Your job's a joke, you're broke, your love life's DOA!

Yo. I feel like those lyrics are very fitting for my life, particularly at this point in time. I looked at my bank account the other day (I wouldn't have if not for the fact that my mother needed to know how much I had). It was not good. You know what else isn't good? Driving into houses. But I did that, too.

Don't look at me like that. You don't say to someone who has no idea what they're doing to drive out onto the street. Now, I pulled out just fine, and made the first turn. Buuuuuut, at the stoplight, when I turned, I accidentally kept turning, went over the curb, into the ditch, and bumped the house at the end of the ditch. It's not like I rammed into it and demolished the house. It's hard to do that at 3 miles per hour. But still. It was a horrifying experience. The guy who was teaching me got out and was talking to the owner of the house (who was really very nice and understanding. He wasn't angry at all) while I took the time to, very maturely, burst into hysterical tears and came to the conclusion that I will never learn how to drive, I fail at life, and will now take the bus/subway/taxi service/carpool to get places. If you've ever seen How I Met Your Mother, and know the episode where Ted tries to teach Barney to drive, that's scene crossed my mind every once in a while. If you don't know the scene, it's season two, episode 17, "Arrivederci, Fiero." It's towards the end. (Don't think I'm one of those freaky people who watches TV shows so much that she's memorized every second of every episode. I looked it up after my "incident" so that I could feel a little better.)


I'm quite sure that I'll look back at this and laugh. Shoot, I can laugh about it now. But seriously, the idea of getting behind the wheel again is terrifying. Why -- WHY -- would anybody in their right mind get into that death trap!? I know, I know. Overreaction much? Well, I can't help it. I had a friend once tell me that we fear what we don't know -- well guess what? I don't know how to drive, I don't know anything about driving, and yes, yes I do in fact fear it because I haven't got a single clue about it. Suddenly, the whole NCC job doesn't sound so bad. That's easy. That doesn't cause death. (Well, it may cause me to have a stroke, but you can live after a stroke.) But I'm so much better at learning things that require brain power; not things that require multi-tasking and paying attention to the things around me. I'm too easily distracted. I'd be one of the insane people who drives off the seawall, completely sober and in broad daylight. I'd have been distracted either by some seagull, or worse yet, by trying to be a good driver and checking my mirrors and other parts of my car.


I've known a few people who were taught how to drive by their eventual significant other. An elderly woman I knew had a crush on who would become her husband, and he taught her to drive. She drove his car into a fire hydrant. My mom's friend did something, but I don't remember what. I just know it was about as great as my thing. And let's not forget the Disney movie Cow Bells, where the cute cowboy tries teaching Alyson Michalka's character to drive stick, and his truck rolls down into the lake. Firstly, the guy teaching me is like, thirty years older than me, so that'd be a negatory anyway. But if the guy I liked taught me how to drive? Dude, I'm nervous enough when I get behind the wheel. Why add that kind of pressure?? I'd wind up either melting into a puddle, or actually driving through a house -- most likely with his car -- and after that I'd ask him to pretend he didn't know me so I could slip under a rock and never come out again. If nothing else, I'd no doubt wreck and burst into hysterical tears. And I'm not one of those cute girls when I cry, like you see in the movies (who also mysteriously wake up with perfect hair. When I wake up, my hair's in all different directions!). No. No, I look like a train wreck. Tears, snot, and -- depending on how upset I am -- drool: everywhere! I look like some sort of red, puffy, snot monster. Let alone the fact that men are not readily equipped to deal with sobbing women -- heck, I can barely handle it when a girl I know starts crying. I've gotten better, but I also had a lot of experience the past year with girls crying at random. It would not be a pleasant experience for anyone involved.


What was my point to this again? I seriously have no idea. Um...well...I had a good dream last night! And yesterday wasn't so bad. Today was pretty good (except for the brief period this afternoon when I felt ill). So, hopefully this week is picking up. Here's to staying ducky and lucky. (And red, puffy, snot monster-y free.)

Oh, Gud....

I hate driving. I'll grant you I haven't driven since I was three years old, but the whole fiasco was probably so traumatizing and distressing -- what with my sister jumping out of the car, claiming today that she did it in an effort to go get "help," but I know the truth -- that I must have decided right then and there that the whole "driving" thing wasn't worth the hassle. I don't remember it; it must have been so terrifying that I blocked it out. Yeah. That's it. It has nothing to do with the fact that I had only just reached the age where people start to remember things.

But really, after the day I've already had, and it's only barely after noon, I'm sure that I hate it. I took the driver's ed class online, and got it all done and finished. I got my certificate and was finally able to go down to get my permit. Holy gud! (Anyone who gets that reference gets a gold star. Go ahead, buy some gold star stickers and give yourself one. You deserve it. Anyone who doesn't, you're missing out on one of the best shows in modern television, that will make you laugh your butt off. Unless you're one of those that hates laughing, in which case, I can't see why you'd go to someone's blog, because half the people think they're comedians -- exhibit A -- and really, you have a completely different problem that I'd have to address.) The paperwork! I always second guess myself on what they're actually asking on that kind of stuff. Seriously, why can't you just spell it out in big, bold letters: FOR THE 19 YEAR OLD GIRL WHO IS JUST NOW GETTING HER PERMIT, SIGN HERE!!! That would make my life so much easier. But no. They have to have hard questions, like, "Name" and have "Last, First, Middle/Maiden," which is completely out of order. Why do they do it like that? That's just silly. And then there's "Address," and "Phone Number," and "Suffix" and I'm just standing there with a pen, thinking to myself, "What the hell's a 'suffix?!'" And then a bunch of teenagers that are the appropriate age of 15/16 to be getting their permit come in, because they just can't WAIT to hit the road, and I'm still standing there with my pen, trying to remember where the gud I was born. My mother had to help me with more questions than I'm proud to admit.

Then we get to the desk, where the lady seems kind of mean and impatient -- though that may have just been my nerves making her seem like some evil fury from Greek mythology -- and I put "Grey" for my eye color instead of "Hazel" like my ID says, so she said I could either change it on my ID, but it'd cost $11, or I'd have to surrender my ID. The ID that I need to get back to gudding college. And it's not even my fault about my eye color! They can't frakking decide on a frakking color already! "Oh, we're gonna be green!" "No! Let's look blue today!" "Oh, hey, Becky, your eyes are grey, that's cool." WHAT THE HELL!??!?! Oh my God, whyyyy do I have eyes that can't make up their gudding minds!?! So I "surrender" my ID to the lady, then pray that I don't have too big of a hassle if I haven't received my license by August 12th -- which I probably WON'T -- and have to use the paper permit crap they gave me when I'm trying to get on the plane, and now I can't help but think, "Why, why didn't I just ask if I could change "grey" to "hazel" to fix this whole mess!?" She also says that since I checked "organ donor" they'd have to change that, too, because it's not on my ID, which is stupid, because I know for a fact that I checked organ donor when I was filling out my thing for my ID, they just didn't put it on there. So she gives me my permit and asks if we want to set up an appointment for my actual driver's test. My mom asks when the soonest opening is; the lady says August 14th. Yeah. You notice the difference between that and the date above? You see the problem with that? You see why this lady is slowly starting to transform into a fury before my very eyes, ready to devour me and take me down to the Underworld kicking and screaming? You see why I wish the pen I've been using actually DID click into a sword? (Can you guess what I've been reading lately?) She asks if my college is in Texas. No. No it is not, you malicious creature. She said most of the other DMV's will probably be alllllll full, just like this one. She suggested maybe Texas City, where I may be able to take it the first week of August. We say okay, take my paper permit (with a horrible picture, by the way, despite the fact that I'm having a good hair day. Stupid cameras), and leave.

I've never cared about driving. This has not helped. And it doesn't help that when people my age find out I haven't gotten my license yet, the conversation is as follows, because after having the conversation so many times, I've slowly gotten more indifferent about it:

Them: You don't have your license?!
Me: No.
Them: What?! Why??
Me: I dunno. I just never got around to it.
Them: Geez, when I hit 15, I got my permit right away! I couldn't wait to learn how to drive!
Me: ....
Them: It's so nice to drive. The freedom, the open road, the independence...
Me: ....
Them: Bla bla bla, I can't believe you wouldn't want it, bla bla bla, cars, bla bla bla...
Me: *thinking* Why the gud should I care what you think or want? Do I look anything like you? No, thank God.

I'm sure they have good intentions, but they seem to not realize that their opinions are no different than those of the 15 and 16 year olds who told me the same thing when we were that age, and I've heard that reasoning for the past 4 years or so. The only reason I'm getting it now is so that A.) I don't have to worry about it, and B.) In hopes that maybe those people will shut the gud up.

The sad thing, that whole fiasco was only icing on the metaphorical cake. Today I woke up and my brain decided to poke me over and over again in the sensitive, stressful areas. Let's see....

1. I go back to school in less than one month. 
2. When I get there I'll have a job with RHA, and I have no idea what the heck I'm supposed to do as NCC. 
3. I have almost no money, because I was offered a babysitting job at the beginning of summer, but the lady wound up not needing me, and since I had thought I was going to have a source of income, I didn't really try getting any other job. By the time it was clear she wasn't going to need me after all, it was too late in the summer for anyone to hire me, because by the time I'd get hired, I'd only have a month till I had to quit, and what employer in their right mind would hire someone like that?
4. Because I have no money, I have no idea how I'll buy any of my books.
5. I don't know my future roommates that well/at all, and I've tried to get us to talk some, but they seem to not want to talk at all. Here's hoping we all get along, because I don't want drama roommates like I had last year.
6. I have no boyfriend. Which, really, I haven't had one since between now and, well, my time in the womb, so it's not like that's not any different than normal. But still, it'd be nice to know some guy found me just a little bit attractive.
7. Not gonna lie, I've put on a couple of pounds since being home. I blame it on the fact that summer makes me so supremely lazy that you're lucky if I change out of my PJ's, and as such I've barely done anything like the walking I did while at school. It also doesn't help that while I ate ice cream almost every day at school, it was a smaller portion, and I probably ate less food due to the fact that on some days, particularly Fridays, the food was unidentifiable, and on the weekends it was "fend for yourself!" so I sometimes ate something simple, such as noodles. My mother makes the best food ever. I actually get seconds.
8. Let's not forget that the left side of my face has decided, "OMG, let's break out!" Woo-gudding-hoo.

I know, I know. My life could be so much worse. But you know what? I'm always the optimistic person, trying to find the bright side, and reminding myself that I could be so much worse off, and everything will be okay, and that "Que sera, sera," and "C'est la vie," and everything happens for a reason, and all of that crap, but just for once, I'm taking the time to say, "Oh my God, what am I going to do!?!?!?!!" I'm taking the time to say, "I wish I was 9 years old again. It was so much easier back then. And fourth grade was fun, and 9 is my lucky number, and you'd think 19 would be lucky, too, since it has a 9, but it's kind of failing me right now. Maybe it's because 1 plus 9 is 10, and 10 is just a stupid number." I'm listening to music that makes me feel better, not because it's perky, but because most of it is more depressing. And not in the R&B-girl-singing-about-looking-out-the-window-at-rain-and-her-love-is-gone kind of way, in the Alternative-Rock-guy-talking-about-how-he's-better-off-without-his-ex-and-is-more-likely-to-use-the-word-"gud"-than-"love"-in-the-lyrics kind of way.

But that's it. When I hit "Publish," I'm done with this pity party. I'm back to the jokes, sarcasm, and laughter, that are probably some deep psychological coping mechanism, but it's worked so far and I've yet to explode. Tomorrow I will probably start my driving lessons, and I'll also be visiting my best friend, which is very much needed. This was an excellent stress reliever, to be perfectly honest. Besides, I needed to post something else. Those other two posts are more serious and almost sound pompous than funny. Not that most of you care. But I tried to make this more funny; partially for your sake, and also for my own, because if I don't try and humor myself while writing this, I probably would have had some sort of psychological nervous breakdown, and none of us need to see that. So, stay ducky and lucky.

Edit: Guys (I love how I say it as if someone's reading this). I drove into a house. It didn't do any damage on either end, but...*sigh* I'm screwed.