I had to RIDE MY BIKE to the post office today, because Dad vanished with my car at about ten AM and didn't tell me where he was going or when he would be back. MY CAR. *snarl* It was hot, and I got all sweaty after I'd just taken a shower, and I got sunburned, and I had to wash my hair *again* because some fsking motorist threw a slurpee out his window and got it on me... those of you who've met me in person will know the significance of my having to wash my hair twice in one day being great - not to mention ANNOYING AS HELL since it's long, thick, and in weather like this, unbelievably cumbersome. This was one of those days where I picked up my sewing scissors and stared at them contemplatively and seriously, holding my braid in the other hand.
Don't worry. I didn't do it. My hair's still there. :P
Why did I ride my bike to the post office? Well, first of all, it wasn't my bike. I *tried* to ride *my* bike, but someone had managed to yank the back tire off the frame and it was hanging off it with the tube sticking out. Apparently, a very, very large spider had taken up residence in there. I have no personal prejudices against spiders, but when big, fat, *shiny* grey ones appear as if from nowhere on the back of my hand... ech. I didn't squash 'im, though. However, my dog *may* have eaten him.
I feel no remorse. He started it.
So I dragged the bike out from under the porch and the other *seven* bikes (How do we even *have* seven bikes? We only have five family members!) and flipped it over. I actually managed to get the tire properly back onto the frame, but punctured the inner tube in the process, rendering it useless. So I had to ride Faya's bike... seat was too high, and I can barely reach the ground. Rode to the bloody post office... closed. Just figures, doesn't it? So I rode back home. I think, "all that for nothing!" and take my second shower. *grumble*
Dad finally brought the car back and I went and mailed off my money-order at the 7-eleven. And why did I go through all this trouble? Well... actually, buying toys. I bought an X-Men belt buckle and a lapel pin on the Internet today... bad Ari. ;) I know I'm supposed to be saving money, but they were just so *shiny*... and cheap! (Comparatively speaking, I mean... the prices were *still* in USD and I *still* ended up spending over forty bucks, postage and stuff included...) And shiny... :) Hey; look at it this way: I have my parents' credit card number. I *could* have used that. I didn't.
Now I just hope they get here before I leave. It would really bite if they didn't. :( I just want my shiny pin... I think I'll put it on my new duster... :D
Eck... I don't know how to deaaaal with this... Erm. Sam just called me and asked how I was getting to the funeral... I don' t know how to tell her that I *really* don't want to go... Erm.
Don't like funerals. They'll make me go up and talk at the podium. And the preisty guy will glare at me. They always do. And I'll sit there feeling phenomonally uncomfortable and depressed not because of the event or the person causing the event but because of the location and the setting and the preisty guy glaring at me and my friends feeling all upset in a renewed way because it's a funeral and that's the *idea*...
*takes a breath*
...and I'm still trying to figure out how to diplomatically avoid this situation. Haven't got anything yet.
But I've got this horrible feeling his parents are going to *bury* him and he was a Druid and that's completely against *his* beliefs. Why don't the deceased's (s/p?) wishes ever get considered above the remaining living's? (s/p?) Because funerals and greiving are for the living, and have little or nothing to do with the dead. That's why. And that's the other reason it makes me uncomfortable.
That, and dead bodies ick me out. I really, really, really dislike open-casket. It's... it's morbid, is what it is.
And... *sigh* Damn. They're already mad at me. This is only going to make it worse... they already think I'm an unfeeling monster... but if I go I'm just going to make it worse. I'm not really sure if it makes any difference whether I go or not. They'll all draw the same conclusions regardless.
Ech. Damn, Keith, dude, I love ya, but I don't think I can do this... o.O
I hate mosquitoes... hate them, hate them, hate them... *this* close to going on an all-out mosquitoe-slaughtering rampage. Yeah, I'm sure they perform *some* important natural function, but damned if I know what it is.
I've discovered I'm allergic to mosquitoe poison. I have five bites that I know of, probably more I don't - three on my shoulder, two on my leg. They're all enormous. All swollen and yicky. This is disgusting... and they bloody *itch*!! I used Benadryl, I used Lanacane, I took antihistamines... nothin' works. This is driving me *nuts*... Iiiiitchyyy... ug...