See, since my father passed away, died, kicked the fucking bucket, bought that goddamn farm I've had radical changes. Wait, I shouldn't say that in past final tense. I'm still finding out what's wrong with me, who my friends are. I'm not meaning this in some fucking friendly fire to get attention like those mindless ginnies on facebook. I actually mean adult friends who won't ask questions and will stay with you until your mind goes. No, all my friends abandoned me when my moods started to swing like that pendulum in Edgar Allen Poe's tale.
I am not depressed.
I am not a spoiled bitch who wants attention.
I actually am bipolar.
This means that I cannot control my emotions. Sometimes I get so bad that I have to call people so I won't hurt myself or others. It's a nice little perk of knowing me.
Jaccob, Fallon, Becky, Marina, and my family have stayed, but the others... Who's to blame them? Who wants to constantly get called off or spoken down to. I cannot control myself in my fits of rage.
When my father died I had a belated reaction. Took me four months before I began to cry, on hands and knees, that he was dead. People don't get over death, they sort of keep it in the pocket of their goddamn hearts -- coping. Coping does not mean that they're over it and butterflies land on some fucking noses. Coping means you learn to live without the person.
To help understand.
I can miss my mother and sister. I can miss my father. But the difference is I can see only two out of the three. I will never be able to cure the missing with my father. He's gone. Utterly and completely deleted from this world. One of those files that fry with your hard drive. I can no longer ask, "Hey, daddy-o, remember that one song that I liked in the car that one time we went to get breakfast.... I can't remember past this one lyric....?" Nah, so many unanswered questions. It'll have to stay like that too. That's what people don't understand.
You know, when I started feeling the grief I couldn't sleep. Hell, I couldn't sleep since we left the hospital. I would sleep in two hour intervals, if that, and hope my family (who were greiving) didn't see my black eyes. It wasn't until I moved in with the fucking love of my life, Jaccob, could I sleep. Something about sleeping beside another breathing human you love helped me.
But he didn't understand at first. No one fucking did so I give a huge berth of understanding. Hell, this is funny, so pay attention. Jaccob knew I couldn't sleep without him -- we fought on the weekends he wanted to be out at 3AM. One particular night Todd (you guys see that fucking face to your right? Yeah, him) hosted a guy night. Jaccob promised me home by a decent hour since fuckface lived five minutes away. Well, to sleep, because I had to work the next morning, I had to stone myself into a goddamn stupor. Crawl to the bed, and leave my mind to force my body to shut down.
He didn't return home until fucking 2AM, because Todd's wife, Alura (referred to as cuntface now) decided to get "accidentally" drunk at a house party (with people she didn't know) at 31-years-old... Two kids sleeping soundly in their beds under the ages of ten. Hell, this is funny, isn't it? Because Jaccob and Eric decided they didn't want to stay and watch two sleeping children. Naw, they picked up Cuntface's ass and left me be. When I turned over and he walked in the door I freaked out. I thought he had been home in my stoned stupor. I got pissed, needless to say.
I stopped talking to Fuckface and Cuntface, just to calm down. I was trying to get over it because I didn't want people to change their lives for me, I just wanted people to understand.
So, in the midst of my anger, this happened between Cuntface and I:
Nothing changed, that's what we said to each other. Target told me I still had to respect her as my superior, even her husband who agreed with everything she said.
You know what's even funnier about those two? SHE CHEATED ON HIS ASS. Because he wasn't manly enough, she was bored, she wanted to ruin her life, I don't know, I don't care. Todd was told he had until August to be a better man. He's going to try for her. Although she cheated.
Know what's funny about cheating assholes? The ones you loved since high school and always fucked with your head. That's Kyle fucking Grimes. I loved him. He always told me he'd wait for me. That didn't happen. He took whatever threw itself at him, no matter how nasty. The night I told him about my father was the night he changed the subject about his friend that may be going to jail. We tried talking again, but we was making fun of me for having love for my boyfriend, how I cried after sex because I was utterly happy. One time, not too long ago, Jaccob and I came at the same time. Exactly. To the very second. How many movie moments do most couples have? So Kyle can go to Hell, just like the other two shitfaces on here who said they were my friends.
Fuck everyone.
I hope to never see you again.
I hope everyone moves the fuck away and leaves me the hell alone.
Fuck you.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Fucking Body Image Part 2
I got to thinking for months that I think it's wrong to post how women should love themselves, and want to it better for health, not a skinny body (that's not permanent). So, I'm posting my own story:
I remember looking in a mirror, staring at my naked body. I felt the curves of my waist, the rolls of fat jiggly there in my grip. I watched my stomach move and asked myself, "Who would find me attractive?" I have stretchmarks, and bags under my eyes, and rough feet, and no boobs? There was never any intention of it being answered; it was a completely rhetorical question. There cannot be an answer, unless you want one.
I put my arms down at my sides, and tilted one foot, to look at my ass in the mirror. It was red from my skin tone. Red bumps that women get, fat rolls where the indention of my bra remained, and two thighs with no air between them. I sighed, asking myself, again, "Who would find me attractive?"
Then the question didn't seem less answerable.
I remember smiling. Some smile you would give in polite conversation when you quite didn't hear the joke all the way. "Me," I whispered, smiling at my reflection who gave me the same smile back.
I remembered when I was a little girl. Below fourth grade, I thought I was pretty. No one had called me ugly yet, except the ones flirting and all. Somehow in the midst of my childhood, the times were changing outside my little world. Then they started to invade my classmates before it reached me. They were all about body image and what guys might find attractive. Even in fourth grade I was seeing girls trying to make themselves look like The Spice Girls, or something. All that make-up and sex appeal starring a shred of cloth stretched up on breast, waist, and ass.
Boys from then on teased me about my short, stubby fingers; about my chubby stomach (that was only matured with me through adulthood); and about how I ate too much at lunch. I tried to change who I was. One time, in my Junior year of high school, I wanted to impress a boy. I knew he only liked skinny "chicks." So, before the school bus would arrive around 6:30AM, I would wake at 4:30AM to run and try and be skinny so he would like me. I did try. Really hard. He just never saw me as anything. He's married now, growing kids somewhere in the states.
I let them tell me if I was attractive or not. I had always thought I had been, looking back. Despite the false livlihood of my classmates and peers, I always wondered WHY I wasn't pretty. I had everything I felt attractive in. Even I embraced my stretch marks, never having lost my virginity until my early-twenties because of the fright I would be even more horrosome.
Ladies and gentlemen, I will put something very personal, so let's supress our giggles and laughter. When I masturbated, I even loved the feel of my own body squirming, sweating, just moving in those special ways. The special ways I never felt with someone else until I lost my virginity. Instead of feeling the scalded opinions of pop culture, I felt attractive in bed. I always wanted to know why another human being couldn't find what I found in my own body. I was ashamed to feel anything uplifting about my appearance, humliated to never be esteemed enough to wear a skirt or a dress, or even a shirt that slightly gave a hint of fat. God forbid.
I faced the mirror again and thought of how my body must seem to my boyfriend. Took me a good month to take off my shirt during sex. And two months before I gave him head (afraid I would awful at that as well). Even after I gave oral, I still had a hard time being on top. He took this with immense patience. I adore him for it. With me afraid of even dressing in front of him long after we began having sex. All the times I hid away and he would ask why, I would just joke it off. But, to really hone in on all the little details, I never noticed him NOT being attracted. He was always hard, even if I walked in the room naked. He loved touching me, not caring about the rolls or the stretchmarks. He even made me feel as sexy as when I touched myself.
Now, I do chores naked in front of him. Let him do what he pleases without apprehension. I try moves I saw in a porn once and wanted to try. And knowing he never cared about those imperfections I saw in the mirror, helped me realize that I shouldn't have either. He is of a different string of male, meant for a distant planet and not here, on earth. A few are stranded here and what a rare treasure they are. My epiphany comes from him: never be ashamed to love your body. I don't care if it's falling apart, growing, flaking, smoking, or combusting, you should already have a predetermined view of yourself and don't allow for the invasion to begin; I hear it's really hard to recover from.
I remember looking in a mirror, staring at my naked body. I felt the curves of my waist, the rolls of fat jiggly there in my grip. I watched my stomach move and asked myself, "Who would find me attractive?" I have stretchmarks, and bags under my eyes, and rough feet, and no boobs? There was never any intention of it being answered; it was a completely rhetorical question. There cannot be an answer, unless you want one.
I put my arms down at my sides, and tilted one foot, to look at my ass in the mirror. It was red from my skin tone. Red bumps that women get, fat rolls where the indention of my bra remained, and two thighs with no air between them. I sighed, asking myself, again, "Who would find me attractive?"
Then the question didn't seem less answerable.
I remember smiling. Some smile you would give in polite conversation when you quite didn't hear the joke all the way. "Me," I whispered, smiling at my reflection who gave me the same smile back.
I remembered when I was a little girl. Below fourth grade, I thought I was pretty. No one had called me ugly yet, except the ones flirting and all. Somehow in the midst of my childhood, the times were changing outside my little world. Then they started to invade my classmates before it reached me. They were all about body image and what guys might find attractive. Even in fourth grade I was seeing girls trying to make themselves look like The Spice Girls, or something. All that make-up and sex appeal starring a shred of cloth stretched up on breast, waist, and ass.
Boys from then on teased me about my short, stubby fingers; about my chubby stomach (that was only matured with me through adulthood); and about how I ate too much at lunch. I tried to change who I was. One time, in my Junior year of high school, I wanted to impress a boy. I knew he only liked skinny "chicks." So, before the school bus would arrive around 6:30AM, I would wake at 4:30AM to run and try and be skinny so he would like me. I did try. Really hard. He just never saw me as anything. He's married now, growing kids somewhere in the states.
I let them tell me if I was attractive or not. I had always thought I had been, looking back. Despite the false livlihood of my classmates and peers, I always wondered WHY I wasn't pretty. I had everything I felt attractive in. Even I embraced my stretch marks, never having lost my virginity until my early-twenties because of the fright I would be even more horrosome.
Ladies and gentlemen, I will put something very personal, so let's supress our giggles and laughter. When I masturbated, I even loved the feel of my own body squirming, sweating, just moving in those special ways. The special ways I never felt with someone else until I lost my virginity. Instead of feeling the scalded opinions of pop culture, I felt attractive in bed. I always wanted to know why another human being couldn't find what I found in my own body. I was ashamed to feel anything uplifting about my appearance, humliated to never be esteemed enough to wear a skirt or a dress, or even a shirt that slightly gave a hint of fat. God forbid.
I faced the mirror again and thought of how my body must seem to my boyfriend. Took me a good month to take off my shirt during sex. And two months before I gave him head (afraid I would awful at that as well). Even after I gave oral, I still had a hard time being on top. He took this with immense patience. I adore him for it. With me afraid of even dressing in front of him long after we began having sex. All the times I hid away and he would ask why, I would just joke it off. But, to really hone in on all the little details, I never noticed him NOT being attracted. He was always hard, even if I walked in the room naked. He loved touching me, not caring about the rolls or the stretchmarks. He even made me feel as sexy as when I touched myself.
Now, I do chores naked in front of him. Let him do what he pleases without apprehension. I try moves I saw in a porn once and wanted to try. And knowing he never cared about those imperfections I saw in the mirror, helped me realize that I shouldn't have either. He is of a different string of male, meant for a distant planet and not here, on earth. A few are stranded here and what a rare treasure they are. My epiphany comes from him: never be ashamed to love your body. I don't care if it's falling apart, growing, flaking, smoking, or combusting, you should already have a predetermined view of yourself and don't allow for the invasion to begin; I hear it's really hard to recover from.
Friday, June 7, 2013
Father's Day
No, this isn't a post about my father, may he rest in peace, but it's about what modern society is doing to itself.
Out of all the Father's Days I have celebrated, I used to buy my father so much shit. So much of it that it becomes worthless after awhile, half the stuff people have to remind me I bought it for him. Everything does, if you think about it, in some prophetic way. I just want to say that I regret buying anything, despite being a person who loves homemade gifts and just spending time with friends on my day of any kind.
I see all the cards.
I see all the ADs being prepped for the last week before Father's Day. See, I prep the next week's AD at Target and its theme is Father's Day. Hell, we even have graphics everywhere there can possibly be about "buying this for your father, make it worth his while!"
Honestly, it kind of makes me sick.
In my new found maturity of how to perceive things better than when I was a spoiled cunt, I see that I shouldn't have bought him anything, but probably his and mine's fishing licenses. He tried for years to get me to fish with him. He tried for months before his death to have a father-daughter day (like we did when we were kids). He tried so hard for me to go learn about cars (that I now see he was preparing me for the hardness of life after he wasn't there to be overprotective). My father was a very intimidating man. And he never had the best attitude. And, you know what, despite the typical teenage angst, despite our fights (are very serious, hard fights), and our special way of hardly talking so we wouldn't argue, I regret not having more fights, more disagreements, and more complaints working on my car -- to learn about it for future's sake.
As a human, we don't typically believe the future will ever reach us. Hell, I never thought I'd live to be 23-years-old, and I can't believe I'll ever see fifty. I never believed, either, that my dad would be dead at 42-years-old, at 2:25PM in a really nice afternoon of cool November weather.
It makes me sad all these people rushing to get to stores and show their love through their gifts that were on sale, because that's what "the man" makes you believe he wants.
I say, what he really wants, because if your dad truly loves you, he'd be happy teaching you something, fishing, driving, playing a game he likes for you to join him. Parents love their children. Hell, I love my sister. We are two different people, probably wouldn't be close friends if we weren't family, but if I get to do anything with her I'm happy. I'm happy because I love her and it makes her happy. I HATE watching movies through their entire playing time. And I do it, for her. I watch them because it makes us happy to do it together.
That's the message I'm trying to get across.
Do something with your parents, on any of their days, that they're interested in. Let yourself see the gleam in their eyes from talking about it, showing it. Let a smile they don't realize they're giving make you smile. Even if you hate it, find it the most boring thing in the world, let them show you their love for it, how it calms them down. Learn about your parents. They were kids once. They had hopes, and they, too, did the same thing with their parents.
I wish I hadn't been such a fucking cunt-face toward the end when my dad was trying to mend our relationship. I regret that the most and it makes me angry how selfish I was.
Please, ask them what they want to do with you. Anything they want, just like they ask you when you're sick, having a bad day, your birthday, or just to spend time with you.
Out of all the Father's Days I have celebrated, I used to buy my father so much shit. So much of it that it becomes worthless after awhile, half the stuff people have to remind me I bought it for him. Everything does, if you think about it, in some prophetic way. I just want to say that I regret buying anything, despite being a person who loves homemade gifts and just spending time with friends on my day of any kind.
I see all the cards.
I see all the ADs being prepped for the last week before Father's Day. See, I prep the next week's AD at Target and its theme is Father's Day. Hell, we even have graphics everywhere there can possibly be about "buying this for your father, make it worth his while!"
Honestly, it kind of makes me sick.
In my new found maturity of how to perceive things better than when I was a spoiled cunt, I see that I shouldn't have bought him anything, but probably his and mine's fishing licenses. He tried for years to get me to fish with him. He tried for months before his death to have a father-daughter day (like we did when we were kids). He tried so hard for me to go learn about cars (that I now see he was preparing me for the hardness of life after he wasn't there to be overprotective). My father was a very intimidating man. And he never had the best attitude. And, you know what, despite the typical teenage angst, despite our fights (are very serious, hard fights), and our special way of hardly talking so we wouldn't argue, I regret not having more fights, more disagreements, and more complaints working on my car -- to learn about it for future's sake.
As a human, we don't typically believe the future will ever reach us. Hell, I never thought I'd live to be 23-years-old, and I can't believe I'll ever see fifty. I never believed, either, that my dad would be dead at 42-years-old, at 2:25PM in a really nice afternoon of cool November weather.
It makes me sad all these people rushing to get to stores and show their love through their gifts that were on sale, because that's what "the man" makes you believe he wants.
I say, what he really wants, because if your dad truly loves you, he'd be happy teaching you something, fishing, driving, playing a game he likes for you to join him. Parents love their children. Hell, I love my sister. We are two different people, probably wouldn't be close friends if we weren't family, but if I get to do anything with her I'm happy. I'm happy because I love her and it makes her happy. I HATE watching movies through their entire playing time. And I do it, for her. I watch them because it makes us happy to do it together.
That's the message I'm trying to get across.
Do something with your parents, on any of their days, that they're interested in. Let yourself see the gleam in their eyes from talking about it, showing it. Let a smile they don't realize they're giving make you smile. Even if you hate it, find it the most boring thing in the world, let them show you their love for it, how it calms them down. Learn about your parents. They were kids once. They had hopes, and they, too, did the same thing with their parents.
I wish I hadn't been such a fucking cunt-face toward the end when my dad was trying to mend our relationship. I regret that the most and it makes me angry how selfish I was.
Please, ask them what they want to do with you. Anything they want, just like they ask you when you're sick, having a bad day, your birthday, or just to spend time with you.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
I've Been Running on Empty
(Em is her friend. Took me a bit to understand that because I thought she was text-ually clearing her throat.)
I do decree it was lame of her to use "Lmao."I got my hair did. It's that short all around. Originally she had it flat-ironed to my head. My round fucking head. Even the bangs she left me were trying to make my face a square. But I'm not a [square]. So, I went home. Cut my own bangs as short as I wanted. Then I wet it and let my natural curl take place. In person, it looks very vintage-British. I like to think I'm that cool.
Jaccob is playing Sleeping Dogs right now. I'm trying to find middle ground in music. I have been devotedly listening to his Pandora station "The Used." So I find songs. Right now, I'm listening to The Used's album In Love and Death. I'm trying really hard. He did with mine. The only band he successfully likes is The Black Kids, and they haven't made an album in a few years. He got me obsessed with Kings of Leon. They've been dominating my playlist for several upon several months. My favorite album is still Only by The Night. So, if you find a kick ass shirt with that album, hit me up.
They're the only band I actually want to see live at the moment.
My puppy is proving how much of a strict, dominate mother I would be.
I'm talking, sit down and listen.
River does neither. She's so fucking defiant. The other day when it was merely me and her, she looked me right in the eyes and began peeing.
I started cursing and trying to catch her. She knew what she did. That's why she high-tailed it out of there.
She also likes pissing on my bed. I wouldn't let her up here anymore, but those puppy eyes do swoon Jaccob and Jaccob swoons me. It's a very rough cycle, very rough on the skin. Have to moisturize twice a day.
I have nothing interesting to say.
Oh. When I was at the gas station the other day. I heard some guy coughing up something. I looked over and some dusty, middle-aged guy was chucking out his lunch beside his pick-up truck. Then he stopped, wiped off his lips with his forearm and just casually headed up to the minit mart.
Kudos, stranger.
I've seen more people vomit out and around their car than actually seeing my vomit hit the toilet. I know, I miss a lot.
Ha, get it?
I'm about to piss my pants.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Cock-it
So, I paid four-hundred and fifty dollars for a cock block. Honestly. River loves interrupting our "physical time." We now have to go through a fucking ritual to have "physical time."
After I shower, I usually smoke. That's a ritual within itself.
Jaccob usually talks to me while I do so (because he's so amazing while I smoke).
Then we lay in bed, talking, as we wait for River, who crawled up on our chests, or face, to sleep. We wait for her snoring, or her little paws twitching to puppy dreams.
I usually move her to her bed.
We wait for a minute to make sure she's still asleep.
When that's one-hundred percent, we get at it.
But, some nights, she just won't take to her bed. She will get up and sit up on the bottom of Jaccob's end table to whine on the bed while making eye contact. I try to ignore, but Jaccob is the lovable fool who looks at me with his own puppy eyes to get her on the bed.
We allow her and usually decide to not finish and do our separate things until we fall asleep.
It's really depressing.
So much money for something that won't allow a dick inside of me.
But, between you and I, I think she's purposely doing it so we won't procreate.
That's all I had to say.
I just really wanted that out of me, which is the exact opposite of what I want with Jaccob's penis.
Fuck me.
After I shower, I usually smoke. That's a ritual within itself.
Jaccob usually talks to me while I do so (because he's so amazing while I smoke).
Then we lay in bed, talking, as we wait for River, who crawled up on our chests, or face, to sleep. We wait for her snoring, or her little paws twitching to puppy dreams.
I usually move her to her bed.
We wait for a minute to make sure she's still asleep.
When that's one-hundred percent, we get at it.
But, some nights, she just won't take to her bed. She will get up and sit up on the bottom of Jaccob's end table to whine on the bed while making eye contact. I try to ignore, but Jaccob is the lovable fool who looks at me with his own puppy eyes to get her on the bed.
We allow her and usually decide to not finish and do our separate things until we fall asleep.
It's really depressing.
So much money for something that won't allow a dick inside of me.
But, between you and I, I think she's purposely doing it so we won't procreate.
That's all I had to say.
I just really wanted that out of me, which is the exact opposite of what I want with Jaccob's penis.
Fuck me.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
My Hands Smell Like Penis
So, Jaccob and I were having pillow talk and we started discussing disfigurements with people and how you can't stare, no matter how intringing because it's just considered rude. But, all you want to do is ask questions and touch it and such.
Well, I mentioned this one man I saw while working. He was very tan, tall, and had on a typical, single-male attire, atop with a hat. What wasn't normal were the little knots under his skin, all over him, head-to-toe, like alien armor. Then Jaccob made the, "Ewwwwwww," sound.
"I know. What if they were on the bottom of his feet, inside his mouth? What if they were little tumots?"
"Or," Jaccob retorted, "they're all little bubbles that you can pop with a pin or something. Like a blister and all the puss comes out."
"Ew, shut up!"
"What if they're all over the bottom of his feet and he leaves a trail of slime behind him as he walks away."
"Seriously, Jaccob, this is making me nauseous."
"What if they're in his ass and when he wipes he pops a few and has to stay on the toilet..."
"Jaccob, this is fucking sick, stop."
"What if they're all over his penis and when he masturbates he uses them as self-lubricate."
I twisted his nipple.
"Fine," he said as he chuckled. "I'll stop."
There was a pause, then I began laughing. "Self-lubricate."
It's been a blur since the last entry.
The puppy, River, is growing like a fucking weed.
Work is just work.
Jaccob and I have been so busy going to my mom's, Glasgow, and work that we really don't have time for each other.
Oh, what happened in Glasgow...
Jaccob and I went to to a party at his brother's. Without asking, Jaccob told me he'd be the DD that time so I could actually drink. I'm not a big drinker and only rarely do it, so I never mind being the DD. Well, I let myself get a tad tipsy.
I knew I was drunk when I stopped at the front door, looking across their spacious floorplan of the living/dining room along with a kitchen, to their backdoor. And the people coming in would look around the empty house and then catch my eye behind the front screen door. They would pause, realize I'm not breaking my eye contact, and awkwardly walk away.
Three people did this with me and only one laughed -- he already knew me anyway, so I don't know if I should count him (not Jaccob).
Saw my puppy vomit today in slow action. It was beige, green sludge and it slid right onto my sister's arm and leg. She was pissed, but I was definitely laughing on the side. She was not happy with me, because, apparently, dogs get car sick to my "crazy driving."
Two young girls, at a local park, decided it was a good idea to put a friend in a box, with sticks for arms, and small eye holes to walk around and not have a reason for doing so. Young whippersnappers.
This 23-year-old isn't young and wants to go to bed.
PSST, check out River's Blog.
Well, I mentioned this one man I saw while working. He was very tan, tall, and had on a typical, single-male attire, atop with a hat. What wasn't normal were the little knots under his skin, all over him, head-to-toe, like alien armor. Then Jaccob made the, "Ewwwwwww," sound.
"I know. What if they were on the bottom of his feet, inside his mouth? What if they were little tumots?"
"Or," Jaccob retorted, "they're all little bubbles that you can pop with a pin or something. Like a blister and all the puss comes out."
"Ew, shut up!"
"What if they're all over the bottom of his feet and he leaves a trail of slime behind him as he walks away."
"Seriously, Jaccob, this is making me nauseous."
"What if they're in his ass and when he wipes he pops a few and has to stay on the toilet..."
"Jaccob, this is fucking sick, stop."
"What if they're all over his penis and when he masturbates he uses them as self-lubricate."
I twisted his nipple.
"Fine," he said as he chuckled. "I'll stop."
There was a pause, then I began laughing. "Self-lubricate."
It's been a blur since the last entry.
The puppy, River, is growing like a fucking weed.
Work is just work.
Jaccob and I have been so busy going to my mom's, Glasgow, and work that we really don't have time for each other.
Oh, what happened in Glasgow...
Jaccob and I went to to a party at his brother's. Without asking, Jaccob told me he'd be the DD that time so I could actually drink. I'm not a big drinker and only rarely do it, so I never mind being the DD. Well, I let myself get a tad tipsy.
I knew I was drunk when I stopped at the front door, looking across their spacious floorplan of the living/dining room along with a kitchen, to their backdoor. And the people coming in would look around the empty house and then catch my eye behind the front screen door. They would pause, realize I'm not breaking my eye contact, and awkwardly walk away.
Three people did this with me and only one laughed -- he already knew me anyway, so I don't know if I should count him (not Jaccob).
Saw my puppy vomit today in slow action. It was beige, green sludge and it slid right onto my sister's arm and leg. She was pissed, but I was definitely laughing on the side. She was not happy with me, because, apparently, dogs get car sick to my "crazy driving."
Two young girls, at a local park, decided it was a good idea to put a friend in a box, with sticks for arms, and small eye holes to walk around and not have a reason for doing so. Young whippersnappers.
This 23-year-old isn't young and wants to go to bed.
PSST, check out River's Blog.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Fancy Title
Right now, I'm eating ice cream naked on my bed. Jaccob is beside me watching this awful show Continuum or some shit. It's bad. But the ice cream is Breyer's Blast! Reese's. It would be more awesome if it had more Reese's. I usually just ate a snickers/pay day with vanilla or butter pecan ice cream. Just dip that hard, long bar of chocolate or peanuts into the frozen cream. Yeah, guess where I got that from? Sugar and Spice. Not a bad combo.
Isn't she fucking cute? Jaccob went to go put her back on the bed and he stopped and went, "Aw, don't fucking move."
Then got his phone.
Then took a lot of pictures.
So, Jaccob and I got a lot done with our short story collection idea. We just want to come up with a bunch of ideas, write them out, and make a book type thing. We have two ideas. One is a futuristic comedy. The other is a very serious fiction.
Jaccob went to go get his check out of the car, which he kept on top of his folded up sun visor. When going back to the car after cashing out the check, I went to sit down and rammed my head into the sun visor he never closed. He laughed so hard that he nearly peed himself.
We babysat his toddler nephew, Owen. It was a good time. The boy was well behaved which was really new. Still had that weird fresh smell. We bought him a train and his little sister two skirts. He got to play at the play set. He made a friend. It was adorable.
I'm reading 1Q84. So far, very interesting.
I have nothing else to say.
I'm just bored and don't want to sleep yet. Time to suck in my yellow belly and get my ass to bed.
PS - Fallon, my title was a nod to you.
PSS -
I was purposely making a funny sound. End result is perfection.
Isn't she fucking cute? Jaccob went to go put her back on the bed and he stopped and went, "Aw, don't fucking move."
Then got his phone.
Then took a lot of pictures.
So, Jaccob and I got a lot done with our short story collection idea. We just want to come up with a bunch of ideas, write them out, and make a book type thing. We have two ideas. One is a futuristic comedy. The other is a very serious fiction.
Jaccob went to go get his check out of the car, which he kept on top of his folded up sun visor. When going back to the car after cashing out the check, I went to sit down and rammed my head into the sun visor he never closed. He laughed so hard that he nearly peed himself.
We babysat his toddler nephew, Owen. It was a good time. The boy was well behaved which was really new. Still had that weird fresh smell. We bought him a train and his little sister two skirts. He got to play at the play set. He made a friend. It was adorable.
I'm reading 1Q84. So far, very interesting.
I have nothing else to say.
I'm just bored and don't want to sleep yet. Time to suck in my yellow belly and get my ass to bed.
PS - Fallon, my title was a nod to you.
PSS -
I was purposely making a funny sound. End result is perfection.
Monday, April 29, 2013
River is Snoring and The Earth Shakes A Little Bit
So I've been having one hell of a week. Been cleaning at my mother's; been celebrating my sister's birthday; and I learned that auto mechanics can suck my ass.
Went in for two tire changes, rotation, and an oil change. So they called me up and told me (and I'm paraphrasing here), "Since we're heavily advertising struts and shocks, yours are out and we need 1700 to fix your very fucked up shocks and struts. That will be one-thousand seven hundred dollars." When they tell a lady of twenty-three that she NEEDS to replace something that may cause her to die she kind of freaks. I tried for credit, and so did Jaccob (to help me, the sweetie pie -- AND NO, I did not ask. He just did it.). Then since I had no money to cover the extra 700 I got to thinking about it. I did not want to pay that outrageous fucking amount.
If my dad were alive, he'd turn all red and yell at them.
So, I just had one tire replaced and an oil change.
They all seemed a little saddened that I did not help their income or hours, or fucking paychecks.
Ladies, let that be a lesson. Always make friends with a mechanic so you can always get a second opinion.
My uncle called auto zone to see how much the struts and shocks were. Sixty dollars apiece.
At the place I went to, they wanted nearly six-hundred for the parts alone.
I cannot stress how crooked companies are toward women nowadays. Well, always.
The place I went to was Tech Tune.
So my sister turned TWENTY-FUCKING-YEARS-OLD on Saturday. Makes an older sister feel even older.
I made her a marble cake with four things of frosting to cover the beast and to decorate.
Oh yeah, that's right. Took me forever and a picture to base that crude icing drawing.
Everyone liked it, aside from my uncle and mother. My mom slapped my arm with a big smile.
Everyone, go ahead and go, "AWWWWWW."
That's right. In the second picture, her head was on my vagina. She knows where the magic happens. Of course, that could also mean my vagina is so boring that animals and Homo sapiens fall asleep on top of it.
Ouch.
Oh yeah, four four leaf clovers. I think they're overtaking my yard. I found these in like a minute and a half just waiting on River to shit (which she didn't -- she waited until she was in my room and went all out). Then I got bored winning and settled on going outside.
As I'm typing this, River is curled up in my lap asleep. It's the little things.
I'm usually not sober for me to remember all the funny things. Yet, watching James Bond's Goldenfinger was hilarious and amazing. I really like watching Sean Connery.
Oh, and I also saw Autsin Powers for the first time. Don't judge me. My parents were strict when that movie came out and then I just forgot about it over the years.
It was funny. I would've enjoyed it more, however, if I had first seen it in theaters.
Dr. Evil is the best character.
I want to garden so badly.
But I'm afraid I'll fail at that then make myself depressed.
But, my mother's home and we have some fiscal transactions to take care of.
Later, folks.
Went in for two tire changes, rotation, and an oil change. So they called me up and told me (and I'm paraphrasing here), "Since we're heavily advertising struts and shocks, yours are out and we need 1700 to fix your very fucked up shocks and struts. That will be one-thousand seven hundred dollars." When they tell a lady of twenty-three that she NEEDS to replace something that may cause her to die she kind of freaks. I tried for credit, and so did Jaccob (to help me, the sweetie pie -- AND NO, I did not ask. He just did it.). Then since I had no money to cover the extra 700 I got to thinking about it. I did not want to pay that outrageous fucking amount.
If my dad were alive, he'd turn all red and yell at them.
So, I just had one tire replaced and an oil change.
They all seemed a little saddened that I did not help their income or hours, or fucking paychecks.
Ladies, let that be a lesson. Always make friends with a mechanic so you can always get a second opinion.
My uncle called auto zone to see how much the struts and shocks were. Sixty dollars apiece.
At the place I went to, they wanted nearly six-hundred for the parts alone.
I cannot stress how crooked companies are toward women nowadays. Well, always.
The place I went to was Tech Tune.
So my sister turned TWENTY-FUCKING-YEARS-OLD on Saturday. Makes an older sister feel even older.
I made her a marble cake with four things of frosting to cover the beast and to decorate.
Oh yeah, that's right. Took me forever and a picture to base that crude icing drawing.
Everyone liked it, aside from my uncle and mother. My mom slapped my arm with a big smile.
Everyone, go ahead and go, "AWWWWWW."
That's right. In the second picture, her head was on my vagina. She knows where the magic happens. Of course, that could also mean my vagina is so boring that animals and Homo sapiens fall asleep on top of it.
Ouch.
Oh yeah, four four leaf clovers. I think they're overtaking my yard. I found these in like a minute and a half just waiting on River to shit (which she didn't -- she waited until she was in my room and went all out). Then I got bored winning and settled on going outside.
As I'm typing this, River is curled up in my lap asleep. It's the little things.
I'm usually not sober for me to remember all the funny things. Yet, watching James Bond's Goldenfinger was hilarious and amazing. I really like watching Sean Connery.
Oh, and I also saw Autsin Powers for the first time. Don't judge me. My parents were strict when that movie came out and then I just forgot about it over the years.
It was funny. I would've enjoyed it more, however, if I had first seen it in theaters.
Dr. Evil is the best character.
I want to garden so badly.
But I'm afraid I'll fail at that then make myself depressed.
But, my mother's home and we have some fiscal transactions to take care of.
Later, folks.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
The Deal With Baths
Okay, folks, I apologize for my blank mishap with my last post. I got this new google docs app, and it said I could edit and delete posts. To see if that worked, I made that. Then there are two options: one, I'm a fucking moron because I couldn't find out how and I'm too proud to click the question mark, or, two, they're fucking idiots.
That's right, it's the latter.
Right now, Jaccob and I are watching Dr. No. River is in my lap, curled up and sleeping. It's awkward trying to type over her.
So I thought of a new story idea one night, just on the edge of sleep. I think I startled Jaccob when I said, "I just thought of it!" But that was what I intended.
I told him and now he wants to join me.
I like writing sci-fi horror and that's basically what he reads/watches. So whenever I go over those parts, he broadens my ideas to a spectacular level.
So, I told him when we do write it, I'm going to dedicate it to him with, "To Jaccob, my personified imagination."
Okay, I have some unruly obsession with making out lists of the pros and cons of baths and showers.
Surprisingly, they come out about equal.
However, I am a bath girl. I fucking love soaking in some soapy, used (from me) water. I also like to usually smoke a little, but that's neither here nor there. I really miss huge tubs. They're rare in my tiny world, but well appreciated. See, baths, to me, hold some kind of resolution of innate calmness.
Downsides, you're in your own filth. And if you have to shave your pits or something, you kind of marinate with the hairs until you're finished and well saturated with raisin fingers. Plus rinsing hair, especially conditioner, is particularly aggravating.
I have luck. I was at my mother's so when I came in, did my bragging, I put it in the front pocket of my mom's purse. Later on she texted me with, "You forgot your clover."
I replied, "No, I didn't. Have good luck, Mom."
BAM. Sweetest daughter ever.
I bought Street Fighter Monopoly for Jaccob. I kicked his fucking ass. He forfeited because he was in such bad shape financially.
Ha, just brought this in and didn't ask no one's opinion too. I fucking love this shower curtain.
I think this picture accurately describes our relationship.
I went to the book festival Saturday with my sister. Talked to the reoccurring authors, met some new cool ones. Especially this little old man. He was so sweet. My sister and I bought a book apiece. Saw my Intermediate Fiction Professor. And I saw her husband, who I'm going to have to take the semester after next.
We met Amanda's future self with the big southern hat, and the old style southern dress. Make-up right on the spot and everything. Very ladylike. Even wrote a book about flowers being in desserts.
Jaccob fell asleep and the dog is dream-twitching. I'm in love.
BUT HOW COULD JACCOB SLEEP WITH A POISONOUS SPIDER CRAWLING ALL OVER A HALF-NAKED, SWEATY JAMES BOND.
I have one more entry to make.
Alas, I forgot my material for it. So I might have to wait until I can remember all that I wanted to say. Sorry guys, I know I'm not so much dedicated anymore.
River takes up my spare time and I love to have her to.
Night, folks.
That's right, it's the latter.
Right now, Jaccob and I are watching Dr. No. River is in my lap, curled up and sleeping. It's awkward trying to type over her.
So I thought of a new story idea one night, just on the edge of sleep. I think I startled Jaccob when I said, "I just thought of it!" But that was what I intended.
I told him and now he wants to join me.
I like writing sci-fi horror and that's basically what he reads/watches. So whenever I go over those parts, he broadens my ideas to a spectacular level.
So, I told him when we do write it, I'm going to dedicate it to him with, "To Jaccob, my personified imagination."
Okay, I have some unruly obsession with making out lists of the pros and cons of baths and showers.
Surprisingly, they come out about equal.
However, I am a bath girl. I fucking love soaking in some soapy, used (from me) water. I also like to usually smoke a little, but that's neither here nor there. I really miss huge tubs. They're rare in my tiny world, but well appreciated. See, baths, to me, hold some kind of resolution of innate calmness.
Downsides, you're in your own filth. And if you have to shave your pits or something, you kind of marinate with the hairs until you're finished and well saturated with raisin fingers. Plus rinsing hair, especially conditioner, is particularly aggravating.
I have luck. I was at my mother's so when I came in, did my bragging, I put it in the front pocket of my mom's purse. Later on she texted me with, "You forgot your clover."
I replied, "No, I didn't. Have good luck, Mom."
BAM. Sweetest daughter ever.
I bought Street Fighter Monopoly for Jaccob. I kicked his fucking ass. He forfeited because he was in such bad shape financially.
Ha, just brought this in and didn't ask no one's opinion too. I fucking love this shower curtain.
I think this picture accurately describes our relationship.
I went to the book festival Saturday with my sister. Talked to the reoccurring authors, met some new cool ones. Especially this little old man. He was so sweet. My sister and I bought a book apiece. Saw my Intermediate Fiction Professor. And I saw her husband, who I'm going to have to take the semester after next.
We met Amanda's future self with the big southern hat, and the old style southern dress. Make-up right on the spot and everything. Very ladylike. Even wrote a book about flowers being in desserts.
Jaccob fell asleep and the dog is dream-twitching. I'm in love.
BUT HOW COULD JACCOB SLEEP WITH A POISONOUS SPIDER CRAWLING ALL OVER A HALF-NAKED, SWEATY JAMES BOND.
I have one more entry to make.
Alas, I forgot my material for it. So I might have to wait until I can remember all that I wanted to say. Sorry guys, I know I'm not so much dedicated anymore.
River takes up my spare time and I love to have her to.
Night, folks.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Thursday, April 18, 2013
RIVER SONG
All these pictures are of my new puppy, River Song. She's one fucking handful. After this, I will never buy a puppy again, but something over 8 months to a year. Needs to happen. Potty training for this dog is one fucking hassel.
She's had so many accidents.
When we first got her, she liked to hold in her poop until it built up to this landfill of stinky, off-colored shit. So, when I would wake up in the morning, there would be up to seven piles of poop. Well, not just wake up. Her shit is the opposite of the smell of spring flowers. No, it's the landfill in the dead of summer. I would have to get up several times, clean up her messes, try to teach her the entire world OUTSIDE of the house is her potty. Just so I don't have to clean it up. She's learning, but sometimes likes to look me in the eye as she does it.
Like when I finally convinced Jaccob to take a cold bath with me. The air was broken for the hottest week of spring thus far (imagine that, cruel karma). We got in the bath, but the amount of adjusting was insane. And when we finally adjusted and realized that we really couldn't move, the dog squatted on my toilet rug, looked me in the eye, and began pissing. She seemed just so happy.
And don't think she hasn't had accidents on the bed. She HAS to sleep with us, and we really did try to avoid this. But, she's done it six times in the three weeks we've had her. When we were in trial with no bed, she climbed up my shoulder while Jaccob and I were joke-texting. I texted, "She's on the bed." So I wanted to look at her and she was pissing. When I yelled out and looked down at my phone to put it down, Jaccob replied, "hahahahahahaha," then got up from his seat beside me to help me.
She likes to try and catch water droplets you flick at her when she keeps wining to get in the tub and when you don't pay attention, she likes to start to attack my new beautiful shower curtain (which will be in a post later).
She doesn't like loud noises. I laughed really loud. She woke up and barked at me until I stopped. When I did, she went back to sleep.
People working the drive-thrus want to touch her and swoon over her. But they're working in food service and I never offer. Or give in.
She farts, all the time. She particularly likes when I cannot roll my windows down because of rain or something and farts those putrid gas pockets like crazy. Makes me want to vomit.
She hates cords and shoelaces and uses her teeth to show the dislike.
At a little over two months old, her jaw is finally strong enough to make her toy squeak whenever she finds the plastic bubble inside.
She learned her name, "River," the first day I got her.
And that's all I got. I had so much planned yesterday, but we all know how flaky I am. So I am going to go. I am just tired and Jaccob is asleep before me and I want to take advantage of this odd time.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Stinking
I asked Jaccob what would be his one Celebrity fuck. I was
honest-to-God curious. He said, "Only one?" in a whiny voice. Then he
narrowed it down to two, which were Emma Watson and Emma Stone.
I told him, "Wow, we have different opinions."
"How?"
"I'm going for older, like Frank Sinatra. Or, uh, George Orwell." Then I stopped and bit my lip, "Could you imagine him just reading his drafts to you? Oh God, Sinatra would be wonderful in bed. He could sing to you afterward."
Then I realized, one, that I am turning to a freaky girl. And, two, that I couldn't narrow to one either. I just want what I want.
I am so happy right now. Don't ask me why. No, it's not drugs due to popular belief. I am just naturally full of dopamine and serotonin.
Should I list the little things in life that make it good?
1. My target dog came in from a couple of posts ago. It's so fucking adorable and the sweater is detachable.
2. Hung out with Amanda today and we had cookies. Always a good day with cookies. Which reminds me...
3. Got to eat cookies. Soft and moist cookies of different flavors.
4. My hair is super soft this fine evening.
5. I was actually enjoying The Voice tonight. Which is very fucking surprising.
6. Finally remembered to buy some cream cheese for my crackers. A FEAST OF A SNACK IS TOMORROW.
Knitting on Friday with Becky and Fallon was great. Becky brought her baby which wouldn't let go of a skein of yarn I had. She put her small fingers in it and even hugged it while rubbing her face against it, laughing. So, I'm going to knit her a gothic lace baby blanket.
Wish me luck.
So a couple of funny things have happened.
In Hobby Lobby today with Amanda, I spotted metal decorations. Within the aisle I spotted an outline of a keyblade. Of course it wasn't frantically nodding toward Kingdom Hearts. But it is almost like the silver version of Mickey's pimpin' golden keyblade.
In an alternate reality version of the game, the "Zora" character would've pawned the fucking thing or sold the gold to make a few hundreds to spend on paupo fruit. Lick each one and put it on Kairi's doorstep. So when she goes to eat one and thinks of Riku, she'll inadvertently fall for "Zora" because his DNA was slobbered on there. I wonder if Riku would have then been the protagonist instead of the antagonistic.
I was watching a train. Clearly written graffiti on the side read, "I fucking hate Mormons."
Man, did they want that known or what?
Ever since I've moved out, I miss my animals dearly. My lord, every time I see Molly or Princess I want to cry. Now, the new one, Muffy, we're still learning each other so there's always apprehension. Even from a cat. Which is a different feeling from a human. It's more of a, "WHY CAN'T THIS BEAST SENSE HOW MUCH OF A GREAT PERSON I AM?!"
She loves our hamper though, she moves the small, wiry thing with her paws into the kitchen, near the box she likes to chill in.
Alan's birthday was Monday. He turned 03. Wait, that joke doesn't until next year. Silly me. He's thirty years young and looks only twenty-nine. Good job, man! When you hit seventy, looking sixty-nine will bring in all the ladies. You need to find John from The Green Mile. Brought long-lasting and well-received life into a couple of mammals. Cured all aliments. Maybe he could cure your smart-ass mouth. It's getting bad, man.
So, Jaccob is all about hating symbolism because a person can look too far in it. Yet, I try to explain that that's the point of art. Draw anything you want. Look at the Bible.
But I was just thinking that John, from The Green Mile, represented the Fountain of Youth and what society would eventually do: drain it of its power, whether through corruption or overuse. And please don't bring that stupid, piece of shit vampire movie that sucked ass.
T-TH-THAT'S ALL, FOLKS.
I told him, "Wow, we have different opinions."
"How?"
"I'm going for older, like Frank Sinatra. Or, uh, George Orwell." Then I stopped and bit my lip, "Could you imagine him just reading his drafts to you? Oh God, Sinatra would be wonderful in bed. He could sing to you afterward."
Then I realized, one, that I am turning to a freaky girl. And, two, that I couldn't narrow to one either. I just want what I want.
I am so happy right now. Don't ask me why. No, it's not drugs due to popular belief. I am just naturally full of dopamine and serotonin.
Should I list the little things in life that make it good?
1. My target dog came in from a couple of posts ago. It's so fucking adorable and the sweater is detachable.
2. Hung out with Amanda today and we had cookies. Always a good day with cookies. Which reminds me...
3. Got to eat cookies. Soft and moist cookies of different flavors.
4. My hair is super soft this fine evening.
5. I was actually enjoying The Voice tonight. Which is very fucking surprising.
6. Finally remembered to buy some cream cheese for my crackers. A FEAST OF A SNACK IS TOMORROW.
Knitting on Friday with Becky and Fallon was great. Becky brought her baby which wouldn't let go of a skein of yarn I had. She put her small fingers in it and even hugged it while rubbing her face against it, laughing. So, I'm going to knit her a gothic lace baby blanket.
Wish me luck.
So a couple of funny things have happened.
In Hobby Lobby today with Amanda, I spotted metal decorations. Within the aisle I spotted an outline of a keyblade. Of course it wasn't frantically nodding toward Kingdom Hearts. But it is almost like the silver version of Mickey's pimpin' golden keyblade.
In an alternate reality version of the game, the "Zora" character would've pawned the fucking thing or sold the gold to make a few hundreds to spend on paupo fruit. Lick each one and put it on Kairi's doorstep. So when she goes to eat one and thinks of Riku, she'll inadvertently fall for "Zora" because his DNA was slobbered on there. I wonder if Riku would have then been the protagonist instead of the antagonistic.
I was watching a train. Clearly written graffiti on the side read, "I fucking hate Mormons."
Man, did they want that known or what?
Ever since I've moved out, I miss my animals dearly. My lord, every time I see Molly or Princess I want to cry. Now, the new one, Muffy, we're still learning each other so there's always apprehension. Even from a cat. Which is a different feeling from a human. It's more of a, "WHY CAN'T THIS BEAST SENSE HOW MUCH OF A GREAT PERSON I AM?!"
She loves our hamper though, she moves the small, wiry thing with her paws into the kitchen, near the box she likes to chill in.
Alan's birthday was Monday. He turned 03. Wait, that joke doesn't until next year. Silly me. He's thirty years young and looks only twenty-nine. Good job, man! When you hit seventy, looking sixty-nine will bring in all the ladies. You need to find John from The Green Mile. Brought long-lasting and well-received life into a couple of mammals. Cured all aliments. Maybe he could cure your smart-ass mouth. It's getting bad, man.
So, Jaccob is all about hating symbolism because a person can look too far in it. Yet, I try to explain that that's the point of art. Draw anything you want. Look at the Bible.
But I was just thinking that John, from The Green Mile, represented the Fountain of Youth and what society would eventually do: drain it of its power, whether through corruption or overuse. And please don't bring that stupid, piece of shit vampire movie that sucked ass.
T-TH-THAT'S ALL, FOLKS.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
How Grief Changes One Person
WARNING: This post is completely depressing and will ruin your mood.
People have this generalized misconception that grief is like what it is in the movies. No one falls over each other or has a epiphany within the first month of said death. No. When I found out my father died at 2:25PM on November 21, 2012, I was stunned. The first thing I did was look at my family. My "grandparents," my cousins, my aunt (who watched her brother die), and my cousin who I think of as an Uncle (who also held my father as he took his last breath). My mom put her hands over her mouth and my sister's face turned so red that I didn't think she was breathing.
Someone said, "Oh God, oh no," and I continued to listen to the awkward nurse who was training someone that day. The someone silently stood behind him, with such a blank face that she could've been mistaken for a mannequin.
My father was a strong man who never believed in hospitals. They always treated him with utmost care since he was born with a heart defect called Tetralogy of Fallot. He didn't like the attention where they gathered every intern to hear his heart. It sounded so strained. I remember as a little girl seeing his chest vibrate with each heartbeat, or hearing it in a quiet room. He always said to not worry about it, that he would live to be an old man and escape from the home I would put him in and be at my breakfast table, ready to eat. Even the page said most people die around the age of twenty. My father lived to be 42-years-old. His whole life the doctors said he wouldn't live until he was five, or seventeen, or twenty-six. He made it to my twenty-third year.
And we waited. We waited for up to an hour so the coroner could, by tradition and law, tell the hospital that he was definitely dead. During that hour I took to being out of my family's sight. I went to the empty rooms around our quiet, little area. I picked up streets of different problems that the ER uses (I thought about stealing some). I looked through the see-through fridge that held medicine. I spun around in nearby chairs. My aunt came out once and said I didn't have to be like my father, I didn't have to be the strong one. I couldn't cry. I refused (which causes major sinus problems for the next month and headaches that crippled me some nights). I couldn't let my mother worry about one more thing. She, too, was holding herself together, trying to calm my sister whose face was still blood red.
My uncle came to sit next to me to tell me, too, that I didn't have to be strong like my father -- that no one would care if I cried. He cried. My entire family cried. I didn't. Sure, a few tears fell, but I cursed myself for them. In some strange way I felt my dad and I didn't want him to think I was weak, despite the death. My dad had always been on me for crying, just me. I guess I was the closest thing to a son he had. He always tried for me to fish, play chess, card games, work on cars, or weed eat as he mowed. I always said no. I didn't want to spend time with him. I was a spoiled little bitch who never got what real love was, or what it means to a person to be there for them. I never got my dad was trying later in life. We didn't get along for some of my life, but he was trying in his last few years and I couldn't pull myself together to see it. I regret that. I don't even remember the last "I love you," we said to each other. Not at all. I try to remember, but I just end up crying.
We were still waiting. All I did was wait at the hospital. They give you so much time to think which is horrible. Simple things are torture. I waited for the ambulance to arrive when I heard the news, with no information where the fucking thing was. No one knew. They all thought I was crazy trying to rush out words, but being calmly polite at the same time. All the nurses did was stare at me as I took a seat in the waiting room, hearing cars and other ambulances. I waited for ten minutes alone, watching fat fucks stuff their faces with more candy than their stomachs could hold, Ricki Lake in the background with more white trash. All of this was staring at me, wondering what I was doing there.
Not until my "grandparents" showed up did someone wait for me. But we said nothing to each other. I knew he was dead the moment my mom called me crying that he collapsed at work. I couldn't get anything from my aunt. Her phone was either busy or she was crying too hard to understand.
When the ambulance finally arrived with my father's already dead body, did the nurses start to care for me, and their stares turned to pity.
We were all still quiet and still thinking as I tinkered around the small place, trying to pull myself together for my family in case my mom couldn't handle it all. But she did. She spoke about his heart condition, she talked to the coroner, and she took care of all the paperwork, despite her husband of twenty-three years being dead. I've never been more proud of my mother than I have ever been in my life.
The walk to the room where his body laid was long and the stares of all our red faces were being judged it felt like. Every single person looked up. Every single person turned their normally happy expressions to the mannequin look the in-training nurse had. I walked ahead of everyone, to see the blow first in case I needed to warn my mother. And I had to too. I walked to the room and the awkward nurse pulled back the blue curtain and there was my father. Slightly reclined on an unpleasant table with the tissue paper, with the table, and stainless still glinting in the poor lighting surrounding him. He was pale, his lips a stronger blue than they normally were. His hands were over the cover they had on him, palm facing up to the sky. He was limp and slightly slack-jawed, since he couldn't keep his mouth closed anymore.
I stepped back and told my mother in a very serious tone, "Prepare yourself."
Everyone stopped walking at my words, hesitating for the worst. But then my mom and sister stepped up and my sister took one look and had to sit outside of the room. The mannequin nurse got her a chair. I held her head against my stomach until she stopped shaking. Then we both went inside the room, my father's body still waiting and she cried against mom.
Mom had a brown bag, breathing into it as she stared down at him. Around his mouth was bruised from the breathing tubes and mask. He didn't have on his shirt (they ripped it off, trying to save him at the job site). I saw my mom put a hand where his heart should be and the words slip from her mouth very quietly, "I don't know what I'm gonna do; I've been with him for so long."
I glanced at her and moved to the other side of the bed, spotting all his personal items in a plastic bag on the counter. I took it. Just grabbed it. Didn't ask if I should. His boots, belt, nasal spray, knife, wallet, keys, and his hat. He always loved hats. I have his dark green fedora now. I still don't know where his straw hat he used for mowing is. I think my mother packed it away with the rest of his clothes. I sat down on the bench to his right. I sat there awkwardly with my bag of his things, the last of what he wore. His boots were so heavy. He always complained about his feet hurting.
I stared at him, trying to not look at my mom and sister who were crying and holding one another, so I took his hand. I thought it would be the right thing to do, to touch him like I never did when he was alive. I was always afraid of my father. Although he was only a couple of inches taller than I, he was still a very strong man. He was intimidating. I guess I was afraid of him in some ways. But whenever I had touched him, cuddling against him as a child, or sitting next to him at home, I could feel his body heat. It would make me sweat or move seats. He always just said, "I run hot." But his hand, as soon as I touched it, was cold. Like he was out shoveling snow without gloves.
I didn't let go, but looked at his face, wondering if he'd open his eyes or close his mouth. Nothing happened. I adjusted the bag of his items on my lap and took my other hand to his wrist. Cold. I moved it up to his elbow, and it was slightly warm. His heat was receding. I could almost see it start to retreat from his hands, trying to keep, maybe, his heart still warm.
That moment changed my life. I think about it when I'm alone. I think about it at night before I go to sleep. I think about it at work, on the toilet, in the shower, fixing food. My father's dead body just slackened in the reclined seat. It was traumatizing in a sense that's hard to explain. Yes, I can still function, but it sparked something in my head. It told me to grow up; it told me to live life; and it told me that, one day, that will be me.
I did tell my father that I loved him that day, when my mom and sister left the room and I was finally alone. I told him I was sorry. What else could I say? I wanted him to hear, in some atheist way, that he was my father, despite what we had been through.
Since he died I've had trouble sleeping alone. I think of everything I never got to do. I think of the tiny box his ashes are in. That strong man that intimidated me, who scared me, was in a small white box. Nothing else in my life mattered at that point. Still doesn't. I try to have anything that bothers put in that box. Sometimes it works, but I still can't stop caring about being alone, about not saying "I love you," about now showing how much I care for a person.
I tried putting my control issues in that box, but it just keeps getting worse.
I tried putting past relationships in that box, but they're like a slap in the fucking face.
I tried putting friends who don't understand in that box, but they're so fucking loud.
Although he changed me, even in his death, I am still the same. His death disarrayed who I was. Now, four months later, I'm trying to put myself back together, one piece at a time. I don't know who I am now. My identity has changed. My moods fluctuate at a tortuous level. I just see things in a more enlightened view. That girl that I was on the twentieth of November died with my father. Now I'm a woman and I'm trying to find my niche in life just so I can function again.
And figuring out who you are again takes patience, not only from myself, but others. I'm shifting through my childhood, through his stories, and through adulthood. He always tried to make me the person I am now, so I'm shifting through that guilt too.
All I want to conclude is that I'm no longer the same.
I'm sure everyone has seen the slightest difference in me although I try not to show it.
That's all I want to say. I could say more about how I missed him, now I miss his body, but this is too long already. I just want people to know that four months isn't enough. Four months is nothing on that life scale.
People have this generalized misconception that grief is like what it is in the movies. No one falls over each other or has a epiphany within the first month of said death. No. When I found out my father died at 2:25PM on November 21, 2012, I was stunned. The first thing I did was look at my family. My "grandparents," my cousins, my aunt (who watched her brother die), and my cousin who I think of as an Uncle (who also held my father as he took his last breath). My mom put her hands over her mouth and my sister's face turned so red that I didn't think she was breathing.
Someone said, "Oh God, oh no," and I continued to listen to the awkward nurse who was training someone that day. The someone silently stood behind him, with such a blank face that she could've been mistaken for a mannequin.
My father was a strong man who never believed in hospitals. They always treated him with utmost care since he was born with a heart defect called Tetralogy of Fallot. He didn't like the attention where they gathered every intern to hear his heart. It sounded so strained. I remember as a little girl seeing his chest vibrate with each heartbeat, or hearing it in a quiet room. He always said to not worry about it, that he would live to be an old man and escape from the home I would put him in and be at my breakfast table, ready to eat. Even the page said most people die around the age of twenty. My father lived to be 42-years-old. His whole life the doctors said he wouldn't live until he was five, or seventeen, or twenty-six. He made it to my twenty-third year.
And we waited. We waited for up to an hour so the coroner could, by tradition and law, tell the hospital that he was definitely dead. During that hour I took to being out of my family's sight. I went to the empty rooms around our quiet, little area. I picked up streets of different problems that the ER uses (I thought about stealing some). I looked through the see-through fridge that held medicine. I spun around in nearby chairs. My aunt came out once and said I didn't have to be like my father, I didn't have to be the strong one. I couldn't cry. I refused (which causes major sinus problems for the next month and headaches that crippled me some nights). I couldn't let my mother worry about one more thing. She, too, was holding herself together, trying to calm my sister whose face was still blood red.
My uncle came to sit next to me to tell me, too, that I didn't have to be strong like my father -- that no one would care if I cried. He cried. My entire family cried. I didn't. Sure, a few tears fell, but I cursed myself for them. In some strange way I felt my dad and I didn't want him to think I was weak, despite the death. My dad had always been on me for crying, just me. I guess I was the closest thing to a son he had. He always tried for me to fish, play chess, card games, work on cars, or weed eat as he mowed. I always said no. I didn't want to spend time with him. I was a spoiled little bitch who never got what real love was, or what it means to a person to be there for them. I never got my dad was trying later in life. We didn't get along for some of my life, but he was trying in his last few years and I couldn't pull myself together to see it. I regret that. I don't even remember the last "I love you," we said to each other. Not at all. I try to remember, but I just end up crying.
We were still waiting. All I did was wait at the hospital. They give you so much time to think which is horrible. Simple things are torture. I waited for the ambulance to arrive when I heard the news, with no information where the fucking thing was. No one knew. They all thought I was crazy trying to rush out words, but being calmly polite at the same time. All the nurses did was stare at me as I took a seat in the waiting room, hearing cars and other ambulances. I waited for ten minutes alone, watching fat fucks stuff their faces with more candy than their stomachs could hold, Ricki Lake in the background with more white trash. All of this was staring at me, wondering what I was doing there.
Not until my "grandparents" showed up did someone wait for me. But we said nothing to each other. I knew he was dead the moment my mom called me crying that he collapsed at work. I couldn't get anything from my aunt. Her phone was either busy or she was crying too hard to understand.
When the ambulance finally arrived with my father's already dead body, did the nurses start to care for me, and their stares turned to pity.
We were all still quiet and still thinking as I tinkered around the small place, trying to pull myself together for my family in case my mom couldn't handle it all. But she did. She spoke about his heart condition, she talked to the coroner, and she took care of all the paperwork, despite her husband of twenty-three years being dead. I've never been more proud of my mother than I have ever been in my life.
The walk to the room where his body laid was long and the stares of all our red faces were being judged it felt like. Every single person looked up. Every single person turned their normally happy expressions to the mannequin look the in-training nurse had. I walked ahead of everyone, to see the blow first in case I needed to warn my mother. And I had to too. I walked to the room and the awkward nurse pulled back the blue curtain and there was my father. Slightly reclined on an unpleasant table with the tissue paper, with the table, and stainless still glinting in the poor lighting surrounding him. He was pale, his lips a stronger blue than they normally were. His hands were over the cover they had on him, palm facing up to the sky. He was limp and slightly slack-jawed, since he couldn't keep his mouth closed anymore.
I stepped back and told my mother in a very serious tone, "Prepare yourself."
Everyone stopped walking at my words, hesitating for the worst. But then my mom and sister stepped up and my sister took one look and had to sit outside of the room. The mannequin nurse got her a chair. I held her head against my stomach until she stopped shaking. Then we both went inside the room, my father's body still waiting and she cried against mom.
Mom had a brown bag, breathing into it as she stared down at him. Around his mouth was bruised from the breathing tubes and mask. He didn't have on his shirt (they ripped it off, trying to save him at the job site). I saw my mom put a hand where his heart should be and the words slip from her mouth very quietly, "I don't know what I'm gonna do; I've been with him for so long."
I glanced at her and moved to the other side of the bed, spotting all his personal items in a plastic bag on the counter. I took it. Just grabbed it. Didn't ask if I should. His boots, belt, nasal spray, knife, wallet, keys, and his hat. He always loved hats. I have his dark green fedora now. I still don't know where his straw hat he used for mowing is. I think my mother packed it away with the rest of his clothes. I sat down on the bench to his right. I sat there awkwardly with my bag of his things, the last of what he wore. His boots were so heavy. He always complained about his feet hurting.
I stared at him, trying to not look at my mom and sister who were crying and holding one another, so I took his hand. I thought it would be the right thing to do, to touch him like I never did when he was alive. I was always afraid of my father. Although he was only a couple of inches taller than I, he was still a very strong man. He was intimidating. I guess I was afraid of him in some ways. But whenever I had touched him, cuddling against him as a child, or sitting next to him at home, I could feel his body heat. It would make me sweat or move seats. He always just said, "I run hot." But his hand, as soon as I touched it, was cold. Like he was out shoveling snow without gloves.
I didn't let go, but looked at his face, wondering if he'd open his eyes or close his mouth. Nothing happened. I adjusted the bag of his items on my lap and took my other hand to his wrist. Cold. I moved it up to his elbow, and it was slightly warm. His heat was receding. I could almost see it start to retreat from his hands, trying to keep, maybe, his heart still warm.
That moment changed my life. I think about it when I'm alone. I think about it at night before I go to sleep. I think about it at work, on the toilet, in the shower, fixing food. My father's dead body just slackened in the reclined seat. It was traumatizing in a sense that's hard to explain. Yes, I can still function, but it sparked something in my head. It told me to grow up; it told me to live life; and it told me that, one day, that will be me.
I did tell my father that I loved him that day, when my mom and sister left the room and I was finally alone. I told him I was sorry. What else could I say? I wanted him to hear, in some atheist way, that he was my father, despite what we had been through.
Since he died I've had trouble sleeping alone. I think of everything I never got to do. I think of the tiny box his ashes are in. That strong man that intimidated me, who scared me, was in a small white box. Nothing else in my life mattered at that point. Still doesn't. I try to have anything that bothers put in that box. Sometimes it works, but I still can't stop caring about being alone, about not saying "I love you," about now showing how much I care for a person.
I tried putting my control issues in that box, but it just keeps getting worse.
I tried putting past relationships in that box, but they're like a slap in the fucking face.
I tried putting friends who don't understand in that box, but they're so fucking loud.
Although he changed me, even in his death, I am still the same. His death disarrayed who I was. Now, four months later, I'm trying to put myself back together, one piece at a time. I don't know who I am now. My identity has changed. My moods fluctuate at a tortuous level. I just see things in a more enlightened view. That girl that I was on the twentieth of November died with my father. Now I'm a woman and I'm trying to find my niche in life just so I can function again.
And figuring out who you are again takes patience, not only from myself, but others. I'm shifting through my childhood, through his stories, and through adulthood. He always tried to make me the person I am now, so I'm shifting through that guilt too.
All I want to conclude is that I'm no longer the same.
I'm sure everyone has seen the slightest difference in me although I try not to show it.
That's all I want to say. I could say more about how I missed him, now I miss his body, but this is too long already. I just want people to know that four months isn't enough. Four months is nothing on that life scale.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Three Years And Nothing to Show But This Stuffed Dog
So, on the first of April, yes, the holiday of those fools, I will be working for Target for three years. A toddler's age where self-care is being learned, where they discover bodies, and talk back. In three years I could've raised a functional child.
The HR guy gives out cards each year you've worked there. My card included to redeem a gift online. I did.
I chose this piece of hot ass in the sweater vest.
I almost chose the suit and tie one because I could play Suit & Tie by Justin Timberlake and it be relevant. But this look just gets to me.
I kind of want to invest in this sort of outfit for work to look this amazing. These threads just do it for me.
I'm jamming to Taylor Swift while Jaccob plays with himself in the shower. Now it's Eagle Eye Cherry.
I've had an okay day so far. Of course it's just a couple of hours past midday. Jaccob and I are supposed to go out for ice cream tonight, after another dinner outing. I plan on waking up and cooking him breakfast before he goes to work, shhhhh, he doesn't know about it.
So that entry was earlier.
Now, six hours later, he's playing a game and he's been trying to tell me a story worth one minute into five. Ha.
We had Haru Sushi for dinner. Sushi was amazing, but he had me try the soup appetizer. Burned my tongue worse. And the spicy mayo didn't help matters either. It hurts so bad. I hope I don't get other white sores where it looks like I have HPV in my mouth. How embarrassing, ha ha ha.
Then we hurried to Stackz to cool down our mouths from the spices. I let that cold ass shit just soothe my tongue. I would keep it on there until it was warm liquid. My tongue is hurting again.
Dropped my favorite lighter with the painted face in the bath today. It's dead. Pity me.
Jaccob and I were racing a few days ago. Full on race. Well, he went to pass me and he was so close his shoulder touched mine. I tried to nudge him away, but he was un-nudgeable and I completely skidded onto the concrete with my palms face down. I skinned my elbow through my thick cardigan. And I bruised and skidded up my right knee through my jeans. My right palm was the worst. Tore the skin right off. It kept opening up and bleeding for a couple of days. Now it's, what Jaccob calls, "Dragon skin." Sore to touch and look at. If I worked in food service as a server, then they would ask me to wear gloves.
When I was on the ground, I kept saying, "Ow, it's so painful."
Jaccob was laughing, and was trying to help me up, but the pain.
I said, "Stop touching me! It hurts! Ow! Ow! Stop!"
He kept laughing.
"I'm bleeding!"
"No you're not."
I flashed my right palm at him, "See, I am."
He rolled his eyes when I finally stood and couldn't full stretch out my right leg. I was hobbling. Jaccob then decided to try and pick me up and I was trying to slide my foot faster so I could drag race out of his reach (ha, get it?).
Today, at work, the electricity went off due to the storm. The long-ass storm. About forty-five minutes there were hardly any lights and no one could clock in or out. So, yeah. But I don't know why that's blog-worthy.
I'm going to go finish Stardust now.
Wish me the best reading.
No love,
Me
The HR guy gives out cards each year you've worked there. My card included to redeem a gift online. I did.
I chose this piece of hot ass in the sweater vest.
I almost chose the suit and tie one because I could play Suit & Tie by Justin Timberlake and it be relevant. But this look just gets to me.
I kind of want to invest in this sort of outfit for work to look this amazing. These threads just do it for me.
I'm jamming to Taylor Swift while Jaccob plays with himself in the shower. Now it's Eagle Eye Cherry.
I've had an okay day so far. Of course it's just a couple of hours past midday. Jaccob and I are supposed to go out for ice cream tonight, after another dinner outing. I plan on waking up and cooking him breakfast before he goes to work, shhhhh, he doesn't know about it.
So that entry was earlier.
Now, six hours later, he's playing a game and he's been trying to tell me a story worth one minute into five. Ha.
We had Haru Sushi for dinner. Sushi was amazing, but he had me try the soup appetizer. Burned my tongue worse. And the spicy mayo didn't help matters either. It hurts so bad. I hope I don't get other white sores where it looks like I have HPV in my mouth. How embarrassing, ha ha ha.
Then we hurried to Stackz to cool down our mouths from the spices. I let that cold ass shit just soothe my tongue. I would keep it on there until it was warm liquid. My tongue is hurting again.
Dropped my favorite lighter with the painted face in the bath today. It's dead. Pity me.
Jaccob and I were racing a few days ago. Full on race. Well, he went to pass me and he was so close his shoulder touched mine. I tried to nudge him away, but he was un-nudgeable and I completely skidded onto the concrete with my palms face down. I skinned my elbow through my thick cardigan. And I bruised and skidded up my right knee through my jeans. My right palm was the worst. Tore the skin right off. It kept opening up and bleeding for a couple of days. Now it's, what Jaccob calls, "Dragon skin." Sore to touch and look at. If I worked in food service as a server, then they would ask me to wear gloves.
When I was on the ground, I kept saying, "Ow, it's so painful."
Jaccob was laughing, and was trying to help me up, but the pain.
I said, "Stop touching me! It hurts! Ow! Ow! Stop!"
He kept laughing.
"I'm bleeding!"
"No you're not."
I flashed my right palm at him, "See, I am."
He rolled his eyes when I finally stood and couldn't full stretch out my right leg. I was hobbling. Jaccob then decided to try and pick me up and I was trying to slide my foot faster so I could drag race out of his reach (ha, get it?).
Today, at work, the electricity went off due to the storm. The long-ass storm. About forty-five minutes there were hardly any lights and no one could clock in or out. So, yeah. But I don't know why that's blog-worthy.
I'm going to go finish Stardust now.
Wish me the best reading.
No love,
Me
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Up in Knots
Todd knows what my title is in reference to.
Okay, so what if I'm not blogging like I have no life anymore. Todd said that I'm making facebook my new blogger. Go to hell. That would never happen. Only this place gets the funniest, raunchiest stories ever.
She's got you high and you don't even know....
I have my headphones on while Jaccob plays that Odyssey game. This game is stupid.
Aw, Kaim was poisoned in battle. He has a green orb of light emanating from his head like some cool outer shell of hair.
This is fucking awesome....
Yeah, I'm listening to Thrift Shop.
The other day Jaccob and I went to the mall. While he went in the game shop, I walked into the nearest clothing store that is reputably known for having "men's style numbers" for pant size. Ladies, we all know what I'm talking about. Anyway.
I was talking to the sales associate who just finished this really mean older lady with her nose-picking kid. She turned around, tried to help me by asking what size I wore. I told her "thirty-three by thirty-three." (That's right, I'm being the strong woman here.)
She stopped, looked back up at me from the pants and said, "Wow, I'd never think you'd be that big! Nothing over a...." She hesitated, looking at the surprise in my eyebrows I guess and finished with, "a thirty." While quickly going back to looking at the sizes.
She was a skinny, tan, pink-nailed blonde. She was nice, just no prelude to her mouth.
So, I was tinkering in the kitchen when Jaccob needed some hot water for something or another. Well, I'm tinkering and he's running the water. And running the water. And running the water. I look over and he's all knitted-brow staring at the facet.
I smiled and asked, "So, what'cha doing?"
He replied, "The water isn't turning hot."
I looked and he had it up and right. The exact and perfect way to get cold water. I told him so. He tried to act as if he knew.
My cousin dropped his iPhone 4S in a bucket of his own vomit.
That almost beats the time when he dropped it in the full Port-a-Potty.
Okay, so what if I'm not blogging like I have no life anymore. Todd said that I'm making facebook my new blogger. Go to hell. That would never happen. Only this place gets the funniest, raunchiest stories ever.
She's got you high and you don't even know....
I have my headphones on while Jaccob plays that Odyssey game. This game is stupid.
Aw, Kaim was poisoned in battle. He has a green orb of light emanating from his head like some cool outer shell of hair.
This is fucking awesome....
Yeah, I'm listening to Thrift Shop.
The other day Jaccob and I went to the mall. While he went in the game shop, I walked into the nearest clothing store that is reputably known for having "men's style numbers" for pant size. Ladies, we all know what I'm talking about. Anyway.
I was talking to the sales associate who just finished this really mean older lady with her nose-picking kid. She turned around, tried to help me by asking what size I wore. I told her "thirty-three by thirty-three." (That's right, I'm being the strong woman here.)
She stopped, looked back up at me from the pants and said, "Wow, I'd never think you'd be that big! Nothing over a...." She hesitated, looking at the surprise in my eyebrows I guess and finished with, "a thirty." While quickly going back to looking at the sizes.
She was a skinny, tan, pink-nailed blonde. She was nice, just no prelude to her mouth.
So, I was tinkering in the kitchen when Jaccob needed some hot water for something or another. Well, I'm tinkering and he's running the water. And running the water. And running the water. I look over and he's all knitted-brow staring at the facet.
I smiled and asked, "So, what'cha doing?"
He replied, "The water isn't turning hot."
I looked and he had it up and right. The exact and perfect way to get cold water. I told him so. He tried to act as if he knew.
My cousin dropped his iPhone 4S in a bucket of his own vomit.
That almost beats the time when he dropped it in the full Port-a-Potty.
Honesty is the best policy, Folks. Very sweet of Fallon to think of me in such light. Amen.
I asked Jaccob before we left if I should try with my hair. He said no, that it looked fine. Yeah, Todd, Malachai, and May all had something along the lines of asking me, "What's wrong with your hair?"
True story.
It's okay to squee. I do.
I have to fold three loads of clothes. I know, stop being jealous.
Also, my tongue does that painful itch that you can't stop scraping with your tongue. It's slowly driving me crazy.
Been watching Freaks and Geeks. I'm in love.
Hey, no, babe, what you wanna do? I think I could stay with you....
Name that song and I'm out.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Oh Shit...
So I thought about writing a post about how much I like sucking dick, but I realized that Fallon has been guest-posted on iwillnotdiet.com and I am linked inside. This didn't bother me and until I realized some of the subject matter on here.
It's like I dropped the soap on purpose or something.
So maybe I need to cool it and act like Virgin Mary.
Today I woke up.
Today I thought about my name being Mary.
Today I was thankful that it was.
Then I thought about if I was related to Bloody Mary.
Finally, I thought about how innocent I'm not.
Todd's birthday was nice and well-paced. His cake was so much better than Scotty's (I am sorry that the time crack founds it way into the Tardis). It was just neater, I guess. Learned all the ways to avoid another time crack (that's why it's round).
I learned I'm more of a maid than a hostess. I just couldn't stop washing the dishes that were dirtied. Maybe that's how I take out my nervousness. Cleaning up after boys. Should I even call myself a feminist anymore?
By the way, Flamingo has been mentioned before on here, if you want to know the history (which I doubt you do), just search through my entries like you're a Historian or something (Fallon, I'm nodding my head to you right now).
By the way, again, take a mirror to "83."
I painted this for my Amanda.
Took me like three days and a whole lot of patience I usually have reserved for knitting to finish it.
It says, "Meet some friends of mine," on the bottom. I don't know why that violet color would be good for black lettering.
I painted this old shelf I found in my garage. It used to be my great-grandmother's.
It's now standing in our living/dining room area.
I bought a bowl for it. It's sort of pity-looking. Shame too. Just like my great-grandmother.
I also bought these purposely girly plates. They're light blue with snowflakes. They never said a word about them. Har. My plan to get reactions failed. On to another way then....
We bought all that I've mentioned at Kohl's. We went shopping because we missed each other. Too bad I can't just not be busy, or her.
Right now, Jaccob is playing the Batman game. I'm not going to try and look up the name. Batman slammed Hugo Strange against the glass. I yelled out, "OH YEAH, THAT'S HOT. MAN ON MAN ACTION."
No reaction from Jaccob. Didn't even act like I was talking.
It's jellybean season! And we all know what that means -- Heather is aiming for a new cavity!
It's only 8PM and all I want to do is sleep.
Jaccob looked back at me while his game was loading and saw me laying out on the bed with my eyes half-lidded from fatigue. He smiled and asked, "Bored?"
I slid my eyes over to him, saying, "Yes. Immensely."
He laughed, asking, "Then why don't you talk to me?" He went back to his game.
I looked back at the game too, "Because you don't have a good response time."
He waited ten seconds and then said, "Ha, no I don't."
And to end this:
I was texting my sister through my mother's phone.
It's like I dropped the soap on purpose or something.
So maybe I need to cool it and act like Virgin Mary.
Today I woke up.
Today I thought about my name being Mary.
Today I was thankful that it was.
Then I thought about if I was related to Bloody Mary.
Finally, I thought about how innocent I'm not.
Todd's birthday was nice and well-paced. His cake was so much better than Scotty's (I am sorry that the time crack founds it way into the Tardis). It was just neater, I guess. Learned all the ways to avoid another time crack (that's why it's round).
I learned I'm more of a maid than a hostess. I just couldn't stop washing the dishes that were dirtied. Maybe that's how I take out my nervousness. Cleaning up after boys. Should I even call myself a feminist anymore?
By the way, Flamingo has been mentioned before on here, if you want to know the history (which I doubt you do), just search through my entries like you're a Historian or something (Fallon, I'm nodding my head to you right now).
By the way, again, take a mirror to "83."
Kyle's head looks odd, I know.
DUNDUNDUNDUNDUNDUN.I painted this for my Amanda.
Took me like three days and a whole lot of patience I usually have reserved for knitting to finish it.
It says, "Meet some friends of mine," on the bottom. I don't know why that violet color would be good for black lettering.
I painted this old shelf I found in my garage. It used to be my great-grandmother's.
It's now standing in our living/dining room area.
I bought a bowl for it. It's sort of pity-looking. Shame too. Just like my great-grandmother.
I did not bother to clean off the table so you can see them in use.
Fallon bought me these gorgeous place mats for my apartment. The guys like them, but I honestly didn't care if they liked them or not, they were staying.I also bought these purposely girly plates. They're light blue with snowflakes. They never said a word about them. Har. My plan to get reactions failed. On to another way then....
We bought all that I've mentioned at Kohl's. We went shopping because we missed each other. Too bad I can't just not be busy, or her.
Right now, Jaccob is playing the Batman game. I'm not going to try and look up the name. Batman slammed Hugo Strange against the glass. I yelled out, "OH YEAH, THAT'S HOT. MAN ON MAN ACTION."
No reaction from Jaccob. Didn't even act like I was talking.
It's jellybean season! And we all know what that means -- Heather is aiming for a new cavity!
It's only 8PM and all I want to do is sleep.
Jaccob looked back at me while his game was loading and saw me laying out on the bed with my eyes half-lidded from fatigue. He smiled and asked, "Bored?"
I slid my eyes over to him, saying, "Yes. Immensely."
He laughed, asking, "Then why don't you talk to me?" He went back to his game.
I looked back at the game too, "Because you don't have a good response time."
He waited ten seconds and then said, "Ha, no I don't."
And to end this:
I was texting my sister through my mother's phone.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Chocolate Chip Cookies and Such Things
So, I haven't been blogging much and I'm going to blame the universe for keeping me so busy. Besides, it's not like strangers read this and feel like they're missing out on some Kentucky chick's life. No. My friends like to stalk me which I like to support 100%. Maybe I just like attention -- who knows.
First things first, I attended my FIRST EVER Super Bowl Party. It was at Jaccob's brother's house. Trust me, I was not amused the entire time. I really don't get football. Not understanding it is one way, another way is that I'm bored out of my mind and begin making stories. Like the sacred man with ball is sacrificing himself for his people.
Too bad, right?
But, Jaccob has a niece and I amused myself with her by making funny sounds.
However, I HAVE A BIG ANNOUNCEMENT!!
And although Jaccob and I hardly told anyone before we took action, I decided to make one permanently and in fell swoop so one might have all their questions answered here. You know, like an F.A.Q.
Jaccob and I moved in together. I still stay a night or so a week with my mom, but we live together now. Surprising, I know.
I moved in a couple of weeks ago. Well, barely two weeks ago. I have my own side of the room and he does too. The only awful part is keeping up with laundry because his brother lives with us, too. Well, I live with them technically.
Oh, and food. I do the cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping. I'm sorry, ladies, please judge me later.
They eat like they've only had prosthetic food.
Jaccob did hang up my painting. And I hung up my pig calendar right beside it (which the amazing Fallon bought me as a surprise). Which I've moved it since this pic was taken. It's above my "dresser."
Fuck the alignment on these pictures. It wouldn't me do it in a way that actually makes sense.
The other night Jaccob let me draw on his toes. So I did. I giggled the entire time. Looking back, I'm grossing myself out. I was not sober.
But moving out is encouraging. However, my food, dishes, and laundry does not magically replenish itself anymore. If I have time outside of homework I'm doing that. If not, I'm with Jaccob. If not, I'm ignoring life and just getting my groove back.
Which takes two tries for Stella.
She just can't get the hang of it apparently.
Now I have to fold laundry. I will come back and talk more about my Archeology major. It's going well thus far.
P.S. - Another thing I truly, really, honestly miss aside from Mom and Amanda is my cat. My God I fucking miss that furry beast. Like a child I miss him.
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