It is the last day of vacation. Vacation basically consisted of working, obsessing over music, dealing with my parents buying a house, and hanging out. Here's how each of these things went:
Working: I have a terrible job. I have realized this. Granted, I still like having a job. But of all the jobs I could have gotten, working at The Bagel Store is definately on the low end of things for the following reasons:
It is hard. Mentally. You wouldn't think it would be, but it is. There are a lot of things you have to memorize, like where everything comes from, where everything goes, how to clean things, how to put things together, how to make every kind of sandwich and beverage, how to operate machinary, what containers to put different food items in, the names of the regulars, the orders of the regulars, and the prices of everything on the menu. It is going to take them forever to train me, especially since they are not really training me that well. A lot of stuff I have been left to figure out on my own. And when I ask stupid questions, it is made clear to me that they are stupid questions.
It pays minimum wage.
Everyone who works there is ditzy (even the guys) and several of the people who work there are mean. Especially someone who does not require a name, but will be known as Bagel Store Bitch. Yes. She makes me extremely angry. Especially since in addition to being a bitch, she is by far the ditziest person there. Quite possibly the ditziest person anywhere, actually. She was supposed to be training me, and every question I asked her, she acted like she could not believe my stupidity. She also kept telling me to do things faster so that she could go out and get drunk. She actually says the word "whatevs." She is not joking. She is way too blond. You can see the little beads of mascara clinging to her eyelashes. I remind her so hard of this girl Ivy.
"Um..."
"Do you know her?"
"Yeah."
"Are you like, friends with her?"
"No. I... actually can't stand her."
"Oh alright. I didn't want to like, say anything bad about her if you're friends with her or something. Does she still have the braid?"
"What?"
"She always used to have this braid. And these really ugly floodpants."
"Oh. I... guess she used to braid her hair..."
"Yeah, and you could always see her socks and they would always be like, really weird. She was like, weird. But like, whatevs, she was nice."
(Point: This person is so shallow that the only thing she could think of to make fun of Ivy for was the way she dresses. And she lumps all quiet people without designer purses into one category.)
Bagel Store Bitch is almost bitchy enough to, along with the other bad things, make me want to quit work. The thing is, like I said, I like having a job. I like earning money and knowing that I am responsible enough to do something that real people in the real world have to do. But I'll bet there are a lot of places where I could do less, earn more, and not have to deal with slutty brainless people being mean to me. So basically, work has been sucking. But at least I can wait on customers now. Kind of.
Obsessing over music: I have decided to start working on my scary long term bio project. So I went to the library and took out five books about music theory and how the brain processes music, and also a five CDs - two classical, two jazz, and one bluegrass. First of all, I have decided that I like the library. I rarely use it as a library (as opposed to a hangout spot, group project meeting spot, or stalking spot.) but I should more often. There is just so much cool stuff there, and it is free, and the librarians were really nice to me even though I was being socially awkward. (I have a feeling that in general, they look kindly upon social awkwardness at the library.) Since I had so much stuff, they also gave me a big plastic bag that says "I <3 my library" on it. But anyway, I've read one of the books, and it was completely fucking fascinating. I got all excited about it, and for a while, I literally could not put it down. I stayed up until like two in the morning one night reading about scales. This book took up a considerable portion of my vacation.
I also went to look at new trombones. We went to this little store in this town I've never been to that only sells brass instruments. Mr. Thomas recommended it. I think you have to be recommended for it, actually, because the sign was really small and inconspicuous and there were two cars parked in front of it - ours, and presumably the one that belonged to the guy working there. The guy working there seemed very quiet and awkward. He wore glasses and was reading a copy of a magazine exclusively for french horn players when we walked in. He showed me a thousand dollar trombone, and let me go to this special upstairs room to play it. It sounded amazing. But... It was a thousand dollars, and the trombone is not even my primary instrument. So he showed me a seven hundred dollar one in a catalogue. He also assessed the condition of my current trombone, since we might have to have it fixed up before we give it back to the school. He kept kind of wincing when he would find another dent or rusty spot. He says it's probably fifteen or twenty years old and is "not long for this world." Which I kind of knew. But apparantly it used to be a pretty good pro model. I have a whole new respect for my trombone now. My trombone is like that kind of crazy old guy rotting away in a nursing home who you find out used to be a fighter pilot in world war two.
The real estate thing: I hate real estate. This is what I have learned from this whole moving ordeal. Real estate is a slimy, obnoxious business filled with slimy, obnoxious people who spend all of their time trying to create the illusion of something. Real estate is filled with words that no one should ever use in real life, like "town home" and "arbor vide." Female realtors always try to look ten years younger than they are. They always have poofy hair and wear too much generic smelling perfume. Male realtors do a better job at being artificial. But I'm sure that they still are. Nobody likes you that much after just meeting you.
Anyway, it turns out we are not moving to the place we thought we were moving. We found another place which is bigger, closer to downtown and the highschool, and not an obnoxious "gated community" where the condo people own your soul. In fact, it is very hard to tell that the new place is a condo and not a house. it has a deck and a garage and a basement, and not everything is shiny and perfect. It looks like a normal house in a normal neighborhood. I pretty much love it. It is pretty much my childhood dream come true. My room will be huge. There will be a whole separate room for the computer. There will be another whole seperate room where I can go to hang out with my friends. I could invite people over. I could have band practice. I could even walk home with people after school, and we could walk through the front door and be in MY HOUSE (not just a building) where there will be lots of places to go if we don't want to hang out in the same room with my parents.
After a series of negotiations and some lying on the part of our male realtor (who my parents worship like a savior and would probably trust with their lives right now) we sealed the deal on our apartment and bought this place for a lot less money than they wanted to sell it for. Now my parents will not shut up about it. How big each room is, what the basement's like, what the garage is like, how much money it was, what exposure each room has, the colors of the walls, the light fixtures, the financial stuff that they have to go through now. It is really boring. Although this whole thing makes me happy, I hope that I never get so old that I find real estate interesting.
Hanging out: There has actually not been as much of this as I would have liked. I hung out with Molly, and then I hung out with Molly and Emma, and last night I hung out with Molly, Dave, and Tom. This was actually not too awkward. Or rather, thanks to Tom, it was one of those situations that was just so openly awkward that it almost made the whole thing more comfortable. Or maybe that was just me. Maybe it was more awkward on the other end of things.
Basically, we went to Tom's house, and Tom and I sat down on one (rather large) couch, and Molly and Dave sat down on another (significantly smaller) couch. We talked for a few minutes, and then Tom interrupted Molly midsentence to say, "Shouldn't you two be touching each other more often?"
They both looked embarrassed. Which, with Molly, means that her entire face turned bright red.
"Look, I mean, they're just sitting there, and you can tell that Dave's like, trying to get himself to put his arm around her, and he's almost doing it, but he's not quite getting there. There's all this sexual tension. Just do it man."
Dave continued to look embarrassed and said, "Dude, what are you, reading my mind!?" and Molly laughed and burried her face in her tea and said, "I hate you Tom."
Pause.
"Well, jeez, there's NO way to be smooth about this now," said Dave.
"Smoothness is overrated," I said.
Pause. He put his arm around her. They both still looked very embarrassed. Tom and I clapped. Tom grinned, took a drink of whatever he was drinking, and said, "You know what's great? Saying whatever I damn well please." They spent the rest of the night like that. Tom talked about getting stoned and we all summarized movies to each other.
It should also be noted that I can drive people now. I drove everyone to Tom's. So apparantly, I become somewhat of a nervous driver when I have other people in the car. And I still have no idea how to get around town at all. As a result of this second thing, despite the directions and the MAP I was given, I got completely fucking lost after I left Tom's and ended up in the next town. No, it is not funny. It was fucking scary and I am extremely embarrassed by how completely incapable I am of knowing where the hell I am, even when I am trying pretty hard. To try to fix things, I asked my mother if she would drive around with me today as I tried to figure out how to get from places to other places. Mistake. That's all I have to say about that. I have been feeling better about my parents since I wrote the entry on them. But my mother is still a critical control freak who must explain everything in detail.
That was a long entry. And I have to go to school tomorrow. Damn.
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