And apparently...social workers write papes. A lot of them. I wish I could sell my papes like a newsboy. Which brings me to my next point...
I would like to take this time to talk about someone incredibly important to me. That someone... is Christian Bale. Now I am fully aware of the infamous lighting guy "We're done professionally!" rant and the alleged abuse he bestowed upon his mother (LIES) but even so, I just cannot shake my adoration. From Jack Kelley to Patrick Bateman, this man can do no wrong in my eyes. I think my love for Mr. Bale stems from my fascination with interesting people (other favorites include: Kieran Culkin and Matthew Gray Gubler). Who likes cookie-cutter beauty and perfection? NOT ME! I also enjoyed the fact that every time Christian won his "Best Supporting Actor" award for The Fighter this year, my inbox flooded with Congratulatory texts. As if to say I helped him win. I'd like to think I did.
I conclude this post with an anecdote. Junior year of high school, I recall walking down the halls of CHS one day with no one else in sight. Suddenly, I noticed two of my closest friends who shall remain anonymous (Stephanie and Abby) and I guess to spark a laugh, my body instantly developed a limp, I raised my arm and shouted "Nevah feah, Brooklyn is heah!" Not sure where the limp came from, but it happened. I was fully aware that my two friends loved this Newsies quote as much as I did and my expected response was that they would giggle at my weak attempt to brighten the day. However, both unnamed friends (Stephanie and Abby) said nothing. Did nothing. Turned the corner and ignored me. Perplexed, I looked around to see an entire class of kids (that must have gotten out early) directly behind me, trying to pass, but unable due to my sudden limp and shouting. This group of kids (undoubtedly seniors) looked at me in horror. I ran. I believe I was silently judged for the remainder of my high school career. Although this happened 7 years ago, it is still vivid in my mind and haunts my memory. Perhaps a career as a newsboy is not in the stars for me. Maybe I will become The Bale Family social worker instead, or maybe the nanny to this little piece of heaven:
So many things happen on the NJtransit. I can't even fully gather my thoughts in a comprehendible manner to write logically about this. I'll try. First of all. This morning. I was in one of those moods where I really did not want anyone to sit next to me. You know those moods. I mean, I guess no one ever really wants anyone to sit next to them, but today it was just...not an option. So I sat in a 2 seater and placed both my bag and my lunch (two separate bags - important to the story) on the seat next to me. Now, to any normal person, that is a perfectly clear "Don't Sit Here" sign. Alas! Not to the creepy man with the oily hair! This man approaches my seat and does that clearing throat cough thing that is so obvious and unnecessarily powerful and throaty. I don't really hear the faux-throat clear due to my blasting ipod to avoid human interaction, but I still sense a figure. I look up, sigh heavily, and say "Oh." Literally just "Oh." Not "Oh, sorry" or "Oh, excuse me" as I move my things. Just "Oh." Probably because I noticed several open seats around me. What was going on?! I lift up my bag so lethargically and with such difficulty, you'd think it was full of bricks. What seemed like years later, my book bag is moved to my lap. I'm about to move my lunch bag when out of nowhere, oil man SITS ON MY LUNCH. He sits. on. my. lunch. I don't think I've ever been so upset. Yes, I bring my lunch.
