I never know how to respond to this simple question. "Fine" is usually the default answer.

It's not that I'm being distant or that I'm in I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it mode. Honestly, I really have no idea how I am. It would be much easier if things were all-or-nothing and everything had clear boundaries, but life would probably be too easy if that were the case, wouldn't it?

Lots of anxiety, but lots of legitimate reasons for said anxiety. I'm not panicking all the time, which is good, but the funny thing is, the only reason why I feel remotely calm is the fact that I always have suicide in the back of my mind as a last resort. Now, don't freak out--I don't want it to come to that, of course, and I'm not expecting it to. I know that things will improve and I won't be left with that as my only option. I just really find it amusing that the thought "Well, if all else fails, I'll just kill myself" is the only thing keeping me "sane" at the moment. Come on, that's funny. You'd have to be crazy not to see the humor in this situation. Nah, I won't kill myself. I'll just make everything perfect so then I won't be faced with that decision. That sounds like a much better plan.

Well, at least I'm not depressed, although I do think it'd be easier if that were the case, because then at least I wouldn't be so stressed and anxious--you know, because I'd be too busy not caring about anything at all and lying in bed all day turning into a cow.

Hmm, speaking of cows, I think I might be getting less fat, but I can't tell, because it feels like I'm getting fatter. How ridiculous. I really ought to be able to tell whether I'm getting thinner or fatter. Walking around on campus doesn't help much, either. WTF, why is everyone thinner than I am?! (I must admit, though, that "everyone" is a slight exaggeration--but honestly, it's unbearable). Damn it all.

It really is discouraging, seeing how everyone around me is moving forward and accomplishing things and living their lives, and I'm stuck with all this bullshit, which, in the end, isn't even worth any of the time and effort and pain.

Sinking, stagnant, pathetic, a little undernourished, frustrated. But still alive, if that's worth anything.

I'm pretending to be a doctor and changing my prescription. It's pretty fun. I feel powerful. Whee!

My heart hurts.

Oh well.

It happens.




Oh, and happy birthday to me. Hurrah.

It's not the end of the world. It just feels like it.

i. For a while, I thought that if a woman were pregnant and she jumped, she wouldn't be pregnant anymore. I got into the habit of jumping from time to time, just in case.

ii. Speaking of pregnancy, a long time ago (I was in elementary school), I saw some special on TV featuring a couple who swore that a certain method worked to have each of their children end up being the desired gender. The trick, according to the mother, was to try conceiving three days before ovulation for a girl, and on the day of ovulation for a boy. I made it a point to remember that because I wanted a girl someday.

iii. At one point, I wished that I had a brother so I could marry him and keep my last name. What, I was little! And I like my last name.

iv. I remember how, during a conversation with a group of girls, they all agreed that when they were little, they wanted to marry their daddies. Since my parents divorced when I was very young and I didn't live with my father...I wanted to marry my cat. In a totally innocent non-disgusting way! If wanting to marry your dad is OK when you're little, then I refuse to think that that's creepy. Had I known what marriage entails and still wanted to marry my cat, then yes, that would've been quite creepy. Anyway, after seeing an episode of Full House involving people getting married by walking around a table, I picked up my cat and walked around the dining room table.

v. This was a silly belief I had for less than a day. The morning I got my first period (New Year's Day when I was 12.5, which would make that 01/01/1998--splendid, I almost typed '2098'), I told my mom what happened, and she, before uttering a word, took me by the hand to her bathroom to give me a pad--except the only ones she had on hand at the moment were those gigantic overnight ones. I thought it would be a pain to have to wear one of those every single day for the rest of my life. That's right, I thought that after menarche, I would perpetually be on my period. I was relieved to find out that not only would I not have to wear pads everyday, I wouldn't have to wear those giant ones, either. Later that morning, she went to the drugstore and picked up normal-sized pads, as well as a card shaped like a cat's head with a piece of pink-foil-wrapped chocolate in the form of lips serving as the mouth. I believe I still have that card somewhere, minus the chocolate.

vi. I have a dimple on the left side of my face when I smile. When I was really little, one of my uncles (I think) told me it was a wormhole and I was frightened. What an asshole. I'm quite fond of my dimple, actually. My mom has a dimple, too, but hers is on the right side of her face--or as I like to call it, the wrong side. My maternal grandmother also has one on the same side as me, which makes me wonder--if I have a daughter, will she have a dimple on the right side of her face? Apparently it switches sides each generation. Because of course I feel that I can confidently draw that conclusion after observing a trend within three generations. Absolutely.

vii. I learned about a lot of 'grown-up' subjects from kids in gifted class. You'd think that smart kids would give more accurate information than this:
a. Sex involves the boy peeing inside the girl. (Note: I asked why anyone would want to do that, to which the boy informing me of this replied "It's fun.") I think I'll always remember that I learned about sex (kind of) in first grade from a boy named Sunny.
b. A girl told me that being a virgin meant having slept with someone. Since I had been to plenty of sleepovers, I said I was a virgin. Well, it seems two misunderstandings make a right.
c. (This one's not really about 'grown-up' things) We hadn't yet learned how to multiply, and I wanted to know, so I asked this boy (I happened to have a crush on him from first to fifth grade) who said he knew about multiplication already. His lesson went as follows:
Him: "What's one times one?"
Me: "I don't know."
Him: "What's one plus one?"
Me: "Two."
Him: "Well, that's multiplication."
Fortunately, we learned about multiplication in class very shortly after that.

I figure if I store my memories somewhere now, they'll last longer.



To begin, I suppose I'll list some random facts.

I was the same age when I first started drinking alcohol, when I first consumed an illicit substance, when I first started drinking coffee, when I first started using tampons, and when I shifted from being an ovo-lacto-vegetarian to eating only vegan food. That's why being 18 was awesome.

I can't remember when I started wanting to learn French, but it was at least as early as first grade, when my friend and I pretended we knew how to speak French by muttering nonsensical syllables with a French accent. I remember making a resolution to learn French eventually.

The very first color I named my favorite was purple (especially when paired with green, though not green by itself). My favorite color evolved throughout the years from purple, to blue, to silver, to clear. Of course, there are a lot of colors that I really like, such as red, for example, but these are just the colors I'd name if I had to choose one. Though that can't be right--it's missing black, which I know was in there sometime during elementary school.

I was probably more 'goth' at 9 than all those black-clad mopey teenage Hot Topic customers in the mall put together. Rather, I was pretty morbid for such a young girl. I thought about death a lot and had an interest in the occult. After doing some research, I declared Wicca as my religion (which lasted until I eventually lost my ability to believe in anything somewhere between 16 and 18). Oh, and as far as aesthetic aspects go, I had this dress that was my favorite--it was short-sleeved and slinky, the top part had black and white stripes and laced up at the front, and the rest of the dress was solid black. I wore it with black patent mary janes and looked witchy.

I have a random memory of one day in middle school, when a friend of mine asked me if I had a negative outlook on life because he had heard from another friend of mine that I didn't like birthdays because they signified that people were one year closer to death.

I'm trying to remember the first When I grow up I want to be... of mine. One of my elementary school teachers gave us a journal prompt asking for just that and I recall writing a big cheesy entry filled with all sorts of your standard When I grow ups that ended with "...but most of all, I want to be MYSELF." Yep. Anyway, I think the first was either singer or actress. For a while I really wanted to be a fashion designer and I filled a sketchbook with a bunch of designs on models whose arms started out being way too short--I distinctly remember an early drawing of an orange suit made of a long blazer and a skirt only because of how comically short its wearer's arms were. Then, let's see...I believe opera singer was actually one, which changed to Broadway performer. Magician...news anchor (I was in TV production during middle school)...concert pianist...clinical psychologist...starving artist...speech-language pathologist...I think now I just want to be a superhero.

Fuck.

I feel sick. Sickened. Do you ever get that feeling, where you just want to vomit and shoot yourself, but you're not sure which one to do first, so you sit there helpless doing nothing at all?

I've been alive for two decades. As if I didn't think about the fact that I'm going to die enough to begin with. I feel as though I've been robbed of that aspect of my childhood--the part where one isn't acutely aware of the inevitability of one's own impending death. Children are supposed to be innocent and dumb and happy. Children are supposed to have a natural sense of invincibility. Why didn't I have that? Why couldn't I ever have that? I'm defective. Send me back.

However, I was born on the night of June 19, at about 11:46, so technically I don't really turn 20 until a few minutes before June 20. Although if you want to get really technical, since I was born in Korea, because of the time difference, I've already turned 20. But...I'm not in Korea. You know what? It doesn't matter. Forget 20. Happy 18th to me! I'm going to go buy cigarettes and porn.

Nooooooooooooo.

I have one more month left before my life as a teenager ends. Fuck.

In this state of mind
I feel I'm losing time

I. Eight pounds in five days? Hot!

II. School is expensive when you have to, you know, pay for it. Eight hundred dollars out of my bank account for two classes (including books)? Ouch. That's eight hundred dollars worth of heroin that I won't be doing (I've never done heroin anyway, but still). At least point III makes it all worth it (not really).

III. (There were a lot of parentheses in that last point, weren't there?) My stats professor is from Turkey. I like his accent. It just goes with the subject.

IV. My bio professor looks a bit like a male version of my former flute teacher in Tampa. Speaking of biology, ugh. Hopefully it won't be too bad, because I would prefer not to fail. This morning my professor asked "What is life?" and I momentarily wondered if I had wandered erroneously into a philosophy class, but much to my relief, he started talking about DNA.

V. I've come to the conclusion that it isn't just painful shoe choices that have caused my awful blisters. I seem to get hurt easily and heal slowly, because these blisters have been taking forever to heal. And...so has my heart, alas, alas, alas. Seriously, though, I developed two new blisters today wearing comfortable shoes, which gets a big WTF from me.

VI. I have a seeeecret--it's different from a secret because of the four consecutive Es.

VII. Bold letters don't look that different from regular ones in Courier New, which means there are nine useless HTML tags in this entry.

VIII. Never mind--clicking Envoyez un commentaire shows all my hard work. Well, it would if typing a bunch of greater than and less than symbols were hard work.

I love waking up in my gloriously decadent "princessy" bed and drinking gourmet coffee while sitting at a bistro-esque table listening to ridiculously-liberal-tastic NPR--so much, in fact, that I had to create adjectives to describe everything. Mmm.


I've just gone through my entire LiveJournal and given titles to many of the previously-unnamed entries and even added some commentary here and there, which will explain the reflective nature of some titles should any stalker wonder why they sound like they were written long after the events occurred.

I'm starting to be able to feel again. I can't believe I hadn't even realized the extent to which everything had become dull and flat. Even music didn't do anything. But I think I'm getting better. Fuck trying to keep my distance and not let anyone get close to avoid losing anyone close to me. Too bad everyone's leaving/left for summer.

Anyway, I'm going home to Tampa tomorrow before classes start next Monday, and I'm looking forward to it. Five days worth of home-cooked meals, yay. Hah, and speaking of which, my mom just called me to talk about food, so now I'm simultaneously hungry and terrified because my clothes won't fit next week. Oh well. I think I'll eat some Fun Dip and dance around my room. Oh, and now I've got plans for tonight. Sock hop, sounds interesting. That should be fun on a sugar/cocaine high. Whee (or do I have to spell it 'Wii' now?).

On a side note, being called fat by your friends is pretty much the best body-related compliment one can receive. It makes me feel all warm and skinny inside.

I'm not sure how to feel.

I hadn't realized that 'being healthy' entailed getting fat. Being a marshmallow--a 'healthy' marshmallow, no less--is kind of fun, actually.

Anyway, about this whole 'healthy healthy healthy' thing--I suppose I've resolved to improve certain aspects of my life. And I must admit, it is hard, and every reminder of how difficult it is makes me want to stop being too cocky/chicken/various other fowl-related adjectives to go through with an appointment with a therapist. I'll take that sentence back soon, of course.

In other news, I'll be returning to Gainesville tomorrow. Switching between different environments after I've gotten used to one always comes as a bit of a shock. I feel like it's been so long since I was in my apartment--has it really only been a week? I can't say I'm excited to be going back, although the fact that I have a paper due Monday might have something to do with that. Or the fact that I have to go see one of my professors far too early in the morning sometime next week.

On the bright side, in the spirit of overcoming blah blah blahs and what have yous, I bought a pair of wedges that are actually aesthetically pleasing to me. This, though it may not seem like it, is a huge step for me (a hugely exaggerated description), considering my tendency to think wedge heels are aesthetically...fug. However, I don't think I'll be getting over my neurotic aversion to brown clothing and accessories in the near future. Come on, as much as I'd like to give brown a chance and not exclude an entire category of perfectly wearable goods, earth tones just give me the jibblies. There. I'm a wardrobe racist. I said it.

I want to be healthy.

When I was little, while I played dressup I used to wear headbands as tiaras or drape strands of pearls over my forehead.

There was a time when flowers arranged in a vase depressed me because cut flowers are just in the process of rotting. Now I enjoy their beauty and scent as long as I can because that's all I can do with the little time left before they wilt.

I liked when I could go to the pool and play, happy and carefree. I'd swim, run around, I'd do all these fun things without feeling self-conscious about how my body looked in a swimsuit or uncomfortable because of some man's staring.

I liked knowing that I'd live forever if I repeatedly switched a certain light switch on and off.

I liked when magic still worked.

Yes, I was an odd little child (and teenager...), casting spells while wearing long black velvet skirts. But at the time it was all real, and I could hold onto this magic and nothing could hurt me.

I have a joke.

What's more ridiculous than a hippo wearing pants?

When someone who doesn't talk to me during the rest of the year wishes me a happy birthday based on a reminder from facebook.

It's funny because it's true. Har har.


I've always been annoyed by the way far too many people in this society act during holidays. Commercialism at its finest. I'm thankful for my home, my family, and this excessively large turkey that mommy shoved some other rabid housewife out of the way to grab. Which isn't to say that people don't appreciate what they have, but why is that appreciation acknowledged just 24 hours a year, and in excess (to make up for the remainder of the year, perhaps)? What's worse is that no one realizes/cares that it seems so fake and insincere, and as though the source of the holiday celebration is taken for granted all year long, but oh look, it's Father's Day, so let's go shopping--there's a great sale at Best Buy! Don't let your dad be the one who gets a shitty tie this year--this week only, twenty-five percent off all selected merchandise!

Ring in the New Year with a new you and get a new wardrobe. Show her you love her this Valentine's Day with a sparkly mass produced heart-shaped cubic zirconia. If you don't, she'll think you're an uncaring asshole. Need some snazzy new clothes? You're in luck--there's a pre-Labor Day sale going on this week (but you may want to wait until the after Labor Day sale). But above all, don't head out to the toy store too close to Christmas Eve, because in addition to celebrating the birth of Christ and praying for world peace, parents have this funny habit of becoming temporary vultures, their glassy stares fixated on the hallowed object of little Susie's deepest desires as they race ravenously to the checkout counter, price tags flying, razor edges of VISA cards glistening with greed, and maybe a little sweat. Come home, wrap the thing with ribbons and crinkly paper in screaming shades of poinsettia and pine. Sharing, warmth, happiness, more, more, more more more. There's no time like the holidays.



I was still working when my birthday officially rolled around (12AM EST). We were closing up the bar, and shortly after midnight, all of a sudden I felt extremely depressed. To clarify, I don't mean, oh, darn, I'm sad. People get the wrong idea when they hear the word depression. I mean depression, as in...I don't know, I suppose it's only understandable by someone who's felt it. Just feeling like life isn't worth living, feeling empty, that's the only way I can describe it, really. Blank. Of course I fear death too much to kill myself, so it wasn't anything like that. I don't know, I've never liked birthdays, but considering how much I appreciate life, it makes no sense that I'd feel the way I did. I'm always sharply aware of the fact that I'm going to die, but just seeing numbers, tangible things (because numbers are tangible?), something to show that I'm getting older and the amount of life I have left is getting smaller and smaller. I'm 19, and that's frightening. 18 felt safe. 18 was good. 19 is one year shy of two decades, two whole decades of life. Most people don't even get to live ten. I'm far too old and wise for my own good. But I've had that conversation before, and I know a certain person, who very well may be the only other person I know who can truly grasp the reality of impending death, would argue and ask if I'd rather be dumb and completely unaware. Ignorance = bliss, yadda yadda yadda. Of course I love life, and of course I am glad that I'm aware enough to appreciate the little life I have left to live, and spending precious time fearing time is a waste of life...but nevertheless, as I was leaving work I felt numb and my face went entirely blank, void of life, even. I'd smile, sound cheerful, step lightly (putting up a façade is easy), but I didn't feel anything, and couldn't do so until after I was home and started crying for no reason. So I cried for a couple seconds, and felt fine after a little while.


Wow. I just noticed something weird. While writing this entry, I've been getting flashes of different tastes/smells. Olfactory memory is powerful, but these haven't been related to what I was typing. Hmm, this is interesting. I'm trying to figure out what caused it--I highly doubt it's some kind of synesthaesia, since the random smells/tastes didn't correspond to the stimuli my other senses were exposed to. I've been feeling the textures, too. I wasn't even consciously aware that I was randomly tasting and smelling things that weren't present. Looking back, over the course of however long I've been typing, I've tasted/smelled and felt the texture of Adderall XR, blueberries, grapefruit-flavored vitamin C lozenges...there were more I don't remember, and now I'm trying to do it and I can't.

On to a less somber subject...

I don't have to work tomorrow, so I don't have to deal with insane drunk people till Tuesday. Speaking of which, the old hippie man who's the 'high (high, get it?!) priest of the Ethiopian blah blah Cannabis Christian Church,' who also claims to be older than Abraham from the Bible, keeps coming in and talking at me. Drunk people repeat what they say a lot. But it's worse with this guy, because he keeps telling me about how all the religions in the world are tied together by "a hempen thread" over and over again. However, Saturday evening a small group of people came in to have some beer. They were younger than the people who usually come to Red Zone, and I was amused when they all pulled out their IDs upon sitting at the bar (the owner never cards and doesn't really...care). The cannabis creepy dude sat next to them and had some of their beer and he started preaching to them. It was funny, because they started having a nice discussion with him. You know, typical "profound" pseudo-philosophical stoner talk. There was one girl with them who showed me how to make a tampon using cigarette filters held together with a rubber band and one of the guys, a former bartender, taught me a shooter I didn't know and had me do one with him. Learning is tasty (I still hate artificial apple flavour, though!).

I hear the new owners of the bar where I work want to change the name of the place from Red Zone to something like "Diggity Dog's." Supposedly this is to appeal to the college crowd. Wow. That's all I have to say about that.

Original Title: I'm Alive!

I'm going to see how this attempt at updating goes. As I recall, I was unable to complete an entry successfully the last time I tried, because so much time had elapsed since the previous entry that it was impossible just to know how to begin. Actually, maybe I can pull this off if I just talk about what's going on right now. I'll try that--here goes...

Hello, my name's Jasmine, and I'm an alco...fuck.

I'm eighteen years old, I like long walks on--

OK, but seriously.


It's hard to get back into writing in this thing after a long hiatus, just because so many things have changed, so I very well can't just start an entry with "Today I had three cups of coffee, took a shower, and went to work" because I find it odd to see an entire chapter of my life completely missing followed by some inane entry about trivial shit. Where did my first year of college go? Who cares how many cups of coffee I had this morning? (I did have three, actually...technically three, anyway--I consider it closer to 1.5).

Well, here's what happened to the missing chapter. I finished my first year at UF, and...that's pretty much it. Good times, bad times, learning the meaning of life (that isn't sarcasm), you know, normal 18-year-old activities. Of course, being away from home for the first time and whatnot causes many people to grow and change, and I feel that I've done a lot of that this past year. I'm the same person, of course, but I have grown and things have changed. Basically, the core of myself is the same, but I know that if I were to describe myself, a lot of little details, small preferences, things of that nature would be quite different from those of a self-description a year ago. Actually, let me do that now. Well, coffee, for one--I just recently discovered how wonderful it is. Hot black coffee...yes, I needed to take a pause to smile.
I suppose you could say I'm a vegan now, as well, but I don't like using titles like that. Alas, it's the closest one that describes my...eating...lifestyle? I don't eat animal products, but since I'm not doing it for animal rights, I see nothing wrong with wearing animal-based items. Plus, I do make an exception for my daily multivitamin, which contains gelatin, though I did consider not taking it anymore (In the end, I decided I'd rather not get anemia or osteoporosis or...scurvy or have a leg fall off due to malnutrition). Hmm, scurvy? One leg? Come to think of it, maybe I should stop taking my multivitamin, actually, because if being a pirate is a disease, then hot damn. I'll be like women in the Victorian era who emulated the glamorous symptoms of tuberculosis (they would drink arsenic to achieve that mysterious pallor!)--or, to use an equivalent example from more recent times, I'll be like pro-anorexia girls, only with being a pirate. Let's see, other details...I'll just talk about those when they pop into my head. For now, since I don't feel like describing everything that's happened since last fall up to now, here's what's going on in my life currently.

I'm typing this entry on my laptop while sitting in my bedroom in Tampa, which obviously means I'm not up at school right now. Summer break has been OK so far. In fact, it's actually pretty nice--I feel quite healthy, which I'm attributing partially to the fact that I've been sleeping a good amount most nights. I've also been eating a lot more, which...well, no, that's not good, but whatever. While I'm down here for the break (until mid-August) I'll be working as a bartender. Work has been...interesting, to say the least. Right now I'm working at Red Zone, an incredibly slow sports bar/grill on Fowler across from University Mall. The new owners will take over soon, but in the meantime, the current owners aren't doing anything as far as advertising goes. There are some regulars and people who stop by, but overall, the place is dead. Regardless, even with my less-than-minimum hourly wage and meager tips from the occasional customer, I still average a decent amount of money per hour. It's just less than a bartender at, say, a busy club in Ybor would make. But since it is my first bartending job I can at least get some experience and something to write on future job applications. And as it turns out, I appear to be pretty damn good at my job. Who knew I had a knack for customer service? As long as I keep my snide remarks to myself, it's all good. Some of the people at the bar are such weirdos, though. And another thing--I thought it was common knowledge that when one is drinking at a bar, one should not hit on the bartender! This point cannot be stressed enough. I think it's safe for me to generalize that rule to all customers, seeing as how the typical male customer at Red Zone is not what I'd consider an example of someone I'd ever be interested in. Of course, 'hitting on' is not to be confused with 'flirting with.' Innocuous flirting is fine, and it does increase tips. That's different. It's pure business, really. Both parties know that it's just typical bar flirting and nothing serious is to be expected from it. However, when a customer goes so far as to ask for my phone number or a date (and now, add 'if I want to join his cult' to that list), it creates an awkward and uncomfortable situation that I would prefer not to deal with. But coming up with a way of turning down unwanted offers without being mean takes some effort. Fortunately, even when I can't suppress a smirk or a snicker, the guy doesn't notice my patronizing attitude. I've contemplated the idea of going to work in as ugly a state as I can manage in a desperate attempt to ward off unwelcome come-ons from creepy men. However, while doing so would most likely reduce the number of "You're beautiful!" and "When can I see you in a bikini?" comments from gross men 2.5 times my age, I'm guessing it would result in a decrease in tips, which, considering how few customers there are to begin with, would not be good. A lot of things people say/do in the bar are...I have no appropriate adjectives, but I'll be a good bartender and I won't repeat some of those. Tonight a bummish man walked up to bar, and when I asked what I could get for him, he ordered $1.30. I asked him to repeat that, and sure enough, he was trying to bum money off of me. How am I supposed to kick someone out? I've never had to do that before. I'm such a walking contradiction. Although I'm mean in some ways--though maybe 'mean' isn't the right word...perhaps...an elitist bitch, there we go--I don't actually act mean to anyone, bums included.

On a more positive note, I found that orange & blue layered shooters made with Absolut (I was practicing making the drink I invented), liquid cocaine that I made for myself and one of the cooks while bored, and a Jager Bomb that some people bought for me really help to pass the time. Last time I worked there was an unbearable lull during my shift, during which I spent minutes upon minutes reading all sorts of interesting facts from all the liquor bottles and trying to look busy. On a less important, but more painful note, while slamming the corner of a pasta sauce lid onto the counter, in a moment of stupidity, I slammed my index finger onto the corner of a cutting board, which caused a good deal of swelling and left a bruise on the top portion of the back of my right index finger. I don't think I've ever had a bruise on a finger before.

I don't drink much, but when I do, my superior taste in alcohol becomes obvious. Quality over quantity, I suppose. I'm compiling a list of different liquors/liqueurs/etc. I want in the fall for the personal VIP room, and so far I have...
Grey Goose, Goldschlager, Blue Curaçao, Stoli Vanil, Peach Schnapps, white Crème de Cacao, Chambord, Jager, and Rumpleminze. And of course, Merlot. Good Merlot makes me smile. These are just ingredients in drinks I'd like to make...I doubt I'd want Rumpleminze by itself, or even Jager by itself.
And as a side note, the customer may always be right, but if you order badly, of course I'll make your drink--just know that I'm laughing at you on the inside. Someone ordered a double shot of Grand Marnier...and then, while ordering a second double shot of it, she asked what it was. Why would you order Grand Marnier as a shot, much less a double shot, without knowing what it was? It's good, you don't need to shoot it. People with bad taste in alcohol make me laugh. However, a customer who orders cool drinks automatically gets points. With all that knowledge of different drinks, I get excited when someone strays from the boring common drinks. But speaking of uncommon, what the hell is the point of non-alcoholic beer? Who drinks that stuff? I mean, if you're not drinking alcohol, why not just drink water, or bleach, or soda? One person so far has ordered it, and this was a big black man with one earring in the shape of a cross who continued to hit on me and ask too-personal questions even after I told him I had a boyfriend (My imaginary boyfriend is great, by the way--his existence, so to speak, gives me an excuse for not giving out my number, one that's even more merciful than the classic "I don't have a phone"), which should tell you something about non-alcoholic beer. Let's see, what else do I find amusing at work? Well, my first day, this fat woman ordered, in addition to her plate of breaded deep-fried chicken wings and french fries with blue cheese dressing and mayonnaise, a Diet Coke. Fat people with Diet Coke never cease to amuse me. Even better, she complained that her drink tasted like regular Coke. I like laughing at little ironic moments and humourous juxtapositions (and arbitrarily switching between British and American spellings). Oh, irony.

I also like when three different, equally ridiculous/bizarre people in three different parts of the bar each call me over to "rescue" me when I'm "trapped" in a conversation with one of the other weirdos.

Too much talking about work.

Enough random thoughts. I'm going to cut off this conglomeration of unorganized thoughts that I'd like to call a Livejournal entry.

So, today was OK, I suppose. I missed the bus I was supposed to take to the homeless shelter, so I practiced for about 20 minutes (I lost the extra seven minutes) and went with Ashley and Ashley. I stayed two hours later than they did because I needed four hours. So afterwards Frank dropped me back at Hume at pretty much 4. We passed several band people walking to the field, actually. Um, I changed and got to the field just in time for the music memory test, then we worked the '80s show some more. Wow, I can definitely tell I've gotten better on trumpet just from playing that show. The first time we started working on it, my arms would get really tired (I guess that doesn't have much to do with my trumpet playing, though) and now when we run through the show, it's like nothing.

Tonight was Haunted Hume, which was pretty fun. I mean, scaring little kids is awesome. Ha, seriously, we scared some people. This girl who was actually about our age tried to run away out the entrance because she was really scared, haha. Well we ended up not winning, but we did get "Most Schizophrenic." I got to giggle during Fairy-land part, and turn evil and creepy and sing "Ring around the rosie" while asking people to play with me. Afterwards, I went to that after-party thing in Hume commons and entered the costume contest. But the audience couldn't see my makeup from far away, and during the "Best Overall" portion I was announced as "Drunk College Girl." How did they get "Drunk College Girl" from "Creepy Little Girl?" I was holding a teddy bear, too. Anyway, "Butt Naked the porn star" won best overall for the costume contest, although I did like "Over-endowed guinea pig" and "Pink Unicorn." The Oompa Loompas were good, as well.

I came back at a tablespoon past 11 and practiced until my RA told me I was too loud (second time that's happened, woo) at 12.10ish, so I got a little bit of work done. Bethany (my flute major suitemate) informed me that I've improved and that Josh actually told her I've gotten a lot better over the past week. It was pretty encouraging. I don't know, though. A lot of people are being really supportive, but I seriously just don't think I'm good enough, at least for a major next semester. And that's not just me being hard on myself. There are "a few spots" left for next semester, and I'm shooting for the toughest goal (performance major because I'm stupid). If I get flat-out rejected I'm going to...I don't know. That'd just be really...well, it'd suck. If I got in as a minor I'd be happy, because then I'd still be in the school, and I could re-audition for a major for next year.

Oh, but a bit of good news. So, Hillsborough's performing at FBA on November 6. My audition is November 6. However, I just found out that they're performing around 6, and my audition will be long over by then, so I think I may be able to make it to see their show.

Anyway, what to wear tomorrow? I want to run around in costume, but Yuki's wearing the costume I'm borrowing for tomorrow's practice during the day, so I can't wear it to classes. I don't want to wear my "actual" costume until the FDL party, and I don't think I want to be "creepy little girl"/"drunk college girl" again tomorrow. Oh well, a lot of my clothes are weird enough to pass off as a costume anyway, so I'll put something together. YES, I've got it. Perfect. Well, that'll make four Halloween costumes for me this year. Each more exciting than the last? Perhaps, perhaps. We'll see. Anyway, I have a feeling I should wash the lipstick from under my eyes. Oh, and sleep. That'd be cool, too. Don't believe the time that this entry says it is now. I kind of left this entry hanging for a while and came back to it later. It's around two in the morning now. So yes, sleep would be good (I don't think saying 'sleep' will make it happen, though).

Well, holy shit, I'm finally making an update. This is the first time I've posted anything since I found out I got my IB diploma, and it's already almost November. Obviously there has been far too much happening to say everything here, and picking out just the most important bits and pieces requires too much effort. But I suppose I can try. No, never mind. It'll just seem as though a chunk of my life is missing. Hmm, now, where to begin? For one thing, I'm in Gainesvizzle now, living in Hume (fucking expensive). Ah, Hume Sweet Hume. Um...my roommate's cool; I was afraid I'd get a super-conservative moral Nazi, but I didn't, so that's good. Classes are...OK...I don't like the morning class I keep sleeping through, though. Oh, and I thought my honors course the semester would be fun. Hah, at least the professor is pretty lenient. However, I've actually got a 45-minute presentation to prepare for that class that's fucking due Wednesday. What else...

OH, I joined marching band. I had never planned on joining a college marching band, but then I realized I'd end up staring at the band at football games regretting it had I not joined. Well, I put off scheduling an audition for a long time, because I was afraid I wouldn't get in, since my trumpet skills had all but disappeared after being drum major and not playing in over a year and a half. Since I was afraid I sucked too much at trumpet, and there's no way I'd want to march flute (and it turns out they only have piccolos in marching band, so hah, that would not have happened), I thought I just wasn't going to be in band at all. So I checked the band website one day. This day happened to be the day before the website said the last audition day was. Hmm, I contacted the band office and talked to Laura Shannonhouse, who basically told me it was OK if I sucked as long as I joined band, and that I could audition as soon as I moved to Gainesville. Hmm...I moved in Tuesday afternoon and showed up for band camp Wednesday morning. It turns out I didn't have to audition at all. Anyway, I've been enjoying band a lot. I met a lot of cool people through band, and I got paid for one of the games, which was nice. But enough of marching band. Oh, I auditioned for and got into symphonic band, and we've had one concert so far.

Speaking of flute, I found out very recently that the audition date for a music major for Spring semester is November 6. Less than two weeks. I've been practicing since I found out, although I couldn't practice at all this weekend, aside from half an hour last night. My suitemate is a flute major, and has been very helpful, which is good. Hmm, I'm a bit stressed out by my audition, but hey, if I get rejected, I'll just audition again later.

But enough about band. Actually, one more thing. I got into basketball band, which is good and bad. I'm glad I got in, since not everyone who tried out did, which I was expecting would be the case. A couple of my friends tried out and didn't make it, and they're better than I am on trumpet. Since there are three bands, I'll only play at two games a week, so it shouldn't take up too much time. At least I get paid (twenty a game, which is like five dollars an hour--less than minimum wage--but more than what I'd get sitting around for eight hours a week). OK, that is all for band.

Halloween is fast approaching. I visited Tampa Saturday/Sunday morning and picked up some stuff I needed (I also saw Ian for the first time since we broke up...it was nice, though...I left a lot happier than I had been). I've got my costume put together, but I can't remember what I did with my fishnets, as they are not in my sock drawer where they should be. Wait...wow, I just had a Eureka moment and suddenly knew where they were. OK, so I've got everything now. Um...that's all I can think of. Is this whole entry about band? That can't be possible. Oh well. I should stop writing anyway, because the song I've been listening to has changed several times, but I'll just leave the first one and let you guess what I'm listening to now.