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HER-STORY...
juggling a thing called LIFE |
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Monday, Nov. 07, 2005 Left handers smack my knuckles... Holy shit on a shingle... Dear Andrew: I know that I'm a free-loading-mooch here at Diaryland, but is it necessary to let the system eat my entry? I worked HARD on it. I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into it. I cried, I laughed, I chuckled, I cringed. It's hard to get all of that back when you have to REWRITE it... Yours truly (madly deeply) So, how do I recap? By doing the best that I can, that's how. (Stand back...) Today I get a message from M-girl... she told me that while speaking to J-boy, he told her that he "redpenned" my paper to death and plans on harassing me in front of everyone on Thursday during "Her-Story's time on the hot seat." It's bad enough that Prof. Weasle will massacre me, I think that people shouldn't be mean... because I don't plan no being that way. Oh well... all's fair in love and the Civil War, I guess... Things that I read make my brain bleed... like "...the men wandered to the creek to bathe because they suffered from footsore." What does that mean? Footsore. It reminds me of a boss that I had who used to say, "I wait with bated breath." For the longest time, I thought he was saying, "I wait with baited breath," meaning... someone's breath smells like bait. However, I had the checkmate of my life, at age 19, when I asked my boss WHY his breath supposedly smells like bait. Talk about embarassing... "You have ferocious hips." What a comeon line... my friend, T, is looking for that perfect guy. The one she met said to her, while dancing, "You have ferocious hips." Apparently, she swivels hard... *shrugs* I'm contemplating applying for an adjunct position at a community college in PA that requires a BA plus 18 credits. I hope that I can score myself at least one class to help out w/ money... and ease my bruised ego. My REALLY hurt and damaged ego. Cross your fingers for me, will ya? I need some advice as to how to deal with #3 son... When he's eating, he gets angry, smooshes his food in his hands, and throws it at people. My other two do not throw, nor have they ever. This one smacks, hits, throws, and screams. I'm frustrated. |
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if my diary makes |
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STICK IT TO ME... |