I owe a post. I also owe my apologies to the world of bloggers for treating the blogosphere as if they were my own personal audience. Truth be told a lot of what I write is just mental diahrehea. When you least expect is you just have to put it somewhere.
So I wasn't accepted into a school. It's been done before, it's all happened and I've been through that. I've dealt with rejection all of my life. So why the heck was it harder this time? Well, truth be told it wasn't rejection. It was oddly an acknowledgment of understanding. See the director has spoken with Randy before about me, and with Mark. The school did above and beyond an outstanding job of respecting my individual case. In the letter, which I won't post here, but if anyone wanted to see it just ask me ( It's just a letter like any other) They told me that It wasn't the right school for me. I could go the route of saying---"Well how the heck do you know what school is right for me, huh...punk!"---but really that wouldn't be realistic an it would have a simple answer. They don't know what school is right for me, they just know they aren't it. They understand what they as a school need to really make the school successful and build people up into missions, and they want to do that through missions---head first style, and to respect what they know and trust is all I can do.
I wanted to go to Montreal so much. What I want, unfortunately isn't always for the best. People don't know what they want, they rarely know what they think they need.
I was people watching today. Because...well I had nothing better to do, and well, I like people. Now the funny thing about people watching is you usually do your best when you least realize it. You notice things about people, and the way they interact. For example, I bought running shoes today---finally. I've been in the store before but I never seen this particular salesmen before, he was an oddball really. He comes up to me and right away I notice he has this accent...I just couldn't place it. He continues to talk, and chat. He knows a lot about shoes. In fact I'd go as far as to say he truly respects shoes as much as people. I had come in thinking I knew what I wanted and he got me something else. Usually this is just the sign of a good sell, but I felt like I could trust the guy. He was training today, and when you're watching people interact with new people it becomes a real show. Mate (his name...which I forgot but later added in here =D) had this amazing ability to adapt to people. He would speak with someone for a minute and then he would just sort of know how to tell them something. Everyone was different. All the while my curiosity with accents was kicking me to ask. Eventually I did. He was from Hungary! I shouldn't exclaim that but that was the last place I expected.
Foreign People make my day.
Later I had stopped by Borders to say hello to Melissa (old friend who is old but not really) and decided to sit an try and finish my tea passport for starbucks in one sitting. I was determined, but was distracted by the wandering children in the store. See there was something off about this one very vocal little girl, she was wondering around as if the store was her castle. I was waiting for her to declare my kingdom for a scone, when I realized she was from the united kingdom. She reminded me so much of Lola from "Charlie and Lola" that it was just uncanny.
Again I say, foreign people make my day. Especially when they are five and they have the confidence of a hardened war general.
EDIT: Just a note, I actually try to write her quite often...but I don't publish all of them. Some I just write as mental notes and such which would read something like.
"You must wake up early tommorrow and write letters, finish the draft for the artist pages, bake scones, be abducted by aliens, etc."
Others I save until I can go back and finish them and sort of tone them down a bit. Like Today's Blog (Posted September 5, 2006 ---hey what can I say it's been busy.
Word of the Moment!
Viscous vis·cous (vĭs'kəs)
- Having relatively high resistance to flow.
- Viscid; sticky.
[Middle English, from Old French, from Late Latin viscōsus. See viscose.]viscously vis'cous·ly adv.
viscousness vis'cous·ness n.