Art by MeddygonThere is a fine line \ Between genius and madness. \ It is called timing.

Looks like I won’t be working for Radio Shack after all. Fucking heartless corporation.

*ring*
“Is this Amanda Schroeder?”
“Yes, may I ask who’s calling?”
“This is [name] from the district office of Radio Shack, calling to schedule you for a second interview on Wednesday.”
“I’m currently out of town until Sunday.”
“Oh. Okay. Bye.”
“Wait! Isn’t there a way we can schedule for next week?”
“No.” *hangs up*

…

FUCK YOU RADIO SHACK. Every job I ever try to get doesn’t go through … this is horrid.

Well, my new roommate is moving in at four am.

EDIT: Nope, the message taker was a git. New roomie called, she’s coming in at 10AM

I had a dream that I grew a mustache.

Candice came home at around 1:30 pm today (she didn’t come home the night before) and has been sleeping since then.

I just took the Hooflerynth Soriting Hat test, brought to you by Sluggy Freelance – I’m in the Poinginoh! “You are very curious. Why is that? Oooh, SHINY!” It’s blue and there’s a poinging kiki on it.

Well, at least Leigh has sense. He didn’t want the flash on the new Rare site. Good on him, too, because it looks like it was done by a first year student. The thing that really bothers me is not the use of imported gifs into the flash, but that the gifs are straight from the old site, and weren’t made to blend into the background of the flash. There’s a gritty, pixelated navy blue outline around each image that really shouldn’t be there.

Schroe Dot Org: New rare layout.
J Jorenko: Is it all green?
Schroe Dot Org: No, it’s all in crap flash. Where the fuck is scribes … Oh fuck no. NO NO NO. NOOOOOO! They say that’s Joanna ;_;
J Jorenko 28:45 PM): :O So maybe it won’t be that great. So they break away from Nintendo, then copy their cartoony phase.
Schroe Dot Org: Jo lookes like JFG+PD
J Jorenko: yah, +Barbie
Schroe Dot Org: Yeah :\
J Jorenko: Look at those proportions! Though, Vela…
Schroe Dot Org: You know, that right there, just that . . . That image of Jo makes me hate the deal. I was fine with it before. “I’ll get an Xbox,” I said, “When they release PD0.” Now I can’t. That’s not Jo. That’s a fucking whore.
J Jorenko: It’s Mr. Gate’s new concubine. I’m already over it though. Ninty has enough good developers now. Microsoft’ll rush Rare’s games out and they won’t be as good. And we’ll be happy with our NCL/Retro/SK games. I don’t know if I’ll be able to bring myself to play SFA, actually I’ll probably get all emotional at the Rare logo, since it’ll be the last one I ever see. Hell, I’ve been worshiping them since 6th grade. Longer than you have me!
Schroe Dot Org: You started my rare obsession :|
J Jorenko: I know ;_; I should write the Stampers a letter letting them know that I’m fine with them leaving for the tyrant, even though I’ve been a loyal fan, and make them regret it. That sort of thing.
Schroe Dot Org: Go for it :|
J Jorenko: I should find the letter I wrote them in 6th grade, for English.
Schroe Dot Org: Seventh. Tong’s class.
J Jorenko: I specifically remember being in Conkle’s room when I got it back.
Schroe Dot Org: I was never in Conkle-Classes, and you showed it to me in class.
J Jorenko: hrm. Maybe I wrote it in 6th and it took a long time for them to get back or something. Do you remember the assignment?
Schroe Dot Org: You wrote it as a class assignment, and they replied in a week, maybe two weeks
J Jorenko: hrm
Schroe Dot Org: I remember you spazzing over it.
J Jorenko: I’ll have to find it anyway.
Schroe Dot Org: I’ve still got the whispa bar wrapper ;_;
J Jorenko: Mail it back to Leigh and tell him you can’t keep it anymore. Make him SAD.
Schroe Dot Org: Heh. The thing is four years old. Well, almost. More like three and a half. I swear, if that Joanna is what their characters are going to look like from now on, I’ll go work for them. I somehow feel cheated that they’re making her like that. I gave up on my dream of working character design for Rare because I just didn’t feel good enough. Now, from that picture, I feel like they’re beneath me.

The biggest abuse crier is the biggest abuser.

He now cries in the public for blood, and no one cares.

Except his fucking lackey, who used to be mine, but I never paide any attention to him, because I don’t like lackeys.

He’s the sort that will cling to the people with power and hope to be liked by them, like a little worm.

English class tonight lasted 5 minutes.

All five minutes, the teacher praised me.

Out of 8 essays due over the course, I turned in 3.

And they were just that good.

I am so glad to be already showered. It’s 10:46, and as far as Candace knows, I just woke up.

And she just got in the shower.

Where did it go? Where did all the skill and realism and interesting stuff go?

What happened to me? Where have all my ideas gone? Why can’t I create stuff like I did before?

Why did I get lazy with my art? Why did I get shittier in designing?

Why am I going to a school that wants to turn everyone into advertising directors?

Why do I feel like I’ve given up on everything I’ve ever wanted to do?

I hate it when I get so stressed out that all I can do is cry.

The fucking bitch did it again.

Christ, she’s fucking stupid. She wakes up a full three hours before me, and doesn’t take a shower until the moment I get up.

Fuck it, I’m going to class late.

Update: The bitch gets out of the shower fifty minutes after she gets in.

I get in the shower 7 minutes after that, because she’s decided that she NEEDS to apply her makeup in the bathroom. (there’s 3 mirrors elsewhere in the apartment, yet she needs that one.)

I get in the shower, spent fifteen minutes in the bathroom altogether, including changing clothes.

I walk out of the bathroom, and the bitch LOCKED THE FUCKING BEDROOM DOOR.

So I wait another ten minutes for her to get out of there, so I can get my stuff for class.

Dammit, bitch, have some fucking consideration.

I don’t recall any of before this portion, other than that I was with my mother.

My mother left me with a cart at what I think was a Walgreen’s. The Walgreen’s was very large, and very busy. The hall I was in, which was near the doors and checkout, was crowded, and people were constantly moving.

I was watching the cart while my mother was off doing something. I leaned on it, bored, and watched people go buy.

Someone caught my eye. He was in an army uniform, and quite clearly had “Born to Kill” scrawled on his helmet. The peace symbol pins clashed with that, and I watched him walk. Then I noticed he was staring directly at me. He kept walking as he shouted at me, “Are you sane?” I blinked, and he was still there. I turned my head as he continued, “Are you like me?” I did a double take. He was still there, and he shouted one last time, “Don’t you want to be like me?” He began to laugh hysterically as he walked out of my sight. No one else noticed him.

I panicked. Thoughts raced through my head all at once – Why was Private Joker from Full Metal Jacket in Walgreen’s yelling at me? Why was he saying I wanted to be like him? How was I like him? I looked at the cart, and the cameras were missing. I never noticed there were cameras in there before, but now they’re gone. I assumed my mother took them to be developed, but I didn’t see her. They must be stolen.

I leaned on the cart and cried.

I’m going insane.

For the Research paper:

Candice fails to realize that we are not friends with her, we merely live with her.

Today, she decided to bitch to Jessica about me.

“I bet she just told Jake flat out that the bottles were mine, she probably didn’t even try to cover for me!” She says.

Why the fuck would I risk anything for that bitch? She seems to think that she’s done nothing wrong.

One of her excuses that she thought of telling Jake to get her off the hook for having 10 partially empty Corona bottles sitting on the counter was that she had a “bottle cap collection.”

…

One more thing.

Candace walked in while Jessie and I were reading my LJ, and Jessie asked, “Is there anything in there about me?” before we noticed she was there. I said, “Nothing bad.” Then Can chimed in, “What about me?”

ARG. “I’ve got stuff about everyone in there.”

“Can I read?” She asks.

“No, it’s my diary. I’m only showing Jessie the funny stuff.”

“Yeah, she won’t even let me read most of it,” Jessie pipes in. Thank you, Jess.

Can tries to read over my shoulder, but I keep the screen pinned to the Ninja Missions.

After a while, she gives up, sprays on a bunch of awful smelling perfume, and walks off.

Three people. One male, two females. RPG! Rapidly forgetting …

I find myself walking with two others through a market. The man seems nothing more than a fighter, and the woman appears to be an archer using crossbows. Well, poo, she’s out of bolts. “Don’t worry,” I say, “I’ll get you some.” The bolts are large wooden ones, about a foot long and an inch diameter.

We leave the marketplace, as I instruct. While walking, I find two bags of bolts on the backs of bikes. Great, I snag them and give them to the girl, and return to the market to get more.

Well look at that, a bike SHOP. I make my way in, ready to get some more. Walking out with a new crossbow and some bolts, I hear a whistle blowing.

Poo, I’m caught.

I start running, and more people start chasing. Some old woman tries to stop me, and, judging by the feeling I got when I saw her, she was an important character in the story.

She attacked me, and I stabbed at her with a loose bolt, and thwocked her on the head with the crossbow.

“What does a thief need with that,” she said after she saw what I stole, “You probably haven’t even got the intelligence to use it.”

“We’ll see,” I said, and pulled the sleek black weapon from the green cloth bag it had been packaged in.

I folded down the long black barrel, and stuck a bolt in. Snapping it back into place, I pulled back the hammer. There was one more thing on the side that I had to press. The woman was expecting me to not know of it, and she dropped her jaw in shock when I reached for it.

Fire one! Into her shoulder.

She screamed, and whined, and went on some villain rant that no one actually reads in a game, and I didn’t pay attention to in the dream. I walked up to her and yanked the bolt out of her, put it back into the bow/gun, and fired again, then ran off.

Dream out.

[Geno> schroe schroe schroe your boat..
[Schroe> Geno down the stream
[Toad> Emily emily emily emily..
[Schroe> Graph is but a _V

Hello, shitty day.

I had a job interview at 6pm today.

Six in the evening.

SIX.

I leave my appartment at 4:30, and get on a bus out to the blue line.

I get on the blue line to go to Cumberland.

Great, 30 minutes to get there, and it’s only 10 blocks away.

I get out of the blue line station to see the 5:40 bus I needed leave five minutes early.

I had to wait until the 6 bus.

I got to the interview five minutes late.

Five minutes after six.

Five minutes …

“Maybe you should have put the effort into getting here on time,” the bitch said.

…

MOTHER OF FUCK. I’m five minutes late, and suddenly, she’s speaking to me as if I’m some fucking slacker. She’s never met me, she’s never seen me before.

But you see, just because I’m five minutes late, I didn’t put any effort into this job interview.

So I walk to the next bus stop to get back into town. I’m way out in the suburbs right now.

Fuck, I hate the suburbs.

I walk to Irving Park, which is about halfway between Belmont and the Cumberland blue line station. I catch the IP bus there.

“Oh, sorry, I’m only going to Central.”

“Whatever, I’ll catch something else there.”

Put the card in, whoops, invalid.
Put the card in, whoops, invalid.
Put the card in, whoops, invalid.

“The thing’s good ’till October, man, just check the back.”

Driver checks back, nods, gives me card.

I get to Central, which is about 1/4 of the way in. Meh. Central bus to Belmont, Belmont bus to home.

Pull up to Central just as Central bus leaves. Next bus, 15 minutes.

Well, bugger.

While another guy and I are waiting, I go into the nearby convenience store and buy a bottle of water. I walk out, guy’s gone. I missed the early Central bus.

SOD.

I see another IP bus coming. I cross the street, this one’s going all the way to Lake Shore.
Whee.

Put the card in, whoops, invalid.

Driver looks at card, “As long as the date’s still good, don’t let anyone kick you off.” Nice drivers exist. Hooray!

IP bus to Brown Line station.

Put the card in the till, whoops, invalid.
“Code 13: See attendant”

“The reader says my card’s invalid. It says it’s a code 13. The card is good until October.”

Hold up card.

“Izit deant?”

“What?”

“Izit deant?”

“Pardon?”

“Yo card, iz it deant?”

“Dent? Hell no, the thing’s flat.”

Show the flat card.

Attendant rolls eyes, and slowly opens gate to let me through, behaving as if it’s some sort of horrid task to do her job.

I get up the stairs in time to see the brown line train leave. Next train, 15 minutes.

8 pm, I walk into Dennis’s Place for Games, and rip the hell out of any song thrown at me.

In a dress.

“Laughter through the internet feels so hollow and empty. “haha” “lol” “rofl”… I mean, you can just see the person looking blankly into the computer screen typing that, the lips not even slightly curling to form anything even resembling a smile.” – Hard, http://www.sexylosers.com

* Schroe verb preposition noun.
* Yumblie adverb verb preposition noun.
* Schroe adverb verb preposition article adjective noun.
* Yumblie verb “Interjection!” adverb conjunction adverb verb noun preposition noun.
* Schroe verb proper noun, verb pronoun preposition article noun, conjunction verb article noun preposition article noun preposition noun.
[Yumblie> ….
* Yumblie sad emoticon
* Schroe victory pose.

I get home.

News: Jessie bought her cell phone.
News 2: Candice has purchased CASES of alcohol and has been consuming it all day.

News 3: At the arcade, I started a new craze. Random … on hard mode. I was the first to try it, and I’m still the only one who can do it.
News 4: I tried Beethoven on Hard for the first time today. C.
News 5: I tried Turkey March today. F. OH WELL. At least I tried!
News 6: See 3, but replace Hard with Doubles.

Sex and donuts.

If I get a job at Radio Shack, I can’t come home for Christmas.

Okay, a few things about yesterday.

Some people just don’t know what to ask when shopping.

When I mentioned that I needed to go to Walgreens to get some bathroom cleaner, Jessie asked if I’d go cell phone shopping with her. At first, I thought it was because she just figured we could go do stuff at the same time. Nope.

We go into Radio shack, and she had me doing all the talking, asking about all the features, battery life, screen sizes, rate plans, etc.

(While I was talking, the manager handed me an application and said “We need good people.”)

Second thing about yesterday.

I called my grandmother, because, frankly, I was worried. I had that dream about her, and last time I had a dream about her, she was hurt. So I called.

:]

lub gramma

She said my brother and I are her favorite grandchildren. (out of 8 misfits total) :o
Grammy usually doesn’t say things like this, so I actually believe her.
More proof: I’m the only person she’s giving her gingerbread recipe to. She never gave it to any of her kids :o

Okay, more dreams.

I dreamed that I had an apartment in the alley behind my grandmother’s house, and I could see her yard from my window. (In reality, there is a warehouse there, not apartments.) I was sipping coffee next to the window when I heard sirens. A police cruiser and an ambulance came into the alley, and pulled into my grandmother’s drive. I panicked. I ran outside and grabbed the police officer (female, blonde) and demanded to know what was going on. She looked at me as if it weren’t my business, and then I told her that that is my grandmother. She told me everything that she knew, and asked me if I’d seen anything. I show her a sketch from my sketchbook of someone who went to visit my grandmother earlier that day. (I was the blue-haired Schroe in this. In the next part, I’m myself.)
Next thing I know, I’m at my Aunt E’s house. Apparently, we’re house sitting. My brother orders me to …. Rake the lake. There’s leaves and twigs in the lake, and I’m supposed to clean them up. “Hell no,” I say, “I just got in from Chicago.”
Then my grandmother comes in, bandaged. The police told her she should stay with family until everything’s cleared up.
Later that night, an Asian woman in black leather comes into the house, and she resembles the woman that I had in my sketchbook.
Oh, poo. This time she comes after me. Then I woke up. Yay.