Tea, for Two

You know what really pisses me off? (I know what you're thinking, I'm not all that prone to actually, truly getting pissed off, but I swear it, this really does the trick.) You know what really steps up to the handle and takes a big ol' turn on Sunny's crank of ire? You know what makes me want to reach through my computer screen and ring some scrawny little necks?

Tea.

That's right, tea.

I should restate. People who drink tea.

That's not completely accurate, either. People who tell me they drink tea. (I think we have a winner.)

See, the thing is, most sane and logical people just don't bring their choice of beverage into everyday conversation. There's really no need. If I'm with you, most likely I know what you're drinking. If I'm reading your blog, I don't give a shit. If I'm reading your blog and you bring your beverage into every conversation you have at me.. well, I probably don't read your blog. Seriously. It's that simple. I've got more pressing things to read about. Like Julia and her computer problem, or monkey hats. They are genuinely hilarious, fun, and highly intelligent primates. They are also highly classy people, and they didn't have to tell me they drink tea for me to figure that out! I just knew! From their writing!

Now, it may seem like I'm picking on one beverage over another here, but there is a method to my madness. Tea is fucking pretentious. I'm sorry to tell you this, but tea is fucking pretentious. You know how I can tell? Look at yourself in a mirror and say the word out loud. Notice how your face has to actually make a condescending smile when you say it? Say it again. "Tea." Freeze your face after you say it, and really study yourself. See it now? This is why it's fucking pretentious.

There are beverages you can tell me about on your blogs. Heck, there's even a few I want to know about! Posting drunk? Please please tell me what you're drinking! I want to know! I want to join you! Posting about your jittery paranoia? It's ok! You can tell me you're on your 6th cup of joe! It clues me in to your state of mind. Tea, on the other hand, is for pussies.

People in England can drink tea. People in China can drink tea. You know what though? THEY DON'T FUCKING TALK ABOUT IT ALL DAY. Here in the americas, there is an unspoken idea floating around that Anything British is Automatically Classy. (This is not so. Have you seen their teeth? Not classy.)

For a long time in the US, people weren't very much into the british. We were busy starting our own country and killing off all those pesky indians. Ever since things have settled down on the exploring and the killing indians fronts, people started thinking that our friends from across the pond are pretty nifty. We love everything the british throw our way, seriously. Look at Ozzy. My point is that we seem to have a big old crush on the British Islands. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and some people have taken this a bit too far. With the tea.

I first noticed this phenomenon in high school. Lisa and I noticed many pretentious things going on in high school, because half of the people we hung out with were insane, and the other half thought that they were british. It was a confusing time for them. We had one friend in particular who was both. April used to walk around school, flipping her hair in our faces, fluttering her eyelids as she looked down her nose at us while she trilled on and on about her tea. (Then she went to Ireland for six months and came back speaking in a brogue for.. well, I can't say she ever stopped.)

I want all you people to listen up, and listen good. Cool British People don't talk about drinking tea all day long - they just do it. They are so incredibly cool, they don't have to mention their beverage choices. EVER. Please, take pity on the rest of us, and stop talking about your fucking pretentious tea already. Its not making you cool. Its not making you classy. Its making me sick.

Also, teabags are gross.

Day: Dude, I Totally Forgot

Well, that didn't work, did it? I'm considering moving, I feel like there are things that I could use this blog for, things like getting shit off of my chest and whatnot, but I don't. I don't because it's not anonymous anymore. I also feel like a faker, I haven't been Sunny for a while now, my online moniker has changed and I'm better off that way, more comfortable in those shoes somehow at this stage of my life.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. Or where it will lead me. Or who I should take along for the ride, if anyone. Part of me wants to just dissolve my archives, or make them invisible at least, and just cart this to a new blogspot space. I'm not even sure how to do that, is it possible? I don't want to lose my archives, but they're not what I am right now.

I feel lost, nobody find me.

Day 6: Almost Forgot Already

You've all been missing updates on Huck, haven't you? Not to mention the silly drawings I make of him.

Update #1: This is where he prefers to sleep when the weather gets too chilly. Too chilly for Huck is anything under 65°F. I caught him outside on his chain a few weeks ago, when the weather was still a balmy mid-sixties, shivering in a pathetic ball on the grass. Poor dog was not meant for Wisconsin winters. I'll toughen him up eventually.

Day 5:

That's a dinosaur with an underbite, in case you wondered.

And yes, I'm happy with our country today.

Day 4: Guess Who?

Day 3: Tired

Half-awake and really hating the part of my job that has me getting up at 4:30 three mornings a week... And to think that when I started this school year I was excited because I had all "after school" shifts.

I was probably tempting fate.

Day 2: Nearly Forgot Already

So, it's been a while, huh?

Did you miss me?

...

I happened upon a twitter about NaBloPoMo, and realized that if ever I was to get this damned thing up and running again, why not do so and hook my navel directly to the pressure zone and maybe? Maybe? Win something cool in the meantime. If a prize isn't going to motivate me, what will?

Don't answer that.

Hey, I'm giving it a shot. What more can you ask of me?

Day One:

Earliest conversation this morning, with a couple of friends...

T: I'm so horny, I'd put my penis in anything.

R: Porkchop? (the cat)

T: No, not Porkchop.

S: A vagina?

T: ...No, not a vagina.

Break

My absence has been caused by my grandma's death last week Sunday.

Overwhelmed

I feel the need to purge. I feel cluttered, full. Surrounded. Too much happening all the time. I need to simplify. Condense. I need for things to be real.

Last night when I was wasted, I went outside and laid in the grass. I only do that when my life gets too busy. When I need a reminder that the world is vast and in all of my complications I am but a speck of dust in the grand scheme of life.

It helps me sometimes.

Update:

Did everyone have a nice weekend? Yes? Good. Me too.

/update

My, my

I had an hour long dream this morning that seemed to go on all night long. I'm telling you, there were nudists and everything! (Turns out, I'm a prude about the nudist thing. Who knew?)

I got some fantastic news yesterday. Also one of the sweetest apologies ever, and I actually accepted it with grace (I think) and without denying that it needed to be said. Usually I end up protesting that nothing was done to be apologized for, but I managed to avoid it. I'm kind of proud of myself. Also really happy about the fantastic news!

B's doing his taxes, which is awesome because I think they'll stop holding my refund when his get done.

Updating

I need to get a new book on tape from the library. It is not sane to listen to the same book on tape three or four times in a row, just to avoid crappy radio stations. It's just not.

My brother's bike is very uncomfortable. I think I'm going to resort to buying a new bike, however wasteful it is. I think my free money should be here soon, and surprisingly I haven't spent it all yet. I've wanted a bike for a few years, so that's on the list. I've also got a bridesmaid's dress to pay for, and I've got my eye on a camera. It is brown and came recommended.

Tuesdays suck for me because therapy at my first house is over before noon and my second house starts after five. That leaves a lot of free time in the middle wherein I can't seem to get anything done. Unless you count surfing the Internet and playing Lego Star Wars. Today was especially terrible because when I drove the forty-five minutes to get to house number two, I was told they were cancelling therapy. Thanks, dude. You just wasted my evening. Not to mention my money. I will get paid for the travel time, but it doesn't exactly even out. He owes me two dollars.

I sent off a surprise present last week and it was received today. I like sending people stuff.

I almost forgot! On the drive to the house-that-wasn't, I got a call from T's mom (see yesterday's post) about Mr. Farmer. Apparently Mr. Farmer has had a talking to by more than a few people about the proper way to treat strangers, which warms my heart a little. I hope this is the end of it. Mom asked if I was too traumatized to go with them on their Chicago trip. I told her I would probably be fine, just as long as she was sure Mr. Farmer wasn't invited.

Yesterday was my third anniversary. The day started with an early morning truck backing into the driver's side of my parked car (both doors are damaged) and ended with my getting reamed by Mr. Farmer. (And not in the sexy way.) Even if there had been a canoe involved, I'm not sure it could have gotten worse.

That's My Story

My parents are on vacation this week. I thought this would be an awesome thing, but I'm disappointed so far. I was hoping for a vacation for me, too. It's only Monday, but we're off to a rough start if they were here all day long.

My bike went back to the pawn shop. The rear tire wanted to pop out of the wheel. I made it around the block without trouble, but I wanted to go further than that on it without a pit stop. Eventually. As of now, I'm riding my brother's bike. Actually, I will be publishing this post and then going on a small bike ride.

Today at my last house, some asshole made me cry. My family rents from a farmer who lives across the street and farms the fields around the family's house. While we were out riding bikes and goofing off, Mr. Farmer came across the street and started up the driveway. I'd never met him before, so I greeted him with a cheery, "Hi!" His responce was, "YOU NEED TO STOP PARKING IN THIS FUCKING DRIVEWAY!!!" I can't believe that some people make it to sixty without learning basic social skills. Really, I'd like to have a word with this man's mother. I think I would have probably been fine, but T (the awesome kid of awesomeness that I work with) came up to me very concerned and asked, "Are you sad?" So yeah, I cried. Just a little bit. It was mostly due to shock.

Secondary

The most terrible thing in the world is to be completely in love with someone who is completely in love with you, and know you will never be with that person.

You end up desperate for something secondary, just to take the edge off of the big love you have and can't do anything about.

$20

Sadinex?

I have a hard time letting myself feel sad. Right now, I'm lonely fit to bust and tears are squeezing out no matter how much I tell myself that I am Not Crying and it just isn't healthy. I know it. I can't seem to help it.

The sad festers inside while I squelch it down, try to stamp it out. It doesn't go out, and sometimes it fights back and reaches the top again and spills out my eyes for a while and fills my head with nonsense about being unloved. Takes away all of my hopefullness. Reassures me that this, this lonely - this pointlessness - is what I'm going to be. What was meant to be for me.

Part of me knows that I should just let my body be sad, let it be missing what it had for a while. Let it fully take over and get the miserable out of its system but if I do that, what are the guarantees that the sadness will let the happy back in? Maybe the sadness will like the view, cozy up near the fire and dig in its claws. There is no Mucinex for the sadness.

I tried calling him tonight, just because I haven't talked to him in a long time, and miss him. Part of my price for (what? what did I get?) all this being miserable was my best friend, and that really hurts.

Wouldn't it be better to still have... something? Everything is lost to me tonight, and I am lost too.

I don't want to be here and I don't have the means to be any other place. I am cold and I want to be warm. I am all by myself.

Worth

At my last house on my long day, I told him I had to leave and he ran up to give me a hug. He said, "Awwwww! When are you coming back?"

Yeah, that's pretty great, isn't it?

Pink

I have been reading In a Sunburned Country, by Bill Bryson, and I am falling into a serious crush with the author's style. He has, according to the book, spent half of his life in the United States, and half in England. This explains his lovely accent* and also the lovely british terms and phrases he uses.

*I also really enjoy a book on tape read by the author. Gives another dimension to the story telling, especially in a work like this, nonfiction.

I am very happy to discover that he's written many other books. At least two of these are books that I've thought many times should be written. Seeing now that they not only have been, and by someone whose style and wonderful sense of humor I very much enjoy tickles me pink. I'm thrilled.

Someone remind me to buy these books: A Short History of Nearly Everything, and The Mother Tongue. Thanks.