Saturday, October 28, 2000

I stayed in my pajamas almost all day today. Hee. I slept in, I did absolutely nothing useful... Well, almost nothing. I -did- rescan a couple of pictures... More about that in a minute.

 

A little while ago, I said I'd be talking about me and my face again at some point in the future. The future appears to be here, now.

I am a freak. That's all there is to it. It's true, I am statistically proven -- ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the female population does NOT look like me, therefore, I am freakish in my appearance. I should steal the pictures one of my superiors took of me recently...

They fascinate and repulse me all at the same time. I look like -that?- I look like _that_.... Eew.

The thing I love about my job is that no one ever says boo to me about it. I look this way, and no one says word one about it. I get called other things -- Zombie Lady, Airplane Lady (long story), Condiment Girl, Walking Dictionary/Encyclopedia... But never a freak. I get treated poorly sometimes, but that's because sometimes, dyslexics simply don't understand how the rules of proper behavior apply to them. But I've never been insulted about my looks.

You know what?

I don't like it. Feeling like a freak, I mean. I don't like not getting a thank-you after I open a student's can of Ravioli, either, but that's different.

I don't like it when I get stared at. I don't like it when I get whispered about.

I was in Border's, tonight, in the magazines, looking for a hair magazine so I could see if there were any styles that appealed to me (BTW- I finally got my hair cut! Yaaaay!). There were these two kids, probably about twelve/thirteen, standing about six feet away from me... One of them was holding up a magazine at about eye-level, the back cover turned toward me and almost touching his face while he whispered to his friend. Like I wouldn't notice. Like I wouldn't figure it out.

Hair growing where it oughtn't obviously makes me blind, or stupid, or deaf, or all three. Obviously.

Then, after my mother and I spent more money that we probably should have on books, we were on our way across the parking lot when a couple of guys in a white and rust blazer backed out of their spot, caught site of me, and circled the parking lot for another look.

I knew they were going to come back for a look. I also knew they were probably going to say something to me/us. On their way by, they did just that -- yelling something I couldn't -understand-, but I knew it wasn't nice.

My poor mother. My poor father... Even poor Ev, to an extent. He says he likes to go places with me, though, because he gets to give people that stare at me the hairy eyeball. I did that for him (and he did it for himself) back when he was wearing his headgear during the day... It wasn't the usual style that runs around the back of his head, but looked more like a catcher's mask, with a part that pressed against his forehead and chin. People would look at him as if he'd just got off the latest flight from Alpha Centauri 3, or like he was retarded or something... And we'd give whoever was staring a dirty look. Mom said that a lot of other moms just gave her sympathetic smiles, which she thought was okay.

And while I'm not exactly -thrilled- with the idea of providing entertainment for Ev, I'm really glad he does that for me. It makes me feel all warm'n'squishy... Either that or I ate caterpillars for lunch again. *Snerk*

Anyhow.

I don't know what the assholes in the Chevy said, but I knew it wasn't nice. What if they'd waited around and followed us? What if they'd seen me in the store? What if I'd been alone?

I don't like to be scared in my own city. This is -my- city, this is a tiny little podunk nothing town of 250,000 (more or less) people. This is not New York or Detroit or L.A. or D.C. (though I liked D.C., and would love to visit again). This isn't a place where I have to stay in my little Burbclave after dark, this isn't a place where I have to worry about a drive-by at my school.

I shouldn't have to fear for my life when I go to buy a book. That's -so- wrong. I shouldn't have to want to get my concealed carry permit just so I feel safe when I contemplate going to the mall.

I don't want to have to know exactly what I'll say to the police, the detectives, the jury of my peers when I get arrested and arraigned for justifiable homicide.

"I feared for my life, officer. He was coming toward me and he didn't look friendly."

"Friendly?"

I've said it before: Brandon/Tina of Nebraska died because s/he wanted to be a man so badly s/he did the best s/he could to be one. Men/boys raped and killed her because of that.

What will they do to me because I cannot control my horomones?

What will happen to me if I dare to keep wandering around town, showing my hairy face to people that are either totally unnerved or something by it?

We went to Fred Meyer's the other night to get a snack and some household stuff, and on the way home, mom mentioned that she hadn't seen our favorite Russian around. Me, being oblivious to most of the other people there, said, "who?"

There is, apparently, a young man of Russian descent that works there, who always says hello to us whenever we run across him. "Actually, he says it -towards -us-, but he's usually looking at -you-," she said. "Oh?" Feeling sickish, as usual.

"Yes, with this... Funny look on his face, kind of...Awed. I like that, awed is good..." She's saying this in her Mama Bear tone -- i.e. Be Nice To My Kid Or Die.

"Awed? A-w-e-d?"

"Yes."

And I spend the rest of the trip home grinning foolishly out the window because some guy I've never even hardly -noticed- looks at me when I don't see it and is, apparently, awed. Or at least not revolted.

So I have Awed Guy, Thumbs-Up lady, and Mollie of Fred Meyer's (*blink* Hmm, when she was talking to me, she mentioned that she had a son... Could Awed Guy be him? I have no idea...) on my side. Wow. Three supporters against a sea of nameless, faceless millions that think I should stay home if I can't do them the courtesy of bending to the norm of face-fur-free-females.

Well, aside from my family, anyhow. And even then I doubt that any of them really -like- it. I haven't had the guts to ask Mme. Jean, even hypothetically, what she thinks of it. Yeah. Too chicken to ask the girl that makes me consider shaving my head just because she likes the look if she thinks I'm... What? Cute? Pretty? Attractive at the least. Partly I'm chicken. Partly I know she doesn't go for that kind of girly-girl crap. Besides, "Do you think I'm attractive?" verges too closely on "would you, could you ever love someone like me? Or -me-, for that matter?" which is just desperate and pathetic.

It's not fair. It's not FAIR. Who's idea was this? Why? Why me? Why Scrubby, why Reesa, why any of us? Why is it that I only want what I can't, or am not supposed to, have?

I can make all of it go away for a little while, by reading or writing or watching hockey or cartoons... But it doesn't help, because then in the in-between times, it's all still lurking there, waiting for me to remember it.

Life hurts. It hurts so much that I wonder at the fact that I even sit here and type these words. How the hell has the human race survived so long?

We have a student that is probably not going to be with us in the next few weeks or months, because they were contemplating suicidal ideologies rather seriously. -Fortunately- for all involved, their mother asked them if they were, they said yes, and they started getting help.

I don't want to die. I want to go home. I've lived in about eight different houses since I was born, and in the last 6 I have had times where I've been terribly homesick. All I want to do is go home. I don't know where home is, I just know it's not wherever I am.

This doesn't happen very often, fortunately, and I don't think killing myself would get me there. Besides that, killing myself would make at least six or seven people really, -really- _really_ pissed off at me, and that would be bad.

Happy things -did- happen to me today, honest. It's just that my dislike-bordering-on-simmering-hatred of 99.856263524920 percent of the human race is kind of overshadowing them.

Happy Things:

-- Japanese Homestyle Cooking by Tokiko Suzuki. It's a neat book, featuring lots of interesting-sounding stuff, with a gazillion pictures, the requisite chef's equipment, tips on etiquette, presentation, and what ingredients to use, and lots and lots of Romanized Japanese words for the learning.

-- Dream Hunters! *Bouncebounce* Yes, finally. I have no idea what the story's about, I haven't even -read- it, yet, but I looked at the pretty pictures. Hee. Yoshitaka Amano's artwork is -so- lovely...

-- Free Fall by Robert Crais. He writes PI mysteries featuring Elvis Cole and Joe Pike, who are amusing and intriguing, respectively. The style they're written in is a little difficult to get into, but for me, once I get past it, it's utterly addicting. And he's not too gory! So far, I can recommend The Monkey's Raincoat, Sunset Express, L.A. Requiem (which was the first one I read... I believe it's the most recently published one), and Stalking The Angel.

-- Did I mention I got a REAL day off today? I did. Today was Parent/Teacher/Student Conferences, and I didn't have to be there. Stayed in my jammies and watched Godzilla on DVD. Some of the dialogue is cringe-worthy, but damn if Sgt. O'Neill didn't make my heart go flutter-flap all over again. *Snerk* That and I remembered that I was going to do something with the slash potential between O'Neill and Colonel Whatsisname... Murphy? Brown? The one played by Kevin Dunn, anyhow. Or maybe O'Neill/Tautaupolis... I can't remember.

-- Read Xander/Spike slash for just about the first time ever... And if I remember correctly, -I- don't get to -see- BTVS because the station that carried it (and Pokémon) up here decided to stop. *Grumple* And if I -also- recall correctly, Seth Green (Sean Green? Scott Evil/Oz, anyhow) wears makeup on the show. *Squint* I think that was mentioned to me. I may be misremembering in my fond hope of more pictures of Scott Evil looking the way he did on Jerry Springer at the end of Austin Powers II. Yum.

-- I now own a copy of TV Guide, so I can find out when Hockey is on! I need game fodder... I really need to write some more Announcer Stuff. And Mulls stuff. And... Well, yeah, I just need to write, period.

-- A neat button my mom got for me while she was in Homer last week. It's made of clay, and has a very Oriental-looking wave pressed into the surface. If I had a kimono, I'd use it as a netsuke... Or maybe just a kimono button. *Hides*

-- Got most of Hubie's Careers scanned! I'll eventually get around to putting commentary with them, but not right now. (These shoooould open in a new window...)

- How did Hubie get his ears? This is one theory...

- Hubie's first job, kinda.

- Why Hubie Won't Be Taking Trowa's Day Job Any Time Soon...

- Some People Don't -Have- Coasters, Y'know.

- Vampires can be Dark, too.

- Not coming to a club near you: Catboy Sings The Blues

- Dropped-waist dress-things do NOT flatter Hubie at ALL.

- "Ah luv ya. Ah ahlways 'ave." I can't help it, that's my favorite line from that movie after the whole "Steven is my name!" exchange. And I was working from the picture on the box, which is why it turned out better than it might have.

- Bring in da noise, bring down the house! I'll make no bones about it -- I like *NSync. Of the band members, Joey Fatone's my favorite, just because he has that cool red-tipped hair. Heh.

- Two, two, two pictures in one! Don't hurt me.

- Hubie doesn't like getting water in his ears, for which I don't blame him.

- Another job for which Hubie is not prepared. Neither is his companion, the silly thing.

- Hubie is not The One. More box-derived art, only more poorly interpreted... Well, in places, anyhow.

- The price tag is not ironic commentary, unless you consider the fact that it looked like a doll when I was finished ironic.

- I love the cannery workers in Homer. They all have this wind-blown, weathered look that just does all sortsa things for me, not that I could ever bring myself to tell them so.

- Heh. This one actually just inspired another (possibly better) take on the classic over-muscled superhero idea... Hee.

- And last but not least, Hubie hits the beach. Kinda.

Posted by: Shannon M.: 2:24 AM |

Newsgroups are... Odd. Today, I was informed that I could join the following groups if I so chose:

-- alt.autos.kia

-- alt.binaries.multimedia.darkangel

-- alt.cellular.alltel

-- alt.sex.spanking.moderated (I can't resist, though I know I shoooould... If you get out of line, do you get a swat on the behind?)

-- comp.lang.smalltalk.dolphin

and last but not least, microsoft.public.windowsmedia.player.mac.beta

Needless to say, I didn't/haven't/won't. Well, I might look at alt.autos.kia, because I kind-of like the way the cars look.

 

I'd debate the 'coolest site'part, but from what I've heard/seen so far, it certainly is -spiffy-. Makeup Mania

Posted by: Shannon M.: 7:03 PM |

Alt Country is all about beer and women and losin' stuff. A lot like regular country, but with less mainstream appeal. Heh.

I like it, thought. Alt Country, I mean. Of course, I like all manner of odd stuff, so it's not that wierd.
Posted by: Shannon M.: 7:08 PM |

I wanna hear Saint Valentine Drove A Red Continental again, if you care.
Posted by: Shannon M.: 7:10 PM |

I really like lip things. Gloss, stick, even balm. What I can't stand is the belief that said lipthings must smell and/or taste like something. Wet 'N' Wild smells and tastes like raspberries on steroids, and Revlon's StreetWear in the color 'Twinkle Toes' smells like blueberry muffin mix (which I don't mind) but tastes like soap. Yucky.

Also, while I love the idea of glitter lipgloss, it makes my lips feel all gritty.
Posted by: Shannon M.: 7:14 PM |