RedlyGal

I am me. I really never know what to say about myself at first, and then it turns into this huge rambled informational story. So, let's start rambling.

As a child, I wanted to grow up and be an art teacher. (Well, my VERY first job aspiration was to be a ballerina, but what 5 year old girl doesn't dream of something that stupid?) I didn't care where I was teaching at first, but as I grew older - we're talking 12 or 13, not very old at all - I decided I wanted to be an art professor at a college. My vision of my future was me owning a shabby little VW Bug, all of my canvas and art crap shoved into the back, with a giant Saint Bernard pooch in the front seat with me.

I was going to live in one of those large town homes in Chicago or San Francisco, the ones that're smashed right in between other buildings and occupy two or three floors. I had it all planned out; it was very fancy. It served as a nice childhood expectation, but unrealistic.

As I got older - older in the sense of actually maturing and learning how impossible it was to live as either a teacher or an artist, with the expectation for location and compensation (Holy rhymes, Batman!) - I had the idea of becoming a psychiatrist. I had college all planned out until my senior year of high school, at which point my political and moral views changed, and I decided it was ridiculous to go to school for 8+ years in order to prescribe people medications for their problems, instead of teaching them to deal with them head-on.

During my senior year, I took a culinary class. It was entirely by accident; long story short, my counselor screwed me over credit-wise, and I needed a class. There was space, so I took it. In that class I had friends that weren't the best students ever. Putting Dave's Insanity Sauce in lasagna sauce in secret out of spite doesn't exactly win the teacher's pet award of the year. Since I was associated with these troublesome boys, but not guilty of that specific 'crime', I got the short straw because she was hard on me for the rest of the year.

Regardless of her bitchy attitude toward me, I continued the class and didn't drop it. I enjoyed cooking. I looked into culinary school and out of sheer curiosity, got all of the information sent to me. My mom took one look at that information, explained that if I didn't go to college immediately out of high school I would get lazy and never go, enrolled me in the program in San Francisco, CA, and pretty much threw me into an apartment down there.

I hated college. The classes were interesting, but the experience was horrific. I was under 18, living in a city alone, with no friends. The "friends" I thought I was making only proved to be liars and fakes, and stabbed me in the back in the end. It was a bad time for me. I tried joining the college party crowd and failed - drinking and puking and going to class, only to drink and puke and go again wasn't my style. I learned to rely on myself and deal with solitude for the most part, although it was immensely depressing.

Fast forward to now: I have worked in horrible restaurants since I graduated, and also what was practically my dream job. I moved back home, then proceeded to move out again and into a completely different state to be with my current boyfriend while he's in college. I hate the city and the state we're living in, I hate my financial situation, but that's the life I'm living right now and I have to make due with what I have right now. At least, that's what I keep telling myself!


Now, see? I told you it turned into rambling. For the general information:
My favorite color is green.
I hate bananas.
I have four ferrets and a cat, and back home with my family I still consider the dog partially mine, too.
I have a love affair with food that never caused problems with my weight until November 2006, at which point something happened in my brain: One oreo was no longer disgustingly sweet, and an entire bag of them was still not satisfying. I blame this entirely on the fact that my boyfriend/best friend moved away, and I couldn't cope. HA!
My music taste varies depending on mood; one minute it's Rob Zombie, the next it is Japanese jazz from different anime.
My movie taste varies as well, duh; however, I tend to hate war movies.
I think that people as a whole in this country are relatively stupid, ignorant, and get on my nerves.
Children annoy the hell out of me, and I don't want any.
The idea of ghosts, zombies, dead things, or demons actually existing scares the piss out of me.
I hate being in an apartment our house alone, greatly due to that prior fact.
I have been raped by someone that I once thought to be a great friend. I blamed myself for a year, thinking it was somehow my fault; when I finally told anyone, it was someone that also knew him and she asked me "if I was sure it was rape?" This person and I have yet to rekindle what our friendship once was. Now, I have no real problem admitting it because I feel that honesty about the situation helps to spread awareness, and other people that have experienced this will come out and get it resolved instead of holding it in or blaming themselves.



When I think of more random thoughts and facts, I'll add them.