Alright, it�s about time I unlock this bad mammer-jammer. If that GM freak decides that after three or four weeks, my diary is still important enough to seek out, his pathetic-ness deserves the opportunity to read about my life� I was just reading about how Cameron Diaz went to a Justin Timberlake concert [her boyfriend, reportedly] with two gigantic security guards. When two little girls [around 10 or 11, typical age for a Justin concert, LOL] squealed and started screaming her name, Cameron went all psycho and decided to scream, �NO ONE LOOK AT ME! DON�T LET ANYONE LOOK AT ME!� to her security detail.
I can understand the concept of quietly alerting your security guards [as if most people would really need them] to be on the lookout for crazed fans, but to scream that you don�t want people looking at you is just absurd. If you didn�t want people looking at you, why the hell would you go into a profession where your sole job description is to be watched�?
God, actors really piss me off. People go into acting, not for those pansy reasons where they feel the work is important, oh hell no. They go into acting for the simple fact that if you�re good enough, you�re going to get paid a lot of money to do some kind of BS job. Who the hell wouldn�t want to be paid in the hundreds of thousands [or millions] to work out every day, look beautiful, and be someone else? I swear that if these idiots weren�t paid so much freakin money, I wouldn�t have to pay almost $10 a ticket for a movie. Do I want to continuously see J-Lo and Ben everywhere? Dear Lord no. I want them to fade away. However, they propagate this stupid thirst into their personal lives by being so blatantly secretive about it. If you don�t want people constantly trying to know everything about you all the time, either 1) don�t go into public life or 2) let them see how disgusting of a person you can really be. I can guarantee after seeing J-Lo running around in trashy sweats with a spoon of ice cream in her mouth with no make-up on, the lust will go away.
I was watching my Alias DVDs last night again. I like how slow I�m taking this whole thing. By watching only one or two episodes every few days, I haven�t gotten tired of the show yet. Though, I�m not entirely sure that is possible with how neat the concept is. That�.and the fact that the show is about a female spy who kicks ass [everything I always wanted to be�sigh].
The show is good for me, literally. It inspires me to go to the gym at every possible moment. There�s something about the inherent competition between me and this fictional character that just inspires me to want to kickbox. I wonder how many hours a day I�d have to train to look like that? How long does Jen Garner work out? 3 hours a day? I�m not sure I have that kind of time. I guess I should just resign myself to ordinary goddess stature, instead of supreme-being�
The weekend was good�.and surprisingly long. My mother went psycho on me only once [or I�ve learned how to tune out her fits]. I am, however, having problems suppressing violent urges against my stepfather [I�m kidding, sorta]. I don�t think I�ve seen him move from the couch all weekend. When he took off for a week or whatever earlier in the summer, I noticed that the part of the couch that he sits in is actually depressed lower than the rest of the couch. It�s not as springy as the rest of the couch. That couch is only like a year old. It just goes to show how little he does, other than sit on the couch.
Anyway, when I got home on Saturday afternoon, my mother had a fit because I hadn�t cleaned up the house. Now, normally, if I were looking at this situation from the outside, I would agree with her. I�m 22, I live in her house [for free�..right now], I don�t pay for food, and I essentially do as little as possible with regard to the common rooms of the house. Do I use the bathroom? Yes. Do I use the living room? When jackass isn�t in there, yes. Do I use the family room? Yes. Do I use the kitchen? Yes.
You get my point.
If I were looking at this situation from the outside, I would think that I was being a spoiled brat as well. However, since there are more factors to this situation [and I�m biased], I feel like I have something to prove [I�m sure JG will agree with me on this one].
1) I am the only one who works in that house [until today, when my mom started her new job].
Since I spend 10+ hours a day outside of the house at work alone, what is the probability that I�m actually contributing to any common messes? Now, add in the fact that when I get home from work, I�m there for about an hour or less, just enough time for me to fix something quick and take off for a friend�s, go to the gym, or head off to the boyfriend�s. In that short span of time that I�m actually there, I pick up after myself, so should I really have to vacuum up after jackass?
2) On that note, jackass sits around and watches TV all day. He drinks all the coffee, won�t make more, won�t eat any food unless my mother makes some, etc. Now, granted, he brings something to the household that I don�t: money, but still�..since it is his house and not my house, shouldn�t he take some kind of pride in helping keep it clean? I mean, he doesn�t have a whole lot to do in all of his spare time (about double the amount of spare time I have), so what does it really take to run a vacuum or scrub a tub? And since it is he, and not I, who tracks mud all over the house, as well as cleans really dirty things in the bathtub, should I have to suffer the consequences of his carelessness? I wouldn�t mind cleaning so much if he would do his share. I mean, with three of us cleaning, it shouldn�t leave much work to be done. Of course, I shouldn�t leave all of the cleaning to my mother, but shouldn�t she then have the guts to say to him, �get off your lazy ass, go to the grocery store, and help me clean?� I actually do go to the grocery store with her and help in those ways, whereas he does nothing.
3) I actually have bought my own food before. Since my mother spent a week bitching about how much food I eat, I started to buy my own food. Do you know what happened? Jackass noticed that there was more food in the house than the standard catfood, yogurt, and vegetables, and ate everything I brought home�.in one day. I would buy a week�s worth of snacks for me to eat while at work, and he would eat them all in the period between me coming back from the store and getting up the next morning for work. Did my mom say anything to him? No. Instead she shrugged her shoulders and told me to keep it in my room. Okay, thanks.
4) I�m not treated as a tenant. I am treated like a child. Since I�m treated as a child, why should I have to pay like an adult? I�m not allowed to take showers or do laundry after a certain time. I�m not allowed to be on the phone after a certain time. I�m not allowed to come home too late. I�m not allowed to call when I can�t make it home. I�m not allowed�.you get the point. Since I�m treated with more severity than most 15-16 year olds, why would I contribute to a household where it is made so abundantly clear that I�m not welcome?
Based on these assumptions and many more, I feel like I should prove a point here. Besides, why would she want to charge me rent with the end result that I�ll have less money to leave her house with? Okay, okay, should I clean up? Yeah, I�ll clean up, but only when I have the time or desire to. She can go to hell with demanding me to clean up after her husband on my own time.
Because of this oh-so-wonderful welcome, I took off and went to the gym. I kicked myself into gladiator mode and ran almost 7 miles in 45 minutes. That�s more miles than I�ve ever attempted in 45 minutes [I usually keep it to 5], and I was amazed that I kept it up. It makes me wonder if I�ve been psychologically holding myself back when it comes to working out. I always stick to five because I figured that I never have the energy to do more, and that I need to conserve some energy for the rest of the day. While it�s true that I shouldn�t exhaust myself, I�m not sure that it�s even possible to exercise so vigorously that you just decide to curl up in a ball under your desk for the rest of the day. After the run, I was hitting the heavy bag at the gym, trying to get out my frustrations, and the bootcamp instructor that works there, challenged me to a sparring match.
Now the quickest way to get me to do something is to challenge me to a competition, because for some odd reason, I live and breathe for competition. It�s a wonder my mother hasn�t tried this tactic when trying to get me to clean�.
Anyway, I figured that we were going to spar like I did back in college, but of course, I failed to take into account that I was always sparring with anxious and frightened women in college. This guy was the size of Vin Diesel and was a blackbelt to boot. So I started out slow, figuring that he would too, until I got swept off my feet in a matter of minutes�
Needless to say, I�m not doing well after that fight.
When I left the gym, cringing, whining, and limping, my night was redeemed when I went over to B�s house [why can�t I think of anything creative here?????].
I�m going to skip ahead a few hours because this entry is already bordering on way too long�.
Sunday morning, B picked me up and we headed over to Stoney Creek for him to compete in a triathlon. Although, I personally would never attempt such a feat, he seemed pretty psyched about it. I watched from the sidelines as he began and ended each event, and was mighty impressed by his performance. I got to thinking about my own abilities with regard to physical competitions. I could easily run the three miles required of them, but could I do that after a 12-mile bike ride? Possibly. I mean, I�ve done some insane cardio classes at the gym, but it doesn�t really compare to the outdoors. Could I do both of these events after a swim? Oh hell no.
Yeah, if we got rid of the swimming part, I might be able to do it. Swimming is like the bane of my physical existence. I love swimming, I really do, but I prefer swimming around with a mai-tai in my hands, alternating between the hot tub and the pool. I don�t know what happened to me, especially since I was a great swimmer in my youth, but the drowning factor is too high for me to even attempt it. I think it could be that I got heavier, but my arms never really got stronger. Eh�..maybe I�ll try some laps in the pool at the gym�oh wait, I�ll be too distracted by the hot tub.
It�s time for me to end this diatribe.
So R, how was St. Louis?
