I haven’t written anything in a while so, uh, here’s a little but about what’s been going on in my incredibly exciting life recently…
Last Friday, (not four days ago, but like a week and a half ago) I went to give blood with my brother and friend. I didn’t actually want my brother to go, because all my friends are like social activists (I kind of am too) and my brother doesn’t know how to, like, not offend people. Racial slurs, crude jokes, and just generally loutish behavior abound; my friends are unimpressed. In fact, my friend Dean, who I was with, pretty much wants nothing to do with him. Anyway, I went to the place and freaked out as usual because I’m terrified of blood. But this time I just breathed deeply and thought of my favorite place in San Francisco and everything was good! Personal triumph. Some people think it’s weird that I give blood even though it scares me a lot. But I just think, The people that receive my blood, I bet they’re a lot more scared. I know I’m not going to die because I get a needle stuck in my arm and get some blood taken. But the people that get my blood–they probably will die without it. I don’t know. It just makes sense to me. What’s a little fear? Ugh, I keep getting off topic. Anyway, we gave blood and then we started talking about our blood pressures and pulses. I was saying that mine was high because I was nervous, but that it’s usually around 70 beat per minute. Then my brother was like, “No, it’s not.” And I’m like “Yes… yes it is.” And he’s like “No, I’m in excellent shape and mine is around 60 normally. You barely ever work out; your’s must be in the 80s.” I tried to tell him that the doctor had told me it was 72 the last time I went, but he told me they were wrong. He then proceeded to tell me how awesome smoking and drinking is right after you give blood.I believe I am losing my mind some days. Then I went back to my house. Shortly after I was going to drive to dinner with one of my friends. I was feeling really light headed because of the blood donation thing though, so I ended up backing into my friend’s car. I then burst into tears. My friend told me it wasn’t a big deal, but, being me, it seemed like a colossal deal. I was going to drink but my friend convinced me not to. Then we went to Cici’s and I ate my sorrows away with greasy pizza and bread sticks.
The day after, I went to the circus with my friends. This was exciting to me because A.) I haven’t been to the circus since I was 6 and B.) I had my tea leaves read a couple weeks ago and they said that something good would happen at the circus. Anyway, the circus was bananas. Way too cool. And the clown didn’t even scare me! This is impressive, since I’ve been terrified of clowns ever since my dad showed me It when I was 4. When I went to the circus all those years ago, my dad made me talk to one of the clowns to show me they weren’t scary. It didn’t work. Anyway, my friends and I were especially impressed with the juggler, likely because he was cute. But he was pretty good at juggling too. I considered calling the CPA when they brought out the ten year old riding a motorcycle and he rode around in THE SPHERE OF DEATH. Call me over-protective, but I don’t think a little kid should be anywhere near something named The Sphere of Death. Whatever. After the circus, we briefly stalked the juggler before heading to Barnes and Noble because that’s pretty much the best thing to do in my city if you’re under 21. While there, I mentioned something about preferring to think of myself as being a moderate politically. This was a bad thing to say. My friends went on about how happy they are to consider themselves radically liberal, and that I, too, was radically liberal and should embrace the label. What I meant was that I don’t think my opinions on things should be considered radical. I didn’t express this well though, I guess. Then we were looking at books and they came across a book by Tucker Max and went on to discuss how horribly sexist he was. I pointed out, jokingly, that “At least he acknowledges he’s an asshole!” (He begins the book with stating that.) This, too, was the wrong thing to say. Apparently, that makes it worse, they said. The fact that he could realize how horrible the things he’s saying are, and not attempt to correct it–that makes him even more of a monster, they said. I excused myself to go look at the journals. They went to laugh at the ridiculous books in the young adult section. At this point, I was horribly depressed because I’m, well, me. And I get like that. Call me sensitive or weak or whatever else, but I don’t deal well with people’s criticism. They might be saying, You’re wrong about that. But in my head that turns into, You’re wrong about everything. And then, You’re an idiot/bad person. And then I think about all the other times I’ve done something wrong. Before you know it, I’m hating myself. So I drove home, hating myself. And then went to Walmart, hating myself. And then I bought my mom a plant, still hating myself. At midnight. This just reinforced the whole ‘losing my mind thing’.
Easter. Well. My brother showed porn to some of the other guests on his phone. So you can just fill in the blanks. I’ll just say that my virginity was questioned MANY times. Apparently, it’s a fun topic to discuss.
The rest of last week was boring, but then I went to San Francisco on Thursday. Which will be the topic of my next blog!