CaliFORNICATEing

Haha look what I wrote a couple weeks ago..

.....................................

Long gone are the days of my inane need to dwell on the past, only to be replaced by an abundance of curiosity for the future.

A wise woman once accused me of choosing to be miserable. Saying I enjoyed being morose, dejected, despondent. Always hopeless. To despise myself and hate all those around me. Well grandmother, it seems you do have insight into the gloom that is me. I admit that I do have a tendency to see The Cup as completely empty, isn't it easier to be alone? Disappointment weighs on me so heavily that I try to avoid human interaction as much as possible..


In retrospect, my tendency toward alienation was and is the sole cause of my self deprecation. All I've ever known has been self loathing and apathy, so now that I'm finally happy, I keep finding myself questioning my actions.


"Is this real?"


Don't underestimate my eternal hate for a majority of the human race, I've still got some spite in me yet.

..............................................

Hahaha I clearly never got around to finishing it, but the intention to keep on with my writing is still there. WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?! Sounds like I was starting to get all 'deep' and shit. Didn't I used to be funny? (Depending on who you ask.) I miss writing about the people I meet that make me miserable. I miss writing about all the unbelievable situations I situate myself into.

Looking back at previous posts has really made me miss writing (complaining), whether my writing is worth reading or not, I don't care anymore.. it's a hobby I enjoy and I plan on starting back up again on a regular basis. First I have to convince my boyfriend to let me keep my legs closed for at least an hour while we're home.

XXX
Miranda

Especial

Here's the deal dummies

The only time I ever seem to write anything worth reading is when I'm extremely butt hurt (hurt, not sore) about either boys or booze. Neither of which I'm currently having any problems with. For the first time in over a year. I make out with my boyfriend, watch horror movies and drink margaritas by the beach every night. I've nothing to complain about. I just can't help but notice that a few of my friends seem to have an issue with my surprise encounter with pure bliss.

"You can't write worth shit anymore." "Write something humorous and sadonic NOW." "You need to write more." "You're losing it... You lost it.."

WRITE! WRITE! WOOOMP WOOOMP.

What the fuck ever dudes. Maybe if my best friend wasn't constantly texting me, saying how bad I suck,.. that it's only all down hill from here.. well maybe THEN I'd actually WANT to write again. (Kelly James Mullinix, this one's for you.)

Which would you like to hear about first? Would you like for me to talk about the fact that the fucking loser I fucked a few months back wants to hang out again now that I'm dating someone? (Nice try buddy, I'm far from over it. Why is it we only want what we can't have?) Or shall we discuss the 87 year old feet that I'm forced to give pedicures to only a bi weekly basis? The later shall we? The state of California thinks that you should know how to give a fucking mani pedi if you want to cut hair for a living. They also want you to know how to give facials and wax the mustache off of 42 year old single women. (And sometimes their chin.) Give me a hairy back or wannabe 70s porn star vagina to wax anyday. PLEASE give me a vagina to wax. Taint, balls, whatevssss. Waxing anything would be better than giving a pedicure to the feet of an 80 year old.

Sure the conversations you have while giving pedicures and manicures are extremely entertaining, but they don't make up for the fact that I permenantly smell like an old woman's feet. Even after I've showered twice. Do you know that smell? The smell of death? It's vomit inducing.

On a side note, my son is going through momma withdrawals. I've been home about three times in the past two weeks, and even then it's only been for a limited time (to switch out clothes from my overnight bag) so my cat has decided to shit everywhere. Yes, my grandmother picks it up.. but all she does is throw it in the toilet. And doesn't flush. So lucky me, I get to come home to a toilet full of cat shit. Can you make sense of the fact that she doesn't flush after she tosses poop in my toilet? I can't!

I hope I don't make it past 63. Geriatrics. FUUUUCK.

XXXO
Miranda

SWF

I kissed a boy and I liked it.

I suppose in this case you'd call him a MAN though. (Yes, the man that is older than my mother.) But he's immature so that makes him more like 35. I haven't been posting lately because of him. I just can't get enough! We have a routine. I go to school then I head over to work, and once I'm off, he gets me off. That doesn't really leave anytime for me to lurk around my blogging spot in hopes of seeing 'That Guy.' Who I'm completely over by the way. I pretty much just realized how big of a tool he was and something just clicked. (HE WAS A COMPLETE WASTE OF TIME)

My new beau and I have been hanging out everyday for the past week. Which is going to make moving back to Portland somewhat difficult. I finally found a guy that didn't get back together with his ex WIFE the day after we sealed the deal and who also refuses to let me pay for anything. Tall, pale, extremely creepy and old. I may have just scored me a keeper. Oddly enough the same thing happened to me in Portland before I moved to Pismo. A month before I moved I started hanging out with this guy Richard. He turned out to be amazing but I had already notified my job and apartment building of my plans to depart so I wasn't able to stay.

I was really hoping this wouldn't happen again. Everything seems to be falling into place for both my options. I'm finally enjoying school, I've made a few more friends and I think I might be kind of dating someone.. but my girlfriend also just sent me some money to help me move back and I just got a call from someone who said I can live in his condo for free while he lives in Texas for the next year. I really hate making decisions. I just want someone to force me to do something.

What do I do when the pros and cons of staying weigh each other out?

However, I'm thinking my biggest problem is not being able to write for shit! If you made it this far I applaud you. My writing is the pits and for this I apologize. I just need to get my groove back. Where's Stella? I've got some questions to ask that woman.

XXXO
Miranda

ALSO:

I would like for you to look closely at the picture I'm about to post..

You see that body? That's what I've been having sex with. Minus Brad Pitt's face. I think you all should be jealous now. (I suppose that's one area in which I was able to maintain my infamous 'groove.')

Homeward Bound

My financial aid definately isn't going to get approved.

Not for 6 months at least. Yesterday I talked to those lame financial aid people and since I'm poor and let my loan go into 'default' my credit is balls and until I make 6 months of consecutive payments on my loan, I won't get approved. I'm not surprised in the least. This is what back up plans are for. Mine being drop out of beauty school.

I'm seriously going to drop out of beauty school. (SERIOUSLY.) At first I thought 'oh, haha what if I end up dropping out of beauty school? How funny would that be?!' HAAAA. Not so much. I wanted to prove some shit and be all.. yeah I can do it, I'm strong. NOT. I am the weakest person I know. If I'm in a difficult position I run, if not, I create an obstacle in which I can't overcome, just so I can run away from it. (Input anyone?)

I'm sure that staying here and making it through school would be the 'best thing' for me, but it's not what's going to make me happy. Granted, I currently have no idea what's going to make me feel content in the long run. I don't even know what's going to make me feel happy tomorrow.. but now I DO know that if I ever discover what's going to satisfy me in life, I want to be in Portland when I find it all out. Forever I've tried to deny my roots, but I AM a Portland girl.

I dread the day that I'm forced to confront my grandmother about this whole situation. I almost want to pack up in the dead of the night and leave when she's on one of her daily runs to the bead store. Maybe I'll leave a note reading "It was easier for me this way."

I want to move home no later than November 13th. It is a rather soon date, but I'd love to be back before Thanksgiving. My little sister is coming home one last time before she ships out to The Middle East and I want to be there so we can bond.. hopefully get a corny 'sister' tattoo. October/November weather is also my absolute favorite. Apple cider in the wee hours of the morning, your breath visible in the brisk AM air and the sidewalks plastered with fallen leaves of all colors. Peacoats, scarves and Starbucks, MMM. (An incredibly Portland thing of me to confess.) Are people saying that now? (A "Portland thing"...?)

I will go back to beauty school once my financial aid is approved. I finally found something that I would be satisfied doing as a career. Something I actually like participating in. I'm not going to give that up. Not now. I just have to make more sacrifices. I'm completely willing. Just not in this town.

I WANT IT ALL! I NEED IT ALL!

XXXO
Miranda

Misery Business

My magic 8 ball was right. Outlook not so good.

In the past week I've talked to the admissions advisor from the school I was looking to transfer to and she informed me that the cost would be $20,000. Not $7,500 like I had originally thought. TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS. For beauty school. I didn't have a positive outlook on this whole situation to begin with. Now I fear I've lost all hope. If my financial aid application even IS approved it still wouldn't cover the entire cost of tuition. I already owe $12,000 on a loan for my first attempt at community college at the age of eighteen, I hiiiighly doubt I would be granted another.

I haven't completely given up, however. Not until I receive their final answer.. but even if I don't get approved for the grant.. I'm still going to move back. Yes nerds, I am on the brink of becoming a beauty school dropout. I can't stay here! I fear for my health. My mentality is already shot, but I've still got some remaining physical aspect to worry about here. I've still got a badunk a DUNK that I need to maintain. My sex muscles are mush! Help a (freaky, dtf, down with whatever) sista (or is it sister?) out. Anyone? ...anyone?..


Yesterday the mail man did deliver a package to my house which was actually addressed to me for once! (Insert obvious sexual reference here..) My friend Jaxun surprised me and sent a package full of Crystal's Louisiana Hot Sauce, (MY FAVORITE THING EVER!!!!) along with a wonderful letter which, I'll admit, made me cry. For some reason I took my Portland friends for granted. I didn't even think I had any friends while I lived there. Well I finally realized that I did, and thankfully I still do. I guess it just took a lot of misery to make me realize how good I actually had it, and how much I'd give to have it all back.


Not to be outdone by Jaxun, my best friend Allie sent me a package a month ago FULL of my favorite things. A shark towel, Essie nail polish, hand sanitizer, an Anthropologie candle, a bag
full of glitter skulls, shark chopsticks, spider stickers, a monogram necklace,... funny enough, my special box of goodies arrived on HER birthday. Love you Alyse!

My homewrecking days are also over.. (almost.) I went on a 'date' with a new guy! It's only natural that he's 42 (older than my mother) and his daughter is 2 years younger than me. To the DAY. I randomely ask him out (weird) he obliged and we went and played pool, drank some beer and then smoked a doobie under a lifeguard tower on the beach. For a first date.. pretty rad. Considering my only other option is a guy that I only ever remember having sex with thanks to drunken flashbacks, and who also has a girlfriend and just did a 'drive by' to see if I was at the bar.. I'd say this new baby daddy is top o the liiine.

Once these six beers wear off I'm sure I'll continue feeling sorry for myself. More than I currently do anyway.

I'd love some company.

XXXO
Miranda

The Bee's Knees

I had the best day at school on Tuesday. We learned to wax.

The second week of school I had a conversation with the teacher about waxing week and not wanting to have to grow anything out. (It even sounds gross.) That was the first time she got persnickety with me. "If you want to wax someone then it's only fair that they get to wax you Miranda. It's not a big deal Miranda. If you don't do it then you won't get credit Miranda." FINE! I'll wax a patch of hair on my arm. (I would have liked to get my lip waxed.. and not the one on my face.) But apparently that's inappropriate. I'm starting to believe that the only time this woman has ever had sex was when she tried and succeeded in conceiving her three children. (This woman planned her children. WHO PLANS THAT?! Aren't all children accidents? She literally got preggo on purpose.) What I didn't realize however was that I would be getting to wax Fat Baby Mama. (Oh Lord, and then the light shined down on me.)

I have never felt so much gratification in hurting someone in my entire life. This girl grew out every hair on her huge body. Her armpits, her legs, her arms, her CHEEKS and CHIN, her mustache and her eyebrows. She rolled up her sleeves to show me her armpit hair and, no joke, I screamed. I don't think she has ever shaved before. It was like she had hypertrichosis all up in there. (You like that? New word. Look it up.) I tried with all my might to make this chick feel guilty for having such hairy armipits (She has a boyfriend!) but she has no shame, and I'm not the least bit surprised given her appearance. Sadly, I was not the one to do the waxing in that area, but I was lucky enough to get her left leg and arm. I intentionally waxed behind her knee and on the inside of her arm/elbow in hopes of inflicting upon her as much pain as possible. That simple, evil act probably makes me an irrevocably awful person, but I'm ok with that. I'll embrace it.

All things said, Karma's a fucking bitch. Later that same day we were forced to draw numbers to see which workstation we would be assigned once we got out onto the floor. Guess who I work by.. Yup, FAT BABY MAMA. And my only friend at the school got the one furthest from me. Of course. Naturally I made a stink about it and my teacher assumed it was because I was nervous and didn't want to go on the floor, but she clearly had it all wrong. I don't want to work next to that stupid bitch. I can't stand her voice, I can't stand her face, I can't stand the tacky blonde streaks in her hair and I definately can't stand her chola girl eyebrows. Now I really have to move back to Portland. At the very least drop out of beauty school.

........

Remember how last week I got sent home for being nine minutes late to school?.. While I laid in bed after I got home, I started thinking about all the things I would be missing that day.. then I convinced myself that my instructor would do something 'special' to piss me off. I definately wasn't let down. She colored everyone's hair. (SHE COLORED EVERYONE'S HAIR!) Personally, I don't care as much as the next girl, just because I've never chemically altered my hair in any way and I don't ever plan on doing so.. but this woman is just so unbelievable. She's constantly turning student's down when they ask her to trim their bangs, paint their nails, wax their eyebrows.. "You won't learn anything from it" is ALWAYS her excuse. And what do you know, the ONE day I'm gone she does EVERY students hair. Coincidence? I think not. Bitch? I think sooo.

My next day back was a doozy. She had me shaking in my boots. From anger. She wanted the class to practice cuts, colors, chemical treatments, etc.. on our doll heads. She wrote all the different types down on index cards and had us pick one and do what it said. Mine said Sodium Hydroxide. Do you know what that means? Because I fucking didn't. In my nicest tone I asked her what it was. (She's the reason why a lot of students fail tests, because they're too afraid to ask their teachers questions.) She looked at me with disgust and yelled "Are you serious? I really hope you're joking." (Fat Baby mama even had the audacity to snort at me!!) NO. I'M NOT JOKING! "I'm sorry, it's been 3 weeks since we worked on these hair applications and I'm drawing a blank. Could you do your job and help me please?" Wrong reply.

"Get your book NOW and figure it out. You are unbelievable."

"Stop talking to me like I'm stupid, because honestly, I'm probably smarter than you are."

"You are so disrespectful!"

"I guess that can only mean one thing then.."

"What, that you like to disrepect your peers?"

"IT CLEARLY MEANS I DON'T RESPECT YOU."

"Do you even want to be here?!"

"Sometimes. Like, say.. when you're not here. Are you even qualified to be teaching this class? I know how you only got your license less than TWO YEARS AGO. I bet it helps that your father owns this place huh?"

I didn't get kicked out/sent home after that.. (I'm as surprised as you are.) but she did get up immediately and go talk shit about me to the other teacher. I know because I heard it. The whole class heard it.

I think I proved my point! My point being I dominate.

XXXO

Miranda

When I'm Bad, I'm Better

I got kicked out of Barbie School.

But only for the day. Last night I got hammered (both ways) and then I woke up dead. I was more tired than hungover. I called into school and told them I'd be there at 10am instead of 8:30am. I slept for another 45 minutes, woke up, didn't bother to even put my face on, chugged the remaining whiskey coke from the night before and headed off to school. Well I got there at 10:09 and my teacher told me to go home because I was late and interrupting her class. I waved my $900 check in her face and told her she better let me in if she wanted to get paid. Did she let me in? DOIIIII.

She processed my check and THEN told me to leave. She was throwing excuses in my face "You're not in the proper attire, you're not at 110% and I had the class wait 15 minutes for you to show up before I handed out the test.." BLAH BLAH BLAH My responses seem to get me into more trouble than I'm already in. "First of all, I've been wearing the same exact outfit to school since the day I started, Fuck no I'm not at 110% because that's fucking IMPOSSIBLE and I hope you had the class start a wet set while they waited. I know how you hate to waste any precious class time!" Fuck that bitch dude, she's just butt hurt because she's overweight. I suppose that's why she gets along so well with Fat Baby Mama. WHO, by the way, told the teacher that she thinks I fucked with her food in the fridge and she's about to go to jail if she finds out I did. Sounds like a threat to my personal safety. Who messes with someone elses food? This isn't LA and I'm not black.

I would also like to point out that I have now missed FOUR new 30 Rock episodes for "That Guy." I was at 'my spot' when he strolled in. He walked over to me, braced himself for a big ole smack on the face and was pleasantly surprised when I offered him a seat. The seat turned into 8 beers, the beers turned into a ride home and the ride turned into him sneaking into my bedroom again. And no he didn't break up with his girlfriend. (Just thought I'd throw that in there..) My self confidence comes from all the wrong places.

XXXO
Miranda

Home Is Where The Boys Are

Yesterday I decided to attempt to move back home. (Portland, Or)

The only reason I moved down here was so that I wouldn't have to worry about paying rent while attending beauty school. NOT WORTH IT. If I continue living with my grandmother I'm either going to 1. Go to jail B. Start doing heroin or C. Become a prostitute, do heroin and then go to jail. In Portland I was able to control how much I drank, I stopped drinking before bed at night! But now, I can't function unless I have at least one beer in me. On my 15 minute breaks at school I literally walk to the restaurant 3 doors down and order a Budweiser. I need out.

All my friends said I'd be back, and I was afraid I would give up after a month.. so as an attempt to make it harder for me to return I sold/gave away ALL OF MY BELONGINGS. No matter,.. I still want to come back. I'll sleep on a pile of dirty clothes in a friends pantry if I have to. I will blowjob for rent. I'm so miserable here that I for real cried while listening to The Airborne Toxic Event on my bike ride to school and then blamed my smeared mascara on the fog when I got there. My grandmother said to practice positive affirmations (HAHAHAHA) and then I'll be happy and want to stay. I don't want to just move back though, I do still intend on going to beauty school. (This blog shall live!)

Currently, the only thing preventing me from moving at this very moment is the whole, school/money ordeal. I applied for Fafsa last night, and if I'm approved then I'm gone. For good. I never want to return. One friend said he'd drive me back, one friend said he'd help with gas money, one friend said I could live with him for free and another friend said he would hook me up with a bike when I got there. I honestly had no idea that one person, let alone multiple people, cared that I had moved. (Kelly, our Rock Band nights are back on! I'll share my beer, I promise. At least one time..)

In the meantime however,.. I have to make the best out of the position I've situated myself into. I flirted with a taken man (Boy? Come to find out he's only 19) and hung out with two girls from school. (I got a trim out of it and had a good time. BOOM.) One of the girls is also addicted to my favorite drug! Which in turn made me second guess moving back (Maybe I really can make friends and have a good time here..?) NO! I am so indecisive. Frankly, I just wish I could go somewhere and be satisfied and not realize that there's more out there. That there are so many different things I could be doing with my life. I've got this realized potential that I have yet to make peace with.

XXXO
Miranda

Blind, Deaf and Dumb

Grandma Phyllis and Ryan Sher, don't read this!

I've got a situation here that could potentially interfere with my newly discovered blogging sanctuary.

Remember that guy I referred to a few posts ago? Yes, THAT GUY. Well, we got drunk and had sex. (Yes I said that. Sorry mom.) I went all high school on his ass and snuck him through my bedroom window. (Romantic right?) Then I introduced him to the awesomeness that is 30 Rock and shared my 12 pack of Tecate with him. I SHARED MY BEER! (My dear friend Kelly knows first hand that I never share my beer. With anyone! He knew to carry at least four beers in his backpack if he ever came over for a little Rock Band action.) But that's not what I'm needing to vent about. I'm not even complaining about missing two fucking episodes of 30 Rock just so I could spend a little more time with 'That Guy' everytime we hung out. (NEW episodes!) The "issue" here is that he fucked me, and then got a girlfriend the very next day. AND THAT GIRLFRIEND ISN'T ME. He fucking hit. it. and. quit. it. ladies and gentlemen. (Would you find it surprising if I told you this is the third time I've found myself in this same situation?)

Ontop of that, it's not even a new girlfriend, it's his ex girlfriend. Hunny, you guys broke up for a reason. His reason literally being "she got fat." First red flag? I am oblivious to any and all warning signs of probable errors. Which is why I'm constantly making bad decisions. To make the whole situation even worse he turned back the clock to 'the time when hickies were cool' and decided to give me two, right on my jugular. And the top of my dome is bumped and bruised. I've been branded. Until these go away, everytime I look in the mirror I am forced to remember the long, thick night of mistakes I made. And to think, only yesterday morning I was cheerful.

To give him some credit, the night of the sex party he did happen to mention that he had recently started hanging out with his ex girlfriend.. and any female of reason would have called it quits then and there. But am I reasonable? Of course I'm not, so I took 'ex girlfriend' as 'try harder to keep my affection.' Talk about a plan backfiring. Rejection is a very foreign feeling to me, and I am definately not a fan. This guy Shut. It. Down! He literally drove me to listen to Damien Rice on repeat. DAMIEN RICE! That guys sings shit like "what I am to you, is not what you mean to me."

Yesterday I texted him saying that I hoped he had a good day at work. Worst reply of all time: "Thank you.. I just wanted to let you know that I met up with my ex last night (oh, you mean right after I offered to give you a ride home from the bar, and our conversation about having sex again?) and we had a long talk and decided to give it another chance. Sorry for everything, I should have just stayed away." (Oh, you regret ever having met me? Swell. A girl always wants to hear that.) My only reply was "Hopefully she doesn't get fat this time." He said "Funny." Funny? I was going for something more like honest, pissed off, noticeably upset. And the joke's on you mother fucker because I just realized I forgot to take my last 5 birth control pills.

At the risk of sounding like an insane ex potential girlfriend wannabe, I really like this guy. STILL! I sound like a fucking psycho. I'm never like this, I'm just horny, and bored and more boy crazy than a Catholic priest. He's the only hot guy within a 20 mile radius and the second I saw him, I just clung to any hope of having sex with this guy on a regular basis. (You know we'd kill it teamed up.)

I'm about to take the midnight train going anywhere. Nature's cruel, she laughs at me. As for loneliness, she greets me in the morning.

It's just as well..

XXXO
Miranda

Thriller

The past two days have not sucked.

Now, I'm not saying that I enjoy school now, granted it IS better than hanging around my grandmother's house all day while having to listen to her have one sided conversations with our cats.. but school still does semi suck. For instance, the entire school had a 25 minute long conversation/argument this morning (at NINE AM) about needing to clean the towels more often and how we could all help to make it happen. That conversation should have been two sentences long. "Stop putting the haircutting towels in the mani/pedi towel piles. And if you see that a load of laundry needs to be done, do it." But nothing is ever that simple, is it? One girl got so butt hurt about someone saying she was bad at laundry that she literally walked out the door and went home for the day. I'm just going to go ahead and be the first to say that I blame it on our merging monthly cycles.

Still, the worst part of the day and probably the most predictable was my teacher assigning me a new 'work station partner.' I'd give you one guess as to who I have to stand a mere 2 feet from now, but it's pretty obvious. Yes, yes. Fat Baby Mama. I could have been seated at 4 other spots in the room, but of course, OF COURSE, that's where I get put. Instead of letting it get to me I saw it as a challenge. I'M GOING TO BE BETTER THAN HER AT EVERYTHING AND SHOVE IT IN HER FAT FACE.

And ohh boiiiiiiii did I ever. Today we learned Jheri curls, the widely popular hairstyle within the African American community. (Think black Michael Jackson in the 80s.) Well, I fucking ruled that fad and my new workstation buddy did NOT. (According to her, it was her head and not her ability to perform which was holding her back. HA! Like I haven't been given that line before.) All she did was complain and I'm happy to say that I no longer believe she is the teacher's pet she once was.

My grin was further widened when we went on our much deserved break and I went next door to Gino's to eat a beer for lunch. Not only was I able to enjoy a mug full of frothing Budweiser but the owner came over to my table and asked if he could buy me some food so it didn't "look so bad." (Sad? No. Extremely marvelous? Uhhhdoiiiiii!) And yeah, out of all the food they serve I got a small garden salad with ranch dressing on the side. Your point?

XXXO
Miranda

School Is Hell

And my teacher is the devil. (Is that just the most cliche thing I've written thus far?)

Everyday I arrive at school looking, feeling like a million bucks. I ride my bike 2 miles there and 2 miles back, in return I produce endorphins (and help save the ozone. BOOM!) As everyone who's seen Legally Blonde should know, endorphins make you happy. (I'm quite certain my happy isn't the "normal" happy, but it is an acceptable happy. Enough so that it helps me to not Snap on my grandmother.) So it would be safe to say that I don't arrive to class looking for a fight.

Minute by minute my teacher peels away those positive feelings I've newly acquired and an hour after I've clocked in, I'm back to my 'negative, pessimistic, in danger of becoming sour' self. Today for instance, Fat Baby Mama was taking forever writing her notes, so I hurried to the bathroom as fast as I could, not wanting to miss the demonstration my teacher was waiting to give. (And when I say teacher, I tread lightly.) I was gone, oh I don't know, 2 minutes maximum. As soon as I walked back in the door I realized she had literally started showing the 'new do' immediately after I'd left the room. (Coincidence? I think not.) I ran to my spot and began watching her intently, hoping she would notice that all my focus was on her. She finished and I asked a question.

Moi: "Does it matter how many times we section off the hair?"
C***: "Well, if you were here when we began instead of running off you would know the answer to that. And it's also in the notes that you just wrote down, so obviously you weren't paying attention to those either. Tell me Miranda, how many sections should there be?"
Moi: "Ohhh, there are supposed to be nine, right?"
C***: "GOOOOD job."

In all honesty, that's word for word. I make a mental note to memorize everything she says. This was our very first interaction of the day mind you. We hadn't spoken a word to each other until then, and out of nowhere she verbally accosts me with her mother fucking attitude. Later on when I was trying, and failing miserably, to recreate the 'do' she showed us (which just so happened to be a PERM) I needed more help, and wasn't afraid to ask. She comes over, shows me what to do, but not without reminding me that if I hadn't gone to the bathroom I wouldn't have missed the instructions. HERE WE GO.

"I'm sorry that I've been surfing the crimson wave for the past two weeks and need to use the bathroom on a regular basis. Not only is it extremely inconvenient, irritating and uncomfortable but it's also an evident health issue I'm dealing with. I only went when I did because B*** was still writing down her notes and I thought I had time. I seriously think you made the ulcer in my brain travel to my uterus, and now my body won't stop bleeding. By the way, PERMS? I'm pretty sure those went out of style when the year 1994 became 1995. And THANK YOU by the way, for making me feel guilty for being a woman."

I'm not going to lie and say that I think that rant made The Situation any better, but it sure as fuck made me feel good. Given, my hand shook for the remaining hour. (I also shake when I get mad.) The rest of the day went rather smoothly, all things considered. It was clear I was more than ready to leave school less than halfway through the day. "You seem ready to leave, you have a date tonight?"

"Actually, I have a date with 5 beers and a blog."

She didn't believe me when I told her I didn't have any plans to see any specific person, and that I was just going to a bar to drink a few beers alone and 'write.' Of course she asked what I was going to write about, I refused to tell her but I have to believe she got the hint when I tilted my head toward her, raised my left eyebrow and gave her the "I absolutely loathe you and everything you represent, so it's only understandable that I'm going to write about how much you suck' look.

And OF COURSE when I walk into my new favorite bar I see 'that guy' sitting at the bar. (Oh, this is your favorite place to drink too? WEIRD!!!) At least he wasn't with a girl because god knows that would have been even more awkward. (Oh no, it definately doesn't look like I'm stalking this guy.) And it would only make sense that I see him when I'm wearing my school clothes and my hair is in a side pony. Awesome. Really fucking awesome.)

XXXO
Miranda

Singled Out

Usually I need to have a little liquid courage in me to be able to put fingers to computer. To try and write anything substantial. (HAHAHAHAHA) Which is why I haven't really been posting much. (Also take into consideration I started this blog 2 weeks ago.) I'm so broke that I haven't been able to purchase any alcohol, thus I haven't been getting as intoxicated as I like to be. (There IS however a gallon of Jim Beam in the kitchen that my grandma lets me drink, but only upstairs at the table because she thinks I'll get drunk and spill it everywhere [which, in hindsight is probably a warranted assumption] nevertheless! No drinking = no blogging.) UNTIL NOW!

I found a bar that sits literally 50 feet from the shore (did I mention I live at the beach?) and they have $4.75 New Castle, free WiFi and 10 flat screens that are constantly playing sports (did I mention a lot of guys come here?) so I've branded this my new blogging headquarters. And yes I realize that I said I don't have money for alcohol, and I know you're all like 'omg what a liar, she can spend money to drink at a bar but not at home?!' but I just decided today to not pay my phone bill until it gets shut off, so I've got $80 to spend until I receive my first paycheck.

Now, back to the basics..

Things have gotten out of control.

I'm getting flak from my teacher. Apparently she hates me. Which is completely undue because I think she's a fabulous teacher and I respect her and her profession. (HAHAHAHAH) What I don't APPRECIATE though is when she constantly asks me "Why are you even here?? You should probably be in another profession.." (Just because I hate everyone and am scared of sharp objects?) WHY AM I HERE?! I'm enrolled in this school and paying $9,000 that I don't have because I want to be here. I made a lot of sacrifices to go to that school, I wouldn't be there if I didn't want to learn as much as I possibly could about cosmetology. Not only does she ask me, and only me that question, but she asks me infront of the class. (All eyes on me!) And it all started because I told her I didn't need help plugging in a dryer. That has set the stage for the rest of the 10 months I have to be there.

Remember the baby mama from LA? Yeah, she gets worse. She's also fat. (Kirstie Alley fat. Except I like Kirstie.) Every word that comes out of her mouth is a lie. She actually had the arrogance to tell me she owns 1/3 of Walmart. Walmart,.. you know, the multi billion dollar company. The fact that she drives a 2000 Honda Civic with stripped paint tells me otherwise. The nerve of that child! (She also lied about her age, pffff) I find it absurd that my teacher, (correction, instructor) loves the cellulite out of her. She adores this girl! Seriously, what the fuck! Yesterday she was doing awful at fingerwaving and she got pissed, went to the bathroom, was in there for 5 minutes, 10 minutes later her 'mother' calls the school to talk to her, explains that fat girl's daughter has a fever so she is going to come pick fat girl up so she can take care of her. A, that's obviously not true. 2, fat girl didn't even ask her mother what her daughter's temp was, how she was doing, etc.. she just said 'ok come get me.' And then went into full detail about her daughter's state to the instructor. Who takes their 4 year old to the hospital for a fever?! Give me a break, she was just feeling sorry for herself because she was actually bad at something so she wanted to go home. And you just KNOWW that bitch is going to get full credit for the day.

XXXO
Miranda

The Acrylic Artist

I would love to believe that I am a 'changed woman' post breakup (almost a year now, if the rule of SATC still applies I've got about one more month until I'm supposed to be over it) and as hard as I've tried to prove to other people that I am.. I learned today that I am still the same old Miranda. The same downer addicted Miranda. (At least it's not heroin.) Don't worry, I'm well on my way.

I ran out of illegaly purchased prescriptions about a month ago, and everyday since then has been the worst day of my life. The only way I've even been able to get through each and every day is all thanks to a little friend I like to call BOURBON. (Bourbon in the mornings, bourbon in the evenings, bourbon at homework time.) Today at school the anxiety and depression finally got to me. I was ACKtually repremanded. For being.. get this.. NEGATIVE. (Who, lil ol me?!)

Ever since school started I have been irregularly nice and happy to all of the students at beauty school. Not because I was happy to be there, but because I was the tiniest bit thankful to have human interaction with someone/anyone other than my grandmother. I guess I stopped caring about that today because I was in the worst mood ever. (Worse than the time I saw those two pink plus signs.)

I refuse to do anything I'm not good at. Which is why I tend to stick to what I know. I absolutely hate when someone is better at something than I am. I'm not good at very many things, which is why I always have to be absolutely perfect at whatever it is I AM doing. Well, acrylics are NOT my thing. After we took THREE, I repeat THREE tests this morning (one of which I got 100% on, the other tw0 99%) we started filling in acrylics on dummy hands. The hands mind you, are rubber and are very uncomfortable and awkward to hold/practice on. Obviously I wasn't very good at it. So I got.. quiet. (When I'm mad I get quiet)

Ontop of the "I can't fill acrylics, I'm worthless" feeling, another girl in the class would not shut her trap about how good' she was at it. OK, fine, she was better at it than I was, but she wasn't GREAT at it. But she thought she was. Now this girl, is a 21 year old Mexican baby mama from L.A. That alone should tell you what I'm putting up with. She is extremely loud, and always extremely wrong. About everything. Having to listen to her for 8 hours straight threw me over the edge. My teacher caught me rolling my eyes when I heard the baby mama talking about not believing in adopting dogs from the pound and wanting to breed her dog with someone else's. That's when my teacher told me I need to have a better attitude about nails and that I'm actually good at it and I can only get better through practice. That was it. I'd had it.

"Hunny, I was not rolling my eyes at YOU. Even though it is obvious that you agree with her. Ignorance comes to mind. Now, I have not complained one time. I have not huffed, I have not puffed. I have been following each and every one of your rules and I have been doing my in class work all day long without so much as a peep. I can't say the same for B***, so I'm not sure what the issue is here."

After that, her attitude toward me completely changed. I now get the feeling she isn't a fan of mine. I'm not exactly sure why, but I'm going to give my sassiness a 10 for the day.

I've stopped fighting with myself. Negative IS me.

XXXO
Miranda

Manicures, Pedicures, Acrylics, Oh My!

I'm just going to go ahead and say this right now. I got a manicure and a pedicure today. AT THE SAME TIME. AT SCHOOL.

I guess I'm a fan of the French tip

I would post a picture of my pedi (which are white french tip) but then there's that weird foot creep out thing I have. Which brings my to my next subject.

I gave a fellow student a pedicure today. That means I TOUCHED A FOOT. Two feet actually! All of my friends should know how big of a deal that is for me. When I think of feet I think of slimy, gooey, wrinkled, overgrown toe nails and any other vomit enducing images you can think of. The last foot I touched was my ex boyfriends and only because I knew it was going to lead to sex. Which it did. (Surprisingly, that was also the last time. Huh..) I wasn't creeped out once I actually started, which came as a surprise. Just thinking about it made me want to cut my hands off. (I'm talking about the pedicure now..) I just might be getting the hang of this. (But apparently not this whole dating scene, because my last date has failed to return the text which I so graciously sent him. Two days ago.)

You may recall the Mexican woman I talked about in my first/previous post,.. she's even worse than I thought! Her most memorable line of the day: "I used to hate my daughter. She was conceived through rape. I don't want her. Once I almost broke her arm. Left her with hand damage." I'm. Not. Making. This. Up. She just went and shared this information with us while she was giving a pedicure. Quite the chatter box, that one. She also told the teacher she didn't know what she was talking about and that we all called her a bitch. Something that none of us ever said. GOD, she's worse than that guy that was in one of my classes in high school that said I had Kankles.

My only complaint about school so far, besides the Latina and the fact that it's 8.5 hours a day, is that we have to study chemistry, and geometry, and all those other things I would have failed in high school if not for my sexuality. Today we learned how to make salt. Reeeeeally?

OH! AND! We had our first two tests today. On one I got 99% and the other 89%.. but only because I mixed up Solvent with Astringent. I need flashcards.

Today, I also found out I got a job at DC Shoes. (My plan to marry Rob Dyrdek is now in play..)

XXXO

Miranda

And Introducing..

I wanted to drop out before it even began.

The only things I've ever been good at are making inappropriate comments in the most appropriate of times, putting underwear on backwards (yes, even thongs) only to realize it hours later, baby bashing, and eating jars of Claussen pickles in one sitting. I may be wrong (and usually I am) but making a lucrative career out of pickle eating doesn't sound practical. Like having children.

After working at a videostore for two and a half years I realized I needed a trade. One particular thing I could potentially be semi solid at, and make money off of. (Obviously the first thing that came to mind was illegal [in most states] and only seemed appealing when drunk and high - like most things are.) I chose the cliche path instead. Beauty school. You know, the place where all twenty somethings with parental issues and no hope usually end up. It was either cosmetology or the pole kids, and considering the exponential growth of my right boob, and right boob only (thanks birth control!) becoming a cosmetologist seemed like the most sensible choice.

Except! (TWIST!) I sleep in until noon, drink like a racehorse, dislike most people (everyone), have a foot phobia, don't like to be touched/told what to do (apart from when I jazz a man) have commitment issues because of my ex boyfriend (someone I enjoy referring to, woe is me) and I'm always drunk, broke and/or high. All things I would assume any man would want a woman to be like, but qualities frowned upon by beauty schools. In other words, I'm the exact opposite of an ideal candidate.

Because of a series of unfortunate events, I made the uncharacteristically wise decision to minimize my belongings, move to central California and go to beauty school. I'm a 22 year old caucasian female, living with my 65 year old grandmother, who forces me to make my bed every. Single. Morning. (And bars any food or alcohol from my room - one that is decked out in traditional Winnie the Pooh FYI.)

My school schedule is Tuesday through Saturday, 8:30am to 5pm. I have to wake up at 6 in the morning. (IN THE MORNING) and then ride my bike to and from the Institute of Beauty Culture, Inc. I'm only on day two and it's really starting to annoy. I share a classroom with an older mexican (Spanish?) woman who insists that the doctors in Mexico are better than the ones in the United States (because apparently we're "idiots")

This blog is to assist my sanity and help me to successfully go through with what I plunged myself into. I will graduate. I swear. (By the moon and the stars in the skies.)

On the upside, I got a faboosh manicure at school today.

Proof of my nearly unbelievable living quarters.

Hi, I'm Miranda and my grandmother thinks I'm seven.

XXXO

Miranda