The Worst Game Ever

This past weekend (SSTOA FTW!), Jenny introduced me to a horrible, horrible game that she apparently likes to play with her sister. It's a version of "Would You Rather...?" with an awful twist. She bombarded me with questions like:

"Would you rather make out with this weirdo from our elementary school class or that weirdo from our elementary school class?

"Would you rather sleep with this creepy dive bar dude or that creepy dive bar dude?

"Would you rather be married to your crazy sociopath ex or my crazy sociopath ex?"

Oh my God. THESE ARE QUESTIONS I NEVER WANT TO HAVE TO ANSWER. Because, neither! NEITHER! NONE OF THE ABOVE! But you have to pick. She MAKES you. So it's just the worst game ever. The questions are horrible. The answers are horrible. The justifications to the answers are horrible (Um. I guess your (Jenny's) crazy sociopath ex? Because he's not as likely to become a murderer?). But the game, it is somehow addicting.

Ring.

I saw New Moon on Thanksgiving day. It was fun, entertaining, ridiculous, tweeny, whatever. But I want to talk about the most disturbing part about it. And no, I don't mean how it glorifies suicide and reckless behavior or how Bella is a total bitch for stringing along nice, hawt Jacob the entire time while pining for sallow, emo Edward.

No, I want to talk about Bella's moonstone ring. Did you notice it? How could you not? She wore it throughout the whole movie. Every time you saw her hands it was like Look! Ring! Apparently this was something she had in the books. I didn't remember it but according to Wiki answers it's true.

Ring.

What could possibly be disturbing about this, you ask? Well only the fact that I have been wearing a moonstone ring on my right index finger for the past SIX years.

Here I am the day before Thanksgiving:

Ring.

And on Halloween:

Ring.

Probably two and a half years ago:

Ring.

Threeish years ago:

Ring. (Plus shorter hair and absent tattoo).

SHALL I GO ON?

Seriously. I HAD IT FIRST. I am so not looking forward to this becoming a "thing" and people asking me if I wear it because of the books/movies. Because no. NONONONONONONONONO.

Shout out to Corporate America

After class today I realized I need some crucial items for my first clinical day of the quarter-- namely, a clipboard and some gum. I decided that the best place to find these and other, questionably necessary items was Target. So I called Kelly and we decided to meet there. I was inside when Kelly called to tell me she had arrived.

"I'm coming in the entrance on the left," said Kelly.

"When you're looking at Target from the outside?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Are you walking in right now?"

"Yeah I'm walking in through the doors. I'm by the candy section."

"Huh. I don't see you...."

"I'm wearing orange pants."

"ummm"

"I'm hopping up and down and waving."

"Okay I'm going over by the doors... Is there another entrance to this Target?"

"Actually, I think there is one. But I'm going to go to the restroom, do you want to just meet there? It's by the pharmacy."

"Perfect. See you there."

5 minutes later....

"Where are you now?"

"Uh, standing outside the restroom."

"That's where I am!"

"You're at the Daly City Target, right?"

"Yeah."

"The one right off Serramonte?"

"Yeah."

"Are you in a parallel universe??"

We eventually figured out that I had accidentally gone to the Target in Colma, instead of Daly City. It was an honest mistake seeing as these two Targets are located less than a mile away from one another and have the same freeway exit. I don't even know what to think about that.

On the subject of oddities...

There is a ghost living in my phone. Or controlling my phone. Or something.
Because not every night, but often enough so that it's creepy and not so often that I always expect it, my phone alarm will sound at midnight. I've noticed that it usually happens if I'm home alone and alseep... not, say, partying.

The alarm sounds, and I pick up my phone and press the OK button so I can see whatever appointment I apparently scheduled and forgot about and the phone, without fail, goes to the calendar date January 6, 1896.
That's EIGHTEEN ninety-six. As in, long before there were cell phones. Or digital alarms.

There's nothing actually written for the date, apparently my phone just wants to make absolutely sure I am aware of it. Which I am.

????

Yikes.

Well here goes. Tomorrow is officially Day One of my program. Whence I shall begin what is consistently touted as the most intensive yearlong program ever. I've been reassured by various current and former students that it's "tough but ..... doable." There's always the pause before that last word.

I have my Muni pass. I have my little breakfast/snack all packed to eat on the train. My clothes are all set out. I have my notebooks. I cannot, however, lay my hands on my favorite note-taking school pen which I guess is not that big of a deal... I suppose I can buy a new one at the bookstore tomorrow or else use one of these other crap pens. But where has it gone??

I told Jenny that I had purchased new shower curtain rings at Target.

"And did you find the old ones?"

"No! I haven't found them. And I actually don't mind because I was going to be annoyed if they just showed up right after I bought new ones. So that's good."

"Well, not really. Because that means you have a vortex in your apartment."

And apparently the pen is there now too.

NOT how this was supposed to happen.

Today I have to go to school to be fitted for a TB mask. Which in itself is a little off-putting. But I'm going. Nevermind the fact that I actually have no idea how to get from my apartment to school, but I figure that's the sort of thing that comes on its own. Right?

First I need to take a shower so as to look bright eyed and silky haired and so I feel clean and healthy. But before that can happen I need to lay my hands on the little packet of shower curtain rings that I know, I KNOW is somewhere in my apartment. I have the curtain, I have the rod, all I need are those rings. I am certain I brought the rings up from the car when I brought the curtain and then placed them in a box together. I then removed them from the box when I took it down to the recycle bin. I set the curtain on the couch and then I apparently placed the rings inside another dimension because they are not anywhere in the apartment. Granted, the apartment is a bit chaotic at the moment due to the fact that I am in the process of unpacking and downsizing. And this is a small package of clear rings. But I need them!!

Upon further inspection, I realize that I also don't have a hairbrush. It may be down in the car still, or it may be hanging out with the rings doing whatever it is you do in a parallel universe and you've never been outside WalMart. I can lay my hands on no less than 4 new, still wrapped toothbrushes because I thought I didn't have a spare so I bought two and then I made my sis buy me another one because her kid dropped mine in the toilet.

Adding to all of this, I have a gigantic zit on my chin. Why?? Why??? I had acne in high school. I will admit this freely and say that for all the warnings, Accutane was a godsend for me. Cleared my skin right up and did NOT make me feel like committing suicide like it apparently did for several other teens. But my skin remains incredibly sensitive. "Sensitive" as in I can't wash it with soap. I starting using Cetaphil a few months ago because I thought I probably should be using something on my face and I didn't realize the association between this and the fact that I was breaking out a lot until I packed it up and sent it to SF whilst I remained in LA. My skin got better without it. And I still haven't been using it so why? Why the enormous zit?? Stress? My dirty pillow cases? What???

So here I go to wash my hair in the bath and attempt to finger-comb it into something acceptable. Oh, and I can't cover up the zit because I loaned my only tube of concealer to a friend who needed to cover her hickeys.

This is not quite the first impression I was imagining.