Something Like Deja Vu

Okay so this has been proven correct numerous times. Everytime something out of the ordinary is brought up or you see someone who you haven’t seen in a long time, you will most certainly have it or them brought up again. For example, the other day a friend randomly brought up the topic of birth control, this is not something we usually talk about. Later on in the day another friend who wasn’t even part of the conversation brought it up as well.  Another example, I was at a concert and ran into someone I had graduated with. Not a day later I find out that one of my teammates is actually his sister. Theory proven. Think about, this happens all the time. How do we explain it? I have absolutely no idea.

Reagards,

Disciplined

When do we grow up?

For some outlandish reason when I set off to university I assumed that my fellow students would have a higher degree of maturity than those in high school. I was horribly wrong.  Yesterday I witnessed a thirty something student crying because our physics prof gave a pop quiz.  She claimed that she had no idea what to do.  That could have been easily corrected if she had been paying attention uring the class.  Our prof had every right to give a quiz and her outburst was annoying and ridiculous.  Then today my biology class began whining and complaining to our prof about having too many midterms next week. There is a reason why all profs give out a course syllabus at the beginning of the year. So you can plan out that week of midterms and make a plan on how to study.  It drives me nuts, when I am the youngest and yet I’m the only one who understands that when you’re in university you have to grow up and take some responsibility.  This isn’t high school where if you complain enough the teacher will get pissed off and change the test date just to shut you up, here they’ll just make the test harder ecause you’re pissing them off.  When will I finally get to be surrounded by people who aren’t immature?

Cheers,

A very disgruntled disciplined.

‘Tis the Season…

To be jolly.. Fa la la la la, la la la la…
Christmas is a joyous time of love and excitement. You get together with your family, relax, eat food and have a some time off.

WRONG
If you work in retail that is. I have only ever worked in retail, so I can’t say what it’s like for other jobs, but I know that during the Christmas season is the worst time of year to be working. Nearly everyone is in a bad mood and gets mad at you when you try to help them. They get impatient, frustrated and sometimes will even yell at you.

I work at a grocery store and I am obviously not the owner or a manger. I’m a teenager who works at the store and has no control over the ordering or shipping of items. Don’t take your anger out at me because in the end it’s just putting the both of us in a bad mood. I am sorry that I can’t help you in departments I know nothing about. I’m a bakery employee, I know where bakery stuff is.

All I can say to end this, is that I feel really sorry for people who also work in retail especially electronics and clothing because I know they get it the worst. And, please if you are out shopping during the holiday season… Don’t take your frustration out on employees (unless they’re really useless) we try the best we can.

Thank you, your friend who is hopefully on her last year in retail,
Disorderly.

Happy Holiday’s! :]

Call Me Old Fashioned

Walking down the hall to class and nobody is looking where they’re going.  They are all texting away on their phones.  I’ll admit, I do it too, but I’m not proud.  Sure texting is a convienent way to get in touch with someone quick, have a conversation and whatnot, but when that becomes the only way you communicate, there’s a problem.  Like I’ve mentioned before I moved across the country from all my friends and family.  I have to guilt or threaten one of my best friends into talking to me on the phone.  She would have no problem  spending the four months only communicating through text.  I, on the other hand, would actually like to converse, form words with my mouth, and hear reactions.  When texting someone, you don’t actually know how they responded, you only get to know what they want you to know.  Makes me wonder how much truth I’m actually gettting.  I enjoy telling people about how I’ve been a clutz, or how i managed to turn my hands blue in a chemistry lab. I like to tell them because it makes them laugh.  Telling them through text all you get out of it is ‘lol’ or possibly ‘hahaha’ on a good day.  Not as rewarding as hearing someone laugh.  I always swore I would never sink to the lows of a texting addict, but sadly I find myself there. It’s the only way to effectively communicate with anyone under forty.  I have a theory.  People will become so addicted and accustomed to texting that they’ll just stop talking all together.  Everything will become automated, just send a command by your phone and you can get whatever you want done.  If that goes on for long enough then people will just forget how to talk.  Yes, I’m aware this a really outlandish theory, but texting really bothers me sometimes.  I am a huge fan of snail mail.  Getting a letter in the mail will make my month.  Receiving something that someone has taken the time to sit down, write, and then mail is a great feeling.  It’s so much more personal.  Writing a letter actually requires thought instead of hastily sending a text while running between classes, or while having a conversation with someone else.  I’m not saying texting in its entirety is a bad thing, its just better for quick conversations that aren’t serious in nature or trying to find out quick information.  I like talking to someone, what can I say. Maybe I should have been born a couple decades earlier.

Regards,
Disciplined

P.S. If you haven’t read Cell by Stephen King, please do.  It might change your outlook on cell phones.

Hairy Monster

If you have any pets that lose a lot of hair this is probably something you can relate to: There is always that one article of clothing that, despite your many efforts, always comes out of the dryer full of hair. Everything else that was in that wash cycle will be all clean and hairless, then you get to that dreaded piece of clothing that you continue to wear even though it would be less of a hassle to just give it up. However, if you do decide to give it up, you know that another article of clothing will just turn into the hair attractor. If only it would be the clothing you don’t like to wear, because then you could just throw it in there with every wash cycle and never have to deal with the evil hairy monster it becomes. Oh, to dream. :]

*sigh*
Disorderly

Some evidence to support Disorderly’s quite accurate theory:  About three months ago I moved across the country to attend university.  I have a cat and a dog at home, they are both very fond of shedding their fur all over my clothes.  It has been almost four months now.  After many washings and lint brush attacks, my favorite black shirt is still fur infested.  The fur never goes away.  It has followed me across the country to seek out just that one shirt.  I think in the future my black shirt quotient is going to be smaller, maybe then my clothes will remain fur free.

Contemplating whether black shirts are worth it,
Disciplined

Paddle Boat Peril

Sometime a few years ago, Disorderly decided to join my family and I on a camping trip.  Unfortunately she wasn’t aware that camping with us is the essence of going into the bush.  We ended up in The Middle of Nowhere, BC.  The only entertainment provided by this campsite we found ourselves in was this quaint little booth where one could rent an aquatic toy of choice for an hour.  Being the two of us, we decided on the paddle boat.  For the comfort of course.  Now, what had encouraged us to rent this paddle boat was the rumor that just down the lake there was a resort that sold ice cream.  What kid can resist ice cream? So we set out in search of the elusive ice cream.  The lake was calm so the paddling was reasonably easy seeing there were two sets of legs to do the work.  We get halfway to the end of the lake and the wind starts to pick up.  We think that since we can see the end of the lake and some cabins we should be able to make it.  As we continue on our way all the other boaters are making their way back to the campground and getting their boats out of the water.  We really wanted that ice cream.  The waves and wind continue to grow in intensity.  Three quarters of the way to the end and to what we think is the resort, and all of a sudden the waves start splashing into the boat.  We were taking on water.  There was nothing available in the boat to use to bail, and I was wearing sandals.  Being the saint that she is, Disorderly heroically sacrificed her Vans to bail out the boat.  Trying our best to continue paddling whilst battling the waves and bailing we slowly make our way to a floating dock nearby.  Almost there and the paddle boat goes vertical.  It has taken on too much water.  So we sit on the part that’s still floating and paddle our way to the dock.  We get to the dock and right the boat, getting as much of the water out as possible.  Of course at this point we realize that what we were headed towards wasn’t a resort, but instead private cabins.  All that trauma, no ice cream and we still had to make our way back.  Deciding to stick to the shore, we started on our tedious journey back.  Still taking on water, we paddle our way through a large field of cattails.  Making the journey even slower. All of a sudden there was a clearing and a dock.  Seeing this as an opportune time or a break and complete bail out of the boat we pull up to the dock.  After bailing we take the time to actually look around and see where we are.  We had pulled up to the creepiest spot ever. There was an old decrepit shack in the middle of the forest, Deliverance style.  Quickly getting on our way, we re enter the dreaded cattail field.  Then out of nowhere we hear our names being called.  To our great amazement there, on the shore, is my mother and brother.  My brother comes out and pulls us the rest of the way in.  Apparently we had been gone for five hours, when we were only supposed to have gone for one hour.  Needless to say, our legs were the epitome of rubber.  Moral of the story: Vans save lives.

Ciao,
Disciplined

Life & Death

**I am by no means intending to go against any religions or whatnot.** Don’t be a hater, k?

Let’s face it, no one really knows what happens to us when we die, so this is just my theory on life.. I believe that we are destined to live forever, however, we have no recollection of our past lives, but we do have the occasional deja-vu. The deja-vu would be us getting a glimpse of a past life. Now, for the whole dying part, people claim that there’s a “white light at the end of a tunnel” and if they follow it they will be free. The light at the end of the tunnel is the hospital room on the otherside as if you are about to be born. However, if you do not die the baby that would be you is a stillborn, but if you do die the baby is born and thus your new life begins.

With love,
Disorderly.

Coldness

So, I’m here in my room, typing this out whilst wearing gloves. Why you ask? Because despite the fact that I live in a house that has heat, my room is the only room in this entire house which seems to not get any heat in the winter and no air conditioning in the summer. If I weren’t wearing gloves, I’m sure the majority of this would be gibberish and I might have to succumb to curling up in a ball in my bed because it’s the only warm place in my room. I’m always cold when others are warm and I’m freezing when others are hot. Maybe I have early signs of menopause?

On another note, I can’t get my caffeine fix because of the gloves. :[
I also just realized that caffeine goes against regular grammatical rules.

Love,
Your friend who may not be able to type for much longer, Disorderly.

Deception by Confidence

Everytime a project, test or just unwanted task is completed and there’s that feeling of ‘hey I think I actually did pretty well’, it’s a trap. Undoubtedly you’ll walk away with a little skip your step not worrying about what your result will be. Then comes judgement day. Sitting there all smug, laughing at the others who are nervously awaiting their results. You get yours back and look straight for your mark. Time stops, and in front of your bewildered eyes you see a barely passing mark. You think how is this possible? I thought I knew my stuff. Well the reason this happened is because of that good feeling after handing it in. Never, not once is the good feeling actually a good thing. The ideal feeling to have after a test is of doubt. From my esteemed twelve years of school experience I can easily say that everytime I had the good feeling the outcome was ghastly or terrible. In math terms, the outcome is indirectly proportional to the good feeling. Better you feel, the worse you do.

Cheers,
Disciplined