So the applying for Grad School has begun. Oh joy, hold me back. Seriously, though, I am excited. I definitely want to go back to school—I definitely do not want to be a secretary in Mac-town for the rest of my life, completely unacceptable. I just hate all the paperwork. Get this many letters of recommendation, send this many transcripts, put your right foot in and turn it all about. Oh yeah, and don’t forget the essay to convince you are a worthy person. Those are my favorite. “I deserve to be admitted because…” One day when I’m old and it doesn’t matter I’m going to write one of those and say, “I deserve to be admitted because I am a cool person. I’m not dumb.” Wonder how that will turn out. Let you know in fifty years.
Oh what else, I’ve been to Louisiana that was exciting. Somewhere about a fifth of a way through Missouri it occurred to I was an idiot for getting in the car on Friday night and driving to Louisiana. But hey, I never said I was smart. I did say I wasn’t dumb, but that is probably debatable.
So I think I might have an epiphany, it has been awhile so bear with me if this comes out rough. What is it about the proverbial hot stove that keeps people coming back for more? It is a behavior I have witnessed in people over the years, sometimes even in myself. As a child I had only to burn my hand once before I knew not to touch the hot burner again. Why is it, as adults, we can’t seem to learn that lesson? We touch it over and over and get mad at everyone except ourselves when we’re burned. “He’s so dumb” or “she’s so crazy” we tell everyone else. And yet it is our own decision to go back for more. Why? What is it about certain people that keeps us from breaking away? I’ve watched several guy friends fawn over crazy girls (emotionally unstable if you prefer) and get completely torn up by them. Again and again they are hurt but never once do they say “I should stop liking her”. Why?
On a side note why am I always asking why and never finding answers? The stuff of life I suppose.
As a young girl you watch the lifetime movies and laugh at the main characters. The emotional “angst” and the “issues”. It all disgusted me. Why doesn’t she just tell him to fuck off? I asked. Why are girls so dumb? Is it hormones? Loneliness? What is it about men, where are the pros? Do they outweigh the cons? If you’re a male reading this don’t worry, I’m not a man hater—quite the opposite whether I want to be or not. It isn’t logical, definitely doesn’t make sense. Some days it would certainly make more sense (and be more beneficial) to be a lesbian. Doesn’t work like that, though. No matter what I tell myself or how logical I try to be the heart never agrees. I’ve spent the past seven years being logical. The older I get the harder it is to control emotions. I want a handbook. I want everything spelled out. I want all the facts so I can put it all on a very simple, scientific chart and make a well-informed sensible decision. I want a great big red sign that says “HOT STOVE DO NOT TOUCH”.
I grew up a good girl. I was supposed to go to school, get a good job, meet a knight in shining armor and live happily ever after. I went to school, have a crappy job and my knight had everything in common with the knights of old. Including bad teeth and a penchant for taking advantage of young girls. Where was the red sign on that one? I knew better; there was enough history there for me to know not to go drunk over to his house by myself. But I did it anyway. I stuck my whole head in the stove on that one. Then I looked in the mirror the next morning and wondered why I was burned. Why? Where was my vaulted logic on that one? What is it about human nature that makes us so dumb?
Mine is not the only story of the hot stove, nor will it be the last. What really bothers me is that no one ever seems to learn. Again and again we touch the stove. Over and over we cry to each other, holding out the blackened flesh to friends asking to be consoled. It doesn’t make sense. Not that I thought it would. I just thought I would rant a little bit. Maybe I’ll email my congressman and ask him to issue every deserving man in the state a big red sign that says “HOT STOVE DO NOT TOUCH”. At least then I know for sure and would have no excuses except my own stupidity. Maybe instead of a trashy romance I should write a handbook for all the other confused twenty-somethings out there. Too bad I need a handbook for myself first. Maybe I’ll just go back to ordering take-out instead of trying to cook something wholesome on the stove. With take out you never have to worry about burning yourself. Unfortunately you never know what quality you are getting. It’s a trade-off either way. But it isn’t really a decision. At heart, for all my efforts to not be a dumb girl, I am. I don’t make sense, and I’m definitely not logical. I suppose the only option is to get better at treating the burns since I don’t foresee any big red signs to warn me off in the future. I may not be smart but at least I can take care of myself. Thank God for small blessings.
Monday, September 22, 2003
Monday, September 01, 2003
So my first three-day weekend as a working girl has come to a close. I am entering week three of the Atkin’s diet and aside from one very vivid dream about little Debbie cakes I’m doing exceptionally well. I get to eat (which places this particular lifestyle high above all else) but I can’t eat a lot of things. It isn’t terrible—I love meat now as opposed to the past, but I would kill for some noodles or a good piece of chocolate pie. Ah well, my thighs are thanking me (not to mention my chance for diabetes) so I suppose it will all work out in the end. It usually does.
On the good side of things I sent out for GRE registration today. I think I need to go to grad school and go teach at a college somewhere. I like teaching—I think I do an okay job of it. I’m also not cut out to be a secretary. I suppose I always knew that but I thought a job is a job. Live and learn I suppose. I’m not politic, I hate to lie, and I hate being a scapegoat because someone else doesn’t do his job. It irritates me. Some days it infuriates me. Life, you would think I was used to it by now.
I was reading an old story the other night; I think I need to send it out somewhere. It really was an excellent story. I don’t say that often. It could still be better, but unfortunately I’m so emotionally tied to it, it is very difficult for me to edit it at all. It was perhaps a bit to tied to reality for safety’s sake but…that is, in part, what makes the story good. At some point I should have someone not connected to the events read it and tell me if it does anything for them. I might have made a classic writers error in writing too close to the heart. Oops. These things they happen.
That about does it I think. I’m still waiting for my knight in shining armor to come save the day. I think I’ve just about accepted that the knight will come in the form of a small cardboard box with the name “Blue Bunny Ice Cream” on it, but that’s okay. I’ve gotten very good at the independent lifestyle. I’ve even decided I’m not interested in the friends with benefits anymore. Who would have ever thought I would say meaningless sex is no fun. But I have. It was an odd realization, but I suppose I’ve always been a good girl at heart. In general it’s much more fun to cuddle up with someone you care about than have sex with someone you don’t. Dear lord save me I’ve turned into a sap. Obviously I need to spend less time with my beaver cleaver family. I’ll let you all know when my newfound morality runs dry.
On the good side of things I sent out for GRE registration today. I think I need to go to grad school and go teach at a college somewhere. I like teaching—I think I do an okay job of it. I’m also not cut out to be a secretary. I suppose I always knew that but I thought a job is a job. Live and learn I suppose. I’m not politic, I hate to lie, and I hate being a scapegoat because someone else doesn’t do his job. It irritates me. Some days it infuriates me. Life, you would think I was used to it by now.
I was reading an old story the other night; I think I need to send it out somewhere. It really was an excellent story. I don’t say that often. It could still be better, but unfortunately I’m so emotionally tied to it, it is very difficult for me to edit it at all. It was perhaps a bit to tied to reality for safety’s sake but…that is, in part, what makes the story good. At some point I should have someone not connected to the events read it and tell me if it does anything for them. I might have made a classic writers error in writing too close to the heart. Oops. These things they happen.
That about does it I think. I’m still waiting for my knight in shining armor to come save the day. I think I’ve just about accepted that the knight will come in the form of a small cardboard box with the name “Blue Bunny Ice Cream” on it, but that’s okay. I’ve gotten very good at the independent lifestyle. I’ve even decided I’m not interested in the friends with benefits anymore. Who would have ever thought I would say meaningless sex is no fun. But I have. It was an odd realization, but I suppose I’ve always been a good girl at heart. In general it’s much more fun to cuddle up with someone you care about than have sex with someone you don’t. Dear lord save me I’ve turned into a sap. Obviously I need to spend less time with my beaver cleaver family. I’ll let you all know when my newfound morality runs dry.
Monday, August 18, 2003
Rule #1: Stop being a lesbian.
Rule #2: Any questions see Rule #1.
I love that quote. I heard it tonight from a female friend as we ranted to each other about life in general and I laughed for the better part of a minute. As the same friend once said, “stop the lesbian bullshit!”
I fear I should clarify for those of you who don’t understand. I am not in any way implying that being a lesbian is a bad thing. The quote was brought about by the erratic behavior of lesbian friends (think about it, two women in a relationship?) and we have found that it applies to so many aspects of life. It isn’t that I have a particular direction for that rant to travel, more that I felt like saying that. I feel better now.
Ah, tonight is my first band trip where I’m not with the band. I was considering calling a friend when I realized he was away with the band tonight…and I wasn’t with him. It was definitely a weird sensation. I don’t miss band practice. I don’t miss the unnecessary drama and the aches and pains and the heat and annoyances. But as I think about the crowd they are playing for tonight and the definite adrenaline rush that will follow I can’t help but be jealous. That I miss. The knowledge that I helped make these people howl. That was a good feeling. Standing on a football field at the end of a performance knowing I had infused the crowd with a piece of me. I miss that.
What else? I feel the need to write tonight—not all of it can be written here but certainly some of it. It was a busy weekend, too much working and not enough drinking or maybe too much of both. That’s a hard one to call. Parts of it were great, others not so much. Some just went by. The whole two job thing is maybe not the wisest decision of my life. While the extra cash is good I miss my weekends. I know I’ll have them back come October but that isn’t much consolation right now.
I should say it is a different, but not unpleasant sensation to have nothing to do at the end of the day. Come five o’clock I go home. Not to rehearsal, not to another class, not to homework. Just home. Home to my A.D.D. cats and their craziness. Home to my thoughts and an empty apartment. I like being by myself. Or I should say, living by myself, but it is a change that will take some getting used too. I really like being able to drive again. I don’t like driving—I’m entirely too scarred to ever like driving again, but I like the freedom that comes with driving.
I’m not sure I truly have a point to this blog. More just a need to write. It happens on occasion. Sometimes with more ferocity than others. I apologize for offering no epiphanies or entertaining rants. I have only a few random thoughts and unvoiced emotions. I can feel a story building. As always it will be my true voice. Maybe I’ll ask a few of you too read it, maybe not. Perhaps just writing it will be enough. As always I can say everything on paper and pretend I said it in real life. Self-delusion is a beautiful thing.
Rule #2: Any questions see Rule #1.
I love that quote. I heard it tonight from a female friend as we ranted to each other about life in general and I laughed for the better part of a minute. As the same friend once said, “stop the lesbian bullshit!”
I fear I should clarify for those of you who don’t understand. I am not in any way implying that being a lesbian is a bad thing. The quote was brought about by the erratic behavior of lesbian friends (think about it, two women in a relationship?) and we have found that it applies to so many aspects of life. It isn’t that I have a particular direction for that rant to travel, more that I felt like saying that. I feel better now.
Ah, tonight is my first band trip where I’m not with the band. I was considering calling a friend when I realized he was away with the band tonight…and I wasn’t with him. It was definitely a weird sensation. I don’t miss band practice. I don’t miss the unnecessary drama and the aches and pains and the heat and annoyances. But as I think about the crowd they are playing for tonight and the definite adrenaline rush that will follow I can’t help but be jealous. That I miss. The knowledge that I helped make these people howl. That was a good feeling. Standing on a football field at the end of a performance knowing I had infused the crowd with a piece of me. I miss that.
What else? I feel the need to write tonight—not all of it can be written here but certainly some of it. It was a busy weekend, too much working and not enough drinking or maybe too much of both. That’s a hard one to call. Parts of it were great, others not so much. Some just went by. The whole two job thing is maybe not the wisest decision of my life. While the extra cash is good I miss my weekends. I know I’ll have them back come October but that isn’t much consolation right now.
I should say it is a different, but not unpleasant sensation to have nothing to do at the end of the day. Come five o’clock I go home. Not to rehearsal, not to another class, not to homework. Just home. Home to my A.D.D. cats and their craziness. Home to my thoughts and an empty apartment. I like being by myself. Or I should say, living by myself, but it is a change that will take some getting used too. I really like being able to drive again. I don’t like driving—I’m entirely too scarred to ever like driving again, but I like the freedom that comes with driving.
I’m not sure I truly have a point to this blog. More just a need to write. It happens on occasion. Sometimes with more ferocity than others. I apologize for offering no epiphanies or entertaining rants. I have only a few random thoughts and unvoiced emotions. I can feel a story building. As always it will be my true voice. Maybe I’ll ask a few of you too read it, maybe not. Perhaps just writing it will be enough. As always I can say everything on paper and pretend I said it in real life. Self-delusion is a beautiful thing.
Sunday, August 10, 2003
So my last “summer” in the vacation sense of the word has come to an end. I drove back from a most enjoyable family reunion today and just felt wrong—it is the first time in eight years I am not rushing home to get to marching band. I honestly don’t know what to do with myself. I should be out playing drums, getting sweaty, ruining my hearing and my joints…instead I’m sitting at home typing. Hm, maybe better in the long run but definitely sitting sour right now. The logical side of me is content considering I can’t pick up a drum without my shoulders and elbows aching for days but the sentimental side—it always has this annoying knack for blocking out the bad memories and expanding the good ones. I suppose that makes my life seem more pleasant to me than it has probably been, but it makes it terribly difficult to move on. No happy solution to this problem I suppose except to stop wasting your time and mine worrying about it.
I would like to discuss some recent occurrences, though. As aforementioned I did just return from a family reunion. I think it was perhaps one of the best I have been too in a long time. That is of course a good thing, but also a bad thing because it makes it harder to leave. I might also admit that I am a tad emotional as I travel through my first year without my grandma on that side. She was my (and my immediate family’s) link to that entire side of the family. Now we will see them once a year but I will never hear the gossip of who is doing what, which child broke the law or received an award or did well in school. I never realized I enjoyed that until this weekend. I never realized how much I relied on my grandma being there until she wasn’t anymore. Once again I never learn until it is too late. I do have the small consolation of spending my college years in correspondence with Dee (the grandmother) so I did get to know her as more than just “grandma” before she went but I wonder if that only made it worse. I don’t regret it at all, but it is certainly true the better to you know and love someone the more you miss them. Goodness if I’m this big a mess with one grandma I’m screwed when the immediate family starts to go. I will definitely have to die before any of them. Not to mention the logistics of a funeral are the hugest pain in the ass. Who wants to fuck with settling the estate and finding money to pay for things and moving stuff out when you feel like shit? One of life’s little ironies I guess. A time you are supposed to be able to mourn and instead you’re buried ass deep in paperwork. Woo-hoo. Enough of that. I apologize for not being more chipper. This whole starting work for real on Monday and not going to school thing is getting to me. I definitely need to not get stuck in a dead end job. But what do I want to do? If anyone knows please tell me. I’ll be sitting at home playing with my cats.
I would like to discuss some recent occurrences, though. As aforementioned I did just return from a family reunion. I think it was perhaps one of the best I have been too in a long time. That is of course a good thing, but also a bad thing because it makes it harder to leave. I might also admit that I am a tad emotional as I travel through my first year without my grandma on that side. She was my (and my immediate family’s) link to that entire side of the family. Now we will see them once a year but I will never hear the gossip of who is doing what, which child broke the law or received an award or did well in school. I never realized I enjoyed that until this weekend. I never realized how much I relied on my grandma being there until she wasn’t anymore. Once again I never learn until it is too late. I do have the small consolation of spending my college years in correspondence with Dee (the grandmother) so I did get to know her as more than just “grandma” before she went but I wonder if that only made it worse. I don’t regret it at all, but it is certainly true the better to you know and love someone the more you miss them. Goodness if I’m this big a mess with one grandma I’m screwed when the immediate family starts to go. I will definitely have to die before any of them. Not to mention the logistics of a funeral are the hugest pain in the ass. Who wants to fuck with settling the estate and finding money to pay for things and moving stuff out when you feel like shit? One of life’s little ironies I guess. A time you are supposed to be able to mourn and instead you’re buried ass deep in paperwork. Woo-hoo. Enough of that. I apologize for not being more chipper. This whole starting work for real on Monday and not going to school thing is getting to me. I definitely need to not get stuck in a dead end job. But what do I want to do? If anyone knows please tell me. I’ll be sitting at home playing with my cats.
Sunday, July 20, 2003
Happy birthday to me/ Happy birthday to me/ Happy birthday dear meeee-eee/ Happy birthday to me. Yay, I got older. Ah, the birthday weekend, and what a weekend it was. I find myself as drained after this weekend as I was after my twenty-first, but for very different reasons. Traveling hours upon end in a mini-van with four other people wears a person out.
Now, in defense of my immediate family (who were my fellow travelers) it did not help that I started the weekend off tired and hung over. So let’s start at the very beginning…
I had a great time Thursday with one side of the family, eating, playing cards, being merry, the usual. I then got dressed up and went out dancing. Here is where I was struck with the double-edged birthday sword. On your birthday everyone wants to do a shot with you and pay for it, but it is never good timing (at least in my experience) to get as drunk as one will undoubtedly end up. I ended up very, very well off. I then got to deal with drama the likes of which I haven’t seen since school got out. That is all I will say about that. I will say one more thing—I life without drama is a glorious thing indeed.
Moving on, I spent my first real drunk night at home with the parents sleeping peacefully upstairs; that was a cool feeling. I did the whole, sit down in front of the refrigerator and stare drunkenly at the contents routine then wandered around aimlessly for a bit. Very young, dumb, and drunk of me. What else what else…
There are some things I would love to type, but this is not the place for them. Oh well.
Ah yes, how could I forget? I saw The Matrix: Reloaded in an IMAX theatre. Now, those of you who have been to an IMAX know any IMAX is fun to see. Those of you who have seen the Matrix 2 know that is an exceptionally kick ass movie to see on IMAX. It was abso-fucking-lutely amazing. (A moment of silence for the word “fuck”. It is so marvelously versatile.) I still maintain that the dance scene (don’t worry I’m not giving anything away) was one of the most sensual scenes ever done. Some disagree. I think they are too immature to appreciate it, or too cynical. But hey, what do I know. I am a romantic at heart so probably I shouldn’t throw stones but I digress. It was a great experience. Right up there with Fantasia 2000 for coolness.
I hate Microsoft word, it tells a person to make very wrong decisions concerning grammar.
So much to ramble about so little drive. Ah yes such is the way of things. Peace be with you and God bless. An ode to Bob Ross.
Now, in defense of my immediate family (who were my fellow travelers) it did not help that I started the weekend off tired and hung over. So let’s start at the very beginning…
I had a great time Thursday with one side of the family, eating, playing cards, being merry, the usual. I then got dressed up and went out dancing. Here is where I was struck with the double-edged birthday sword. On your birthday everyone wants to do a shot with you and pay for it, but it is never good timing (at least in my experience) to get as drunk as one will undoubtedly end up. I ended up very, very well off. I then got to deal with drama the likes of which I haven’t seen since school got out. That is all I will say about that. I will say one more thing—I life without drama is a glorious thing indeed.
Moving on, I spent my first real drunk night at home with the parents sleeping peacefully upstairs; that was a cool feeling. I did the whole, sit down in front of the refrigerator and stare drunkenly at the contents routine then wandered around aimlessly for a bit. Very young, dumb, and drunk of me. What else what else…
There are some things I would love to type, but this is not the place for them. Oh well.
Ah yes, how could I forget? I saw The Matrix: Reloaded in an IMAX theatre. Now, those of you who have been to an IMAX know any IMAX is fun to see. Those of you who have seen the Matrix 2 know that is an exceptionally kick ass movie to see on IMAX. It was abso-fucking-lutely amazing. (A moment of silence for the word “fuck”. It is so marvelously versatile.) I still maintain that the dance scene (don’t worry I’m not giving anything away) was one of the most sensual scenes ever done. Some disagree. I think they are too immature to appreciate it, or too cynical. But hey, what do I know. I am a romantic at heart so probably I shouldn’t throw stones but I digress. It was a great experience. Right up there with Fantasia 2000 for coolness.
I hate Microsoft word, it tells a person to make very wrong decisions concerning grammar.
So much to ramble about so little drive. Ah yes such is the way of things. Peace be with you and God bless. An ode to Bob Ross.
Thursday, July 17, 2003
Hello fellow travelers, how are all ya’ll doin’? Haha, forgive the terrible, terrible grammar there but I can’t help myself. On this fine night of drinking and yodeling I fear correct grammar has escaped me. Now that is of course, implying that I use correct grammar other times. In fact, I really don’t. That is neither here nor there as they say and so let us continue onward and upward in this journey together.
I rediscovered my roots tonight. That is to say I ventured back to everyone’s favorite bar in Mac-town, the Café. I had some marvelous drinks and it was a spectacular time and despite the encroaching tiredness of my body I felt I simply had to blog. Now here is the humorous part—I have nothing to blog about! Ah-ha!
Some of you might argue I never have anything to blog about. I’m not sure I could argue back…
Wow, add a little vodka to your night and the thoughts just don’t flow like normal. Everything is fuzzy, so fuzzy. Marvelous little pastels, I like it, I like it. I want to roll around in the fuzziness, paint with pastels. I think I’m scaring myself.
I can say that despite the fact I am unemployed (at least in a “career” sense of the word) that I realized tonight I am really happy to not be going to school next year. Grad school is most likely going to happen, I simply don’t see a way around it, but in the meantime I will have an apartment, two (three for a bit) jobs, and no homework. I can handle that, quite honestly. The plan (haha I never plan and it is sooo not going to happen) is to work on the writing and try to get that going. I need to finish the old trashy romance and begin the revision process. The problem with writing such a long piece however is that it takes forever. For instance, I write 8-10 pages a night, single spaced, and the story still progresses with agonizing slowness. That isn’t to say it drags (at least I hope not) but there is still so much more story in my head. And then I think about the job of revising it all—you know, making it not suck. That is the really hard part. Yeah, yeah I know, poor me. But hey it’s my rant so I get to be selfish. It feels really, really good to not have to worry about school or band though. It’s a freedom I’ve never experienced before. Now if I could only get out of Mac-town and have that…a thought for another day.
Well, the vodka is saying “put me to bed!” and I can ignore it no longer. Adieu fair people and remember, watch out for camels, they spit.
I rediscovered my roots tonight. That is to say I ventured back to everyone’s favorite bar in Mac-town, the Café. I had some marvelous drinks and it was a spectacular time and despite the encroaching tiredness of my body I felt I simply had to blog. Now here is the humorous part—I have nothing to blog about! Ah-ha!
Some of you might argue I never have anything to blog about. I’m not sure I could argue back…
Wow, add a little vodka to your night and the thoughts just don’t flow like normal. Everything is fuzzy, so fuzzy. Marvelous little pastels, I like it, I like it. I want to roll around in the fuzziness, paint with pastels. I think I’m scaring myself.
I can say that despite the fact I am unemployed (at least in a “career” sense of the word) that I realized tonight I am really happy to not be going to school next year. Grad school is most likely going to happen, I simply don’t see a way around it, but in the meantime I will have an apartment, two (three for a bit) jobs, and no homework. I can handle that, quite honestly. The plan (haha I never plan and it is sooo not going to happen) is to work on the writing and try to get that going. I need to finish the old trashy romance and begin the revision process. The problem with writing such a long piece however is that it takes forever. For instance, I write 8-10 pages a night, single spaced, and the story still progresses with agonizing slowness. That isn’t to say it drags (at least I hope not) but there is still so much more story in my head. And then I think about the job of revising it all—you know, making it not suck. That is the really hard part. Yeah, yeah I know, poor me. But hey it’s my rant so I get to be selfish. It feels really, really good to not have to worry about school or band though. It’s a freedom I’ve never experienced before. Now if I could only get out of Mac-town and have that…a thought for another day.
Well, the vodka is saying “put me to bed!” and I can ignore it no longer. Adieu fair people and remember, watch out for camels, they spit.
Friday, July 11, 2003
Oh where to begin. I suppose I shall start with an apology. Whether that is a good thing or bad I couldn’t tell you, but upon rereading some of my posts here I have noticed the extreme level of intimacy I reach with some of my views. Not that I necessarily mind that I posted it, but I am a little bit surprised. And of course, I should apologize for the typos but you know, life happens.
The other bit of news I have is that I have begun work on a trashy romance. At least, I think it is going to be a trashy romance…it might end up being a fantasy novel but I doubt it. I’ve had a trashy romance inside of me for a very long time and I think it is about time it came out. I would say I’m sorry to those of you I disappoint with that news…I know some people hate to see me sell myself out like this, but I don’t really consider it to be that. A good story is a good story after all. And I’m stubborn enough to write what I want to, but nobody has to read it (though if a few lonely housewives would that would be great because then I can make money). That probably sounds very mercenary to some of you folks but just remember—I’m living at home with my parents. Be damned happy for me if I make money however it is done.
So I had a thought earlier today, actually it was on the way home very late at night, but you get the drift. It was a very good thought too and I thought “I shall have to blog that” and now you know what? I cannot remember what it was. That really yanks my chain. I was so excited because it was a good thing to share. Perhaps it will come to me.
I did think of this (and maybe this was the thought but I cannot remember to tell you). I made a wrong turn on the way home and I said, “stop being retarded” and it occurred to me I needed to stop using that word in a negative way. Let me explain. No, that will take to long, let me sum up. (Movie reference anyone?) I realized I needed to stop saying I was “being retarded” because it gives mental handicaps a negative stigma they simply do not need. As when someone says, “that is so gay” referring to a stupid comment or a misdeed it works on the human mind making us see retarded (or gay or what have you) as in league with everything negative in our lives. I was sure you were all already aware of this but the thought continued and what I was truly considering was the effects this has had on the way people talk.
For instance, if a retarded person is walking down the street and someone asks “what’s wrong with him?” a person is likely to answer, “he is mentally handicapped” or if they do say “he’s retarded” they whisper it behind their hand like it is a bad word. Everyone gives words a power manifested of our own prejudices and fears. It bothers me. Being retarded is not a bad thing. I would imagine it would suck, but it does not make someone a “bad” person by default. Being retarded is simply the way you are born. Every negative aspect of a person has to be sugarcoated or talked around instead of acknowledged and accepted. I much prefer to see (and say) things like they are and give nothing more power than deserved. If a woman is ugly she is ugly. She may have the best personality in the world but she’s still ugly. It sucks but that was the way she was born. I suppose I am being judgmental in not accepting everyone is entitled to live their life as they see fit, but is ignorance really bliss? Isn’t it better to know exactly what you are: strengths, weaknesses, assets, and faults included? Maybe not, perhaps ignorance is bliss for the majority of people but when am I allowed to be unhappy with their ignorance because it makes my life more difficult? Where is the line? What is too judgmental? Depending on the time of month I can be very accepting or not at all. Go figure.
Oh well, more useless and shallow thoughts, I hope you have all enjoyed. I will leave you with a bit of advice, something I have found invaluable:
Never date anyone more moody than you are.
And if you aren’t very moody and therefore everyone is more moody than you are then here is this:
Never date anyone who can’t control his or her moods 99% of the time.
Yeah, I’m judgmental. Oops.
The other bit of news I have is that I have begun work on a trashy romance. At least, I think it is going to be a trashy romance…it might end up being a fantasy novel but I doubt it. I’ve had a trashy romance inside of me for a very long time and I think it is about time it came out. I would say I’m sorry to those of you I disappoint with that news…I know some people hate to see me sell myself out like this, but I don’t really consider it to be that. A good story is a good story after all. And I’m stubborn enough to write what I want to, but nobody has to read it (though if a few lonely housewives would that would be great because then I can make money). That probably sounds very mercenary to some of you folks but just remember—I’m living at home with my parents. Be damned happy for me if I make money however it is done.
So I had a thought earlier today, actually it was on the way home very late at night, but you get the drift. It was a very good thought too and I thought “I shall have to blog that” and now you know what? I cannot remember what it was. That really yanks my chain. I was so excited because it was a good thing to share. Perhaps it will come to me.
I did think of this (and maybe this was the thought but I cannot remember to tell you). I made a wrong turn on the way home and I said, “stop being retarded” and it occurred to me I needed to stop using that word in a negative way. Let me explain. No, that will take to long, let me sum up. (Movie reference anyone?) I realized I needed to stop saying I was “being retarded” because it gives mental handicaps a negative stigma they simply do not need. As when someone says, “that is so gay” referring to a stupid comment or a misdeed it works on the human mind making us see retarded (or gay or what have you) as in league with everything negative in our lives. I was sure you were all already aware of this but the thought continued and what I was truly considering was the effects this has had on the way people talk.
For instance, if a retarded person is walking down the street and someone asks “what’s wrong with him?” a person is likely to answer, “he is mentally handicapped” or if they do say “he’s retarded” they whisper it behind their hand like it is a bad word. Everyone gives words a power manifested of our own prejudices and fears. It bothers me. Being retarded is not a bad thing. I would imagine it would suck, but it does not make someone a “bad” person by default. Being retarded is simply the way you are born. Every negative aspect of a person has to be sugarcoated or talked around instead of acknowledged and accepted. I much prefer to see (and say) things like they are and give nothing more power than deserved. If a woman is ugly she is ugly. She may have the best personality in the world but she’s still ugly. It sucks but that was the way she was born. I suppose I am being judgmental in not accepting everyone is entitled to live their life as they see fit, but is ignorance really bliss? Isn’t it better to know exactly what you are: strengths, weaknesses, assets, and faults included? Maybe not, perhaps ignorance is bliss for the majority of people but when am I allowed to be unhappy with their ignorance because it makes my life more difficult? Where is the line? What is too judgmental? Depending on the time of month I can be very accepting or not at all. Go figure.
Oh well, more useless and shallow thoughts, I hope you have all enjoyed. I will leave you with a bit of advice, something I have found invaluable:
Never date anyone more moody than you are.
And if you aren’t very moody and therefore everyone is more moody than you are then here is this:
Never date anyone who can’t control his or her moods 99% of the time.
Yeah, I’m judgmental. Oops.
Sunday, July 06, 2003
I am a terrible person. I have easily one of the best families in the world and I still want to kill them. I have no clue how people live with their parents past the age of 22. That being said how is everyone this evening? I am bored out of my mind. I’m on page 490-something and the damn book still isn’t done. Not that it is a bad book, but sometimes I’m just ready for a story to be over. Next story please. Unfortunately the damn thing just won’t end. It keeps going and going…and energizer bunny with diarrhea.
My mind is slowly eating away at itself…perhaps I should really attempt to apply myself to some fiction writing in an attempt to save my thoughts. The problem is it is impossible to get any real privacy when living with someone else. Even if it is only roommates you love and adore inevitably they will knock on your door and want to chat or cry or gossip or just waste air. With family it’s come do this and come do that. Myself having a semi-overactive guilt reflex (which I’m working on) I feel the need to do these things because, after all, these people did raise me. Unfortunately if I don’t do it with a smile it’s “what’s wrong?” “why are you sad?” “are you okay?”. Everyday I say the same thing. Nothing is wrong, I am not sad and I am fine. I just hate questions. Really, really, really hate questions. At least the idiotic ones, which is painfully ironic since I tend to ask lots and lots of dumb questions but we’ll ignore that for now. Anyone know that annoying and rather irritating saying that has been floating around on forward for years now? The one that says what do you do if the only person that can stop your tears is the one that made you cry? My life has turned into the twisted teen movie version. How do you answer a question happily when the very asking of the question drives you insane? If no one understands why I said teen movie sorry, I’m not sure I could explain it.
I apologize for the pointlessness of this rant. I don’t really have a lot, more boredom than anything else. I suppose I am hoping if I type out a few pointless thoughts for your amusement/revulsion I can jumpstart my brain into producing something productive. Oooh, “producing something productive”. That was a terrible sentence! (Brownie points to whoever knows why.) I can’t even make a few good provocative comments. Ah well, it gets old when all you talk about is the body anyway. Not for me, but I am trying to keep your interests in mind. I have got to find something to do with myself before I implode though. Not explode, to explode would mean I would have to have something inside me with tremendous energy. Nope, I will implode, simply collapse in upon myself like the great black hole I live in. I’ll suck the life out of everyone around me like some many others in this town. That will be fun. I’m on my way to becoming a mindless, soul sucking zombie. It’s good to have goals.
My mind is slowly eating away at itself…perhaps I should really attempt to apply myself to some fiction writing in an attempt to save my thoughts. The problem is it is impossible to get any real privacy when living with someone else. Even if it is only roommates you love and adore inevitably they will knock on your door and want to chat or cry or gossip or just waste air. With family it’s come do this and come do that. Myself having a semi-overactive guilt reflex (which I’m working on) I feel the need to do these things because, after all, these people did raise me. Unfortunately if I don’t do it with a smile it’s “what’s wrong?” “why are you sad?” “are you okay?”. Everyday I say the same thing. Nothing is wrong, I am not sad and I am fine. I just hate questions. Really, really, really hate questions. At least the idiotic ones, which is painfully ironic since I tend to ask lots and lots of dumb questions but we’ll ignore that for now. Anyone know that annoying and rather irritating saying that has been floating around on forward for years now? The one that says what do you do if the only person that can stop your tears is the one that made you cry? My life has turned into the twisted teen movie version. How do you answer a question happily when the very asking of the question drives you insane? If no one understands why I said teen movie sorry, I’m not sure I could explain it.
I apologize for the pointlessness of this rant. I don’t really have a lot, more boredom than anything else. I suppose I am hoping if I type out a few pointless thoughts for your amusement/revulsion I can jumpstart my brain into producing something productive. Oooh, “producing something productive”. That was a terrible sentence! (Brownie points to whoever knows why.) I can’t even make a few good provocative comments. Ah well, it gets old when all you talk about is the body anyway. Not for me, but I am trying to keep your interests in mind. I have got to find something to do with myself before I implode though. Not explode, to explode would mean I would have to have something inside me with tremendous energy. Nope, I will implode, simply collapse in upon myself like the great black hole I live in. I’ll suck the life out of everyone around me like some many others in this town. That will be fun. I’m on my way to becoming a mindless, soul sucking zombie. It’s good to have goals.
Wednesday, July 02, 2003
Ah yes, it has been awhile. For anyone still checking this periodically, good for you! Now, on with the post...
I...am a hopeless romantic. Embarrassingly so as a matter of fact. I just watched an old 80’s flick, “Ladyhawke” and now find myself embroiled muttering some good old fashioned “ooh’s” and “aah’s”. How can I help myself? The main hero is tough and solid but helplessly in love. The heroine is tough and feisty. They defy all odds, kill a lot of people and live happily ever after. If that isn’t a love story I don’t know what is. Makes me want to find a little love of my own. Ah yes.
Okay, I’ll stop wasting everyone’s time now. The only thing worse than watching a couple smooch, grope and coo at each other is listen to a consummate single moon over not having anyone. Therefore, onward we go!
I had my tonsils out. Now there was an experience. I giggled like a mad elf before I passed out from drugs then I woke up crying. Isn’t that interesting? The worst part was, it didn’t hurt that bad. I wasn’t scared. I didn’t hurt. I just couldn’t stop crying. And of course the nurses don’t understand that I simply do not cry for no good reason. They just kept telling me it was all because of the medicine and left me alone. I hear they have a lot of cries after surgery. It pains me to be one of the masses. I fancied myself above such sillyness. Guess not. I did have a delightful conversation with my blood pressure machine though. I thought I heard someone mention something about morphine and wouldn’t know, a few minutes later I had named the machine next to me “William” and we were having a delightful conversation. The next few days were not nearly so entertaining but all in all it wasn’t too bad. I couldn’t talk for three or four days and I was dizzy for five or six, but not too shabby. A week later and I can almost eat and swallow without pain. No blow jobs for another week I think. But just imagine how much easier deep throating will be without tonsils to get in the way! Did I just type that? Oops, anyone who didn’t want to know that just forget those last lines there.
So that is just about all my exciting news. No breakthroughs, no deep thoughts, no epiphanies. I did find employment with another blue collar place for the summer so that is good, but that’s about it. I hope everyone is well and healthy. Have a drink in my honor and watch a chick flick. A little mushiness is good for the soul on occasion.
I...am a hopeless romantic. Embarrassingly so as a matter of fact. I just watched an old 80’s flick, “Ladyhawke” and now find myself embroiled muttering some good old fashioned “ooh’s” and “aah’s”. How can I help myself? The main hero is tough and solid but helplessly in love. The heroine is tough and feisty. They defy all odds, kill a lot of people and live happily ever after. If that isn’t a love story I don’t know what is. Makes me want to find a little love of my own. Ah yes.
Okay, I’ll stop wasting everyone’s time now. The only thing worse than watching a couple smooch, grope and coo at each other is listen to a consummate single moon over not having anyone. Therefore, onward we go!
I had my tonsils out. Now there was an experience. I giggled like a mad elf before I passed out from drugs then I woke up crying. Isn’t that interesting? The worst part was, it didn’t hurt that bad. I wasn’t scared. I didn’t hurt. I just couldn’t stop crying. And of course the nurses don’t understand that I simply do not cry for no good reason. They just kept telling me it was all because of the medicine and left me alone. I hear they have a lot of cries after surgery. It pains me to be one of the masses. I fancied myself above such sillyness. Guess not. I did have a delightful conversation with my blood pressure machine though. I thought I heard someone mention something about morphine and wouldn’t know, a few minutes later I had named the machine next to me “William” and we were having a delightful conversation. The next few days were not nearly so entertaining but all in all it wasn’t too bad. I couldn’t talk for three or four days and I was dizzy for five or six, but not too shabby. A week later and I can almost eat and swallow without pain. No blow jobs for another week I think. But just imagine how much easier deep throating will be without tonsils to get in the way! Did I just type that? Oops, anyone who didn’t want to know that just forget those last lines there.
So that is just about all my exciting news. No breakthroughs, no deep thoughts, no epiphanies. I did find employment with another blue collar place for the summer so that is good, but that’s about it. I hope everyone is well and healthy. Have a drink in my honor and watch a chick flick. A little mushiness is good for the soul on occasion.
Thursday, June 12, 2003
Oh my goodness, we are half way into June already. Maybe not completely half way but damn close. Still no job and not even a prospect. Life is good ain’t it?
So I have found several new addictions, or at least, spins on old addictions. I have relearned my love for books, found some beautiful vampire novels to read. I’m on my third novel in three days, not bad huh? I’m not normally a vampire reader, too clichéd, to angsty, but I find myself very intrigued by these books. The author does a fantastic job of humanizing her, making me care about her characters. That isn’t easy to do. Heaven’s knows I’m still working on it. The books are by Laurell Hamilton and they are the Anita Blake novels if you are wondering.
So how has everyone been? I’ve lost myself to the mindless drudgery that is living at home being unemployed. I read (rarely write) and eat. Seems to be all I do these days. The occasional drumline rehearsal, for which I am eternally thankful, breaks up the monotony but that is just about it. I have the urge to work on a story tonight, I’m going to try to feed that instead of my mouth, maybe something good will come of it. Only time will tell I suppose.
One thing I have certainly learned in my job search, I should have tried for a god damned internship. Things would be so much better! Or I need to go to grad school and get an internship. That might still happen, but in the meantime I would really like to have a job without having to go through more school. I’m not real hopeful about that but let me dream please, I don’t want to accept reality if at all possible. I am still fighting the good fight in the meantime. Doing my darndest to live at home like an adult and not take my irrational annoyances with my parents out on them. Sometimes I just want to leap up and rip their throats out with my bare teeth. Not because they did anything wrong or bad. Just because I’m at home. And it doesn’t look like that’s going to change anytime soon.
And yes, I am a bad person.
On to more happy things…oh yes, that’s right, there aren’t more happy things. Happy things would mean getting laid, or at least a little make-out time with someone who gave a damn. I’ll keep hoping if you keep praying. This is what I want you to do. Go out and find a piece of booty and get off two or three times. Do it for me. Do it for you. Do it because everyone should get off two or three times without having to use a battery or their hand. We deserve it. It’s not going to happen for me so go, save yourself, don’t look back. I’ll be alright.
Oh yeah, and don’t forget the condom ;)
So I have found several new addictions, or at least, spins on old addictions. I have relearned my love for books, found some beautiful vampire novels to read. I’m on my third novel in three days, not bad huh? I’m not normally a vampire reader, too clichéd, to angsty, but I find myself very intrigued by these books. The author does a fantastic job of humanizing her, making me care about her characters. That isn’t easy to do. Heaven’s knows I’m still working on it. The books are by Laurell Hamilton and they are the Anita Blake novels if you are wondering.
So how has everyone been? I’ve lost myself to the mindless drudgery that is living at home being unemployed. I read (rarely write) and eat. Seems to be all I do these days. The occasional drumline rehearsal, for which I am eternally thankful, breaks up the monotony but that is just about it. I have the urge to work on a story tonight, I’m going to try to feed that instead of my mouth, maybe something good will come of it. Only time will tell I suppose.
One thing I have certainly learned in my job search, I should have tried for a god damned internship. Things would be so much better! Or I need to go to grad school and get an internship. That might still happen, but in the meantime I would really like to have a job without having to go through more school. I’m not real hopeful about that but let me dream please, I don’t want to accept reality if at all possible. I am still fighting the good fight in the meantime. Doing my darndest to live at home like an adult and not take my irrational annoyances with my parents out on them. Sometimes I just want to leap up and rip their throats out with my bare teeth. Not because they did anything wrong or bad. Just because I’m at home. And it doesn’t look like that’s going to change anytime soon.
And yes, I am a bad person.
On to more happy things…oh yes, that’s right, there aren’t more happy things. Happy things would mean getting laid, or at least a little make-out time with someone who gave a damn. I’ll keep hoping if you keep praying. This is what I want you to do. Go out and find a piece of booty and get off two or three times. Do it for me. Do it for you. Do it because everyone should get off two or three times without having to use a battery or their hand. We deserve it. It’s not going to happen for me so go, save yourself, don’t look back. I’ll be alright.
Oh yeah, and don’t forget the condom ;)
Oh my goodness, we are half way into June already. Maybe not completely half way but damn close. Still no job and not even a prospect. Life is good ain’t it?
So I have found several new addictions, or at least, spins on old addictions. I have relearned my love for books, found some beautiful vampire novels to read. I’m on my third novel in three days, not bad huh? I’m not normally a vampire reader, too clichéd, to angsty, but I find myself very intrigued by these books. The author does a fantastic job of humanizing her, making me care about her characters. That isn’t easy to do. Heaven’s knows I’m still working on it. The books are by Laurell Hamilton and they are the Anita Blake novels if you are wondering.
So how has everyone been? I’ve lost myself to the mindless drudgery that is living at home being unemployed. I read (rarely write) and eat. Seems to be all I do these days. The occasional drumline rehearsal, for which I am eternally thankful, breaks up the monotony but that is just about it. I have the urge to work on a story tonight, I’m going to try to feed that instead of my mouth, maybe something good will come of it. Only time will tell I suppose.
One thing I have certainly learned in my job search, I should have tried for a god damned internship. Things would be so much better! Or I need to go to grad school and get an internship. That might still happen, but in the meantime I would really like to have a job without having to go through more school. I’m not real hopeful about that but let me dream please, I don’t want to accept reality if at all possible. I am still fighting the good fight in the meantime. Doing my darndest to live at home like an adult and not take my irrational annoyances with my parents out on them. Sometimes I just want to leap up and rip their throats out with my bare teeth. Not because they did anything wrong or bad. Just because I’m at home. And it doesn’t look like that’s going to change anytime soon.
And yes, I am a bad person.
On to more happy things…oh yes, that’s right, there aren’t more happy things. Happy things would mean getting laid, or at least a little make-out time with someone who gave a damn. I’ll keep hoping if you keep praying. This is what I want you to do. Go out and find a piece of booty and get off two or three times. Do it for me. Do it for you. Do it because everyone should get off two or three times without having to use a battery or their hand. We deserve it. It’s not going to happen for me so go, save yourself, don’t look back. I’ll be alright.
Oh yeah, and don’t forget the condom ;)
So I have found several new addictions, or at least, spins on old addictions. I have relearned my love for books, found some beautiful vampire novels to read. I’m on my third novel in three days, not bad huh? I’m not normally a vampire reader, too clichéd, to angsty, but I find myself very intrigued by these books. The author does a fantastic job of humanizing her, making me care about her characters. That isn’t easy to do. Heaven’s knows I’m still working on it. The books are by Laurell Hamilton and they are the Anita Blake novels if you are wondering.
So how has everyone been? I’ve lost myself to the mindless drudgery that is living at home being unemployed. I read (rarely write) and eat. Seems to be all I do these days. The occasional drumline rehearsal, for which I am eternally thankful, breaks up the monotony but that is just about it. I have the urge to work on a story tonight, I’m going to try to feed that instead of my mouth, maybe something good will come of it. Only time will tell I suppose.
One thing I have certainly learned in my job search, I should have tried for a god damned internship. Things would be so much better! Or I need to go to grad school and get an internship. That might still happen, but in the meantime I would really like to have a job without having to go through more school. I’m not real hopeful about that but let me dream please, I don’t want to accept reality if at all possible. I am still fighting the good fight in the meantime. Doing my darndest to live at home like an adult and not take my irrational annoyances with my parents out on them. Sometimes I just want to leap up and rip their throats out with my bare teeth. Not because they did anything wrong or bad. Just because I’m at home. And it doesn’t look like that’s going to change anytime soon.
And yes, I am a bad person.
On to more happy things…oh yes, that’s right, there aren’t more happy things. Happy things would mean getting laid, or at least a little make-out time with someone who gave a damn. I’ll keep hoping if you keep praying. This is what I want you to do. Go out and find a piece of booty and get off two or three times. Do it for me. Do it for you. Do it because everyone should get off two or three times without having to use a battery or their hand. We deserve it. It’s not going to happen for me so go, save yourself, don’t look back. I’ll be alright.
Oh yeah, and don’t forget the condom ;)
Tuesday, June 03, 2003
I am so terribly sorry it has taken me over a week to blog. I know I left this on a very…strong note with the last post. I’m not apologizing mind you, but I hate to not follow up something so personal with something more idiotic and lighthearted. Don’t ask why, even I don’t understand me. So where to begin?
I haven’t had any deep thoughts lately to speak of. The longer I am out of school the more my mind goes numb. Perhaps it is the disgusting amount of comic books I find myself reading; perhaps it is the effect of being in Mac-town without a god damn thing to do. I don’t know. I do know I need a job, desperately. At this point I would work at Neiman’s (a grocery store in town for those of you just tuning in). My only real revelation is that I want to marry Batman. My cousin and I discussed this. What wouldn’t be perfect about that?
Batman is most certainly a manly-man—he can kick ass without showing off but has that deep-rooted angst thing going for him (which all girls melt over). You know if he loved you he would never let anything happen to you and a person wouldn’t have to worry about him not coming home at night because he’s Batman. Batman does not get killed. Captured, shot, beat up, but never killed. He always makes it back in the end. He’s smart (being a detective and all) he’s hot (that body, with the things he has to do physically?) and let’s face it, everyone knows he’s great in bed. The man is quite possibly the greatest detective to ever live. I would bet money he would know how to show a girl a good time. I want to marry Batman. If not marry; at least have an illicit affair with. Mmmm…*daydreaming*. Sorry, couldn’t help myself.
Ah yes, aside from *ahem* daydreaming about comic book characters the only other news in my life is that I finally had my sleep study. Probably I don’t have sleep apnea, but I did get to spend the night in a hospital bed hooked up to all kinds of wonderful machines. I had more electrodes on me than Michael Jackson has had surgeries. The damn things hurt when they peel them off too. Then they tell me to sleep naturally. How does a person sleep naturally when they’re covered in wires that inhibit movement? Not to mention the lady had to keep coming in and waking me up because I thrash like a mad person in my sleep (I could have told you that) and kept knocking shit off. Oh well, such is the way of things, the way of the force. I will of course let you know if I get to have my tonsils out. Granted, how I sleep has nothing to do with the fact I can’t swallow my food so maybe I’ll have them out anyway, but that remains to be seen. Well, visions of Batman are dancing in my head so I’m off to read. Have a marvelous day and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Of course, don’t do anything I would either.
I haven’t had any deep thoughts lately to speak of. The longer I am out of school the more my mind goes numb. Perhaps it is the disgusting amount of comic books I find myself reading; perhaps it is the effect of being in Mac-town without a god damn thing to do. I don’t know. I do know I need a job, desperately. At this point I would work at Neiman’s (a grocery store in town for those of you just tuning in). My only real revelation is that I want to marry Batman. My cousin and I discussed this. What wouldn’t be perfect about that?
Batman is most certainly a manly-man—he can kick ass without showing off but has that deep-rooted angst thing going for him (which all girls melt over). You know if he loved you he would never let anything happen to you and a person wouldn’t have to worry about him not coming home at night because he’s Batman. Batman does not get killed. Captured, shot, beat up, but never killed. He always makes it back in the end. He’s smart (being a detective and all) he’s hot (that body, with the things he has to do physically?) and let’s face it, everyone knows he’s great in bed. The man is quite possibly the greatest detective to ever live. I would bet money he would know how to show a girl a good time. I want to marry Batman. If not marry; at least have an illicit affair with. Mmmm…*daydreaming*. Sorry, couldn’t help myself.
Ah yes, aside from *ahem* daydreaming about comic book characters the only other news in my life is that I finally had my sleep study. Probably I don’t have sleep apnea, but I did get to spend the night in a hospital bed hooked up to all kinds of wonderful machines. I had more electrodes on me than Michael Jackson has had surgeries. The damn things hurt when they peel them off too. Then they tell me to sleep naturally. How does a person sleep naturally when they’re covered in wires that inhibit movement? Not to mention the lady had to keep coming in and waking me up because I thrash like a mad person in my sleep (I could have told you that) and kept knocking shit off. Oh well, such is the way of things, the way of the force. I will of course let you know if I get to have my tonsils out. Granted, how I sleep has nothing to do with the fact I can’t swallow my food so maybe I’ll have them out anyway, but that remains to be seen. Well, visions of Batman are dancing in my head so I’m off to read. Have a marvelous day and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Of course, don’t do anything I would either.
Sunday, May 25, 2003
I had my first Hooters experience this weekend. I don’t think I would care to enter that establishment ever again. Not because the food was bad, it was in fact quite tasty, but because I have never felt like less of a human being and more like a malformed object.
I almost hate to harp on it. The subject is so old, so overdone. If I don’t like the restaurant I’m just a prude, I have no sense of humor. After all, it’s only a restaurant right? No, not right at all. It wasn’t something I could bring up at dinner. There was no point to starting the argument, and I did enter the establishment knowing what it was. All it would have done was ruin what was a perfectly fine time amongst friends. Except I felt dirty, under appreciated and, above all, objectified. There was no way to “know” what that restaurant was. How do you explain the feeling of objectification to someone who has no concept of the idea? How do you make mentally stable, heterosexual, white males understand that forgetting a woman is a person isn’t funny? They understand being harassed, or discriminated; they have experienced those situations. Many have felt some pressure concerning their appearance. But they have no concept of what it is to walk down the street and know that every man is immediately making judgments about who you are based on nothing but your appearance. They have never entered a room and seen eyes immediately scorn their too large ass then light up upon viewing a friend’s much slender frame.
Some would say they know those feelings. Some would argue they have had to listen to women oogle men as they walk by. Isn’t that the same? No, it isn’t. There are some similarities. I am guilty of appreciating a man loudly if he is attractive. But I don’t judge. I don’t make assumptions about his personality. While not all men do, it is still a very, very prevalent trait in our society.
If a woman wears too much make up and skimpy clothing she is a whore or ho. If she wears too much clothing and not enough make up she is a prude and boring. If she cuts her hair and wears no make up she is a dike. Men can wear whatever they want; however they want. At most they’ll be called a fag, but if he’s big and strong (or has big and strong friends) he can proclaim that he just wants to do his thing and he is lauded for it. A woman is only judged. Over and over again all because of how she looks.
I’m tired of it. I’m tired of biting my tongue in a restaurant like Hooters because my friends can’t understand why it is incredibly insulting and that while I knew what the restaurant was based on I should still be allowed my outrage. I’m tired of fighting a battle every time I meet someone new. Having to prove to them that just because I’m fat does not mean I am a lazy, nonsexual slob. I’m tired of watching men drool over boobs and short skirts while simultaneously calling them whores but also demanding everyone look that way. Anyone who doesn’t is condemned to be “one of the guys”. Fuck that. Why can’t I just be a woman? My own woman? Why do I have to be a girly-girl or a tomboy? Why can’t I just be me? Why do I have to explain that I don’t like Hooters because every second of every moment I was in there I knew, KNEW, I was being compared and judged to the waitresses. It bothers me that those girls can so easily be forgotten as people, remembered instead as tits and ass.
I will catch shit for this ranting. I know that even as I write it. I’m a feminazi now, some lesser form of woman that can’t be happy and hates men. Well fuck that too. I can be happy, but not with a world where equal pay is NOT a reality and men think with their dicks so often eating disorders still mar the bodies of the young. If that means I’m labeled a lesbian feminazi so be it. I’ll die happy with my vibrator for company, but I will not keep quiet. I will not look the other way. It isn’t right. Objectification is not right. Whether you are male looking at female or female looking at male or any combination thereof. Appreciation is fine. Forgetting they are a person, not fine. If my friends disown me and I only attract women in camouflage then I guess that’s the price I pay. But I cannot stand idly by while these problems persist. Because they are problems and they are real. Just because you don’t want to believe it, just because it doesn’t affect you directly right now doesn’t change the reality. What about when you have a daughter one day? What about a sister or a cousin or a friend? Do you want this for them? Do you want a world that doesn’t let you be what you want to be? That simultaneously demands purity while scoffing virgins? Is that right? Everyone should be allowed to be the best person they can be, physically and mentally. If that means you’re a size 8 or 18 so be it, so long as you can do what you want to do and are happy. When will that be enough? When will we stop judging and just live? Who are you to judge another person? If s/he has not and is not hurting you what right do you have?
I would apologize for offending, but I’m not sorry. I won’t be. I can’t be. This is how I feel because it is real. I refuse to apologize. I refuse to accept my place in society as the fat white girl who is one of the guys. If that’s all I get fuck it. I’ll take my vibrator and go play by myself.
I almost hate to harp on it. The subject is so old, so overdone. If I don’t like the restaurant I’m just a prude, I have no sense of humor. After all, it’s only a restaurant right? No, not right at all. It wasn’t something I could bring up at dinner. There was no point to starting the argument, and I did enter the establishment knowing what it was. All it would have done was ruin what was a perfectly fine time amongst friends. Except I felt dirty, under appreciated and, above all, objectified. There was no way to “know” what that restaurant was. How do you explain the feeling of objectification to someone who has no concept of the idea? How do you make mentally stable, heterosexual, white males understand that forgetting a woman is a person isn’t funny? They understand being harassed, or discriminated; they have experienced those situations. Many have felt some pressure concerning their appearance. But they have no concept of what it is to walk down the street and know that every man is immediately making judgments about who you are based on nothing but your appearance. They have never entered a room and seen eyes immediately scorn their too large ass then light up upon viewing a friend’s much slender frame.
Some would say they know those feelings. Some would argue they have had to listen to women oogle men as they walk by. Isn’t that the same? No, it isn’t. There are some similarities. I am guilty of appreciating a man loudly if he is attractive. But I don’t judge. I don’t make assumptions about his personality. While not all men do, it is still a very, very prevalent trait in our society.
If a woman wears too much make up and skimpy clothing she is a whore or ho. If she wears too much clothing and not enough make up she is a prude and boring. If she cuts her hair and wears no make up she is a dike. Men can wear whatever they want; however they want. At most they’ll be called a fag, but if he’s big and strong (or has big and strong friends) he can proclaim that he just wants to do his thing and he is lauded for it. A woman is only judged. Over and over again all because of how she looks.
I’m tired of it. I’m tired of biting my tongue in a restaurant like Hooters because my friends can’t understand why it is incredibly insulting and that while I knew what the restaurant was based on I should still be allowed my outrage. I’m tired of fighting a battle every time I meet someone new. Having to prove to them that just because I’m fat does not mean I am a lazy, nonsexual slob. I’m tired of watching men drool over boobs and short skirts while simultaneously calling them whores but also demanding everyone look that way. Anyone who doesn’t is condemned to be “one of the guys”. Fuck that. Why can’t I just be a woman? My own woman? Why do I have to be a girly-girl or a tomboy? Why can’t I just be me? Why do I have to explain that I don’t like Hooters because every second of every moment I was in there I knew, KNEW, I was being compared and judged to the waitresses. It bothers me that those girls can so easily be forgotten as people, remembered instead as tits and ass.
I will catch shit for this ranting. I know that even as I write it. I’m a feminazi now, some lesser form of woman that can’t be happy and hates men. Well fuck that too. I can be happy, but not with a world where equal pay is NOT a reality and men think with their dicks so often eating disorders still mar the bodies of the young. If that means I’m labeled a lesbian feminazi so be it. I’ll die happy with my vibrator for company, but I will not keep quiet. I will not look the other way. It isn’t right. Objectification is not right. Whether you are male looking at female or female looking at male or any combination thereof. Appreciation is fine. Forgetting they are a person, not fine. If my friends disown me and I only attract women in camouflage then I guess that’s the price I pay. But I cannot stand idly by while these problems persist. Because they are problems and they are real. Just because you don’t want to believe it, just because it doesn’t affect you directly right now doesn’t change the reality. What about when you have a daughter one day? What about a sister or a cousin or a friend? Do you want this for them? Do you want a world that doesn’t let you be what you want to be? That simultaneously demands purity while scoffing virgins? Is that right? Everyone should be allowed to be the best person they can be, physically and mentally. If that means you’re a size 8 or 18 so be it, so long as you can do what you want to do and are happy. When will that be enough? When will we stop judging and just live? Who are you to judge another person? If s/he has not and is not hurting you what right do you have?
I would apologize for offending, but I’m not sorry. I won’t be. I can’t be. This is how I feel because it is real. I refuse to apologize. I refuse to accept my place in society as the fat white girl who is one of the guys. If that’s all I get fuck it. I’ll take my vibrator and go play by myself.
Thursday, May 22, 2003
You are what you love, not what loves you.
~Adaptation
Wow, those are great words I think. I just watched that film for the first time tonight; I highly suggest it to anyone who hasn’t seen it. Some won’t appreciate it. Some will love it. I don’t think I can put it into words yet; it is simply something that must be seen and decided by one’s self.
I’m ready for a job, ready to write, more ready, perhaps, than ever before in my life. But the economy does not agree with me. I have sent out a story to friends for the first round of criticism. There comes a point with a story that you cannot fathom how to fix it. You know there are problems. They stare you in the eye, daring you to fix them. But for the life of you it is impossible to figure out what must be done. As the author you know what you are striving for and that constantly overshadows what you see in front of you. At that point you simply have to let friends read it, suffer the blow to the ego that will undoubtedly accompany their criticism the best you can and move on. I think perhaps it is a disillusionment of sorts when people realize stories aren’t birthed from the mind whole and perfect. An idea is there, a hope, and you write towards that. You try to capture it on paper but it fails, over and over again. A friend of mine once said this to me, “It isn’t hard to write the story. That’s just shitting all over the page. The hard part is fixing it, making it good.” He put it in perspective for me. I always knew my stories could be great if I worked on them, but I never saw it through. I got the idea on paper, out of my head and cut myself off from it. I love my imagination, it’s seen me through some very rough times and having the story thought out was enough for me. But now I want more. Now I want it to help someone else. I want to write for others.
Another friend once told me it was bullshit to write for anyone but myself. Not his exact words but the idea I think. The conversation was halted before a true debate ensued so I’ll say right now I might be warping his thoughts but that isn’t the point. The point is that some people believe that. They believe it about any art, any thing. To compose, music, literature, or art, or to compete for anyone other than you is faulty. A waste of time. I disagree. I disagree strongly. A person should live for what they want to live. If it’s other people than so be it. If it’s yourself, even better. It isn’t what you live for—it’s simply that you live. Not enough people live anymore. They hide behind cynicism and big words and forget that sometimes, simpler is better. Sometimes being your own person isn’t all that much fun. Company can be entertaining.
Some have never been their own person. They are at the other end of the spectrum having only lived for others. They don’t know what it is to self indulge because all their life, joy was wrought from making other people happy. It is all about the middle of the road. If you stay in the middle of the road you never fall off into the ditch. You never careen down into the ravine. In the middle of the road it’s always safe and smooth, minus a few potholes. There is never any danger of going over the edge.
A person must first find what makes them happy. What can you love more than anyone else? What do you think about when you dream? Or what do you wish you could dream about? Not another person. It cannot have anything to do with another person. To be of use to other people you must first be of use to yourself. To be of use to yourself you must first be able to survive, happily, alone. That means you have to know yourself. You have to know what it is you love. What do you strive for? What do you want to be when you grow up? And growing up is never done until you’re dead.
While you work towards that, while you sweat and strain to reach that goal everything else is filler. It isn’t necessary that you attain that goal; it is necessary that you have it. As long as you know what it is you want than you discover everything you need to get it. While you discover everything you need to get it you find wonderful little things along the way that help pass the time on your journey. Then, and only then, are you of use to other people. Because now you can be happy on your own striving for your own goal, or you can be happy with them helping them reach theirs. But when they drain you, when you are tired of them you can step back and retreat to your place, to your dreams. That is the key. Your dreams rejuvenate you. Striving to make yourself a better person for purely selfish reasons keeps you balanced that you can be there for others when they need you. That way you can always be there for others because you haven’t burned out.
Writing and music are my dreams. I do them inherently for me. I write a story to affect people, provoke a reaction. I perform to inspire people, entertain. But ultimately it is for me, even though the intent is to affect them. By affecting them I fulfill my own personal, selfish dream. We are at heart selfish. That isn’t a bad thing. The key is to understand the selfishness. Know how much is needed to survive and maintain sanity. That way you can help others at no real cost to yourself. It makes you happy to help others so the act is in fact selfish not selfless. But making helping them is what you’re doing so the selfish act seems selfless. Everyone goes home happy. Isn’t that better than destroying yourself for people you end up hating in the end?
Life is easier when you love it.
~Adaptation
Wow, those are great words I think. I just watched that film for the first time tonight; I highly suggest it to anyone who hasn’t seen it. Some won’t appreciate it. Some will love it. I don’t think I can put it into words yet; it is simply something that must be seen and decided by one’s self.
I’m ready for a job, ready to write, more ready, perhaps, than ever before in my life. But the economy does not agree with me. I have sent out a story to friends for the first round of criticism. There comes a point with a story that you cannot fathom how to fix it. You know there are problems. They stare you in the eye, daring you to fix them. But for the life of you it is impossible to figure out what must be done. As the author you know what you are striving for and that constantly overshadows what you see in front of you. At that point you simply have to let friends read it, suffer the blow to the ego that will undoubtedly accompany their criticism the best you can and move on. I think perhaps it is a disillusionment of sorts when people realize stories aren’t birthed from the mind whole and perfect. An idea is there, a hope, and you write towards that. You try to capture it on paper but it fails, over and over again. A friend of mine once said this to me, “It isn’t hard to write the story. That’s just shitting all over the page. The hard part is fixing it, making it good.” He put it in perspective for me. I always knew my stories could be great if I worked on them, but I never saw it through. I got the idea on paper, out of my head and cut myself off from it. I love my imagination, it’s seen me through some very rough times and having the story thought out was enough for me. But now I want more. Now I want it to help someone else. I want to write for others.
Another friend once told me it was bullshit to write for anyone but myself. Not his exact words but the idea I think. The conversation was halted before a true debate ensued so I’ll say right now I might be warping his thoughts but that isn’t the point. The point is that some people believe that. They believe it about any art, any thing. To compose, music, literature, or art, or to compete for anyone other than you is faulty. A waste of time. I disagree. I disagree strongly. A person should live for what they want to live. If it’s other people than so be it. If it’s yourself, even better. It isn’t what you live for—it’s simply that you live. Not enough people live anymore. They hide behind cynicism and big words and forget that sometimes, simpler is better. Sometimes being your own person isn’t all that much fun. Company can be entertaining.
Some have never been their own person. They are at the other end of the spectrum having only lived for others. They don’t know what it is to self indulge because all their life, joy was wrought from making other people happy. It is all about the middle of the road. If you stay in the middle of the road you never fall off into the ditch. You never careen down into the ravine. In the middle of the road it’s always safe and smooth, minus a few potholes. There is never any danger of going over the edge.
A person must first find what makes them happy. What can you love more than anyone else? What do you think about when you dream? Or what do you wish you could dream about? Not another person. It cannot have anything to do with another person. To be of use to other people you must first be of use to yourself. To be of use to yourself you must first be able to survive, happily, alone. That means you have to know yourself. You have to know what it is you love. What do you strive for? What do you want to be when you grow up? And growing up is never done until you’re dead.
While you work towards that, while you sweat and strain to reach that goal everything else is filler. It isn’t necessary that you attain that goal; it is necessary that you have it. As long as you know what it is you want than you discover everything you need to get it. While you discover everything you need to get it you find wonderful little things along the way that help pass the time on your journey. Then, and only then, are you of use to other people. Because now you can be happy on your own striving for your own goal, or you can be happy with them helping them reach theirs. But when they drain you, when you are tired of them you can step back and retreat to your place, to your dreams. That is the key. Your dreams rejuvenate you. Striving to make yourself a better person for purely selfish reasons keeps you balanced that you can be there for others when they need you. That way you can always be there for others because you haven’t burned out.
Writing and music are my dreams. I do them inherently for me. I write a story to affect people, provoke a reaction. I perform to inspire people, entertain. But ultimately it is for me, even though the intent is to affect them. By affecting them I fulfill my own personal, selfish dream. We are at heart selfish. That isn’t a bad thing. The key is to understand the selfishness. Know how much is needed to survive and maintain sanity. That way you can help others at no real cost to yourself. It makes you happy to help others so the act is in fact selfish not selfless. But making helping them is what you’re doing so the selfish act seems selfless. Everyone goes home happy. Isn’t that better than destroying yourself for people you end up hating in the end?
Life is easier when you love it.
Tuesday, May 20, 2003
So I spent $58 dollars on comic books today. I never cease to amaze myself with my foolish ways. I can’t help it; comic book heroes are just too damn studly. I also went for a walk somewhere in the neighborhood of four miles, I am particularly proud of that. Not that walking four miles is a great accomplishment, but when all a person has done since graduation is sit on her ass and read comic books, walking is a very good thing. I’m still waiting for the pill that makes my double chin go away—I think I could deal with the ass and thighs if my chin would just shrink. It’s the little things in life.
So this month looks to be particularly interesting as far as mood swings go. I am definitely looking forward to the rest of the week. The further into my cycle I get the greater the chance of a bitchy response when talked to. My poor mother, this is why living at home is not a good thing. I mean honestly, who better to set a girl’s PMS off than her mother? She always wants to tell me what to do while I’m in the middle of a comic book. I don’t do a damn thing 90% of the day, talk to me then, not while I’m sleeping or reading. I know my life is so tough.
And yes, that was sarcasm for all the relatively slow people out there.
Ah, see? I’m even a bitch in the blog. You have my sincerest apologies.
Months like this I want my own mansion complete with indoor/outdoor pools, hiking trails, stables, and state of the art computer lab. And maybe a harem full of handsome men that gave great massages.
That’s not too much to ask is it?
So this month looks to be particularly interesting as far as mood swings go. I am definitely looking forward to the rest of the week. The further into my cycle I get the greater the chance of a bitchy response when talked to. My poor mother, this is why living at home is not a good thing. I mean honestly, who better to set a girl’s PMS off than her mother? She always wants to tell me what to do while I’m in the middle of a comic book. I don’t do a damn thing 90% of the day, talk to me then, not while I’m sleeping or reading. I know my life is so tough.
And yes, that was sarcasm for all the relatively slow people out there.
Ah, see? I’m even a bitch in the blog. You have my sincerest apologies.
Months like this I want my own mansion complete with indoor/outdoor pools, hiking trails, stables, and state of the art computer lab. And maybe a harem full of handsome men that gave great massages.
That’s not too much to ask is it?
Sunday, May 18, 2003
I hate it when I am a whiny snatch. Not to be crude, but sometimes the crude description is the best. I hate to lose emotion because of propriety. Let me explain. In my last entry (I believe) I harped about a teacher writing me a not nice note. Upon reevaluating the situation, as painful as it really is I would have to thank her instead of being irritated with her. I never reached angry, but I was certainly affected. It was a good thing. Every now and then it’s good to have your ass handed to you, even if all the whooping isn’t totally deserved. I think a general ass kicking with or without validation is good for the soul. Keeps a person balanced.
Here is the problem with modern society. Everyone pussyfoots around everyone else and is so scared of saying the wrong thing nothing ever gets said. What does get said is so watered-down and tactful that the real emotion behind the words, the very thing the speaker is trying to communicate is lost. The general idea might make it across but not the specific. No one says, “You are a fucking asshole and need to stop stroking your cock.” Instead it’s “hey, that wasn’t cool man.” Granted the first quote might make an appearance in an argument but that isn’t the time for such a statement. Arguments are the time to think things through, be very careful what you say since emotions are out of control and thoughts lose all logic. In every day conversation bluntness is wonderful. It might catch people off guard, it might even offend them, but there is never any confusion where you stand.
I’ve found there are two types of people where bluntness is concerned. Type A) gets in a huff, completely ignores what you are telling them and concentrates instead on how you are telling them. For these people such bluntness is useless unless you’re looking for a good show. Type B) is another situation entirely. These people might be offended at first, but come to their senses within a marginal amount of time. You can always rely on them to think through what has been said and come to a decent conclusion concerning it. I fall into type B. It is a definite possibility I will bite your head off if confronted with such bluntness, but after a bit of pondering I will come to my own conclusion and have one hell of a discussion with you. I do, in fact, appreciate in the end. The letter, while mildly offensive and certainly blunt, did one very spectacular thing for me: it made me think. Whether I agree with her or not is inconsequential. What matters is that she told it to me how she saw fit, no catering to my thoughts, no tactfulness, just good old fashioned, no Vaseline ass-rape. I can respect that. It made me consider aspects of my life. It made me look at my writing in a new way. It made me refuse to settle for “okay”. I might still give her a fuck you, but a thank you is definitely close on its heels.
Here is the problem with modern society. Everyone pussyfoots around everyone else and is so scared of saying the wrong thing nothing ever gets said. What does get said is so watered-down and tactful that the real emotion behind the words, the very thing the speaker is trying to communicate is lost. The general idea might make it across but not the specific. No one says, “You are a fucking asshole and need to stop stroking your cock.” Instead it’s “hey, that wasn’t cool man.” Granted the first quote might make an appearance in an argument but that isn’t the time for such a statement. Arguments are the time to think things through, be very careful what you say since emotions are out of control and thoughts lose all logic. In every day conversation bluntness is wonderful. It might catch people off guard, it might even offend them, but there is never any confusion where you stand.
I’ve found there are two types of people where bluntness is concerned. Type A) gets in a huff, completely ignores what you are telling them and concentrates instead on how you are telling them. For these people such bluntness is useless unless you’re looking for a good show. Type B) is another situation entirely. These people might be offended at first, but come to their senses within a marginal amount of time. You can always rely on them to think through what has been said and come to a decent conclusion concerning it. I fall into type B. It is a definite possibility I will bite your head off if confronted with such bluntness, but after a bit of pondering I will come to my own conclusion and have one hell of a discussion with you. I do, in fact, appreciate in the end. The letter, while mildly offensive and certainly blunt, did one very spectacular thing for me: it made me think. Whether I agree with her or not is inconsequential. What matters is that she told it to me how she saw fit, no catering to my thoughts, no tactfulness, just good old fashioned, no Vaseline ass-rape. I can respect that. It made me consider aspects of my life. It made me look at my writing in a new way. It made me refuse to settle for “okay”. I might still give her a fuck you, but a thank you is definitely close on its heels.
Friday, May 16, 2003
So I have officially been torn another asshole. It was to be expected I suppose—a person never really knows how they are doing until someone replies no holds barred, but I’m not sure that eases the pain. Well, there isn’t any pain to speak of because I know it is all a matter of opinion. Let me explain.
I would like to be a writer (for those of you who haven’t figured that out yet). As such I write stories; recently I wrote a story for class. Our final portfolio consisted of turning in 10,000 + words in any form we wished. I chose one large story. We could include a SASE that our teacher might offer us a reply on what she thought, reply to us as an editor if you will. I received my reply today and boy, did she not like it.
It was amazing really. Maybe the most honest reply I have yet to receive regarding one of my stories, except no one seemed to hate it as much as she did. For that reason I am not overly distraught, she freely admits she doesn’t like genre fiction and since my story is heavily genre fiction I can delude myself into thinking that has something to do with it. Unfortunately, I am a firm believer that I should write well enough everyone should appreciate it even if they don’t like the story. I obviously failed that goal. But I have to thank her for the critique. It was refreshingly honest. She said, “I hated your story.” I can’t fault that. The part I can fault was her attempt to tell me what sort of person I am but hey, that’s all right. She was right (which says something for her powers of perception) but she has no clue that I already know everything she said. I’m a big fan of knowing myself. Helps cut down on surprises. I suppose it is the pedantry with which she wrote the letter—assuming she was telling me because she was the only one with balls enough to do so and I would never realize any of this on my own. Oh well, it was good of her to do so. If I ever forget my faults I now have a written record of them.
So now there is really only one thing left to do. Keep working on writing and send out to magazines. If all the editors hate my work as much as she does I can take that as a sign. But, somehow, I get the feeling that opinions will range far and wide. That, if nothing else, is a good reason to just say fuck you.
I would like to be a writer (for those of you who haven’t figured that out yet). As such I write stories; recently I wrote a story for class. Our final portfolio consisted of turning in 10,000 + words in any form we wished. I chose one large story. We could include a SASE that our teacher might offer us a reply on what she thought, reply to us as an editor if you will. I received my reply today and boy, did she not like it.
It was amazing really. Maybe the most honest reply I have yet to receive regarding one of my stories, except no one seemed to hate it as much as she did. For that reason I am not overly distraught, she freely admits she doesn’t like genre fiction and since my story is heavily genre fiction I can delude myself into thinking that has something to do with it. Unfortunately, I am a firm believer that I should write well enough everyone should appreciate it even if they don’t like the story. I obviously failed that goal. But I have to thank her for the critique. It was refreshingly honest. She said, “I hated your story.” I can’t fault that. The part I can fault was her attempt to tell me what sort of person I am but hey, that’s all right. She was right (which says something for her powers of perception) but she has no clue that I already know everything she said. I’m a big fan of knowing myself. Helps cut down on surprises. I suppose it is the pedantry with which she wrote the letter—assuming she was telling me because she was the only one with balls enough to do so and I would never realize any of this on my own. Oh well, it was good of her to do so. If I ever forget my faults I now have a written record of them.
So now there is really only one thing left to do. Keep working on writing and send out to magazines. If all the editors hate my work as much as she does I can take that as a sign. But, somehow, I get the feeling that opinions will range far and wide. That, if nothing else, is a good reason to just say fuck you.
Wednesday, May 14, 2003
Well, drunken debauchery is an excellent way to avoid the parents. My mom took it very well when I stumbled in the door at 11:30 in the morning…not wearing my clothes. Granted I had only borrowed a t-shirt to wear while sleeping on the couch but you know. It certainly didn’t look good. Not even a word, though. I was definitely impressed. Ah! I spelled “definitely” correctly the first try. For anyone reading this who cares a big ha-ha to you! Ah yes, if only my life were half as exciting as I made it out to be. Don’t let anyone know it’s not if you wouldn’t mind, would ruin the reputation.
So I think now is a good time to restate the aforementioned tragedy of moving back home: I’m never getting laid.
I have been surprisingly productive; I’ve applied to several jobs. I even sent a resume over night for a job that a friend was kind enough to apprise me of. My hopes are certainly not high, but at least I’m trying. Now I can say I’m a bum with great intentions. So I had some fantastic thoughts and they all went away. I guess I will have to share them some other night. Dammit, Dave just came on (Dave Matthews for those of you who don’t get the shorthand). I used to hate Dave but I’ve found a little appreciation for him. Many of his lyrics are quite spectacular. I hate all the radio songs, though, go figure. The problem with Dave playing, though (which was where I was going with this thought) was that it does not help calm the sexual drive. For any gentleman reading this let it be known Dave Matthews Band might help you get some booty you don’t deserve. Remember that.
Alright, I’m done rambling. Yeah right.
So I think now is a good time to restate the aforementioned tragedy of moving back home: I’m never getting laid.
I have been surprisingly productive; I’ve applied to several jobs. I even sent a resume over night for a job that a friend was kind enough to apprise me of. My hopes are certainly not high, but at least I’m trying. Now I can say I’m a bum with great intentions. So I had some fantastic thoughts and they all went away. I guess I will have to share them some other night. Dammit, Dave just came on (Dave Matthews for those of you who don’t get the shorthand). I used to hate Dave but I’ve found a little appreciation for him. Many of his lyrics are quite spectacular. I hate all the radio songs, though, go figure. The problem with Dave playing, though (which was where I was going with this thought) was that it does not help calm the sexual drive. For any gentleman reading this let it be known Dave Matthews Band might help you get some booty you don’t deserve. Remember that.
Alright, I’m done rambling. Yeah right.
Sunday, May 11, 2003
Ah yes, I have officially moved back home. Not even a full day and I’m already itching to get out. This is not good. Please don’t misunderstand—I love my parents and personally, I think they might be the best parents a kid could have. However, it isn’t easy for any child to move home after two years (never visiting more then three days). There are the aforementioned perks, dishwasher, washer/dryer combination (for free I might add) but there is also having to ask to use the car, having to weather the “are you going to come home drunk?” looks (and some times talks). The real annoyance though, at least for the moment, is that I don’t have anywhere to put anything. My room is officially computer nerd heaven (computer, tv/vcr, playstation 2 all close together) and I still have more stuff. Books and CDs and posters and pictures and knickknacks and shit and shit and shit.
Alright, I’m better now.
I have to take this time to state this though: my parents are fantastic people and certainly not as horrible as others. While I do have to weather the “are you drinking” looks and the “oh my daughter is a ho” looks they still let me do my thing with a minimum of fuss. I really can’t argue with that.
Now if I could just find a way to get laid…oh wait, any random relatives reading this ignore that. Ah-ha, I made a funny. So I think I shall continue finding homes for my mountains of junk. I wouldn’t be a pack rat except it’s all got so much damn sentimental value attached. And everyone gets so fussy if you don’t display their gift.
Wait, I’m bitching because I friends that give me stuff…yeah I’m going to go not be dumb now.
Alright, I’m better now.
I have to take this time to state this though: my parents are fantastic people and certainly not as horrible as others. While I do have to weather the “are you drinking” looks and the “oh my daughter is a ho” looks they still let me do my thing with a minimum of fuss. I really can’t argue with that.
Now if I could just find a way to get laid…oh wait, any random relatives reading this ignore that. Ah-ha, I made a funny. So I think I shall continue finding homes for my mountains of junk. I wouldn’t be a pack rat except it’s all got so much damn sentimental value attached. And everyone gets so fussy if you don’t display their gift.
Wait, I’m bitching because I friends that give me stuff…yeah I’m going to go not be dumb now.
Thursday, May 08, 2003
Ah, the week comes to a close and with it my college life. A part of me is so ready to be done, I have two more papers to write before all my work is finished. But another part of me is sad to see it go. I had a marvelous night of random tears Tuesday. It was very female of me, but I make no apologies. I've never been more scared than I am right now. There is no thought more depressing than to move back home with my parents where I will be unemployed for who knows how long. Lord help us all.
It struck me yesterday why exactly I am frightened. I am now forced into action. No longer may I dwaddle around in Mac-town, dreams of fame and fortune floating around my head, without really working towards anything. Now I have to either try to make something of myself or truly become a loser. I have decided to try and make something of myself, have in fact worked very hard on my writing in an attempt to do something with it. If it fails I don't know what I will do. Writing is one thing I always thought I could do, naive perhaps, but true all the same. If I fail what will I do with myself? What job will I pursue? Will I stay in Mac-town forever? That is unacceptable. I refuse to allow myself to dwindle away into obscurity, but I suppose what is keeping me awake is the fear I will have no choice.
I had a nice surprise, though, I recieved an almost compliment from a friend whose opinion I highly regard where writing is concerned. He was kind enough to critique a story for me and didn't absolutely hate it, I'm mildly hopeful about that. The realist in me knows I will never know how good or bad I am until I start sending things out, trying to be published. What a rude awakening to find out you are as mundane as everyone around you. I can only hope that will not be the case.
Well I've rambled something fierce...I didn't even really have anything important to say, but I felt like writing anyhow. In truth I should be working on my papers so perhaps it is time I do that. In the words of Bob Ross "thank you and god bless."
p.s. I know I can't spell!
It struck me yesterday why exactly I am frightened. I am now forced into action. No longer may I dwaddle around in Mac-town, dreams of fame and fortune floating around my head, without really working towards anything. Now I have to either try to make something of myself or truly become a loser. I have decided to try and make something of myself, have in fact worked very hard on my writing in an attempt to do something with it. If it fails I don't know what I will do. Writing is one thing I always thought I could do, naive perhaps, but true all the same. If I fail what will I do with myself? What job will I pursue? Will I stay in Mac-town forever? That is unacceptable. I refuse to allow myself to dwindle away into obscurity, but I suppose what is keeping me awake is the fear I will have no choice.
I had a nice surprise, though, I recieved an almost compliment from a friend whose opinion I highly regard where writing is concerned. He was kind enough to critique a story for me and didn't absolutely hate it, I'm mildly hopeful about that. The realist in me knows I will never know how good or bad I am until I start sending things out, trying to be published. What a rude awakening to find out you are as mundane as everyone around you. I can only hope that will not be the case.
Well I've rambled something fierce...I didn't even really have anything important to say, but I felt like writing anyhow. In truth I should be working on my papers so perhaps it is time I do that. In the words of Bob Ross "thank you and god bless."
p.s. I know I can't spell!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
