However, I must add that Blogger knows me so well that it set up my font for me and e'erytinnggggg. Pure. Straight. Kool.
Anyways, today was not good. Not even vaguely bearable. It was awful. I CANNOT STRESS THIS POINT ENOUGH.
Why? Because my mother was a-freakin' out on me about everything.
It really started with the visit to school to get my schedule early, and scope out the rooms I'm in for classes, because to be honest: I do not want to be the lost noob that has to be guided around by someone who's going to try and "get to know me" in the first 10 minutes of my arrival. That's bullpoopie, and I will not be subjected to it. ANYHOO, I was nervous. EFF, who wouldn't be? But mother started getting all, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHY SO NEGATIVE FOR?" And admittedly she had a point, but STILL. D: I'm trying.
Then I applied for another job today, at the bulk store. So I traipsed on home, and...the printer...the NEW printer wasn't working. AND GUESS WHO GOT THE BLAME? No, seriously, I bet you couldn't guess. Oh wait, did you say "Wallis"? WELL WHOOPDEEDOODAH, WE HAVE A SMART-ALEC IN OUR PRESENCE LADIES AND GENTLEMAN (because Nick's the only guy that reads this crap, singular tense, mofo.), YOU'VE JUST WON YOURSELF A CHANCE TO READ THE REST OF THIS BLOG POST. (I'm sorry, I'm so angry. It hurts.) Lots of arguing about the printer, and how I was really to blame and blahblahblahblahblah. And so forth, but then it began veering off on the stereotypical teen-parent argument, the "YOU DON'T DO ENOUGH AROUND HERE. YOU DON'T HELP OUT." And when I tried to explain:
Okay, that's not completely accurate. But still, mum does have a point and whatnot, but still...as a teenager: I WILL RETALIATE.
After this argument, I found myself cleaning the linen closet, trying to make amends with my mother. And just when I thought my day couldn't get any worse...it did.
The closet is about 8 feet tall (at least to me.), so naturally I couldn't reach the top to clean it. Thus, I took out my step ladder and climbed pon it and started groping (groping? Really...great verb choice Wallis) around in the dark top shelf of this bloody linen closet.
My hand touched a box.
Now: WHEN YOU HAVE JUST MOVED INTO A HOUSE, AND YOU DISCOVER A MYSTERIOUS TINY BOX, YOU WILL NATURALLY THINK: "OHAI LOOK, A MYSTERIOUS TINY BOX. IT MUST BE MAGICAL. OPEEEENN". THIS. IS. A. MISCONCEPTION. But, alas, I am a titshit.
I took out the box, refused to read the label on the front and opened it...this is what I found.
That's right. It was dentures. And old woman's dentures, and when I opened the box, her nasty denture juice (I'm crying while writing this) flew onto my hand. I screamed, closed the box, and somehow managed to push open a window with my knee and chuck them things out. I FEEL SO DAMN VIOLATED, YOU HAVE NO BLOODY IDEA. D: I am so scarred, it was more scarring than seeing this:
OHHOLYMUFFINGOD. D: WHAT IS THAT?
After much disinfection (I think I've scraped off at least 45 layers of skin with a scrubbing brush and dishwasher soap), having my Mum come and save me by thoroughly disposing of those things, and much reassurance that I have not contracted some disease from those dentures, I have decided to forgive the old lady who left those things there to kill me. It's okay, I forgive you. We all make mistakes. I learned that today. My mum has almost forgiven me. ^^
BUT. TO ALL THOSE WHO HAVE LEFT THEIR HABITABLE CAVES: TAKE YOUR NASTY-ASS CRAP WITH YOU. I know that I will never be the same again. Ever.
This is the end. I am far too tired.
ALSO watched Pirates 3 again tonight, aaaaaahhhh <3
FOUND THIS. AAAHHH <3
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