2006-01-12, 4:19 p.m.
Weird news from the land of Mom:
(a) She is apparently okay with me shacking up with a guy. Um, what?
Not that this is going to happen because I am butt-terrified of signing a lease with someone and then breaking up, but I guess it's nice to know that the relatives on Mom's side of the family wouldn't all lose their shit at the very idea.
(b) Grandpa is out of the hospital, but has a broken elbow from picking up my grandma three times a day.
(c) Grandma is now in a wheelchair and being bitchy to everybody.
"They went downhill so fast," Mom said. No kidding.
(d) Naturally, Mom did NOT find this information out from the PITAs, who are supposedly going to Montana to see them next week. She didn't get told that, either. I gather they are being bitchy to her because she hasn't said, "Sure, how's about I just give you guys ALL of this money that you are not entitled to, because you're so much better than us!"
On another note entirely, I took a new class at the gym last night. It's a hip-hop class called "Freak the Beat," which is (a) kind of a strange name at best, and (b) I felt kind of silly having to say "Sign me up for Freak the Beat" when I came in. (I also felt silly signing up for "Cardio Fabulous," especially since the staff would not get what I was referring to if I just said "Sign me up for cardio." Even the teacher of the class told me she was embarrassed by the title. But anyway...)
It is taught by this little guy who says "aight" (i.e. "all right"), like ALL THE TIME. I never heard someone say that so much in my life. It was kind of funny.
He was a pretty good instructor and the class was fun, and I don't think I've seen so many people show up to a class since the dance fusion class came out last year. Hell, the class was probably about 45% guys, which is saying something for a class that isn't abs or cycling.
Though the song we did the routine to was called "Ms. New Booty", and I won't even get into the weirdness of that. The second I heard the song title I was all, "Damn, I'm gonna go out of here with another song about booty stuck in my head. Gaaaaaaaaaaaah."
Have I mentioned before that I HATE DREAMS? Unless they're ones involving me having sex with various Joss Whedon characters, I hate them. Haaaaaaaate.
Last night I had a dream that instead of Mauricio being Dad's caretaker, it was erstwhile crush dude, and we were going around holding hands behind my parents' backs. Annoyingly, I was happy in this dream- and then woke up and was pissed the fuck off.
I don't know why people need help with analyzing their dreams. Mine are so fucking transparent, it's disgusting. I can stick NO BOYS on my mental To Don'ts List, but my subconscious can't be whipped. Grr.
I am not choosing the path of love, dammit. I am not choosing to make Finding A Man the sole source of my happiness in life any goddamned more, no matter what my hormones say. I am determined to be satisfied and happy WITHOUT it. I'm not in love, I just want attention or something, and FUCK THAT. I don't have to be a "Pay attention to meeeeeeeee!" whore the way Mom goes about it, thankyouverymuch.
Though I must say that reading all the angsty posts in this forum has certainly helped with my resolve today. Good GOD, this shit ain't worth the mental anguish.