kate+speaks

i tried, keyword “tried, to go bra-shopping today and it was pretty funny. i wanted to get some “everyday” kinds so i picked out a whole bunch in different types and sizes. i know a lot of women wear the wrong size so i was feeling apprehensive about purchasing one. i didn’t want to commit anything without knowing for sure. i usually like to wear soft-cup-no-wire bras which are super freaking comfortable (think cotton bikini top), but i figured i need to get some real bras again for tank top season (mainly i’m self conscious that you will see if i’m cold, hahaha, if you know what i’m saying). anyways i tried an enhancing one and man was that one thick, and a couple padded ones. the “enhancing” one felt ridiculous cause i know for damn sure that i don’t have much cleavage. i ended up calling kaye in the dressing room to ask her how full the cups were supposed to be and how tight the band should feel. she’s the expert, she works @ victoria secret. i only got one, cause like i said i don’t want a whole bunch of bras that aren’t even my size.

i used to care about this stuff a long time ago, like 5 years ago… before i had the man. ohh the joys of becoming comfortable with your significant other… shit doesn’t even matter anymore. haha to think i put on makeup almost everyday in high school….

ladies and gentlemen, that was my bra adventure for the day.

here it is…jeff forced it out of me.

its not like i think i completely suck. its not like i’m saying i need to learn how to photocopy photographs then photograph the photocopy.i’m not complaining like i hella need to learn this or that or what. i’m saying I FEEL ROBBED SON. ROBBED. you think you put some substantial effort into one project–for which you finally start to think “hey, i think i can be proud of this one,”–the one project where you actually got the most compliments out of any project you’ve ever done–then you get it back graded and the piece is a B-, come on now… thats a fat ass blow to the ego/psyche/etc.

let me dwell on that now, let me experience my anger/frustration/dejection. let me bounce back naturally.

shit, like i really want to go to san francisco with the pieces i call my “portfolio” and try to run with the big boys–especially while i’m feeling this low about my future career. you’ve got to be kidding me.

maybe you still don’t understand the significance of the situation… i’ve gotten A’s on projects i’ve put much less effort into (don’t get confused, you don’t get “A’s for effort” in design). a B- is basically a C+, i might as well have gotten a C+ cause thats how i see it. AND i’m sure a lot of other students from the cohort got better grades than i did on this damn poster project, if not the same.

maybe i should blame this on people for finally giving me the confidence to be proud of a piece… shit, i had the impression it was “good,” but B- is not fucking good. i want to work for target one day… target doesn’t hire fucking B- designers.

i’m not afraid that i suck, i’m terrified that i’ll never be good enough. a B- is proof enough for the time being, SO LET ME GET OVER IT. with my naturally optimistic attitude i will be back for more criticism, but not yet… anything else might just make me give this all up.

so… BACK UP OFF OF ME.

so on wednesday… when i said i would drink till i was done… i drank half a bottle of bartles&james fuzzy navel until i didn’t want it anymore. yeah, just half of one bottle, not even really half. uhh, i can’t take carbonation, not even soda. its the acid reflux. i’m hardcore.

i’m on the hunt for perfect jeans. i fear they will cost more than what my legs are worth.

i’m catching COMMON on sunday in davis, yes…….

OK… SO THIS IS MY PLAN:

i’m gonna buy a $2.50 case of bartles&james fuzzy navel wine coolers, drink that like i don’t have work tomorrow morning (which should be funny if you honestly know me, you know i dont’ drink alcohol for shit). watch a movie, make popcorn, vegg. the hell out, get my zzzz, then wake up tomorrow like today never happened.

sounds like a motherfugging plan to me!

in an italian job sense i’m “fine.” freaked out, insecure, neurotic, & emotional.

i figure i’m taking my life way too seriously right now, but not focusing on school like how it should be. i’m tired of school. i’m just plain tired of a lot of things. i don’t know what to do, i’m tired of sac state. maybe i just need the summer to recouperate. hah. summer and six units of summer school. f_ck. now thats a vacation.

i would put all of my emotions on blast, but unfortunately i have no idea who takes the time to read this. professors… classmates… and they just don’t know me well enough to know how i really feel about this crap. using this blog as a vent doesn’t seem to work out very well when so many people have access to this. my share of upstairsloft is never going to evolve into anything more than a blog, sad to say. i will probably get my own domain by the time that happens. it sucks that some of us actually refer people to “upstairsloft” and all i really have are thoughts, nothing more or less. sorry, i write nonsense, emotion, frustration, & personal philosopies–which i bet many people just don’t “get.”

bleh. i’m fine.

i am so upset that i want to get a whole order of carne asada fries and eat them all by myself. then i will get bloated and feel gross, which will make me feel remorseful about ordering junk shit to eat, which will make me feel even more depressed.

emotional eating is an UGLY downward cycle isn’t it? still, food gives me some kind of endorphins.

its another bad day. i want to go home, take a sedative, and wake up in june.

currently my optimism is getting trashed and i want to give up on school. i don’t have much motivation left to pick myself up, i’m tired already.

i am tired. i want to go back home.

the difference between me & jeff:

i buy food for BOTH of us (even when he doesn’t ask for anything or says he doesn’t want anything), if we haven’t eaten in hours.

you have to TELL/ask jeff to buy food, for himself and myself, and most of the time, he doesn’t want to spend his money.

yeah, one day he’s gonna have kids…

i act like i don’t deserve bad grades, but i probably do. to me anything below a a- is a bad grade. fuck obsessive compulsiveness…

please buy this for me.