You're cellophane

A few weeks ago, John and I went to a Type O Negative concert, with his brother, friend, and the friends annoying girlfriend. Good band. I mean, hell of loud and you can't understand a damn word unless you already know them, but interesting and loud a nd powerful, and lots of interesting goth-y people to look at. Tickets are always cheap because apparently the band has the attitude of "what? You're fucking kidding. People will actually pay to listen to this shit? They're all insane." It was a good time. John's brother hates everything and stood there kind of glowering, but he did like the music, and I got to talk to him more. Rob, the friend, was pretty quiet and his girlfriend was clingy and pretending to have a good time, but I think she really hated it. I got happily drunk, and tried to get up to the front of the crowd to request a song. They're playing again tonight on Long Island, but we can't go, as John's psycho ex will be there, and apparently she'll attack me on sight. And if John goes by himself she'll follow him around begging. Lame. Interesting, though. I'm kind of curious as to if she would actually attack me. I could probably take her. I've never kicked anyone's ass before, never had the opportunity. Seems like it would be fun, no? Maybe not. And maybe she would have the crazy factor on her side and go apeshit and win. That would suck. Oh well. Not going to find out.
He also accidently sent a text to me that was meant for someone else. They had asked how he was, what he was up to, and in the update was "Things with that girl are great". Heh. That girl. Good to know, though. But weird. The last time he talked to whoever this was was back when I was still saying that I didn't want to date him. I've never been good at taking compliments, and I've always gotten slightly weirded out/embarassed when I hear that someone was talking about me, so this is an odd feeling. But good. I like that he talks about me. I'm still scarred from way back when, and Alex refusing to introduce me as his girlfiend or anything.
Working at the school is fun. I like working around kids. Though they did unnerve me by standing in front of the mirrored doors next to me and talking about how they looked fat in their costumes. "See, I look fat in this" "It's because you're wearing two skirts" "Yeah. God, look at the hips" What?? Hips are a good thing! I like having hips. Easier to carry things. And then you have curves, which are nice. Weird. They're all 12-13ish. They liked the cat ears that my mom sent me. Which were fantastic. They were hair clips, so they looked as realistic as fabric ears can. I asked one of the people in charge-ish about them hiring me to teach a tech class. She was all sorts of enthusiastic about it. She didn't think that I would be able to do a full class, really, as all of their arts stuff is afterschool electives and such, but she was pretty positive about me teaching a couple workshops or something. So we'll see how that goes.
I ate a couple cupcakes at school yesterday. That was kind of the extent of my halloween doings. I came home, and watched the rest of Heroes. I was a little dissapoointed in how the first season ended. It should have been more difinitive. Should have totally ended there. But it was doing well in the ratings, so they kept it going. Silly. And seriously, no one would make sure he was really dead? No one shoot him just for good measure? Make sure that he got picked up by the cleaning crew? Whatever. Stupid. But I'm going to watch the second season anyway. I also didn't like how they changed the mothers character. She goes from being 'oh, Peter's my favorite, I can't lose him', to knowing the plan the whole time, and encouraging it. I don't buy it.

Side note, my apologies about the writing here. I never seem to be able to organize my thoughts in this little box the way I'd like. And often I write what I'm thinking, and it skips steps, and so is sometimes jumbled. Whatever. It's mainly for me to remember what was going on when. But I'm glad that other people read it apparently.