Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Attention!

My first day at my summer job is over. Four more weeks to go. I work from Mondays to Saturdays, so on Sundays I'll sleep extremely late and try to recover from a possible hangover. It's not a glamorous job or anything like that, but I'll get some much needed money from it so I'll try not to complain. What exactly I do? I sell strawberries on a market.

It's a nice job, any idiot (which means I barely qualify) could do it plus you get to shoot the shit with strangers, mostly old ladies. Today wasn't a very busy day, it was cold and a bit windy and it started to rain at the end. That meant that I just stood there a lot, shivering in the cold while few people rushed by with no intention of buying anything.

All in all it was an okay day, didn't screw up much, hopefully. Afterwards I wasn't really tired and sales have began so I decided to go shopping a bit. Not that I really had any need of buying something, I just wanted to see what was out there and maybe try something on.

I went to a couple of shops, didn't really see anything I'd have liked, but kept on shopping. At this one place I found a couple of nice looking pants so I decided to try them on. I went to one of those tiny booths where you try the clothes on, but the pants didn't really look good on me, so I sighed and decided it was time to go home. Just when I was putting my own pants on, I noticed there was something yellow in the back of my jeans. As it turned out, there was this quite noticeable yellow sticker that had "attention!" written on it with big letters and then some other scribble with smaller letters. It was one of those stickers that are on new jeans (at least in H&M) that tell what size and style and whatnot the jeans are.

So this means I had a yellow sticker that read "attention!" on my ass all day, so that people who walked behind me from the parking lot to the market place, the customers in the market place plus a whole bunch of non-customers that just strolled by, and the people who I passed during my after-work-shopping-spree gave my backside some attention because, well, the sticker on my ass apparently demanded it. I wish I was fucking kidding. How could that happen, you may ask? Well I bought those jeans yesterday, so they were brand new and packed with stupid stickers and other new-jeans-crap that H&M likes to put on their clothes, those motherfuckers. This morning, before I put them on, I removed all those things, but obviously I had missed the yellow fucking "attention!" sticker.

Buuut, I'm sort of over this by now, because this is not the first embarrassing thing that has happened to me (there has been even worse than this), and this definitely wont be the last, so the best thing to do is just let it go. Tomorrow is a new day, and I'll make sure my ass will be attention free.

Saturday, May 28, 2005

Finland Diary

Quite a few newspapers here in Finland have reported about this.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

Could this be the beginning of a beautiful shoe fetish?

I've always found it hard to relate to women who are shoe'o'holics. I'm taller than average women, so my feet have felt the need to be proportional, which means that they are huge. Well, not weirdly huge, but again, bigger than average. So for me, finding pretty shoes, such as high heeled ones are extremely hard, because shops usually provide small, average and slightly-above-average size shoes. When I go shopping I look at all those gorgeous shoes, sigh heavily and wish I'd have the courage to cut my toes off so my feet would fit those shoes. But then again I wouldn't be a pretty sight in sandals.

This is one of the reasons I steer clear from shoe shops. The other reasons is that I'm financially limited (read: poor) most of the time. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate shoes (I even love the Manolo), I just hate that my size is rarely available, and when it is, the shoes are almost always ugly. But there are times when new and pretty shoes need to be bought, for parties and such, like graduation (which is upon me in two and a half weeks). So yesterday I decided that it was time for me to start the hunt of a fitting-and-hopefully-somewhat-appealing shoes.

Every time I go shopping I find myself cursing all those petite pretty women and their small shoe sizes, and this time was no different. I went from a shoe shop to another, but the biggest size those shops had to offer was one size too small for me. Again, my feet are not that big, even though it might sound like they are,so try to get rid off that mental image of huge hairy hobbit feet.

Anyway, just when I was about to give up and trying to convince myself that going to my graduation barefooted would be trendy, I saw them. They were high heeled sandals, there were two colors, black and white. I chose to admire the black ones, since they matched my dress better. I didn't even dare to dream that the shop would have those in my size, but still I very casually took a peek what sizes were available. To my surprise I found one pair that was my size, but nevertheless, the actual size of the shoe vary even if the number doesn't, so I wasn't going to go all gigglely squee until I'd tried them on. Ready to be disappointed and ashamed of my huge feet I cautiously slipped my foot in. Without much struggle I manage to get the shoe on. I slipped the other one on too, and walked towards the mirrors, and then it happened: angels began to sing their praises, dark clouds disappeared from the sky and the sun came out. I had found my first pair of pretty-with-heels-and-OMG-THEY-FIT shoes.

Now I can't get enough of them. I touch them, I put them on, I dream how super fantastic I look when I'm wearing them. Now I feel like I'm starting to understand Carrie a little bit more.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Uncle Eyeball, are you out there?

I live in a relatively small town. There's a few shops and grocery stores and such, but nothing more really. Everybody knows everyone, if not by name, by looks anyway, since whenever you go to the grocery store or to the bank or whatever you'll see the same familiar faces. Which is nice, I kind of like the small town feel and all, but I'm probably saying this because I'm leaving this teeny tiny town behind me (hopefully) in the fall, and I'm just being nostalgic. There was a time when I hated living here in the middle of nowhere, but I have manage to smother those feelings of isolation and utter boredom.

When you see the same faces over and over again, you get accustomed to them, and those people sort become your buddies. Not that I'd go and talk to them just because I always see them, because they are still strangers an lets not forget what our moms told us about strangers. What I mean is that when you see the local drunks at the park bench which they have been occupying for years and years, you get that warm and fuzzy feeling inside knowing that they are doing okay (relatively speaking).

So now I'll talk a little bit about Uncle Eyeball. There's these couple benches where old people and little kids sit down in front of the main grocery store here. It's often occupied with random old timers, but there's always this one man, Uncle Eyeball, who sits there almost every single time I go into that place. The reason why I named him Uncle Eyeball is because he always stares at me. First, I thought it was because I'm sort of easy on the eyes (but then again, when you are a 60+ year-old male, every female who is under 60 is easy on the eyes), but it turned out that he eyeballs pretty much everyone who passes him.

First when I realized he was staring at me, it was kind of creepy. After a while I got used to it. It's not like he was going to attack me and rape or something, because, you know, he could barely walk. It became like the thing with the drunks: it was good to know that he was there, sitting and eyeballing people like always.

Sadly, I haven't seen him lately, which is unusual. I was in the grocery store today and I checked the bench, but there was no Uncle Eyeball to be seen. Just some random old people. This got me kind of worried, I mean who knows, he might have died. Even though I didn't know anything about him, except that he liked to stare at people, it's sort of sad if he has died, because he was (is..?) a somewhat important part of this town to me.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Lazy

Entrance exams for universities are coming up, and I should be studying my ass off right now. Instead, I spend my days browsing the web looking for hot pictures of handsome men and reading useless information. I'm feeling like slob these days, but today will be different! I already cleaned my desk (well, kind of..) so I wont have any distractions when I eventually hit the books.

And I will hit the books... I just have to make a few google picture searches first.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Drained

Those huge tests that I was talking about in my last post are now over. I managed to get some good results from some of them, but there were few that went worse than I expected. I don't get the final result until May, though, so nothing is definite yet, but I think I'll manage to get into some university with those results. Now it's time to start studying for entrance exams...

The thing is, I'm not sure what and where I want to study in the future. I keep browsing through this book where's a list of all the universities and such, but I'm just not sure. I have this image in my head where I'm in debt with a good-for-nothing degree and working at McDonald's. There's nothing wrong with working at McDonald's, but if I find myself serving BicMacs when I'm forty, I'll officially be pathetic. I just want to study something that I'm good at and that I like, and that getting a decent job with that degree wouldn't be extremely difficult.

Meh. I feel kind of pressured all the time. I feel like I have to live up to my family's expectations, but It's just my expectations I can't live up to. Or, you know, am not going to live up to if I can't get to a university or wasting a year or two studying something that I don't like. Plus I think my friends hate me. And I think I'm a loser. And I have gained a few pounds. Also, I have some zits in my face. And whine whine whineeeeee.

...anyway, I'm sure things will turn out alright eventually, I just feel pretty worthless right now.

Saturday, February 19, 2005

Obsession

So I had realization while I was shaking my ass in a club this weekend. School ended, sort of, there's still big ass tests coming up this spring and graduation celebration (that is if I pass those big ass tests) in June, but I don't have to go there everyday anymore. So this obviously meant that there was people my age partying all night long at clubs and bars and such. Me and a few of my pals also went to celebrate. I was excited, because I was expecting to do some kissing and groping with some nice-looking boys.

I looked cute (I think and hope), I danced like they do on music videos and I tried not to say mean things to men so they wouldn't think I'm a frosty bitch. At some point when I was shaking my behind, as I said earlier, I realized that I didn't really want to kiss and grope anyone from there. Why the sudden change of heart, you might perhaps ask yourself if you have bothered to read this post? Well, I scouted the dance floor thoroughly, but like I said, none of those strange men really interested me enough to make me exchange spit with them. This is because I compared them to Mr. Nice Posture. If you are not familiar with this person (which is probably the case, because I highly doubt that you read my blog regularly. But if you do, leave me a comment, call me, let's go and have a beer, I'm sure we'll be best buds!), I suggest you read my earlier posts Daydream believer and Damn you, possessed vacuum cleaner!.

Yes indeed, I actually had this thought running through my head: "I'm so bored, I don't want to kiss these guys, I wish I could kiss Mr. Nice Posture. I wish he was here. Oh crap, my belly is bulging out." I'm am an obsessed freak, I tell you. I don't even know him that well. I mean I know something about him, because I'm a pretty good stalker, but I only have talked with him once, and that wasn't really communicating, so I can't really say that I have actually talked with him for real. But that doesn't mean that I wont forever cherish (Or, you know, until I find another man to obsess about) those 5 seconds when we exchanged stupid words.

My problem is that I think he likes me too, but I'm not sure. He's always looking at me and his body language sort of sends me this come-on-closer-vibe. But occasionally, when I'm rational, I realize that this is just my brain twisting things again. I mean, this is probably closer to the truth:

Me: Oh there's Mr. Nice Posture. He's totally into me too, I just know it. There's no way he has a girlfriend because he has the hots for me. And if he does have one, he's just keeping himself busy until he gets the courage to ask me out. After that he'll dump that skank whoever she is.

Mr. Nice Posture: Oh shit! There's that crazy person who's always staring at me. She is SO creepy. Don't look, don't look! Oh no, I looked! Now my body is cringing again.

Me: There's that body language again! I'm totally getting this "You and me, in the guys bathroom, lets go and have a quickie before my math class starts"-vibe out of him. I'm never wrong about these things.

Sunday, February 13, 2005

Valentine's Day Eve

Ah, Valentine's day. I remember when I was about 9 or so I had a crush on this cute boy who was a year older than me. We were friends, sort of, but our relationship never really got off. Such a shame. Though, I do remember this one intense moment between us when we were playing mushroom-war (yeah, with real mushrooms in the woods... don't ask). We hid behind trees while throwing mushroom at our enemies, and we laughed and smiled and stared at each other in the eyes. Then when Valentines day came, I had planned to give him a lovely card that I had made. Unfortunately, my brother told all about my girly card to this boy before the V-day, and together they laughed at me. I ended up not giving the card to that motherfucker.

But I realize now that I was a bit too pushy in my childhood romances. When I was 5 or something like that, there was this boy who I liked, and I showed my affection to him by drawing pictures of us holding hands, him giving me flowers, us living in a same house. Then I gave all those picture to him. I must have drawn him thousands of pictures, but he never responded to my wooing. He goes to the same school as I do now, but I nowadays I find him a bit annoying.

Anyway, to me, Valentine's day has always been a let down. At the end of the day I check my jacket pockets and backpack for steamy love letters from secret lovers, but so far I've had no luck. Therefore I'm just going to wake up tomorrow and try not to have any expectations for the day. That way when the only thing I'll find in my pockets is a candy wrapper, I won't get depressed.

Further reading: fuckvday