Why is the Wal-mart Guy wearing a Papa John's T-shirt?
This is just to show you what a scatterbrain I am.
I came home really late one night from Austin, and being the procrastinator that I am, had a but-load of homework due the next day. Called up my study-buddy Cris to go with me to the library, around midnight. Before that though, of course, we had to go to Wal-mart to stock up on snacks for an all-nighter...oh, I mean, buy data migration software.
Cris just recieved a fully-loaded (I'm talking about crazy-out-of-this-world specs, Microsoft Small Business Software, with Windows XP Media Center Addition, Pentium figgin' "M" Processor at 2GHZ, etc.) Inspiron 9300 notebook from Dell, and needed to transfer all data from the old pc to the notebook. So I recommended purchasing the Dhetto Intellimover or Norton Ghost or some PC replacement Suite. So off we went to Wal-mart.
Because I am such a "guy" on the inside-and because I work at Dell and think I know everything-I refused to ask for help to find the data migration software. But we kept looking and looking and looking and still no Dhetto Intellimover. Boo. Daaaaaangit!
I told Cris, "Okay, screw it. Let's just find someone to help us out." We kept walking around and scouting the electronic section...when suddenly, I saw the Wal-mart guy. Blessings! Blessings! Showers of Blessings!
By this point, I just wanted to get the "hay'l" out of Wal-mart so I could get a fraction of my homework done before sunrise. I was so excited to see my Wal-mart helper (or what I thought was the Wal-mart helper) in the distance.
I met up with him, Cris following close behind, while he was reviewing the DVDS. "Um, sir! Can you like totally help us find like software to like, uh, transfer data, you know?" (Or at least, that's prolly how I sounded to the guy--like a total A$$, excuse my french).
Then the Wal-mart guy gave what was the most ambivalent expression ever known to man. So incredibly ambivalent, that the ambivalentosity of the expression ambivalized my ambivalentious feelings about what had ambivalentously just occurred.
ahhhhwk-ward."Uuuughhhhh, I dunno, I du-uh-no [kind of in a stuttering-bewildered manner]," the Wal-mart guy said.
But why would he not know, if he works here, you know? I looked him up and down (not in a nasty way, but in a like 'you-wierdo' type way,
finally noting that he was wearing an employee t-shirt...but not a Wal-mart T-shirt). Hmm, a Papa John's T-shirt? Even wearing a
Papa John's employee name tag?
Why?"Wait a second," I thought to myself, "Why is the Wal-mart guy wearing a Papa John's T-shirt?"
"S#$T, Becca! That guy doesn't work here, hehehehehehe," cris said, and off we went power walking as fast as we could to get out of the aisle, out of his sight, and out of the blasted-scatterbrainedness that I had just committed. I don't know if I felt more guilty about mistaking him for an employee, or for running off like a dog with it's tail between it's legs without explaining myself.
I felt horrible. What an Idiot! Stoo-pit! Stoo-pit! Stoo-pit! You see, I do stuff like this all the time! I think before I speak, absolute diarrhea-of-the-mouth syndrome, yo. I am twenty-years old, you would think that I would have learned by now.
Hanging out with my lil' cousins (starting from L side): Merced, Marcos, and Samuel.
Horsing around (no pun intended). ha.
Ice is a Better Name for Me
I love breaking the ice. Ask anyone who has ever met me, and they will tell you that I am the "Ice-Breakin'
Queen." I just love to say the randomest things, bring up the wierdest conversations, be over enthusiastic, and what not, if it means that it will make you feel more comfortable around me or the environment that your in.
I love being silly, and not having to act proper all the time. Now don't get me wrong...I am a firm believer that there is a time for "pahty-pahty," and a time to get serious. But in all fairness, when it's time to have fun...I'm all game.
I'm famous for my Xena Scream, (which I have perfected over the course of college--with all the football games I have been going to). I
do have to point out that Lucy Lawless is definitely
definitely one of my heroes (didn't want to say heroine, cuz it sounds like a drug, but w/o the 'e'). She is just the awesomest portrayal of a woman ever; she makes me want to put on a big-fat-clunky-fifty-pound-corsetish-leather type tutu on and scream my balls off (um, wait, i'm a girl, but you get what I mean).
I get this from growing up with my baby cousins, and always helping out with Vacation-Bible-School type stuff at church. When you work with kids...you've got to get dirty sometimes, have absolutely no pride, and proudly
whip out the five-year old inside. That's just how it is.
Maybe I should change my name to Ice or some variation of it. You know, like maybe "snow" or "snow flake" or "cold water" or "H2O freeze," etc. Yeah, cuz I think "Rebecca" means=marriage knot or something, and that's not very becoming of my personality. Yeah, I think Ice is a better name for me. It'll go with my exotic-self. After the name-change all I'll need is a leather tutu.
I don't drink, I don't smoke, but i MOON
Yup. It's true. I know at first glance, people don't look at me and say, "yeah, she's a regular mooner," but I totally am, and I totally love doing it. There is just something so incredibly
liberating and relaxing from the simple act of slipping off my drawers.
I used to not even consider such a thing. And this is
prolly the most daring thing that I will do (well, besides that one time I streaked the hall of kokernot residence hall). I don't drink (well, I have like once--to be totally honest), and I don't smoke, but I most certainly moon.
I have to say that this sudden rise of spontaneity was inspired by a spunky individual I used to carpool with. He once streaked the library and what not, according to him anyways, and made it sound so cool. What can I say? I was totally convinced that I would have to put this on my top ten things to do before I die.
After streaking just that once though, all this mooning is a piece of cake.
My last mooning fiasco was after church one Wednesday night (I know, after church was a little rash, but hey...in the name of fun its okay in my book). We left early, because of a change in bible-study plans that night, and we were on our way home...when we all felt there was still something left to do before the night was over. I'm not sure the girls had exactly in mind what I was thinking, but what the heck? I thought I would go for it.
Camila was driving, so I told her to role down all the windows. Getting closer to 8th street, I told Jessica and Eva to scream as loud as they could on cue (And my cute little innocent friends still had no idea). "Ah-ha," I thought, "Common Grounds is the perfect place to strike." I gave the signal, and my gurly friends screamed with a highest streak ever...
And down went my drawers!My sweet-bleached-puggy-mexicanlicious-derriere shown all the block long. (Eh-Hmm...I'm still Becca from the Block, though...it's still me, I just like to have some innocent fun every now and then). We made two more rounds along the bear trail, and I show'ed my lil' tushy to all who jogged.
Beware Joggers in the future, cuz Becca from the Block is a commin'!!!!!!!!
No Better Word than Stupidity
I am the kind of person that can't get away with
anything (I couldn't be immoral if I tried). I don't know what common sense is, and I constantly make careless mistakes. I was telling my friend Nick the other day, that sometimes I just get fed-up with myself,
you know? I just tire-out myself sometimes. So many negative things, in the past couple of months especially, keep happening because I can't get my FRIGGIN'-act together. There is just no better word than stupidity for all of this.
Stupidity, StuPIDITY, STUPIDITY. Okay, got that off my chest.
For example, I ordered this Debit Card a gazillion years ago (Redeemed the debit card from my work by redeeming airpoints and it's esoteric, sorry). I'm waiting and waiting and still nothing. After a month, I decided to "inquire." I find out I was never supposed to throw the original one away (cuz it's reloadable). This stupidity would have been promptly avoided by simply just FRIGGIN' READING the fine print. Boo.
On another day, no sooner had I gotten on my bike did I receive a c.p. call. I always answer my c.p. (even on my bike). After I finished the conversation, I
knew that I
knew that I
knew I should have just stopped, turned around, and placed it in my backpack, but I decided to slide it in my sweaty-tight-blue-jean-miniture pocket.
Entering my apartment (off 10th Street), I noticed the c.p. had misteriously dissappeared (Daaaaaaangit!). I knew it. I knew this would happen. I had to ride all the way back to the BSB, retracing my steps, looking for My C.P. I found it of course, all broken (but still functioning, the little sucker survived), after like an hour of searching.
And if the two things afore mentioned didn't make you think um, "Stupidity," this one will. Okay, so, I never lie, right?...well, rarely (and usually they're 'white-lies'). But on that
blessed day, just to ruin it for myself (NOT), I decided to
delibrately full-out lie to my manager about missing work. I said to myself, "I am going to make-up my hours anyway? So, I'll just let him think I am missing for a good reason." I mean, what's the big deal, right? Everbody fibs now and then, when giving a reason for skipping work.
I told Kurt, my manager, that I would be missing Saturday to see my family, (When I was really going to the A&M game with Andy Thrasher). So, being the experienced liar that I am, I start blatantly spouting sonnets of how I am going to the game and how I am going to have a blast and that James should sit with us since he is going too.
Stupidness! I just thought I would throw that out there again, in case you're not
seeyun tha' trend.
So, next thing I know, my manager from Down the aisle overheard the convo, and said, "Becca, I though you were going to Austin!"
Daaaaaangit. I totally got caught! I don't know why I lied, I'm not good at it, and I am more see-through than air itself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
What I am most
sad about is this decision left my character in shambles. And It's done, I can't take it back or rewind, I can't re-do, or call interference...and all for lying 'bout something soooo stupid.
One of the last things I remember my friend Ryan saying (he used to carpool with me and Nick) was, "honesty is the best policy." Now, granted, this wasn't the first time I heard this, but it was TRUE nonetheless. Why are all the simple things in life the hardest to keep. I think it is because they are the easiet to break. Yeah, I think that's why.
Hey, but these are growing pains, right? Maybe I learn next time around.
"Major" Crisis
Needless to say, I have switched my major a gazillion times (ranging from ballerina to law school), before finally deciding on Chemistry. I decided on Chemistry partly because “I get it” and “it makes sense to me,” but more because it is the quickest route to graduation. That sounds a little depressing, but it’s not. It’s actually smart. I could either spend the rest of my life in school doing what I want to do, (because it doesn’t come natural to me), or spend half the time at school doing something that just “clicks.”
Sometimes I feel the only reason I am going to college is in the name of tradition. This is what I am “supposed” to do after high school; it’s what every person my age has done for the past 500 years (or whatever). I’m okay with that, because in all honestly, what else would I do? I need the education that gets me the job that gets me the income to enjoy life...right? That’s just how I feel.
Go Glasses!
Prom Night w/ best friend, Kristen Tran
Why hello there...
uh-oh
Baby Hair Blues
Well, hats off to all the ladies that are
blessed with baby hair. And not just any baby hair, the fuzzy-kind that you can't tame or tease or do anything to hide. It just so happens that my baby hair is the kind that is spread out all over the upper lining of my forehead and concentrated
conveniently at the very top of my forehead, a.k.a. my widow's peak.
So it all started one Tuesday morning when the handyman was running big-time late. So, since I am all about punctuality-and assuming everyone else holds the same conviction high regard-I was ready by 8:00 o'clock sharp. 8:30am came and still no sign of the handy man...Then 8:45...9:00 crept up...hmmm, you get the picture.
Until the handyman
did decide to show up, I thought for once I would be a gurly-girl and "get ready" for class. Cuz normally for the first couple of weeks of class I dress up just in case there are some hot guys, but after that, if a Nick-Zano-look-alike doesn't seem to be attending
my class that particular semester, I just go in whatever feels comfy. Anyways, I start getting ready, right? I'm talking about full-out-cake-the-make-up-on-gel-through-tease-up-straighten-my-hair ready!
Combing it to the side is when I noticed.
There was the FUZZ. That Dang rebellious little
fuzz smack on top of my head that would not side with the rest of my hair. I would think that after the hellish temperatures I put it through with the curling iron, blow dryer, and straightener that it would have done so. Boo.
Now how the Hell am I supposed to deal with this? Let me reiterate: Now how the
Hell am I supposed to
DEAL with this? What would any girl in my position do? It's not like I didn't try other options first, I mean, cummon'! I tried the curling iron, the blow dryer, and the straightener...got to give my kudos for that at least.
Then, while staring at myself in the mirror (brainstorming ways to resolve the fuzzy issue), I saw in the reflection a tube of depilatory cream on my bathroom shelf. Ah-hah! Never has a sign from God ever been so clear! Never have I felt, to this degree, the complete assurance of what I was about to do. I would fry those little fuzzies off the top of my head till kingdom come!
Yeah, um, that didn't work. My hair is too thick. And so much for signs...
I felt defeated. Conquered. Betrayal, by the depilatory tube that pulled through for me before on a many occasion. There was only one thing left for me to do...cuz I wasn't going to let the FUZZ get in the way of my fabuloso day. I must sacrifice the Fuzz with blade, once and for all, in the name of beauty. I hated to do away with the one thing that was closer to me than a friend for so many years, in such a barbarian-kind-of-way, but the fuzzy issue had gone far enough (and besides the handyman was coming).
I reached in the tub for the schick-quattro-for-women shaver. I reached for the turquoise-equate-shaving-cream can. Dabbed a marshmallow-size ball on my widows peak, and ran the blade over the blasted fuzz. It was finished. All is took was one slide of the blade, and my little fuzzy-friend was gone. All that's left is the untanned-unblemished-quadrate-space my widow's peak fuzzies once proudly occupied.
No sooner had I sacrificed the fuzz, had the handyman knocked on my door. But it was too late. The damaged had been done. I turned on the faucet, and with teary eyes watched my baby hair fuzz whirlpool down the drain.
