Nnekay.com

Nothing is more disgusting than a library that smells like piss.

Unlike many people with glasses, I started wearing them at the end of college.

Which is weird.

 Yet, this completely delighted me, because I always wanted to wear glasses. As a little kid, I must have had some masochistic need, because I desired to look like a goober. I thought glasses were amazing, braces were hot stuff, and broken limbs with casts… damn, that was tres chic. Unforch, I had perfect eye sight, and my teeth- given a few snaggles on the bottom- were large and straight. So large, they took up half my class pictures from 2nd grade to 5th, soon enough my head followed suit- and now I look less like a rabid jackrabbit. Yes, I now have a large head, but piling on a lot of hair solves that problem (people assume it’s all hair, when in fact it’s all head). Anyway, I was able to quelch my good genes with the fact that I was completely without coordination. I broke 6 bones before turning 12. I had a huge file at the emergency room, and the school nurse knew me personally. This meant I got a couple of cool casts, and with each one I thought I was hot shit.

The casts were wonderful, and great attention getters- which ultimately was my goal-yet, none had the lasting power of my desire for glasses. I was a woman obsessed. My mom would say, “Don’t stare at the sun, it will make you eyes bad,” So every secret chance I would peak a glance. Only to discover time after time how unpleasant looking at the sun really was. My mom would say, “don’t look at the asphalt when are driving in the car, it will make your eyes bad.” So every time I found myself the participant of long (or short) road trips, I would never look at the scenery, I would look at the rapidly moving sea of grey and black, all the while leaving a cute little grease impression of my forehead on the glass.

I never grew out of this. When I entered college, I thought glasses would make me look like a intellectual, so I bought a pair of fake ones. Soon word came out the glasses were fake, and instead of looking like a intellectual, I was just a weirdo.

Then it happened.

Senior year, I couldn’t see the chalkboard. I was squinting, getting headaches, and the color red was not as noticeable as it once was. Could it be? Were my indestructible super eyes finally succumbing to all the years of strain I put them through? After a rush to the eye doctor- I found that, yes, I could use a pair of glasses for a slight slight sliiiiiiiight prescription, and a slight slight sliiiiiiiiiiight astigmatism. I was over the moon. I picked out the perfect frames, and wore my glasses as if I was the sassiest of sassy fashionistas around.

Then they got annoying.

They fogged up when I ate soup or entered a hot place. They constantly slipped down my nose, they were always in some state of dusty, and my greasy hands left smudges around the edges. Not to mention I hated having these things on my face all the time. My friends who wore glasses told me, “you’ll get used to it.” Well, I haven’t. So now, I’m always in a constant state of taking them off, putting them on, leaving them on a table, sitting on them, knocking them to the floor, throwing them into my purse, and digging them out of pockets. I’m already on my third pair…one I destroyed because I forgot they were on my head and I jumped up causing them to fall to the hard ground. Another was stolen by a homelessman, while I was working at the info desk- not off my face- that would have been a horror show. Why he even stole them in the first place mystifies me to no end. The way I treat my glasses makes me afraid to have children. I might drop and break my baby or allow it to be stolen by a homelessman.

Anywho- I noticed of late, that my eyes have been getting worse- I have a hard time driving during the day without them, and I wont leave the house at night unless I’m fully equipped with my goggles. Now, even with my glasses, I have to squint, causing me to have tiny fantasies of being a creaky old woman staring into the abyss with glazed over eyeballs.

Sometimes I wonder, if all my sun-staring has lead to this. Thank goodness there wasn’t a slow drawn out way to make ones teeth crooked.

I am a hypocrite.

On many levels.

Level One: I hate it when particular people sneak glances at me. Yes. Particular people, meaning people I do not find attractive. Yep. I know it’s messed up, because they cannot help being ugly to me. In fact they might be the plum fancy to somebody in this world, but unfortunately it ain’t me, so please stop sneaking peaks at me.

Level 2: If you are attractive to me and you’re sneaking glances at me, I love it. I will bask in your semi creepy looks and pray that you’ll come and talk to me.

Level 3: If you are a woman and you’re sneaking glances at me, I hate you. Because woman are crazy- I know, I am one. Usually woman stare at other women, because they are judging something- this can either be good or bad- but even if they are admiring your new hot outfit, they are secretly hating you for it. Therefore, if you are a woman staring at me, I assume you are hating me for something, and thus I hate you.

Level 4: I sneak glances at people. Good looking or really weird looking. Meaning not everyone looking at me finds me attractive. Many might find me extremely weird looking, I don’t like thinking about that. One would assume- since I sneak glances at people, I should be okay with people sneaking glances at me. Nope. Somehow, I think I’m exempt from the whole “do not sneak glances at people, because it creeps them out” rule.

H-Y-P-O-C-R-I-T-E

me: Mexico! That’s awesome, you excited?

co-worker: I dunno, I’m not that excited… I’m going at the end of February, so I guess I’ll be excited the day before. I’m such a grumpy old fart.

me: no you’re not, you’re just prioritizing your excitement. I need something to write about, what can I write about?

co-worker: The Library?

me: no I always write about the library.

co-worker: write about how you’re obsessed with Whole Foods.

I love Whole Foods. Well, more specifically the new Oakland Whole Foods. I say this because, when you go to just about any other Whole Foods in the bay area you are bombarded with a cavalcade of snobby-stick up their butthole type of people. And that’s me putting it nicely.  You can find them slowly perusing though each granola crunchy isle wearing their felt caps and multi-colored socks-sandal combination, chatting on their bluetooths, while their long wispy haired children chew on the sleeve of their alpaca wool sweaters. I wouldn’t mind these folk, but they seem to think that it’s okay to look down on me for not looking like I came directly out of traveling circus show from the 1900s. I get it, you buy environmentally sounds clothing- but why does environment friendly clothing have to look like elf clothing? They drive Priuses, and carry their own canvas shopping bags- which is wonderful. Actually all signs would point to these people being a very jovial type- woodland elf looking folk who care for mother nature. BUT they aren’t. They run into you as if you don’t exist, they give you nasty looks, and they complain about stupid shit (”it’s a shame this whole foods doesnt carry Asian persimmons, I just can’t believe it!”). Well, when it boils down to it, if you can afford to dress like an gnome, you’re most likely rich, and chances are that money ain’t new (cause then you’d be a tacky overly trendy jerk). OLD MONEY = ASSHOLE. It’s true. There might be some exceptions to the rule- but chances are, if you come from a well moneyed family- you’ve been pretty shitty to a lot of people.

Moving on. The new Oakland Whole Foods, is speckled with the multi-colored knome variety, but they seems to have mellowed out. I guess living in Oakland, can humble even the snootiest of snooty. Anyway- it’s just plain nice in there. It’s bright, it’s happy and most of all the people are HECKA (I use this to annoy and emphasize) pleasant. They smile at me when I smile at them! Isn’t it sad that I get excited about that? Seriously, people need to smile more to each other. I think it would make living that more enjoyable. It’s also nice to be in a place where everyone (all races, ages, etc.) are pleasantly getting along. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that I usually spot someone foxy in the mix.

Here’s my issue, and it’s a weird paranoid issue. I hate being a regular. I do. Probably some left over insecurities from working in retail too long-

regular = semi crazy

Even though, I know this isn’t exactly true… it still resonates… so I’ve been trying to limit my Whole Food lunches… even though they have good soup…even though they have wi-fi…even though there is nothing really else to eat in downtown Oakland.

I currently live in a very cold building. This is incredibly annoying because, during the summer I live in a very hot building. This makes absolutely no sense, and the only explanation I can give for this is, “oh… it’s old” Which is the catch all excuse for anything that doesn’t work right.

My toast is burnt = oh, the toaster is old

My bra doesn’t support = oh, I bought it in 1997

Aunt Betty hates Asian people = She’s old.

People don’t like teenagers because they are old children.

Anyway, my building is freezing and to combat this, I mistakenly decided to turn up the heat whenever I entered my igloo. Soon after, I was met with an incredibly high bill which made me pull out my sweaters and robes like my closet had just caught on fire. Now, I sit on my hard dorm furnature couch watching TV in a sweatshirt-robe combo, with my hood up and an angry face.

One of the hardest parts about existing in a cold world is the morning. Going to sleep is one thing, but waking up to a freezing sad world is another. No wonder Brazil offers Sambas, Carnival, and spicy good food, while gloomy ass Scotland is known for bagpipes, golf, and haggis. Not saying one is better than the other… just different.

This is now my morning routine:

*alarm*

me: fuck fuck fuck

In the summer I spread out, in the winter I condense into a weird burrito cocoon of a blanket with only my face sticking out. Consistently, throughout  the night I fashion a sort of adult papoose, which is incredibly hard to pull arms out of to turn off my freakishly annoying alarm. When I finally gather enough hatred for my clock I extract an arm out of my papoose, exposing the rest of my nicely cooked body to the frigid air to turn off the squawking machine (my phone… because what is the point of buying an alarm when you have a phone that will do the same thing). I’m awake, but not happy.

And thus begins my day.

How many more month of this do I have to endure?

I’ve decided that I would like people to read my blog.

In order to do this, I have to advertise… i.e. pimp my blog like the whore that it is. Obviously, from my previous sentiment, I hate this, because I then begin to worry if my blog is even worth advertising. No, this is not a fish for compliments- you know, it’s just hard to put yourself out there. This is why I find it incredibly hard to watch those contest reality shows like American Idol- where they show that sorry ass looser girl/guy who comes marching into the audition like their shit don’t stank, and well, it’s more than stinky… it’s incredibly rancid. What I’m getting at is, I don’t want to be the William Hung of blogs. Then again, he’s made quite a profit off of his dumb ass cover of the originally dumb Ricky Martin Song. Speaking of Ricky…what ever happened to that that booty shaking fool? Honestly, I wouldn’t want to be the Ricky Martin of Blogs, either.

Anyway, I decided I was going to add my blog to some directories…small step, but it’s a safe and simple step. To my surprise I found that a lot of the time I had to figure out a category to place my rambly weirdo blog into. Was I an advice blog… no. Was I a horoscope blog… interesting, but no. Opinion blog… I guess so… uck, I had no idea. Often times I found myself wanting to categorize in some freaky market like porn blog or Hungarian fish cooking blog- just to trip people up, but then again… I do something like that and next thing I know I have a devout group of people who leave comments in Klingon about their fanny pack obsession on my cite. No thanks, Monsieur.

So what do I do? Who knows, but I guess I’ll keep mentioning it to people and posting annoying bulletins on Myspace…

SCHOOL IS DONE

It is finally starting to sink in. Well, not that I really gave it time to sink in. As soon as school ended and I turned in my last paper, I thought it would be a good idea to pick up another job for x-mas… totallying my job count to four, yea… four frickn’ part-time jobs.

Insanity? Yes, please.

Anyway- I worked until my ass fell off. Yea, can’t find it… if you find it, it has my address sewn to the inside, send in care of me.

So now the Holiday Hell Fest is over, and wow… the world is wonderful. I still procrastinate with certain things, but man… the freedom is the most magical wonderful joyous (add another glee filled adjective) in the known universe. I don’t why or how or what I was thinking by going to school pretty much continuously for what? 20 some odd years? ACK. I’m done with learning. DONE, sucka!

So now what am I doing with my spare time…writing a novel oprah will love and make me a millionaire? no… I’m writing blogs and reviews on yelp. Am I creating art that will make the masses weep and pay millions of dollars for? nah, I’m making paper flowers… from a kit. Am I reading tons and tons of fabulous books which have waiting patiently by my bedside? well, kinda, but then my Adult ADD sets in and since I’m not being graded for it…i feel no need to hurry.

So what have I become now that I am now a Master in the Science of Libraries and Information? Kind of a dorky loser.  Some, well a lot, might argue that I was a dorky loser before I became a Master in the Science of Information (without “libraries” it seems that much cooler), and I say to that, yea, you’re right… and honestly, it takes a Large Ass Nerd to want to become a Master of Library Science (see, I added the “library” in for effect). So I knew I was a dork, but I thought school would end and I would become this fabulous artsy nerd, who smoozed and such… nope. And this is where “loser” comes in.

Honeslty, I’m not terribly worried, there was a period- I’m calling it my Dark Period… after I graduated from undergrad, and poked around, moped, and ultimately went back to school. I think once school is over, we all need a period to decompress and be a dorky loser for a bit… so I guess there is still time for me to flourish in my artsy nerd side… maybe I’ll start dressing weird, and speak with a fakey accent.

This one is insanely cute.