell it, when I'm trying to get her attention, and do the Woman Song from "So I Married An Axe Murderer." Except without the back up musicians to accompany me. Pity, that.
Hmm, what else? Last night, I started writing down the stuff I was finding online about my Granddad's mother's family, and I've got a bunch of pages copied now. Most of the women in it had like an average of fourteen children. One right after the other. So many of the kids died early, though. It's hard to imagine what that must've been like, to have to lose so many of your children. Not to mention going through so many pregnancies and stuff, never even knowing if the kid would make it through their childhood. I mean, how would you balance out the possible joys and hopes, with the knowledge that they could so easily be dashed? And what would it do to you, after it's happenned two, three times? Losing a child once is bad enough, but multiple times? I can't even imagine.
It reminds me of this thing we read in Cultural Anthropology, the summer before last. I don't remember the name for sure, but it was about mothers in Brazil. And how they dealt with the high rate of infant mortality in the slums. The mothers had become really detached and everything, and would only display any feelings of bonding with the babies, once they could see that they were healthy, and had a good chance at living. The ones who they said had the "spirit to want to live." The other ones, even if they weren't really that sick (and could've been brought back to health, possibly) were sort of just neglected (left on the floor and ignored, in some cases), and were therefore more likely to die. Like, this woman talked in it about how she'd tried to educate mothers in the area about what they needed to do for their babies (the ones who were labeled lost causes, basically, and neglected) and the mother would be like "This baby's spirit doesn't want to survive. I've lost too many children to get attached and try to save it, just so it can get sick and die. It's God's will" or something. It was a really sad article. Anyway, that sort of stuff just always makes me think, and makes me wonder about what life was like for the people behind the dates and names.
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(no subject)
Date: 2002-11-29 09:14 am (UTC)Still, I like bubbly rach. She's kind of cute even if she's only bubbly out of abject frustration with her hair and height and gorgeous sister.
Re:
Date: 2002-11-29 11:53 pm (UTC)You think my description at the end was sad, you should've read the actual article. Oh, man. I totally almost teared up, right there in anthropology class. Everyone else though reacted the same way. They were all "Right, so that was sad! Thanks a lot!" Hee.