You know what’s fun? Getting a pay check!
You know what’s not fun? Having to find ANOTHER job!
If only you could be a Jedi Knight. I’m sure they get good benefits. Anyway, I’ll just digress from sounding like a bigger Fail Nerd than I already am.
As my personal life stands right now I’m moving, but where I’m moving there isn’t a job for me just yet. Not that I don’t have a job now, the only problem I have is that there isn’t an opening in the position I’m currently in… So that made no sense. Let’s try again.
I am moving and cannot transfer to another store that will help my ass. There! There are other positions open in that store, so maybe we can do that instead, the doors are still open. So are the options of math… Kinda.
Well, you should meet my math teacher. I still want to buy this woman a giant present for tolerating my REMARKABLE ability to fail so horribly at math. I went to see her because the amount of fail I have in this class would drop my already shitty GPA to another striking below average.
Welcome to my life. I think a tarot card reader told me I was “good at academics”… I’m going to say that again a tarot card reader told me I was“good at academics”.
Anyway, her name is Makayla. She’s a wonderful person who makes weird unintentionally dirty jokes during class. I’ve taken her twice and have passed one class with a C. It is not the teacher, ladies and gentlethings, it is indeed the student. In this case, its my dumbass and my intense irrational fear/hate for math. As it stands right now - well - let’s not light any candles for my GPA just yet. But you can hope.
I did get an A in my Anthropology class and anyone else who happens to have my issue of fail multitasking when it comes to school, work, school, work, school, work, maybe homework; but if you’re a thug like me and take all your 200 classes in the same blow then have a math you’re unable to complete due to continuous strain and just plain laziness - yeah, you’re f**ked. And you did it to yourself! Which is the GREATEST self punishment aside from flogging!
Why Google?… Why? Do I deserve to see this?! AM I BEING A BAD PERSON! Why am I looking at Snooki shoved in a fridge?! What the hell is she doing in the fridge in the first freaking place? In what situation of Jersey Shore did she decided “I’m going to sit right here. In this fridge. Because I’m freaking Snooki.”
Good God. That isn’t what I wanted at all. Now I’m just stuck thinking about why the hell Snooki is in a freaking fridge. Sweet chocolate Christ.
ANYWAY!I was looking for jokes about bad smart jokes, but apparently Snooki was ten times more entertaining than bad smart jokes. Oh well. Moving on…. Actually… No. Now I wanna see what what pictures I get when I look up Snooki.
Oh geez…. Check this out.
Cats… Okay. That’s - not Snooki.
The - gnarly meat dress of Lady Gaga, and haha. Meat head.
…My brain has gone to such odd dark places we will not speak of them…
That’s enough of that and the useless tale of school. By the way, this has been up for a good two weeks while I’ve been doing everything from finals to work.
Love peace and chicken grease,
Everyone’s Favorite Stalker Sophie
“A candle for a lover.
A candle for a stranger.
A candle for myself
Things that make me feel stronger.” - ZerimarClassics
Faith is a remarkable thing that keeps everyone, including the most bitter and blocked of hearts, open and willing to be brave. While it is a unanimous agreement amongst other persons, who shall remain nameless primarily for the reason that I have no idea who they are, that people are inherently good and faithful. You get surprised sometimes.
I work hard to make sure my words are clearly understood and not offensive, however, I am not a special little snow flake and contrary to popular belief; I am not a delicate little flower afraid of being hurt in some unmentionable way. However I am, like everyone else, human. I just decided to act like an alien.
I’m sure other’s feel the same.
Today I went to the San Xavier Mission. I enjoy going to this place. It’s a beautiful area for people of my faith and culture. I was raised around its broken and aging statues, its many meanings – both complex and simple – and I have awed at the faithful for years. I am 22 years-old and have only loved once, outside of my darling family circle. I have lusted – and we know how much fun that is – and its marked me in a way I can’t, and won’t, forget. Because let’s face it – its fun.
Again, I like to think of people as inherently good. But you get surprised sometimes.
I parked my little red focus a few yards away from the closet parking and felt its tires dig deep into the gravel. For a moment I thought my car would be trapped in its ditch so I backed out a little bit. I got out, locked my car, put money in my pocket and proceeded in the same determination I enter every idea I have with. Focus.
I forgot its Sunday and so the Mission was fairly packed. Which made me slightly anxious and, shall we say, pissed. People move like turtles, especially when you want to move ten times faster then them.
I’ve been in Tucson too long and so say “Excuse me” rather then “Compremiso”. I remembered last minute and suddenly I was Moses and the red tide of bodies moved out of my way. I made my way to a Saint I was always fond of when I was little. Lit the third candle in my hand, said a prayer, then shuffled out of the way and to a corner. I sat and people watched for a moment.
Old man, old woman, young couple, three kids, one small little girl who was very round and coughing up a lung. Oh, how lovely. I decided to move on.
I trotted up a path way and lit two more candles. Said another set of prayers and then adjusted my clothes and started up the dirt path.
I stopped before I began to buy a bracelet from a man selling them on the corner. I saw a leather bound one with a black stone on it and asked how much it was in English.
“Eight dollars.” He replied, and I couldn’t tell by his accent if he was Hohokam or Mexican.
Two other girls next to me where busy pointing out the beautiful rosaries beside them. I indicated to the same ones and spoke in Spanish this time.
“These are so pretty.” I remarked and gently touched them with my finger tips.
“They are. They’re eight dollars too, and these here.” He replied back to me in Spanish and touched some smaller rosaries with his broken finger tips, “These are for the car. They’re only four. We have these bracelets too for four dollars. They have the Virgin Mary, and Saint Joseph.”
“And look,” I interjected, “One with them all.”
“That’s right. Which would you like?”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out only four dollars. I could use a new bracelet with all the saints on them. I was running low. Down to only two and one was slowly starting to fall apart.
“I’d like one of the leather ones, but I only have four dollars.” I said pointing to the leather bound bracelets to the side.
“I’ll give it to you.” He reassured me. I stared at him. This is his livelihood. Really?
“Yes. Here, which one? We have the symbol of the flag, the Aztecs, and a pyramid.”
I gave him my money and took the Aztec symbol. Then began my walk around the mountain. Now when I say Mountain. Don’t think it’s freaking Everest. It’s a small knoll with a larger knoll made of rocks with Saint Bernadette on it. Last time I went to San Xavier I left a hair tie and tied it to the gate. I asked for a few things among them; self respect, focus, determination, and love of all kinds.
I got it. But now I was in another slump and felt like I hadn’t worked hard enough. Which is why I was here again. So, I did the same thing I did before. I removed a hair tie from my wrist, placed it around the top of the gate and said a prayer. Asking for the same thing, claiming I had learned my lesson. I say claim, only because – well, listen to rap song from DMX and Tupac and then get back to me. “Only God and judge me” and I think God’s a woman, or else I wouldn’t feel the way I do and bad things wouldn’t happen to good people. Only a vindictive woman would justify that bullshit. But I digress. And I don’t wanna get struck by lightning.
I walked around the mountain once. Still felt like another round would do me good. So I went again, stopped at the gate and said a prayer. Then went again. I lost track of how many times I walked around it, but one of the times I did I saw a man with bleached hair and gray scruff, dressed in all black. I heard a sound that was different from my own footsteps and looked him over.
He was walking barefoot. I was no longer allowed to feel the way I did.
This guy came from God knows what to the middle of no where, to a culturally driven faithful haven to walk around a mountain BARE FOOT. There are also shards of glass around the mountain from late night parties. I repeat; THE MAN WAS WALKING BARE FOOT!
I hope his prayers come true.
I walked past him since we were both going at different paces and also because a part of me didn’t want to give the chance of him possibly stepping on a shard of glass and me being the encouraging hippie that I am, stop and help him pull it out. Yes, I’d do this. Don’t look at me like that.
I caught site of a few little kids climbing up the mountain to the top where a white cross sat. I followed. Pulling on rocks and climbing past weeds. In the back of my head a few thoughts rang through.
I wonder how Samuel’s foot would feel if he did this. It’s still kinda broken, I think. Marisol would love these flowers. They’re her favorite colors. Mother would hate the broken glass, and Tata Hon would be so upset at the graffiti on the cross. What ballsy mother***er scribbled this? Naomi would be amused. Chapo would call me dumb. I wouldn’t torment Lexy like this.
In truth I probably wouldn’t ask anyone to join on this venture, unless I felt like they’d benefit from it. Or I’d let them do what they wanted and continue on my way. I said another prayer and stepped to the side so some children could climb the statue.
I looked left, right, turned and was cut off by a yellow butterfly. The first butterfly I’d seen all season.
I was done. My message had been received. So I clamored back down the mountain, walked around a few more times then b-lined it to my car. I sat and replied to the sudden bombardment of notifications from goddamn Facebook. Turned on my car, pulled out, left and now I’m sitting wondering what food to eat.
Moral of the story? Yeah, I’m not that deep. I’m hopeful and determined. Not to mention a tiny bit obsessive and a mother hen. What should you get from all of this? Well if you stayed on this page for this long and read all the way to this part and are still reading.
Woot, woot for you, dude. Word up! Lucky you, you withstood my ramblings! I appreciate it.
And see you later. :)
Stalker Sophie, ZerimarClassics
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I love my job right now. I will be honest, I have little to no complaints about my job. Yes, as a girl, I do come home and have a list of things I would like to whine about, but then again I can also come home and preach about how much I love my job.
But for the sake of the internet, and a policy at work that I cannot violate unless I want to lose my job it will be referred to as - my job.
Anyway, I walked into our conference room to have a chit-chat with my manager and placed my hand down on the table to take a seat. She quickly held out her hand and said for me not to sit there.
“Its covered in glitter.”
I looked at my hand. It was covered in glitter.
I HATE GLITTER! Sometimes. But really, glitter is honestly, truly, the herpes of all craft supplies. It gets everywhere and its nearly impossible to get rid of it. It stays forever and you forget it there until someone points it out and askes the fun question;
“Why are you covered in glitter?”
Some people poke the glitter to try and get it off. This might mean because you will more often than not have it in an area that isn’t weird, or is weird and will make you make a funny face amusing the person who found the glitter.
Cut to me going home and going through the phases of getting out of work clothes into clothes that are everything but nice. I turned to the mirror to clean the smudge from my face left over from pulling clothing over my head and rubbing my eyes to see - A FLECK OF GLITTER!
The demonic substance followed me from work back home! I quickly lifted my cell phone and sent a frantic text to my manager about the evil glitter clinging to my face.
Needless to say… She laughed. I’m happy in my ability to make people laugh at my random out burst.
Wtf a Kat Williams?
Yes, Kat Williams. If you’ve paid attention to TMZ or any other gossip magazine, you are aware that this man is everything including short, loud, and freaking hilarious. Just play him in the background while trying to study math, see how much you get done. Because I got nothing.
Most recently he’s won back custody of his adopted daughter. Nanny Lady tried to swipe his adopted baby, in short, but Kat stood out more with special legal jargan. TMZ hasn’t found out more and that special link takes you to the story.
Senor Williams has been having a busy year, in my opnion, he’s been coming up in TMZ Twitter as often as I have been checking it. Seeing as how finals are this up coming week - I don’t check it that often, but it is sometimes more entertaining that staring at Spanish Conjurgations.
Kudos, Senor Williams.
And following Senor Williams… What? What is this? Lindsay Lohan in Playboy?!
Now while I can get up on my soap box and preach about how I think this will NOT HELP HER! There really is no point, but I digress… And show you this;
Reeeeee-he-he-he-heeeeally!? Look! Just look! I am not expert at photoshop, so those of you who are - PLEASE! ENLIGHTEN ME! I used to like her. I do, but after all of THAT - I don’t think so.
But there were rumors of a leak and this leak may or may not damage the sales of Playboy Lindsay Lohan’s special exposure. Because sitting on the stand for being a herp-a-derp isn’t enough exposure, she must now be nakeu.
Hopefully she’ll be shifted back to her full figured weight and - I’d like to see if this’ll do anything for her, honestly.
For her, however, I ask - PLEASE GO BACK TO RED AND EAT! I miss you being full figured and a red head! Preferably not damaged, but you know, I’m not that picky, just wanna say.
DO YOU HAVE IT? POST IT, LINK IT, EMAIL IT, COMMENT! You know how to get me press, shove off my friends and speak thy minds!
Your favorite Stalker Sophie
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What the hell are you talking about? Well, work with me. Its just an idea I have going right now, but its a valid idea that’s proof is sitting behind this computer screen typing this out now - or might be.
I’m just one video blogger out of a great many that have decided to do this, and probably do it for a living. Its a fun and interesting way to live. Not to mention it starts conversations with total strangers on the street fairly well.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh. Recording myself.” Then at the strange look given to them, “I’m a video blogger.”
This “Oooohh.” might mean that they understand completely or that they don’t know and are now considering you a total and complete freak. Either way, the conversation usually ends there and the stranger walks away from you and the video blogger either adds that into their daily vlog or cuts out the awkward conversation.
In some instances the video blogger stumbled upon the idea of “video blogging”. I myself have been blogging since I was about eleven years old, so the idea of writing my day down on something electronic is more waste efficient and less hand cramping as me writing out in my Journal when I was younger. I started keeping handwritten Journals when I was about eight or nine to keep my days in order, and to satisfy my deep love for writing. As I got older and was more introduced to the computer and what it does, I began writing on LiveJournal.com; another blogging site much like Tumblr, Facebook, MySpace, and others. Once I started LiveJournal I started to find different people like me all over the world and in a way it was satisfying, and in another way - startling. Some would write the most intimate details and leave it open for the public to read and comment - others, like myself and a few other selected friends - would mark them as private, friend locked, or disable the comments. Especially when they stated something they knew would receive negativity.
But how did writing things down turn into buying a camera or camcorder, walking around your daily life and recording yourself saying, doing, and being yourself then placing it on the internet for all to see and enjoy? How did anyone come up with this? Who started it first? And why did it go from writing to recording?
Has writing become completely outdated because of this? Or is writing the same as always? Did American society, and other societies become so lazy that writing their daily activities with pen became so time consuming they’d rather just talk? Is this affecting the next generation? Our generation? How is the generation before us taking this? What ever happened to the idea that camera’s steal your souls?
So many questions and all, or almost all of them, have answers. Or must have answers at least. A vague idea, maybe. Here are the questions, there are the statements and a personal story.
Time so see what others think.
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Check these monsters out. They’re called anxiety dreams and you’ll find out why they’re call that at the end of reading this. I also might make videos describing my dreams if people feel too lazy to read xD
Sophia A. Ramirez
I consider dreams to be personal, and part of the reason why I have problems sharing most of my dreams with people outside of my “circle” is because often my most memorable dreams are the strangest. Dreams that I wouldn’t normally disclose to someone I do not know, for fear of looking a little more unique than I would prefer.
I came home one day after work and decided to take a nap before I cracked into my homework. I don’t know what could have possibly spawned this dream, but it followed the same hectic pattern that most of my stress dreams do. I’m suddenly in a small shop where I know I work. My vision is slightly blurred, as it almost always is when I’m dreaming, but I can still make out the shelves that hold books, medicine, shampoo, nail polish – supplies found in a grocery store.
As I’m walking between the isles I continue to run into the same man, and this man is about late fifty’s and balding. Every time I walk past him, I give a polite smile and a nod and he nears me uncomfortably giving me a disturbing smile. Right before he has the chance to speak to me more about what I’m doing, I blink and I’m in a large beach house standing behind a couch where my roommate – a pale girl with short dark brown hair – is sitting on the couch with a thick book in her lap. A man about his late twenties walks in from the balcony and reminds us both that a storm is coming and we should be prepared. I thank him and move on my way to the kitchen. Night falls, suddenly, and a thunder storm is pounding outside. I can see the lightning striking through the windows and suddenly I’m in a panic.
There’s someone in the house, and they’re probably going to hurt me. My roommate is in a panic also, she’s saying that they’re in the hall way and they’re crazy! She doesn’t know who they are, but it has to be my fault they’re in this position in the first place. At least, this is how I feel; I don’t know why I feel this way. I just do. Gathering my bravery I inch down a dark hall way where I see a figure hunched at the end. It’s an old woman dressed in all black, with a black veil covering a majority of her face. I can see her wrinkled hands, and her weathered face when she turns to claw at me.
She’s screeching and claws at me, so I run away. My roommate is having a panic attack in the kitchen, so I leave her there when the young man who had appeared again. When I go back to the hall way the old woman is now supplied with four kitchen knives. I near her and again she screeches and starts throwing them at me. Not well, but she is throwing them with some force. I ignore the common sense in my head telling me to stay away from the crazy old lady with the kitchen knives, but I have two other people in the house, so I reach forward and grab her hand to pull them down. For a split second I make eye contact with her, and she looks terrified and hurt. She even starts to cry. At this point, I woke up and decided to make myself a cup of tea after having a dream like that.
My second memorable dream of the week is another stress dream. I try to cover as much stress as I can throughout the day, but once I’m asleep – it comes out one way or another. I’m in an apartment complex. Looks like a New York or Chicago setting, because outside the glass windows I see sky scrapers and hear cars driving past. I’m with a group of people, most of them men, and I know that I know each and every one of them enough to trust them at least a little.
We’re going to the parking lot when all of a sudden we have to play a game to try and find a car. I work around cars so my thoughts go to work and how I can try and make this work. Turns out, it has nothing to do with cars or having to know about them, it’s more of a puzzle. We have to find the right door, at the right time, or else the car comes to life and we’re done for. The parking garage is now a giant maze complete with buildings with bright vibrant colors, stemming from the curtains to the walls, and the cars are fairly normal looking aside from the entire ‘Anti-Transformers’ motif they have going on about them. One in particular is a White Jeep Cherokee, I know has it out for me. At first the idea is all in our heads and is agreed we have to get to this point. We have to find a room, I’m not going to, everyone else is. Once we find the room we’re looking for, we go down this tube slide and end up back where the apparently evil Jeep Cherokee is. Which, for some reason, is hanging by its front bumper from a tall black gate.
Because everyone else now has to watch themselves, and my current car problem is pretty much occupied by the black gate, I move back into the building we came out of. I run through the house, half of it seems familiar, half of it I have never seen before but fairly remember seeing it. I run to try and find the room we found before with no luck. I find one, but it isn’t the right one, but it has the same slide from before. A blue tube slide that reaches the same ground we were at before – green grass. I pull myself in and slide down.
I land right in front of the jeep Cherokee, still stuck on the fence, and see my group asking me what happened and why it didn’t work.
Before I can give the house a second try I’m scared awake by my alarm.
I LOVE IT ALL SO MUCH 8D
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For the duration of my Mythology class (which is general useless to my degree, but it was the only class my over protective brother would allow me to take at such a time
ending at five o’clock, I know oh so very late, but if you saw the campus you probably would agree with him. ) I will be leaving my “Dream Journal” updates here on Tumblr since I haven’t been using it for anything.
Sophia A. Ramirez
I can’t remember. Not to say that I have never remembered a dream, only that this week has been hectic enough for me that I simply can’t remember what I dreamt. I am a methodical, routine loving, day-planning, anal retentive girl. You’ll see me with my little green day-planner with scribbles and my day plotted out as much as possible, so me keeping track of what my mind does while I’m unconscious is a new step I have yet to take.
To me dreaming is such a personal matter sometimes, because often times the dreams I do recall aren’t dreams I wish to share with people outside of my happy-go-lucky circle of comfort. I am a Spiritualist which makes dreams even more meaningful to me, especially when one is stressed. My morning routine doesn’t yet involve me rolling over and scribbling the first thing I dreamt that day, but instead involves me getting up and making me my morning coffee. Nothing else is important at that time but coffee.
I have had dreams about falling, anthropomorphic creatures, characters from my novels and comic strips; dreaming of myself as a character from my favorite television series or comic book. Those are always the most fun, only because I don’t yet realize I am that character until I look at myself in some kind of reflective service – or something on my person is brought to my attention. My hands, if I’m my X-Men mutant Crystal, with claws instead of nails and fangs instead of teeth. My hair if I’m my favorite television character Tommy Gavin, aside from the obvious gender swap, all of a sudden I’m a blond and a whole foot taller than I actually am. I have four legs instead of two, and oh – look! I have a tail! Where did that come from?
Sometimes I remember my dreams, other times I don’t. When I get into the habit of writing down my dreams once I wake up, I’m sure these journals will be more entertaining. Until then, thank you for reading.
At least it isn’t supposed to be, yet it is. I have just promoted my first YouTube Video for ZerimarClassics - August Theme.
As crappy as a theme as it is, and I will admit, gee create way to create some publicity, Sophie. Yes, har, har. Mucho funny, its another one of those “Gee, I wonder.” things that might bite me in the ass.
Because I fill like once I find the little qeue that’s most important to me, I won’t be able to find it again. Which terrifies me. So I’m going to write down the YouTube HELP ME PLEASE number - if I can find it - and plug it into my phone just for save keeping. I’m hoping Google behaves and lets me stay logging in on my many gmail accounts.
I TRUST YOU GOOGLE! DON’T FAIL ME, MAN! DON’T FAIL ME! As I understand the whole promotion deal, which isn’t much. (Btw, while I was finishing that sentence I found a help number. Yaaaay google and actually READING!)
I’ll just tag a few placed and hope my week goes by quickly and that I get my car back by tomorrow… I may also turn in that second job application I got the other day while window shopping…
Oh dear heavens… What have I done?
CHECK OUT MY MESS FOR YOURSELF 8D
Holy crap its really early in the morning to be fighting with my Blackberry Torch. While I love the thing sometimes, other times its a royal pain in my butt.
Especially when I am trying to set up a blog post for the duration of me at work.
Yeah, not gonna happen.
While not every form of technology can be as nice as an iPhone, which I hear are God savor’s to the world, and other times I hear they are the very bane of everyone exsistence.
Then again, beggers can’t be choosers and I can tolerate my Blackberry’s temperamental nature until its time for me to get a new phone. Then I will gladly chuck the little frustrating booger-brain out my driver’s side window. I’m kidding. I’ll just stash it away with the rest of the used cellphones my mother and I have collected over the years of having cellphones.
I’m not kidding you. My mom still has her first cellphone in this pile. Its a large light metallic purple phone and might give you the same radiation you experience in an X-Ray in you hand… If it turned on… If we had a charger… But I’m assuming that part of the phone is lost in our other drawer filled with random wires and connections.
By the way, that tiny phone right there - talking back to the big old one? Yeah, that’s considered ghetto now too.
My aunt had that tiny little phone and it irritates the crap out of me. I’m sure I’m not the only one.
WOW! That’s a really big picture, and that’s the picture of (not just my pocket) my flip cam I use to record my life every day. (Daily has an I in it and I had to think about it before actually posting it.)
I’m very behind on my video blog, for the only reason because I’m too bored to edit. If you can believe that. I’m too bored to edit, but I’m not so bored I don’t have the time to make a freaking Tumblr. Yes, Sophie, you make perfect sense.
I’m also giving my wrists a good work out before I have to go to work and scribble my name on a million and one papers in the same general “here’s an S scribble and an A and what may be considered an R, or at least should be and scribble.” Complete with dots in the necessary areas… I say necessary because sometimes, I’m pretty sure there is no I in that spot. I only have two in my name and I’ve caught myself putting it around my middle initial. And the Z at the end of my name has gone to - well sh**.
And I digress, I decided to write this blog early in the morning because I plan to wonder around after work - maybe - and look at things I can’t afford. (Of course, because that’s what everyone enjoys doing… Okay, no, but I do enjoy window shopping and I need to fill my flip with something.)
Once again, thanks for reading if you have. I noticed the kind of design I created for my Tumblr doesn’t allow you to see too much bold print so much as italic. This is a very early Tumblr post I will be spamming people with. Tell others, and I’ll see you all in either my blog or my next one.
BTW, I rarely edit these things… In case you haven’t noticed.
tumblrbot asked: WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE INANIMATE OBJECT?
I love my iPod. I’ve named it Maud and we are very happy together. :]
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