Day 22: FML

I love acronyms like "FML", because you can use them and still feel like you aren't really cursing. I also enjoy "WTF" and "ROFLMAO" even though I have never actually typed that before. It takes more effort to think of the letters than to type it out.

Okay, so WHY FML? Let's see if I can calm down enough to explain myself in a sensible manner. Just to be clear, I had a great day, but I'll get to that after I explain my current state of wrathful vengeance!

I went to band practice today and my voice totally gave out halfway through. So bad that Tom exclaimed, "Dude, you're microphone is totally f*cked." That's when he gave me a new one and it became clear that it wasn't the microphone warbling, cutting in and out, and screeching, but my very own voice. Sometimes in practice, I'll think I sound pretty horrible, but then tell myself that it's probably in my head. Not this time.
You would think that that would enough humiliation and degradation for night. But no, there's more.

Then we get onto the topic of age, etc and the new drummer, Dre, who I liked very much until this very moment says, "What?! 2002? You graduated in 2002?"
Me, "Yup, 2002."
"No Way. 2002?"
"Yes Way. 2002"
"No Way. 2002?"
By this time, I'm thinking, "Holy Mackerel this is a pretty big setup! What is he gonna say? That his brother also graduated 2002, maybe, at my high school? That 2002 was his favorite year, ever? Maybe he's going to tell me that 2002 was the year he stopped smoking crack and got sober again?" Not a chance.
"I thought you were in your thirties." he says, with a big ol' grin.
Cue thunder, lightning bolts, and suicidal thoughts. Of course I cleared it up and told him that no, I'm twenty five and do I really look that old? He, of course, realizing that he had just summoned Shiva the destroyer, replied that he only thought that because I carry myself so differently than girls my age and I'm so mature. That when I think, mature? Me? ROFLMAO.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am so mature than I immediately ran outside like a little girl, sat on a wet curb sulking, and on the way home proceeded to tell Tom that because I am a responsible and mature as a woman in her 30's, am giving him a 2 weeks notice on life. He laughed. "Laugh it up buddy," I warned, "because in two weeks you'll be crying when you call up Dre and tell him that it was he who essentially killed your girlfriend."

Of course, I got home and my angelic, wonderful, highly sensitive and intelligent roommate, who is 19, told me that she thought that I was her age when she met me. She then set the bottle of Jack Daniels back down on the kitchen table and fell on her face, right in front of me.

So regardless of what your personal opinion is on how old I look, keep it to yourself. Or better yet, just lie to me. While I always want to know if a pair of jeans makes my ass look huge and will kiss your feet for informing me of it, I don't want to know if you think I look like the crypt keeper.

Now that I have that out of my system, I'd like to share a few huge victories.

1. I picked up "The Daily Practice of Painting" by Gerhard Richter from my Mom's house. I mentioned that I might be willing to trade someone a painting for it, and she jumped on that idea, dropped the sixty five bones for it and now says I owe her a painting. Smart woman.

2. I went to Heritage park in Irvine and picked up 180 issues of National Geographic. I will be using these for my mixed media paintings, collages, and giant drawings. They were five cents a piece. Score.

3. I made blueberry muffins with fresh blueberries and fed everyone in my house.

4. I got materials for making prints in the mail.

5. I contructed the next 5 canvas frames that I'm going to use for paintings.

6. I drew my first jellyfish ever.

7. I gracefully accepted the first insult I have ever received, my entire life, regarding age. And now, I preparing myself for death, gracefully.