Hey Douche Nozzle!
Dear Sir,
I fully understand that you thought you were being helpful when you approached me and said, "Excuse me, but I think someone spilled coffee over here." And at the time, I totally appreciated it. People spill coffee. It happens. However, you were the only customer that came in at that point. So that was your coffee you spilled you effing butt crack!
After insinuating that she's secretly a hermit living in her basement making blog designs, April decided to finally post her daily schedule. And then she challenged anyone else to post theirs and link up. And because it's my day off, and I had no other ideas for a blog post... here ya go!
4:00am - Alarm clock goes off and I contemplate calling in sick.
Hi. I'm Untypically Jia.
Take 1 part gorgeous redhead . . .
Hi, I'm Untypically Jia. I'll be your Clerk for the day. Oh? You'd like to purchase some gas and various salty and sweet snacks? Have you also seen our variety of fountain drinks, lotto scratchers and coffee? And how will you be paying? A debit card? Yes I can most certainly help you with that. But first I must ask you one question...
Are you a jackass?
No? Well, we'll see.
So for those who aren't lazy bums (like me) who're only reading this through a feed reader, you can obviously tell that I've had my blog designed. I find it terribly sad that April Showers was somehow able to design my blog to make it "more me" than I ever was.
Cause seriously.
This. Is. So. Me.
The blog design process is apparently a difficult one. I've always semi understood that as I usually quit several hours in and have my blog colored in pink for 6 months. But April stuck it out, and even put up with me in the process. So there are ways to usually thank your blog designer. Things like paying them, whoring them out to your friends and pimping them on your blog.
But frankly, two of those options seem to include some form of prostitution, and I'm a redheaded, redneckish Mormon - I have enough strange sex jokes to deal with.
So dear readers, here are my top 5 ways to Untypically thank your blog designer!
(Note: These are actual transcripts of conversations that took place between April and I this week)
1. Accuse her of having a fake "Blog Life" and a drug addiction.
2. Order her to embarrass herself on a vlog just so you don't have to be the only idiot in the bloggernacle.
3. Assault her with dirty talk while she concentrates on designing your blog.
4. Call her names.
5. Threaten her life.
Ten years ago I was a sophomore in High School. January 18th, 2000. I woke up to the sound of the early morning news playing. While I never paid much attention, words stood out:
Rio Rancho High School Sophomore. Car Accident. 15 Years Old. Killed.
While I listened in for details, searching for a name, praying it wasn't someone I knew. No name was given. Just more vague details. Details saying that a drugged driver moved into oncoming traffic, killing a 15 year old girl and severely injuring her older brother.
No names.
As I went to school, I prayed for the family of the girl, hoping against all hope that it wasn't someone I knew. My grandmother had just passed a few months earlier and I was not ready to handle death again so soon.
I stepped one foot off the bus and instantly the wave of reality hit me. People I knew were crying. Friends had collapsed in the parking lot, clinging to one another for support. I watched in horror from a far as one friend told another the news, and an emotional fist went through a glass door.
Tear soaked my High School.
Everyone was affected. Not a single person laughed, smiled or appeared hopeful.
I ran as fast as I could to my homeroom building where my friends and I usually met before the first bell rang. There they were, a puddle of emotions. I mentally counted them, trying to see who was missing. I'd never seen them like this. I'd never seen pain like this. I was confused and angry all at once, and one of my friends looked up and said one word: "Karen."
Karen Ferreira. Everyone knew the name. While I was not as close to her as most of my friends were, I knew her. I spoke with her, and in one of my darkest hours in Freshman year, it was Karen, who at the time was a stranger to me who lifted me up and made me smile.
Overwhelmed by my own sadness and flooded with the grief of my friends, I heard words like, "Does so and so know? Where is he? Do you think she's been told? We have to find her before she does something stupid." Concerns for those who were closest to her. I immediately thought to call Matt, who had stayed home sick from school.
"Hello?"
"Matt . . . . did you know Karen Ferreira?"
"What do you mean DID I know her?!"
More than 100 students went home early from school that day only to return later that night for the candelit memorial held in Karen's honor that night surrounding the flag pole in the center of the school. As a collective, we fell to pieces. 4 camera men were injured as they invaded our privacy. At least one was chased off campus, and I heard a camera was thrown down a flight of stairs. Many wanted their grief not to be for the media to play off of.
The newspaper article described the scene as smelling of perfume and cigarettes, and it certainly was. In the distance, we could hear cheers being shouted and music being played across the parking lot at the game that for some reason wasn't canceled in light of the days events. It fueled the angry fire.
The student council arrived and began singing Amazing Grace. Those who knew Karen laughed and began singing Nothing Else Matters by Metallica . . . eventually overpowering the gathering as over 50 other joined in.
It's been ten years since that day. Since I held my friends and we all cried, bitter tears. It's been ten years since Jerry Moya killed my friend, and it took Karen's mother a very long time fighting to get justice - and it's still not enough.
Tonight Matt and I will visit the place where Karen was killed. A marker has been placed to remind others not to drink and drive. It's not enough. We will go and visit with friends once more. We will think of Karen once more. And we will cry and mourn with those who knew her best.
