I like these roses

fuckyeahtattoos:

BJ x Colorfast: Coral Springs ,Florida

http://hisruca.tumblr.com

So I finished Chrono Crusade. The ending makes me so mad, but at the same time I love it. I definitely recommend it to all anime nerds. I traded in some of my old DVDs to Hastings so I could buy the complete box set. I sold Chrono Crusade Gospels 1 and 2. I still have 3 and 4 if anyone wants them. I also need to get rid of DNAngel vol. 1 and the second season of Full Metal Panic. Selling all discs for $5 each. I have to sell these before I can get new box sets. Help fuel my addiction to box sets. 

See you later space cowboy.

Kicking my Best Friend’s shit out of my house, someone throws eggs at my JEEP, only eleven days till I go on vacation, and I’m procrastinating on homework. Just another normal moment in my life.

So I’m gonna go a bit out of order instead of writing things in the way they are listed. 

I’m totally procrastinating on studying right now to type all this up for you people. Hopefully someone somewhere reads this. I have a test over minerals in the morning and a speech to give in the afternoon about stereotyping. 

Only eleven more days till i leave for Alabama to go visit my boyfriend Jake for a few days. I leave on the 23rd and come back on the 28th. I’m sooooo excited. It has been way too long since I have seen him. I can’t wait to spend time with him and watch movies and all the other mushy gushy stuff that comes with it.

So I’m kicking my Best Friend’s shit out of my house. It isn’t only my wish, but also my parent’s wish. I told her she had a few days to have someone come pick it up from my house and if she didn’t all her stuff is mine to do with what I please. This is how I made my decision to kick her things out:

She decided to become flat out white trash by drinking, sleeping around, stealing, getting trashy tattoos, partying, and using her friends.

• I have a drink every now and then but I leave it at ONE drink. She decides to drink to the point to where she is vomiting out of my friend’s car window all the way home and to the point that my friend has to drag her by her feet across her parent’s house. 
• She ditched one of my friends for TWO HOURS to go screw some random guy and had sex in the same friend’s hot-tub outside her parent’s bedroom window. Uhmmmm… EWWWW! 
• When she was home for the holiday she stole expensive cloths from two of my friend’s and got caught because she posted pictures of her wearing them on Facebook. When confronted she flipped out and got super defensive. 
• ALL of her tattoos are disgusting. She gets a new one every week. I don’t have a problem with tattoos if they are tastefully done, but hers are poorly done and all look like trash.  
• She get’s kicked out of a party for ashing her cigarette out in someone’s carpet, pulling her dress up to her chest at clubs so people can see her underwear, underaged drinking in clubs and almost getting caught, and taking a crap on a public sidewalk outside of a club (Classy, right?).
• When she was home for the holiday I only saw her once. She only spent those few hours with me to get some of her stuff back and she disrespected my parents by blowing them off when they were trying to catch up with her. To make it even better she only contacted me once after she left to go back to AIT. Oh, I forgot to mention, she is in the military. The one time she contacted me, she asked me for $50 so she could pay her phone bill. When I told her no, I hadn’t heard from her since. She makes over $1,000 a month and all her living expenses are paid for. HOW DO YOU RUN OUT OF $1,000 A MONTH???? Oh yeah, read  above. That’s how.

I don’t pity her. She is old enough to know the difference between right and wrong. So today, is her last day to get her crap. If I don’t hear from her then oh well. Not my problem.

My JEEP gets egged two days after I told her the terms to get her stuff out of the house Like seriously, what the hell? I don’t talk to many people out here and my life consists of school and work. To make it worse I feel like a complete loser because I didn’t notice until after I got home from work around 4:30pm. The egg covered my chrome grill, my new side-steps, my new fender-flares, and my purple paint job. I understand my pain job is kinda crappy because my paint old, fading, and chipping but my jeep is still pretty nice looking from the outside because of all the work I have put into it. Dried on egg takes paint off. I was in tears. I just cried because I don’t know anyone who would do that to me. I walked down my street and didn’t see any cars with egg or any egg shells in yards. Just mine. I went to my neighbors house and knocked on the door and he asked what was wrong and I asked him if he knew how to get egg off of cars without taking paint off. He took my JEEP into his driveway and spent two hours cleaning it off. It’s nice to know there are still nice people in the world. So today I’m going to make cake for him and his family.

See you later space cowboy.

Oh how my inner nerd is in love with this.

Things have been moving at 180 miles an hour lately. Taking 15+ hours Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at college. Work is kicking my ass. Selling some Anime DVDs so I can get new box sets. Yeah, Things are normal.

So I’m going to get my hair done tomorrow thank god.

I just felt the need to say this.

Roll Tide Mother Fuckers :]

            College. Where you are prepared to go out into the real world. Or some bullshit like that. At least that is what our parents, high school teachers, and other old people tell us. If college life was meant to prepare us for the real world I like the way it prepares us. Then again, what is the real world? My college journey has surrounded me with local concerts, friends, crazy parties, stupid minimum wage jobs, and cheap beer. Sounds thrilling. My name is Taylor. This is my story.

            So I guess you expect me to start this off with some meaningful and sentimental story, or some inconsequential crap like that. Negative. I’m starting this rollercoaster ride to hell with day one of college.

            My first day at Lone Star Community College. Was I excited? Sort of but I was kind of freaked out too. I looked like I was straight out of high school. I was rocking the Vans Warped Tour 2009 shirt, a chunk of purple hair, knee-high solid black converse, enough black eyeliner to look like the Hamburglar from McDonalds, and the same studded belt I had been wearing since my sophomore year in high school. Yup, I looked and smelled like a college freshman.

           I had two classes that Tuesday, one of them was Psychology I. My psychology professor was Mr. Borne. He was a short bald man who wore lavender button up shirts and whom I swear to the holy man above was gay. I didn’t care how much that man talked about his wife and kid: He was gay. Despite that thought he was actually a pretty nifty guy. Had some pretty neat lectures. He talked about Hitler and other dead crazy people so that helped me pay attention due to my obsessive interest in the Holocaust and nut jobs. I sat next to some really smelly girl in that class. I think her name was Rosaline, Ronda, Rachel, I don’t know, I’ll just call her Ronda, reminds me of a smelly week old sandwich. Her stench made it almost impossible to pay attention to some of the less interesting lectures in his class. I had to train myself to breath out my mouth instead of my nose. This new change in my normal breathing habit made me sound like that creeper kid in the TV show Hey Arnold!that would make that horrible breathing noise behind people. I think Ronda even commented on it. It wasn’t till the last few weeks in that class I made friends with this guy named Cody Herrington. He was a pretty interesting character. He was about 23 or 24, had the old 70’s sideburns, double zero gauges, and was studying to be a radiologist. Sitting next to him was better than sitting next to Ronda the week old sandwich and I was able to breath like a normal person instead of like some kid with headgear and braces.

The first day in Mr. Borne’s class actually wasn’t that bad. He made us do the stupid middle school introduction speech, the typical hi my name is Bobby Smith and I like to color things and play with my hamster intro. I don’t remember any of those introductions. I just told them my name and then said I work and spend time blowing money on car parts. No way in hell I was going to tell any of these people anything seriously important. After the middle school introductions the bald man sent us off.

My second class of the day was Government II with a man named Mr. Ricker. He was a tall skinny guy in his 40s and had a voice like my 5th grade Texas history teacher that was boring and could make an ADHD kid fall asleep. His class was pretty difficult to get through. Half of the time I wanted to shoot myself in the foot because I couldn’t focus in his class at all. I sat next to a kid who was studying to become a voice teacher for singers or something like that. He wanted to go to Russia I think. Not sure. I had another kid in my class that I went to high school with. His name was Mike. Short pudgy kid, super metro sexual, but then again what would you expect from a kid that was in a home cooking class with you in high school. I sat front and center in that class. I thought that it would help me pay attention. Negative. I kept thinking about what car parts to buy for my JEEP and what manager I was working with that night at The Pizza Shack, if it was Wendy I’d be home free and work would be wonderful, if it was Thomas or Michael I’d be miserable the entire night. The only way I could keep track in that class was two days before the tests when he would give us our test review outline. I’d have to read all the stuff that the outline listed and then pass the test. Easy, but a pain in my ass. The only interesting part about his class was when I got to write a paper comparing the government to something. I wrote my paper about how the government was much like Alice in Wonderland. Surprisingly I got an A.

My first class with Mr. Ricker wasn’t exciting. He made us do the middle school intro also. The only interesting one I remember was some tall and strange looking kid who had just moved from Canada. The only thing that sucked about the introduction in his class is that we had to tell him something sentimental and a hobby. So unfortunately I had to say something personal. I think some of the people thought that I was the little sister of the kid sitting next to me considering I looked like I was 15. The rest of that class is a blur now. Like I said: I couldn’t focus at all.

The fallowing day I started my Monday, Wednesday, Friday classes. I was more excited about this day because I got to start my favorite class: English. The only thing that sucked about it was I had Math 0308, also known as retard math, as my first class of the day.

I was never looking forward to this class at all. My math professor Mr. Oslund was a tall skinny bald man with a thick beard in his forties that probably lived with his mother. But damn this guy was a hard ass, and I think that’s why I actually liked his class. It was a short 53-minute class that was over math that I could actually do and on top of that he was strict and made the class simple, it was either his way or no way. I sat next to a girl named Courtney. I swear this girl was a wetback man. Had a mustache and everything. Kind of freaked me out. She reminded me of the girl that I almost knocked the shit out of in high school. Maybe they were related. She was pretty nice but unfortunately I couldn’t carry conversation with her long due to the fact she was ignorant on everything. On the bright side, I was relieved that she didn’t have a stench like Ronda the sandwich. Behind me was an old guy who I think might have been Santa Claus. He was a big fat man with a snow-white beard and tiny glasses. I called him Pops a lot. I have to give him props to be that old and trying to go back to college. Not many people can do that. The positive thing about Pops was unlike Courtney was that I could carry a really good conversation with him until the girl would make some retarded comment that made me use every bit of strength I had not to flick her in the nose and tell her no like a dog.

The first day in retard math was a quick and painless 53-minute class. No silly intros thank the Lord. Instead we got straight to business and started on simple algebra equations with the people sitting next to us. The one thing I remember Mr. Oslund told us the first day in his class was this, “Look at the people around you. There are 26 of you today. The last day in this class there will only be 8 or 9 of you.” The creepy thing was: he was right.

English I. The best class I have ever taken. My professor’s name was Robert E. Reichle. An average sized man with glasses from California. His class was nothing like any English class that I had ever had. In this class we got into so many debates over things, wrote essays over Playboy articles, talked about how he wanted to rip College Park High School into shreds, and other different things. This guy challenged me so much it was unreal. I actually struggled a little in his class. His papers were so difficult to write. I loved it. I sat right up front for all of his lectures in his class. The best part about his class was an article we had to analyze called “The Bonehead Writer” by Craig Vetter. Don’t try Googling the title so you can read it, you can’t find it. “ ‘This is writing 1A. I wanted to subtitle it ‘Writing for those who still sign their name with an X’, but the administration said, ‘No, these kids aren’t stupid or uneducated, just writing impaired.’ I love that. Makes you sound like Helen Keller at the pump waiting for a miracle.” I fell in love with this statement in Vetter’s essay. If you really think about it, it has some merit to it. The fact that this essay came from a Playboy magazine AND made a Helen Keller joke made me love this class even more. I still have the article. I plan on giving it to the high school seniors on their first day of English 4 when I become a teacher. Might make them go home and cry themselves to sleep. Bob’s class was never an easy class. He actually made you think instead of giving you some watered down crap to read. Nor did he ever ask the “And how does that make you feel?” question. Which made me quite happy because that is such a horrible question and I hate how society started caring about how people feel. I can actually say for once that passing English was something I had to worry about.

“KEG STAND! KEG STAND!” College party much? Nothing like the smell of cheap beer and some dank. Just so we can clarify, this is no party for Frat-tards and Sa-whorities. This is a party for the kids your parents told you to stay away from. You know, the ones with the tattoos, piercings, large holes in their ears, the ones that listen to that loud screaming music. Despite the appearance of us “delinquents” not all of us are as bad as you think. You would be surprised at how many of us go to church and don’t do drugs. This was a party I went to with my friend Dallas. His best friend was in a band that was performing. Going to parties and shows is a way of life for us. You get this adrenaline rush when the music gets fast. People are walking around with cheap beer and cigarettes. There are a few of the boys starting mosh pits in the middle of the crowd, that only means someone is getting an elbow to the face leaving with a broken nose (Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen it.) The party slash show was pretty fun. I got thrown in to a mosh-pit. Keep in mind I weigh in at about 105 pounds and I’m only five foot three. I was having a ton of fun in the crowd of bodies pushing each other till I got an elbow to the eye. I had the biggest black eye for over a week. Dallas said the positive side was that now I only had to do the makeup on my right eye to match my bruised left one. I then continued to punch him in the intestines. Despite my new black eye I was sporting, it was an overall good night. I was driving home listening to A Day To Remember, Dallas was puking in my back seat, and I was realizing that it was 3:35 am and I had to be up to leave for class in less than 3 hours. So worth it.

I really like college. It’s completely different from high school. In high school you have to respond to tardy bells, the ridiculous little kids who got everything handed to them, write ups, a ridiculously uptight dress code, assigned parking (thankfully the parking boot couldn’t fit over my JEEP’s tires), and the TAKS test. In college you don’t have to worry about those things. There are no tardy bells to worry about if your class is on the other end of the school. The cliché cliques don’t exist. No need to worry about write-ups for letting some obscene word slip out of your mouth. There is no strict dress code on what you have to wear because it’s finally okay to wear slippers or “house shoes” to school. Parking is first come first serve so no need to worry about accidentally parking in someone’s spot. The best part: no standardized testing. Even though all this sounds great you have to remember that college is still harder than high school. It requires responsibility and growing up. College is all up to you. You make the choices; mommy and daddy can’t do it anymore. Unlike high school, 90% of your teachers won’t care if you fail.

Finals. God, that word makes me feel like death is looming over-head. I took off the week before and the week of finals from work. I had to because there was not a frozen margarita’s chance in hell hat I was going to deal with the crap I get at work and a week worth of sleepless nights studying for my four finals. I was a zombie when finals came. My gray eyes were sunken in to my skull. I didn’t even bother with putting on make-up or fixing my hair, even though I probably should have ran a brush through my hair. It wasn’t that I had bed head, I had text-book head. I passed out at my desk on top of my psychology book the night before. Apparently my body thought it would be better for my brain to study through osmosis. The next three days were like a record player skipping. Everything was repeating itself: Sitting at a desk, staring at a green scantron, trying not to pass out and drool everywhere. I remember freaking out at one point in time because I felt the tip of my pencil breaking. I didn’t want to get up to sharpen a pencil and draw attention to myself to where people might have noticed I hadn’t showered in a few days when I made that horrible grinding noise from the sharpener. I hate pencils for that specific reason. English was my last final. I was worried to the point where I could have had an anxiety attack. We had to type up a paper over E.B. White’s “The Ring of Time”. I read this paper at least 64 times (and no, that’s not an exaggeration). The reason I didn’t have the anxiety attack I was almost positive I was going to have: NO PENCIL NEEDED. It’s not that I’m that kid that would rather use a computer, I just like pens better. Feels more permanent, like a person’s past. I swear I was sweating as I was typing. My paper was two pages long. I was freaking out because I didn’t think it was long enough but at the same time I knew Mr. Reichle didn’t want pages with a ton of bullshit.

A week and a half later, grades were finally posted. I was shaking like an engine with a miss in it as I was logging into my college account. My stomach was in my throat as I clicked on the  “2010 SPRING SEMESTER GRADES” link. I threw up a little. Not because I failed. I passed. I FREAKING PASSED. I danced in my room like crazy. I stopped when I realized my window was open and people were watching. I also stopped because I really wanted to go brush my teeth and get the vomit taste out of my mouth.

My first semester in college has made me realize how much I hated high school and how it is nothing but a routine to prepare us for graduation. All of our high school years our teachers have been talking about nothing but graduation and how it’s supposed to be “The most important day of our lives.” Which makes me think about what is so important about graduation.

My mind is more set for college and today is the day that I proved it. I never wanted to walk. I flipped to the last card in the deck. Dammit. King of diamonds. I was really hoping it was the eight of spades. Game over. I have literally won two out of the nine games of solitaire on my phone through my purple gown. I wasn’t even taking today seriously. Instead of listening intently on what was going on, I was playing solitaire and making jokes about how my principal’s speech is longer than Mr. Smith’s filibuster in Mr. Smith goes to Washington. In my opinion this stupid ceremony is nothing but a waste of time and school funding. “Taylor Ann Kaaszon” Awesome, 10 years in Montgomery schools and they still can’t pronounce my last name right. How hard is it to say Kawszan. It’s Kaw then zan. The Sis silent! The only reason I’m walking across this stage is because my mom threatened to cut my fingers off if I didn’t. Mr. Eaton is smiling as he shakes my hand. Makes me laugh because in all honesty he doesn’t give a rat’s ass. In 10 seconds he won’t even remember my name. In three minutes he won’t even remember my existence. So that brings me to wonder how this day is so important if not one of us out of a class of 399 hormonal kids, or “young adults” is going to be remembered? Some people will tell you that you have accomplished something great in your life. To be honest I don’t see what I accomplished other than I didn’t get expelled or suspended from that hell-hole. As I stand here with the rest of my classmates as my high school band plays our school song, I realize something – I don’t know my school song. When my alma mater finishes I realize something kind of depressing. I will never get back the past two and a half hours of my life. Soon I realize something else as I look at Ms. Miller, my AP for high school, I swear the woman had cockroaches growing in her hair, I laughed because of what I had realized. It’s June 5th, 2010 at A&M’s Reed Arena and I’m finally graduating, after I have already finished my first semester of college. Finishing high school in January and starting college was the best decision I have ever made. Everyone is taking off their caps. I guess this means it’s time to do the cliché hat toss every graduation has. I seriously hope I don’t get hit in the eye.

I seriously would love for someone to explain to me why people cannot be calm when they need you to do something. I seriously cannot handle when people freak out over the smallest things when they need you to do something.

For example…

I work at Hell on Earth, AKA Texas Roadhouse. I worked an all day shift on Sunday. Now for any of you who are waiters, you know how terrible working all day on Sunday is. You have to deal with the Pentecostals that don’t tip because “It is against their religion”, the crazy old church people who think you are going to hell for working on a Sunday, the almost less than unworthy tips on high checks, and the fact you don’t make any money. I had one of those days, and on top of that it was raining for the first time in months, so no one went out.

I went to work at 12:00pm. I had all my tables and back-work finished by 9:00pm. Now keep in mind, people throw the peanut shells on our floors so sweeping is a pain in the ass. I got to have my sweeping checked after asking 3 times within a span of 30 minutes to have it checked only to be told to sweep again…. Well no shit I have to sweep again, people have already kicked the peanut shells around again. I re-sweep, I get checked off now I have to wait to get tables checked. Now this is where the night-mare of a Sunday gets worse: It’s name is Devon. Dear God, if I could I would give this girl some Aderol to calm her the fuck down. She works in a panic and acts like the sky is falling. She checks my tables asks me to fix a few things. I fix what I needed to, got checked out and was on my way to my car. I am literally six feet from my car door after I crossed the parking lot in the rain, and then it happens… “TAYLOR, TAYLOR, OH MY GOD, TAYLOR!!” It’s Devon. I am seriously standing there in the rain thinking what the fuck did I possibly forget to do. I walk back through the rain to the front of Texas Road House. “I am going to be stuck here till 1:00 am because I’m head-wait and back of house, and I have a test that I have to study for early in the morning. I can’t be stuck here fixing things people didn’t do, you need to wipe down the seat in the booth and you are missing a chair at a table, so go do those things and then you can leave. I can’t handle this right now.” I seriously looked her in the eyes and said, “I have no problem doing it, but I really need you to calm the fuck down.”

Now here is the deal, I’m missing a chair: no problem I’ll get the chair, the seat in the booth: you were crawling in it with your nasty shoes so no wonder it has shit all on it again, and lastly: I am clocked out, technically I don’t have to listen to you. I honestly could have walked straight to my car and ignored you and left you with the missing chair and the “dirty” seat in the booth, which only had a peanut shell on it. I don’t mind going back to fix these things but I honestly can’t handle it when people freak out like it is the end of the world. Especially when I worked for 9 hours and made $53 dollars, I’m soaking wet, I’m sick, cramping, and the fact that it is a fucking Sunday. 

I see no need to work in a panic. I’m pretty calm. I do take my job seriously, but in my opinion, there is no need to take it so seriously that you have an anxiety attack over the smallest little things. You see, it is important to be able to “CALM THE FUCK DOWN” because someone might want to cut your throat if you don’t, or think you belong in an insane asylum for the rest of your life. No one wants to deal with that person who looks like they could have an anxiety attack at any minute.

Just saying.