I dont think I'm a good fit with my family. The more I think about my stance in life and politics and morality, the more I realize that my family's beliefs are on opposite ends. I mean, I love my family and they are great people to know and hang out with and get support from and be supportive of, but we don't see eye to eye on some things. And they don't know the real me. I'm not very "out there" with my family so they pretty much see me as the smart, silent one. And I am smart but not silent. I certainly have something to say at all times and they don't see that. And I laugh a lot around them, but most of the time it's because I'm supposed to find it funny--not like it's actually funny. Yeah. I guess I'm a good pretender around the familia. And I guess that's okay because who is ever their actual selves with family? I mean, we don't expose every bit of our opinions and sexuality to those with blood ties. I'm not going to walk up to my great aunt and tell her that I liked to be kissed here or there, and I won't tell my dad about the fourteen year age difference of so and so, etc. But I don't find my family to be as progressive as I because most of them are semi-religious and some are supporters of Bush. And there are a few who hate Bush but wouldn't actually do anything to stop what they didn't believe in. Another reason why I need to get away, away. I guess the further away I get the more able I will be in becoming myself. I can and will develop into someone greater who does what I want because it's what I want, not what others feel I should do.
I cringe when I think of becoming another cookie cutter image in the eyes of my family, and America at large. I'd love a family, but I dont want to follow the typical American recipe which, I believe, goes as follows: go to college at 18, meet "the man of my dreams" by age 21, graduate from college at 22, continue with grad studies, be married by 25 to "the man of my dreams," live in an apartment with husband while continuing studies, find a great job in the meantime, graduate with Masters by 26, get pregnant by 27, buy a house in the 'burbs, get a wonderful and safe job which will guarantee success and wealth, have baby, continue working, have happy marriage, drive an SUV, go on vacations once a year, keep safe job, have another child and rinse, lather, repeat until you die. No. While that image is great for some, I see my life panning out differently. I'd rather go to school, study a lot, drink a lot, become myself a lot, have sex a lot, start petitions a lot, graduate with honors or something, join the peace corps, decide that what I studied for four years is NOT what I want to do with myself for the rest of my life, study something else overseas, meet a cute progressive ethnic boy, have love affair, study lots, end relationship because he can't keep up with me, find a new progressive British guy while doing charity work in Africa, return to studies somewhere, get PhD, do more petitions, become a voice in the community at large, gain power and change the world and have a baby, perhaps with guy from Africa. Or Prince William? Mhm. That's more like it, eh? There is so much that can be fixed with this world and I think I can help to change it if I allow my fears to step aside and I am more active. To be myself. And a great step is to be away. I'm not sure "away" in the middle of nowhere is the best place to start, but it is a start. And, as previously mentioned, I can leave. So who knows. I may wind up back in the city, or overseas or Canada. I dont know.
Wednesday I'm petitioning in front of Subway. Should be cool. Hopefully sometime soon I will protest at the mall. It shall be great.
I'm gonna go do stuff.
As always, Peace and Love.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
I was thinking that I might fly today
I'm a sensitive girl and it has taken almost nineteen years to figure it out, or at least admit it. I guess I admit it with pride and sincerity. But let's examine the term sensitive. I don't mean that I cry at little things like a pretty sunset or a sappy hallmark commercial; fuck that shit. I mean sensitive in the way that I bruise easily with thing that happen in my life, ya know? I always thought that I had a thick skin because I didn't wear my heart on my sleeve and show affection or emotions to anyone. But I have black and blues all over my body from where death and life and everything in between has hurt me. I suppose it's normal to bear scars from traumatic events, and sometimes you're not lucky enough to have scars; some wounds never heal fully and a little bandaid must be kept on it because it bleeds too often. But whatever. I'm fragile. I may not show it on the outside (I'm good at pretending) but words hurt, as do actions, and over time they cause pain. And it all just builds and builds. Then I cry and become the weakling that I hate. I don't cry in front of others because that's being vulnerable and a part of me feels like I'm supposed to be strong for everyone. I'm depended on way too much by friends and family to plaster on a smile and give advice at the drop of a fucking hat. And I dont mind being the nurturer because I like taking care of people and giving advice, but sometimes I have to curl up in a ball and cry under the blanket. I dont know what I'm saying anymore, actually. I'm too busy having fun with the Across the Universe soundtrack and I'm singing and tapping my foot; I can't be serious about being sad and sensitive when I'm doing fun stuff. Shwatevs. lalaalalalala...
I think I still smell like cigarettes. Keri's friends light up every three seconds, so I was dripping in sweat from dancing lots and dripping in cigarette smoke. I dont mind because they're all chill and the guys love to hit on me by offering me cigarettes. haha. It was a good time; too bad I don't smoke. But I do love to grind with Karen on the living room floor. Oh yesh. Oh yesh. Let's just say if there was a fire alarm in that house, it would have went off by the third or fourth song and fingers would have been pointed at Ms. Noyes and myself. But the party was great because I haven't danced to good music in a long time. And the whiskey was good too. Duh.
I haven't eaten yet. I should do that.
There's much more I want to discuss, but as of now...I'll chill out. I gotta go get me grub (alliteration).
Peace.
I think I still smell like cigarettes. Keri's friends light up every three seconds, so I was dripping in sweat from dancing lots and dripping in cigarette smoke. I dont mind because they're all chill and the guys love to hit on me by offering me cigarettes. haha. It was a good time; too bad I don't smoke. But I do love to grind with Karen on the living room floor. Oh yesh. Oh yesh. Let's just say if there was a fire alarm in that house, it would have went off by the third or fourth song and fingers would have been pointed at Ms. Noyes and myself. But the party was great because I haven't danced to good music in a long time. And the whiskey was good too. Duh.
I haven't eaten yet. I should do that.
There's much more I want to discuss, but as of now...I'll chill out. I gotta go get me grub (alliteration).
Peace.
Boy, you been a naughty girl you let your knickers down.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
slip into my lover's hands
"And losing your way on a journey is unfortunate. But, losing your reason for the journey is a fate more cruel. Sometimes I traveled alone, sometimes, there were others who took the wheel--and took my heart. But when the destination was reached, it wasn’t me who arrived. It wasn't me at all. And once you lose yourself, you have two choices: find the person you used to be, or lose that person completely. sometimes, you have to step outside of the person you've been--and remember the person you were meant to be. The person you wanted to be. The person you are."
Friday, March 28, 2008
Thoughtless words are breaking my heart...
...Or should I say thoughtless actions? Well, words and actions both work in this case.
I have been fervently researching Geneseo and New Paltz over the past two days, trying to scrounge up as much information about them as possible. Yesh, I've decided on Geneseo, but I took the immunization form sent to my house from New Paltz as a sign that maybe I should look into them a bit more. Geneseo is still winning because I've actually seen that campus and the surrounding area, so I know what I'm getting myself into. I've been comparing distances from home--and NP obv. wins for being closer but is that what I want? Yes three hours is further than the forty minutes from Patchogue to Hempstead...but still. Seven hours sounds nice, along with the trees and grass and waterfalls. The Hofstra campus has trees and grass, but twenty steps away is a bustling turnpike with too much noise and scents and fears and dangers. I still fear that I will be hit by a car on this campus one day.
Researching both, Geneseo is my choice. I just have to tell my parents now. I told them that New Paltz was my option prior to this decision, so now I have to re-tell them that I'm going to Geneseo because it's further from everything. I guess it's like running from shit, but I'd like to see it as temporarily hiding, ya know? I can come home for holidays...yippee, right? And, as mentioned, I can leave if I wanna...or if I have to?
I sit here in the museum. Alone. And this is by far the dumbest time for me to work; the museum is closed because we're putting up new exhibits and no visitors are allowed. So I sit here like a douche guarding the paintings from the non-existent visitors. I woke up at 8:30am this Friday morning to sit in an empty room with humming radiators and music. I can't complain because I'm essentially getting paid to go online for seven hours. But I have no human contact unless it's my boss or the cleaning guy and I have my own thoughts and that becomes dangerous after a while. If I'm by myself too long I think too much and when I think too much, I am sullen and moody because I tend to overthink myself and the people in it. I hate myself for the ways that I do things, or how I should do things differently--and I hate others around me for keeping me like this when I want to be that. Putrid thoughts I have, I really do. So I write. And even this blogging bull shit can be dangerous because I can't totally express myself because people read this and I can't write negatively if I'm venting about them. And it sits and waits patiently to explode.
So I sit here in this chair and stare at empty walls, and admire the paintings resting up against the empty walls, dying to be hung up and presented for the world to see. From what I've seen, it's really unique and colorful and what's depicted is impressive. I think I'll like this one :).
My urban culture and identity class finally ended yesterday. Now I have philosophy. I plan on taking a day off from that class; in all six other courses, I was never absent once, and I feel like I need to play hookie at least once. It's not fair that my roommates can miss days and it won't matter, while, if I do, my grade drops. Bull fucking shit, son. And apparently this professor doesn't care too much, so I shall shop and spend money on spring clothes, maybe at Fulton Street Mall, and I will love Brooklyn and fall in love with my gold-toofed gangstas again. Without surveys this time! wo_0t.
I still have a seven page paper to write. I dont know where to even begin, so I think I'll just not think about it until Sunday morning. Yeah. I like that idea.
Dude, I gotta be doin' some shit. I might return shortly.
Peace and love.
I have been fervently researching Geneseo and New Paltz over the past two days, trying to scrounge up as much information about them as possible. Yesh, I've decided on Geneseo, but I took the immunization form sent to my house from New Paltz as a sign that maybe I should look into them a bit more. Geneseo is still winning because I've actually seen that campus and the surrounding area, so I know what I'm getting myself into. I've been comparing distances from home--and NP obv. wins for being closer but is that what I want? Yes three hours is further than the forty minutes from Patchogue to Hempstead...but still. Seven hours sounds nice, along with the trees and grass and waterfalls. The Hofstra campus has trees and grass, but twenty steps away is a bustling turnpike with too much noise and scents and fears and dangers. I still fear that I will be hit by a car on this campus one day.
Researching both, Geneseo is my choice. I just have to tell my parents now. I told them that New Paltz was my option prior to this decision, so now I have to re-tell them that I'm going to Geneseo because it's further from everything. I guess it's like running from shit, but I'd like to see it as temporarily hiding, ya know? I can come home for holidays...yippee, right? And, as mentioned, I can leave if I wanna...or if I have to?
I sit here in the museum. Alone. And this is by far the dumbest time for me to work; the museum is closed because we're putting up new exhibits and no visitors are allowed. So I sit here like a douche guarding the paintings from the non-existent visitors. I woke up at 8:30am this Friday morning to sit in an empty room with humming radiators and music. I can't complain because I'm essentially getting paid to go online for seven hours. But I have no human contact unless it's my boss or the cleaning guy and I have my own thoughts and that becomes dangerous after a while. If I'm by myself too long I think too much and when I think too much, I am sullen and moody because I tend to overthink myself and the people in it. I hate myself for the ways that I do things, or how I should do things differently--and I hate others around me for keeping me like this when I want to be that. Putrid thoughts I have, I really do. So I write. And even this blogging bull shit can be dangerous because I can't totally express myself because people read this and I can't write negatively if I'm venting about them. And it sits and waits patiently to explode.
So I sit here in this chair and stare at empty walls, and admire the paintings resting up against the empty walls, dying to be hung up and presented for the world to see. From what I've seen, it's really unique and colorful and what's depicted is impressive. I think I'll like this one :).
My urban culture and identity class finally ended yesterday. Now I have philosophy. I plan on taking a day off from that class; in all six other courses, I was never absent once, and I feel like I need to play hookie at least once. It's not fair that my roommates can miss days and it won't matter, while, if I do, my grade drops. Bull fucking shit, son. And apparently this professor doesn't care too much, so I shall shop and spend money on spring clothes, maybe at Fulton Street Mall, and I will love Brooklyn and fall in love with my gold-toofed gangstas again. Without surveys this time! wo_0t.
I still have a seven page paper to write. I dont know where to even begin, so I think I'll just not think about it until Sunday morning. Yeah. I like that idea.
Dude, I gotta be doin' some shit. I might return shortly.
Peace and love.
But I got to get me out of here
This place is full of dirty old men
And the navigators with their mappy maps
And moldy heads and pissing on sugarcubes
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Listen boy, it's good information
I have decided to leave Hofstra and I'm content with it. I got accepted to Geneseo and I will tell them that I'll go there. I did apply to New Paltz as well, but I've decided that I don't want to go there. Yes, it's closer and may provide me with hippies and weed, but I think I need to get away. Even if that means seven hours away from home. I can do it, I'm a big girl. I've decided that I need a change of pace from the island and its busy banter. I'd like to be near cows and open valleys with trees and snow. I know I'll be driven psycho after a while, and I'll have not knowing anyone and starting over again, but, as mentioned, I can do it. Geneseo is a great school (especially for what I'd pay) and it can take me a lot of places. And like Hofstra has taught me, if it's not working out, I'm allowed to transfer out and find somewhere else. Talking to Karen at dinner tonight, going abroad sounds chill. No, not for just a semester, but to finish studies. How awesome would that be, to live in Europe for two years to earn a degree. I am going to miss the fuck out the people that I've befriended this year, but I'm okay with it. Yeah, I am Debbie Downer at dinner a lot when we're all laughing and happy and I mention that we'll never see eachother again. It's not cool, but it's okay. I've come to accept the fact that I have to leave for both monetary and emotional reasons. I have grown a lot since going away to school, but I'm still stifled by being only forty minutes from home; and I really can't afford the fucking tuition. And I've mentioned to several people that I'm going to Geneseo and I've gotten high fives. The RA Rob was really happy for me that I was getting the fuck out of Hofstra, knowing that I dont fit in with the majority of students that inhabit this pit of doom.
I've been thinking a lot about my future. What I want from it, what I don't and where I can picture myself. Each time I imagine something new as far as a career, the person I'm in love with, where I'm living, etc--but I'm always happy. I imagine myself transferring upstate and kicking my ass back into scholastic shape; Hofstra has exhausted the bum in me, and I need the disciplined student again. I have a chance to start over again, which is great. I picture myself stirring things up in the Genesee valley, and partaking in riots and petitions, like I did today. I want to learn to ride horses and tip cows and use snow shoes and learn to chill out for a bit. I want to say that I got to live in a different part of New York and experience lots of green grass, blue skies and emptiness. I'm going to miss the city and all it has to offer, but I'm going bonkers in monotony. If I stayed on the island for three more years, I'll be crazy. And I'll have more of an accent. Anywho, starting over means shaping the future that I want. I guess I feel like the further I am from home, the more likely I am going to stick it to the man and be how I want to be, not how people will perceive me. If I want to dye my hair red, then I will. If I want a tattoo, I'll fucking get it. If I want to wear suspenders, for christ's sake I will. If I want to rally against anti-gay marriage assholes, I'll fucking go and be awesome and stand up for what I believe in. And I won't have to worry about my parents raising an eyebrow because they won't be forty minutes away to stop me or see me.
I've thought it through. I know some of you will think I'm crazy, but Geneseo is a good fit. It's smart, it's far and it's serene. I can leave if I want--at least I tried it, right? Maybe I'm wrong and I'll come crawling back to Hofstra or somewhere else more populated with people rather than cows, but it was an experience. My first year of college I will never, ever forget. I dont regret coming to Hofstra, but I dont regret leaving either (as of current). I will be happy...but I won't force my happiness. If it's not a good fit I'll move on. But I'm really not terrified of being far from home; I'm just terrified of being bored. I like being away and living life on my own. I dont need anyone to hold my hand, and I'm not too insecure to leave friends, family and those that I love behind. Distance is only distance.
~
As a change of pace, I'm waiting for my roommates to go out to Dizzy's tonight. Them and a bunch of their friends are in the common room pre-gaming, and I'm chilling in my jammies, eating chocolate. I know that I seem like a loser to their friends, but I dont care. I need nights in, ya know? Lately, I haven't been in this room for more than like ten hours in a twenty four hour day...including sleep. I plan on showering (it's been about two days!), walking around naked, watching TV and prancing to my favorite part in Dancing Nancies. And if you don't like, go fuck your mom. I dont care.
I'm excited for Jen's birthday coming up! I got the days confused with dates and I thought that it was tomorrow, so I was all set for a Hooters fiasco. I was gonna get a good push up water bra and get a bad tan and dye my hair until it looks dried. And then, of course, buy eyebrow liner, so I have pencil thin eyebrows. I'd be sexy. Isn't it ironic how the typical Hofstra girl resembles a Hooters girl? Correlation of Hooters and Hofstra? Maybe. I mean, is the sky blue? But shyeah, Jen turning twenty-one is going to equal a serious amount of alcohol for me to consume for her birthday and anytime after when we want to get apple crunk LEGALLY with REAL alcohol...not malted beverages from 7-11. Fuckin-a.
I've been thinking about ________ a lot lately and I've decided to keep ________ a fantasy unless _________ says something to me first. It's not worth it. It's just not. Plus, I have ________ eye on __________, so it's __________. :)
werd.
I wish they'd leave already. My skin is itchy from all this clothing. I need some serious nakey time. Gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
And five minutes later they're still here. And what a surpise! They have F's in their classes. Wow. A 61 in an open notebook test. That's great. Go Hofstra!
Two days ago was the one year anniversary of my uncle's death. It's just sad because he died the morning I was supposed to visit him. He was dying for about twelve years, so I wasn't surprised, but I knew he was leaving his money to me and I wanted to say goodbye and thanks for the cash. And thanks for believing in my intelligence, to let me use it for education. And thanks for helping to raise me when both parents were working a lot. And thanks for teaching me that it's okay to be messy when baking chocolate chip cookies. And thanks for helping me with hard math problems because you were a fucking genius at math. And I didnt get to say any of that to him. And I won't ever. I have to drive to Calverton one day and talk to his headstone for a bit. Tell him thanks and sorry that his body was ravaged with disease for so long and he suffered a lot. I do miss him. He was a good uncle/ second father.
On a lighter note, Cindy will hopefully read this soon. Hi Cindy!!!!!!!!!!!! :)
And I protested a war today. My first war protest ever. I got to wear a cool thing around my mouth to symbolize the silence that ravages us over the Iraq war. And we peacefully marched back to the Student Center, holding the statistic of the war. I was proud of myself because I stood out there, took shit from complete Republican assholes, and froze my ass off. But it's what I believed in, and I was proud that I finally did something about it instead of just complaing about how unfair and unjust it was. And in two weeks I'm protesting corporate companies and their treatment to farmers and their workers, etc. Yeah, I am a hippie and I'm gonna start being active in what I believe in. So fuck ya'll.
And they're still here? This is so long because I'm trying to occupy my time with this until they leave so I can be nakey. Ya know what? I'm just gonna go now because my fingers are tired. That's what she said.
Bye Cindy :)
All our lives, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the stars that we reached were just starfish on the beach.
I've been thinking a lot about my future. What I want from it, what I don't and where I can picture myself. Each time I imagine something new as far as a career, the person I'm in love with, where I'm living, etc--but I'm always happy. I imagine myself transferring upstate and kicking my ass back into scholastic shape; Hofstra has exhausted the bum in me, and I need the disciplined student again. I have a chance to start over again, which is great. I picture myself stirring things up in the Genesee valley, and partaking in riots and petitions, like I did today. I want to learn to ride horses and tip cows and use snow shoes and learn to chill out for a bit. I want to say that I got to live in a different part of New York and experience lots of green grass, blue skies and emptiness. I'm going to miss the city and all it has to offer, but I'm going bonkers in monotony. If I stayed on the island for three more years, I'll be crazy. And I'll have more of an accent. Anywho, starting over means shaping the future that I want. I guess I feel like the further I am from home, the more likely I am going to stick it to the man and be how I want to be, not how people will perceive me. If I want to dye my hair red, then I will. If I want a tattoo, I'll fucking get it. If I want to wear suspenders, for christ's sake I will. If I want to rally against anti-gay marriage assholes, I'll fucking go and be awesome and stand up for what I believe in. And I won't have to worry about my parents raising an eyebrow because they won't be forty minutes away to stop me or see me.
I've thought it through. I know some of you will think I'm crazy, but Geneseo is a good fit. It's smart, it's far and it's serene. I can leave if I want--at least I tried it, right? Maybe I'm wrong and I'll come crawling back to Hofstra or somewhere else more populated with people rather than cows, but it was an experience. My first year of college I will never, ever forget. I dont regret coming to Hofstra, but I dont regret leaving either (as of current). I will be happy...but I won't force my happiness. If it's not a good fit I'll move on. But I'm really not terrified of being far from home; I'm just terrified of being bored. I like being away and living life on my own. I dont need anyone to hold my hand, and I'm not too insecure to leave friends, family and those that I love behind. Distance is only distance.
~
As a change of pace, I'm waiting for my roommates to go out to Dizzy's tonight. Them and a bunch of their friends are in the common room pre-gaming, and I'm chilling in my jammies, eating chocolate. I know that I seem like a loser to their friends, but I dont care. I need nights in, ya know? Lately, I haven't been in this room for more than like ten hours in a twenty four hour day...including sleep. I plan on showering (it's been about two days!), walking around naked, watching TV and prancing to my favorite part in Dancing Nancies. And if you don't like, go fuck your mom. I dont care.
I'm excited for Jen's birthday coming up! I got the days confused with dates and I thought that it was tomorrow, so I was all set for a Hooters fiasco. I was gonna get a good push up water bra and get a bad tan and dye my hair until it looks dried. And then, of course, buy eyebrow liner, so I have pencil thin eyebrows. I'd be sexy. Isn't it ironic how the typical Hofstra girl resembles a Hooters girl? Correlation of Hooters and Hofstra? Maybe. I mean, is the sky blue? But shyeah, Jen turning twenty-one is going to equal a serious amount of alcohol for me to consume for her birthday and anytime after when we want to get apple crunk LEGALLY with REAL alcohol...not malted beverages from 7-11. Fuckin-a.
I've been thinking about ________ a lot lately and I've decided to keep ________ a fantasy unless _________ says something to me first. It's not worth it. It's just not. Plus, I have ________ eye on __________, so it's __________. :)
werd.
I wish they'd leave already. My skin is itchy from all this clothing. I need some serious nakey time. Gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
And five minutes later they're still here. And what a surpise! They have F's in their classes. Wow. A 61 in an open notebook test. That's great. Go Hofstra!
Two days ago was the one year anniversary of my uncle's death. It's just sad because he died the morning I was supposed to visit him. He was dying for about twelve years, so I wasn't surprised, but I knew he was leaving his money to me and I wanted to say goodbye and thanks for the cash. And thanks for believing in my intelligence, to let me use it for education. And thanks for helping to raise me when both parents were working a lot. And thanks for teaching me that it's okay to be messy when baking chocolate chip cookies. And thanks for helping me with hard math problems because you were a fucking genius at math. And I didnt get to say any of that to him. And I won't ever. I have to drive to Calverton one day and talk to his headstone for a bit. Tell him thanks and sorry that his body was ravaged with disease for so long and he suffered a lot. I do miss him. He was a good uncle/ second father.
On a lighter note, Cindy will hopefully read this soon. Hi Cindy!!!!!!!!!!!! :)
And I protested a war today. My first war protest ever. I got to wear a cool thing around my mouth to symbolize the silence that ravages us over the Iraq war. And we peacefully marched back to the Student Center, holding the statistic of the war. I was proud of myself because I stood out there, took shit from complete Republican assholes, and froze my ass off. But it's what I believed in, and I was proud that I finally did something about it instead of just complaing about how unfair and unjust it was. And in two weeks I'm protesting corporate companies and their treatment to farmers and their workers, etc. Yeah, I am a hippie and I'm gonna start being active in what I believe in. So fuck ya'll.
And they're still here? This is so long because I'm trying to occupy my time with this until they leave so I can be nakey. Ya know what? I'm just gonna go now because my fingers are tired. That's what she said.
Bye Cindy :)
All our lives, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the stars that we reached were just starfish on the beach.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Vixen
I was once called a vixen by Brittany New Years Day. Most of you should know exactly why she called me a vixen and I can't help but to agree with her. Neither can anyone else apparently. It seems, especially most recently, that everyone is deeming me some sort of sex freak or addict. The best part is that I'm not running around Hofstra fucking students, professors and/or Lackmann employees, but I'm just talking about it. And even when I don't talk about it, I exude it? I met Sam's friend the day she was flying back to Washington and she was apparently talking about sex more than usual (according to Sam) --and she blamed it on me! I think I mentioned sex twice? and didn't fully elaborate. Everyone, according to Maria, should call me Sex because I give off the sex vibe. The hottest in New College, eh?
Well, as a true vixen (because we all know what that means) I should pursue a career in sex. No, not selling myself on the streets to make money, but studying sex. Karen mentioned it a few weeks and it was a familiar idea; when I was younger I was always interested in sex (and knew A LOT) about it, so I figured I should study sex. (I mean, I gave advice about orgasms when I was in the ninth grade, sooo....) Well, when the opinion of my family still mattered to me, I shunned the thought of teaching sex to couples in need, or something similar. I have come into myself (no pun intended) much more over the years--with a few helping hands of course *wink*--and I have realized that sex just fascinates me. And according to Karen, I love sex. And it's true. It's more about the human nature behind it and how it's a necessary drive. Sex is a burn in our sex meat labeled groins that we all feel and it needs to be satisfied. So, as a true vixen, I think (but I'm not totally sure) that I will study sex in my future. I can do a lot with that, I think-- I can be a sex therapist and give people advice, because I already give PLENTY of advice, or I can study sexual patterns of animals and relate that to humans. Maybe I can even study humans and write a book like my good friend Kinsey. I mean, I love people, psychology and sex...so it works?
I'm just one of those people that is open about sex. I mean, I dont blab about experiences (because I'm a good girl), but I feel that it is one of those things that people don't talk about enough. How often do you hear chicks talking about masturbation? I mean Keri will leave the dinner table and say, "I wish I didn't have to go to work because my roommate isn't home and I could totally ______." And we don't talk about how we want to get off, or how we want so and so to do this or that to us. And I say why not? I just got off the phone with Freda about ten minutes, and it was really refreshing to talk openly about that kind of stuff. I guess it's just the comfort of being friends for so long, but we used regular girl lingo and neither of us felt bad about it. Or weird. Sex is nothing to be ashamed of. Especially if you enjoy it or you're good at it. And I feel like, just how everyone can dance, everyone is good at it, but they aren't taught because it's taboo, or they're afraid to show that side of them that exists deep down in their pee pees.
Just because I'm fascinated about sex doesn't qualify me to be a vixen. Trust me, I'm aware of this. But I was thinking about how the morning after, Brittany felt my shirt to see if I was wearing a bra and she was proud and said that I was a vixen for getting what I wanted when I wanted it. Yeah. And maybe history will repeat itself sometime soon? Who the hell knows.
So, you may think of me as a vixen. But they call me Sex.
Well, as a true vixen (because we all know what that means) I should pursue a career in sex. No, not selling myself on the streets to make money, but studying sex. Karen mentioned it a few weeks and it was a familiar idea; when I was younger I was always interested in sex (and knew A LOT) about it, so I figured I should study sex. (I mean, I gave advice about orgasms when I was in the ninth grade, sooo....) Well, when the opinion of my family still mattered to me, I shunned the thought of teaching sex to couples in need, or something similar. I have come into myself (no pun intended) much more over the years--with a few helping hands of course *wink*--and I have realized that sex just fascinates me. And according to Karen, I love sex. And it's true. It's more about the human nature behind it and how it's a necessary drive. Sex is a burn in our sex meat labeled groins that we all feel and it needs to be satisfied. So, as a true vixen, I think (but I'm not totally sure) that I will study sex in my future. I can do a lot with that, I think-- I can be a sex therapist and give people advice, because I already give PLENTY of advice, or I can study sexual patterns of animals and relate that to humans. Maybe I can even study humans and write a book like my good friend Kinsey. I mean, I love people, psychology and sex...so it works?
I'm just one of those people that is open about sex. I mean, I dont blab about experiences (because I'm a good girl), but I feel that it is one of those things that people don't talk about enough. How often do you hear chicks talking about masturbation? I mean Keri will leave the dinner table and say, "I wish I didn't have to go to work because my roommate isn't home and I could totally ______." And we don't talk about how we want to get off, or how we want so and so to do this or that to us. And I say why not? I just got off the phone with Freda about ten minutes, and it was really refreshing to talk openly about that kind of stuff. I guess it's just the comfort of being friends for so long, but we used regular girl lingo and neither of us felt bad about it. Or weird. Sex is nothing to be ashamed of. Especially if you enjoy it or you're good at it. And I feel like, just how everyone can dance, everyone is good at it, but they aren't taught because it's taboo, or they're afraid to show that side of them that exists deep down in their pee pees.
Just because I'm fascinated about sex doesn't qualify me to be a vixen. Trust me, I'm aware of this. But I was thinking about how the morning after, Brittany felt my shirt to see if I was wearing a bra and she was proud and said that I was a vixen for getting what I wanted when I wanted it. Yeah. And maybe history will repeat itself sometime soon? Who the hell knows.
So, you may think of me as a vixen. But they call me Sex.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Oh no, not me
I woke up this morning with my hair pointing in thirty different directions and my mascara smeared all around my eyes. True raccoon eyes. I wasn't sure how my body was reacting to all that I drank the night before; it could have gone either way. After Brittany and Andrew left, I got some water and slowly sipped it, hoping that the vortex of evil in my stomach would settle and I wouldn't vomit. Well, it didn't settle, and while channel surfing my tummy was flipping itself around, so I went to the bathroom and shoved my fingers down my throat and up came last night's Awesome Blossom from Chili's. I tasted every onion, every bread crumb, every bit of dipping sauce. I tasted it about three times as I was over the porcelain bowl. Then my mouth had that ewwwww taste and no matter what I did, the leftovers were still present. I said fuck it and went back to bed until 1pm.
Some people put me in a bad mood. Like they don't care about the words that come from their mouths. What is formed with tongues and teeth and jaws and vocal chords are just sounds, not spears that can pierce your skin and make you bleed. Well, some people make me tick even though I shouldn't let them get to me...and...go fuck yourself, okay? Thanks.
=====================================================================================
My feet are dangling off the edge of the pier. They are four feet away from the dark, endless water. It will swallow me if I jump in. I can belly flop right now and not turn my face to the sky, but keep it down. I don't have to breathe. Just think until I stop and I die. What if I killed myself right now? What would people think? How would my friends and family react to the news of my suicide? Death by drowning. I can swim so it's not like I'd actually drowned. People are around, so if I slipped in and started to scream, people could hear me and save me. It'd look like I committed suicide. And I dont see why that's so bad. I'd just want to kill myself for everyone else's reaction though. Then again, once I'm dead, I won't be able to tell, so drowning wouldn't do me any good. I'm sure that I'd regret the decision in the last few seconds of my life when it's too late to change my mind. And hey, would I really want to die in the ocean? There are fish and crabs and birds that will pick me apart. I'd want a full body when the search and rescue team found me because an open casket is a must. Just so everyone can see me one last time and question what did they miss? How could they not tell that I was suicidal? How do you explain to someone that you died just to see their reactions. It doesn't make sense any which way you cut it.
So I swing my feet back up on the wooden dock and walk toward the swings. The sky is too beautiful when the sun is setting on the water. The ocean is a mirror for the sky's beauty. I wonder if the sky is vain. Does it know how gorgeous it is when it's pink and dark blue with spots of grey cloud? And I'm kicking rocks and humming The Beatles, watching dogs play in the sand, and a little boy and his father throwing rocks into the water, disturbing the peace of the water. But that's okay. Whatever. The swings are free. What if I died on the swings. That would be pretty sweet. I'll just pump my legs in and out until my heart gives out. It could take a while, but it shows my dedication to get the job done. The obits could say that I was a loving daughter, sister and friend with a bright future because of my perseverance. This chick was 100% all the way, even when it came to suicide: she pumped herself to death. Death. What's the deal with that shit, anyway. It's funny how death is the only guarantee in life. An ironic friendship the two have, eh? Death only exists because of life and life is shorted by death. But which one is the enemy? Sometimes life sucks so much, death is the better option. But dying makes families and friends feel alone and sad. Too many tears with death. But what if I let my heart give out this second? It wouldn't be suicide, I guess. How could they prove that it was not natural causes? Maybe my little heart just gave out after being on the swings too long. I mean, I'm a normal girl with a normal life. I'm basically sane and there aren't too many shitty things which complicate it, beyond the usual stresses. I have a good head on my shoulders, and bright possibilities in front of me. So why would I ever want to kick my own bucket? I just want to see their faces. I bet they'd miss me at least a smidge. Maybe they will weep and lay in bed for weeks. Maybe someone will take up drinking and someone else will start smoking and doing drugs. I can ruin lives by ending my own.
Death would be kind of cool, you gotta admit. Because it's a party on the other side. We can eat, drink and be merry because we're already dead. I bet everyone gets along really well once their dead. Who can be angry with no souls? Nothing to feel but numbness. That would be cool, too. I could just sit somewhere and let myself die from the cold. Death by freezing isn't so bad, huh? I mean, you go numb after a while, so you don't feel anything. Bodies just shut down slowly and it just ends. Kaput. Nada. Zilch. And once you're nothing, you become friends with all the other nothings and sit around and fantasize about your funeral while shoving s'mores in your mouth. Maybe Hitler's not so bad because he's dead.
My hearts pumping faster than my legs and the swings are screeching. The rusty chains against the rusty bar makes it sound like I'm killing someone. Just stabbing them repeatedly, getting their blood all over my hands and arms and face. Or like I'm running someone over. Just putting the gear into D then R, D then R, D then R. And I love their screeching and their sobs; it's my anti-drug.
I'll just get off the swings now because I dont like the way death sounds.
Some people put me in a bad mood. Like they don't care about the words that come from their mouths. What is formed with tongues and teeth and jaws and vocal chords are just sounds, not spears that can pierce your skin and make you bleed. Well, some people make me tick even though I shouldn't let them get to me...and...go fuck yourself, okay? Thanks.
=====================================================================================
My feet are dangling off the edge of the pier. They are four feet away from the dark, endless water. It will swallow me if I jump in. I can belly flop right now and not turn my face to the sky, but keep it down. I don't have to breathe. Just think until I stop and I die. What if I killed myself right now? What would people think? How would my friends and family react to the news of my suicide? Death by drowning. I can swim so it's not like I'd actually drowned. People are around, so if I slipped in and started to scream, people could hear me and save me. It'd look like I committed suicide. And I dont see why that's so bad. I'd just want to kill myself for everyone else's reaction though. Then again, once I'm dead, I won't be able to tell, so drowning wouldn't do me any good. I'm sure that I'd regret the decision in the last few seconds of my life when it's too late to change my mind. And hey, would I really want to die in the ocean? There are fish and crabs and birds that will pick me apart. I'd want a full body when the search and rescue team found me because an open casket is a must. Just so everyone can see me one last time and question what did they miss? How could they not tell that I was suicidal? How do you explain to someone that you died just to see their reactions. It doesn't make sense any which way you cut it.
So I swing my feet back up on the wooden dock and walk toward the swings. The sky is too beautiful when the sun is setting on the water. The ocean is a mirror for the sky's beauty. I wonder if the sky is vain. Does it know how gorgeous it is when it's pink and dark blue with spots of grey cloud? And I'm kicking rocks and humming The Beatles, watching dogs play in the sand, and a little boy and his father throwing rocks into the water, disturbing the peace of the water. But that's okay. Whatever. The swings are free. What if I died on the swings. That would be pretty sweet. I'll just pump my legs in and out until my heart gives out. It could take a while, but it shows my dedication to get the job done. The obits could say that I was a loving daughter, sister and friend with a bright future because of my perseverance. This chick was 100% all the way, even when it came to suicide: she pumped herself to death. Death. What's the deal with that shit, anyway. It's funny how death is the only guarantee in life. An ironic friendship the two have, eh? Death only exists because of life and life is shorted by death. But which one is the enemy? Sometimes life sucks so much, death is the better option. But dying makes families and friends feel alone and sad. Too many tears with death. But what if I let my heart give out this second? It wouldn't be suicide, I guess. How could they prove that it was not natural causes? Maybe my little heart just gave out after being on the swings too long. I mean, I'm a normal girl with a normal life. I'm basically sane and there aren't too many shitty things which complicate it, beyond the usual stresses. I have a good head on my shoulders, and bright possibilities in front of me. So why would I ever want to kick my own bucket? I just want to see their faces. I bet they'd miss me at least a smidge. Maybe they will weep and lay in bed for weeks. Maybe someone will take up drinking and someone else will start smoking and doing drugs. I can ruin lives by ending my own.
Death would be kind of cool, you gotta admit. Because it's a party on the other side. We can eat, drink and be merry because we're already dead. I bet everyone gets along really well once their dead. Who can be angry with no souls? Nothing to feel but numbness. That would be cool, too. I could just sit somewhere and let myself die from the cold. Death by freezing isn't so bad, huh? I mean, you go numb after a while, so you don't feel anything. Bodies just shut down slowly and it just ends. Kaput. Nada. Zilch. And once you're nothing, you become friends with all the other nothings and sit around and fantasize about your funeral while shoving s'mores in your mouth. Maybe Hitler's not so bad because he's dead.
My hearts pumping faster than my legs and the swings are screeching. The rusty chains against the rusty bar makes it sound like I'm killing someone. Just stabbing them repeatedly, getting their blood all over my hands and arms and face. Or like I'm running someone over. Just putting the gear into D then R, D then R, D then R. And I love their screeching and their sobs; it's my anti-drug.
I'll just get off the swings now because I dont like the way death sounds.
one blank stare
The longer I sit at home with nothing to do, the more I regret things. I sit here and think of everything and regret a lot. And I know there's no use in regrets because what's done is done and I can't go back in time and change things. But I wonder when this old skin is going to peel away so a new one can grow in. I need a breath of fresh air to think everything through. Maybe I'll drive over to the park and stare at the water for a few hours until I make sense. Until everything makes sense. I just blame it on skin. It's too sensitive, it turns red and it doesn't break fast enough. Let's just blame it on the largest organ on my body because I need to blame something, right? Skin is my scapegoat as to why I sit here in a dimming room listening to Dave Matthews, right? It's all skin's fault.
I own...
according to britt, I have great tits. werd.
and i love hard liquor.
i think i spelt this all right.
and i love hard liquor.
i think i spelt this all right.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
I can't believe I believed...
It was a foggy dream. I dont remember much. There was thick smoke, pungent. It made everyone at the party smell, but really happy that they were present. Laying down sleeping, my body felt like it was floating above the mattress. I obviously wasn't floating; unfortunately I wasn't even suspended from the ceiling for a little bit. But the drugs we were doing at the party were so real that I was levitating. Everyone was smoking, drinking, snorting, shooting up. There was a lot of laughter and fingers and tongues and green and red. The music was just right for everyone's mood. We were just chillin'. No, I dont remember who exactly was there, but I'm pretty sure every face I have passed on the streets in my lifetime was partying at this place. We were all young and in lust with eachother. I really don't remember what the place looked like either. Except for the fact that there were walls and a roof. Yeah, it was thick and it was hard to move, but no one was dancing in the center. There were motions up against the wall, so the walls were dancing to the beat. I remember hands up and down skin, hands up and down passing drugs, hands up and down and up and down. I had so many drugs in my system in this dream that it carried to my sleep and I was floating. Kinda when you feel like you're actually falling in a dream, I felt like I was in mid-air. I guess drugs are good shit.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Yeah, somethin' like that
Seems like an off day. I walked to work this morning and it didn't feel like 9:20, but like 8. And now I'm here, and it's only 10:27. And it feels about 12. I have about seven hours left because it's Friday and that means a full day of work. So I sit here listening to music. Hip hop, Frank Sinatra, Sonny and Cher (because I'm groovy), Britney Spears, Coldplay, Dave Matthews Band, etc. It just goes on and on. I have to wait until about 1 to eat. Maybe I'll call Sam and ask her to join me at Bits and Bytes for a lovely salad or pasta dish.
Right about now Dave and Karen are experiencing The Green Dragon on the open roads. Those lucky bastards can go home today. I dont consider my Spring Break in full swing until Sunday night. I have off tomorrow and I'm going home, but I must return to campus for the museum again. I'd like to be home right now only because that means friends and my comfy bed. And Lost. I love to look at Sayid fix things and get all sweaty. I love it when an entire room of computers is damaged beyond repair, and it takes him only five minutes to make the world go 'round again. I love Sayid. I'd marry him. To keep things spicy between us, I'd break the computer every once and a while and make him fix it in five minutes or less. If he didn't...he'd suffer the consequences. Kinda like if he said one word, I'd make it hurt.
I took another random trip out to Patchogue on Tuesday. Dave decided that he really wanted the Patchogue experience, so randomly, after our gay trip to Jones Beach, we were on the road to P-town. The green sign is still missing, my house smelt of pizza and Tobie now has a little crush on Dave. It's a little known fact that he loves boys and Dave was just lovin' him and touchin' him and he couldn't get enough of it. (That whole sentence is open for interpretation, by the way...which 'he' am I speaking of?)Neither could Tobie. So, apparently, Tobie was very happy about his invite to Dizzy's because his little pee pee came out, which freaked 6'5" out a little bit. I mean, I'm sure he enjoyed it, but Tobie was movin' a little too fast for his likin'. After Dave and Tobie smoked a cig, he and I ventured out to How May (or Hurt Farm)and Dave experienced weed tea and the best soup or something. I dont know, some bull shit like that. Either way, all you have to know is that the bastard made me pay for his food. Demanded it of me.What a cunt. Lunch then Hawkeye and KB and then back to Hofstra. Luckily we did not get shot in Patchogue. It was a somewhat successful trip for being only two hours long and totally spontaneous...and not getting shot.
I'm tired. my gawd.
Sometimes I look at my face and I think I see an elf. As in one of Santa's helpers. Does anyone else know what I mean? No? Yes? Just nod your little dense heads.
Right about now Dave and Karen are experiencing The Green Dragon on the open roads. Those lucky bastards can go home today. I dont consider my Spring Break in full swing until Sunday night. I have off tomorrow and I'm going home, but I must return to campus for the museum again. I'd like to be home right now only because that means friends and my comfy bed. And Lost. I love to look at Sayid fix things and get all sweaty. I love it when an entire room of computers is damaged beyond repair, and it takes him only five minutes to make the world go 'round again. I love Sayid. I'd marry him. To keep things spicy between us, I'd break the computer every once and a while and make him fix it in five minutes or less. If he didn't...he'd suffer the consequences. Kinda like if he said one word, I'd make it hurt.
I took another random trip out to Patchogue on Tuesday. Dave decided that he really wanted the Patchogue experience, so randomly, after our gay trip to Jones Beach, we were on the road to P-town. The green sign is still missing, my house smelt of pizza and Tobie now has a little crush on Dave. It's a little known fact that he loves boys and Dave was just lovin' him and touchin' him and he couldn't get enough of it. (That whole sentence is open for interpretation, by the way...which 'he' am I speaking of?)Neither could Tobie. So, apparently, Tobie was very happy about his invite to Dizzy's because his little pee pee came out, which freaked 6'5" out a little bit. I mean, I'm sure he enjoyed it, but Tobie was movin' a little too fast for his likin'. After Dave and Tobie smoked a cig, he and I ventured out to How May (or Hurt Farm)and Dave experienced weed tea and the best soup or something. I dont know, some bull shit like that. Either way, all you have to know is that the bastard made me pay for his food. Demanded it of me.What a cunt. Lunch then Hawkeye and KB and then back to Hofstra. Luckily we did not get shot in Patchogue. It was a somewhat successful trip for being only two hours long and totally spontaneous...and not getting shot.
I'm tired. my gawd.
Sometimes I look at my face and I think I see an elf. As in one of Santa's helpers. Does anyone else know what I mean? No? Yes? Just nod your little dense heads.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Sometimes these eyes...
Out of being exhausted, I am giggly about everything. I am in the writing mood, but not in the kind of mood where I want to write my six page paper. I am in a creative mood, but not creative enough to write down bull shit about Paris. I know shit about Paris. Absolutely nothing. I have no quotes, no exact direction, no stimulation. I want to create funny things right now. I'm in a funny mood. I feel like hopping and skipping around my dorm room and sing to Franz Ferdinand and Cherry Poppin' Daddies. And I want to burst out laughing at my decisions in life. Why do I choose to dine at Kate and Willy's only when it's closed for special reasons? I am such a fuck up. About five times I have suggested Kate and Willy's and everytime we/I go, I see the security staff outside the door because they like it up the ass. I am so tired right now. This paper is due at 3pm tomorrow. And it's 10:45pm. I have only my heading. Not even a title. Granted, I have an outline but it's the shittiest outline that I have ever made. Well, not true. It's pretty damn good. I made it in like three minutes and it's coherent. Though I know shit 'bout Paris. I know that Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Stein all lived and worked there...but that's not relevant to THIS class. I know that the Eiffel tower is there...but that has nothing to do with my topic of women in the changing Paris. I know that Paris is a place that I've never been because I'm hella po'. Suck my dick, Hofstra.
So I'm really, really exhausted, but I have so much energy. Yet I'm not writing my paper. Oh man. I will kick myself for this later. Probably in an hour when I can't keep my eyes open. Spring Break is in two days. I cannot wait for that week off. I deserve it. I will do creative stuff. I will write that play that I wanted to write a few months ago. Remember that, Andrew? It should be really funny because I'm using my friends as inspiration. Me as the main one. Should be hella funny. Imagine me as someone who cannot sing or dance (hard, I know) wanting to be famous on Broadway...with asshole friends who want to destroy me. Absolutely brilliant. Just call me brilliant.
K. I gotta write shit down.
"I can't have my step dad hangin' around!!!"
-Talking to Rick, SNL.
So I'm really, really exhausted, but I have so much energy. Yet I'm not writing my paper. Oh man. I will kick myself for this later. Probably in an hour when I can't keep my eyes open. Spring Break is in two days. I cannot wait for that week off. I deserve it. I will do creative stuff. I will write that play that I wanted to write a few months ago. Remember that, Andrew? It should be really funny because I'm using my friends as inspiration. Me as the main one. Should be hella funny. Imagine me as someone who cannot sing or dance (hard, I know) wanting to be famous on Broadway...with asshole friends who want to destroy me. Absolutely brilliant. Just call me brilliant.
K. I gotta write shit down.
"I can't have my step dad hangin' around!!!"
-Talking to Rick, SNL.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
She's had her moments
I'm back at the museum. I volunteered to work today. Why? Because I need money. I am living paycheck to paycheck again, just like the good ol' days. I'm not quite as bad as Andrew who will write checks three days before he is paid because he has no money in his account, and it takes checks three days to be cleared. But I have each paycheck spent before it's actually in my hands. This weekend when I'm paid, I'm depositing it and treating Sam to a dinner and movie in good ol' Suffolk County, as well as paying my cell phone bill. At the end of the month, I'll be purchasing some much needed clothing, perhaps even some alcohol. After that, I dont have an exact plan, but I'm thinking it will involve a kitten and fifty packs of Wrigley's Spearmint gum. Yeah, that's right, I said it.
So yes. I am at the museum again today. I have two more hours left, and about forty minutes left of battery life with no battery charger. So I will be forced to do actual work, I suppose. Maybe I'll read the bagillion pages I was supposed to have read last week. Maybe I'll start my shitty fucking douche bag paper that's due Wednesday. Maybe I'll just sit here, watch paint dry then go to the gym, bitch about all of the work I have to do and wait until three hours before midnight on Sunday night until I start it. Option three sounds like the ticket to me. I'm in the mood to drink tonight. I want to get shitfaced. But that possibility is slim. I can just stumble around and pretend like I'm drunk, and let people grab my chest and beg to go to McDonald's. Pretending to be drunk tonight would be the funniest thing ever. I think I'll do that. However, I've never been drunk before so I don't how accurate my performance will be tonight. But I've observed some people who can't walk straight, sit up straight, who beg for more drinks and McDonald's, as well as those who go down on bottles. Yup.
This whole blog is pointless. Why did I bother writing it? Why did you bother reading it?
Fuck off.
So yes. I am at the museum again today. I have two more hours left, and about forty minutes left of battery life with no battery charger. So I will be forced to do actual work, I suppose. Maybe I'll read the bagillion pages I was supposed to have read last week. Maybe I'll start my shitty fucking douche bag paper that's due Wednesday. Maybe I'll just sit here, watch paint dry then go to the gym, bitch about all of the work I have to do and wait until three hours before midnight on Sunday night until I start it. Option three sounds like the ticket to me. I'm in the mood to drink tonight. I want to get shitfaced. But that possibility is slim. I can just stumble around and pretend like I'm drunk, and let people grab my chest and beg to go to McDonald's. Pretending to be drunk tonight would be the funniest thing ever. I think I'll do that. However, I've never been drunk before so I don't how accurate my performance will be tonight. But I've observed some people who can't walk straight, sit up straight, who beg for more drinks and McDonald's, as well as those who go down on bottles. Yup.
This whole blog is pointless. Why did I bother writing it? Why did you bother reading it?
Fuck off.
I was thinking that I might fly today
Just to disprove all the things that you say
It doesn't take a talent to be mean
Your words can crush things that are unseen
Friday, March 7, 2008
In all the old familiar places
I dont know what to write anymore. I feel like last semester I had like two or three a day. Two or three a day which Dave read aloud and made hysterical. Two or three a day. I had time for that many. Now I don't. I have more of a work load between class and actual work. Though I wouldn't call this job actual work. I come here and go on my laptop for four hours and then go back to my room and shake an angry fist at how unproductive I am with school work. Even then that doesn't last too long because I go out to dinner and we all chill in the student center for three hours and then I go to the gym or Dave's room (or both), don't do my homework and fall asleep around 3am. Yeah. My life is busy in a plethora of horrible ways. I find it interesing because now, with doing more, I have oober stories to tell, but I dont tell you. I don't share with my readers. I dont give a shit...as much. This is now a breathing ground for boredom; I'm at the gallery with nothing to do. I have to wait another hour to eat lunch and another hour after that to hang artwork. And I'm alone. Karen is out at lunch, Jessica called in sick, Lisa went back to her office and the other ladies wound up going to Harlem. Yeah...they did. Fo serious. And now two more people came in and they're looking at the artwork. Just one by one, brushstroke by brushstroke, color by color. And I dont know what to write anymore. Well, that's a lie. I do have plenty that I could say, but that would mean being truthful and honest and I feel like there are some things in this blog shite that I cannot share with my readers...or whomever is left? Some things are just too personal, too relatable, too jaw-dropping, too foot stomping? I was trying to be gangsta. But wait...I already am.
I do have one funny story to tell ya. Barking drunk people. How much funnier could it get? On the train ride back home (and I mean real home) Karen and I were talking and in the cart behind us, two people started talking loudly and then there was barking. Not from a dog though. From a human male. Yup. A human with a penis...and a beer can in his hand. So for about ten minutes they are loud (and barking) and it stops. Like the dog was Old Yeller and he was taken out back and shot. So us Geminis are chattin' it up all gangsta Suffolk County style, and a man with sunglasses and beer can sits across from us and starts talking to us about dogs in the next cart. He's rambling about how dogs should be free to roam, not in bags like that one in the next cart over is. "Look, it's a dog" he'd say. But neither of us turned our heads to look. Even the ninth time he said it. And this man loved his sunglasses as much as he loves his beer. He asked me if I liked his sunglasses, and being nice I told him, "Yes, where did you get them from?" I just get a blank, drunk stare for about a minute. I dont think he believed me, eh? Either way, I repeated myself and he just looked at me, tilting his head from side to side (like a dog...shocker) and then backward to drink more Bud. This drunken sunglasses beer man starts barking. Surprise! He was the dog! Who woulda thunk? And Karen said that she knew that he was the dog...and I'm pretty sure he was like, "na ah, girrrrrrl" but not really because he did not subject himself to such a level on the train (because drunken barking is, afterall, acceptable). So this dog barks and says that he is not a dog, rather a wolf and points to his beer can. Can we assume that wolves come in 22oz Budweiser Light beer cans? The answer is yes. We can.
More drunken stories. Andrew and Brittany (and Karen and myself) came to Hempstead last night. We did not go to the dance party as planned. Karen was tired and went to bed. I think Andrew and Brittany wanted to dance and be hella flashy but I was hella tired from being up all day and out and about in the city (and battling drunken dogs...I mean, wolves, on the train) so we decided getting drunk would be the better option. We got eight forties, and picked up a six pack of Heinekin for Dave. So Dave met his nemesis Andrew. Andrew met his Spice Girls rival, Dave. Brittany met someone who is over a foot taller than her. Dave met the girl that he thinks is hot. So it was a meeting of my two worlds once again. And these two worlds can only meet when drunk, apparently. Brittany, after one forty, was falling all over the place. Andrew, after two, giggled like a princess at every thing that I said...or he said...or Brittany...or Dave. Dave and I were totally entertained. And I was most def entertained by Dave who was sorta tipsy last night! I can feel it in my bones, it's gonna happen soon. Perhaps I will actually see Dave drunk one day. I think it just might happen. He finished his beer and drank the rest of what I didn't want and was just sleepy, but still kinda tipsy. He stumbled out of my bed and couldn't initially walk in a straight line. And he repeatedly said he hated me. And almost fell asleep, but apparently I'm not good enough, so he left. Shwatevs. I think the best part of the night is when Andrew, Dave and I were chillin' in my room and Britt came back from the bathroom (drunk off her ass) and gave me a hug, gave Dave (that totally rhymes) a hug, then hugged Andrew. And ate his face for about thirty seconds. Then she turned around and almost fell over. My I'm-still-sick-so-I-sound-like-a-cackling-old-lady-witch laugh was kicked into high gear last night and I thought everything was funny. I was not drunk, but I was sleepy and happy to see Andrew and Britt. So fucking sue me.
Any other drunken stories? Not for today. I could talk about Valentine's Day and how it was shoved down my throat...alcohol that is. But no, I won't because I'm tired of typing in this thing about alcohol and porn. Porn, porn, porn, porn, porn. That's all I do. I drink beer and watch porn. And scratch myself, but that's a whole new story that we should discuss at another time. Perhaps later.
It was nice being home, even if it was for two hours. I got to drive around and be a crazy Long Island driver. We are insane and I kinda miss that insanity. I love almost getting rear ended by a truck as I'm trying to merge on the service road. Yummy!
I want lunch.
I do have one funny story to tell ya. Barking drunk people. How much funnier could it get? On the train ride back home (and I mean real home) Karen and I were talking and in the cart behind us, two people started talking loudly and then there was barking. Not from a dog though. From a human male. Yup. A human with a penis...and a beer can in his hand. So for about ten minutes they are loud (and barking) and it stops. Like the dog was Old Yeller and he was taken out back and shot. So us Geminis are chattin' it up all gangsta Suffolk County style, and a man with sunglasses and beer can sits across from us and starts talking to us about dogs in the next cart. He's rambling about how dogs should be free to roam, not in bags like that one in the next cart over is. "Look, it's a dog" he'd say. But neither of us turned our heads to look. Even the ninth time he said it. And this man loved his sunglasses as much as he loves his beer. He asked me if I liked his sunglasses, and being nice I told him, "Yes, where did you get them from?" I just get a blank, drunk stare for about a minute. I dont think he believed me, eh? Either way, I repeated myself and he just looked at me, tilting his head from side to side (like a dog...shocker) and then backward to drink more Bud. This drunken sunglasses beer man starts barking. Surprise! He was the dog! Who woulda thunk? And Karen said that she knew that he was the dog...and I'm pretty sure he was like, "na ah, girrrrrrl" but not really because he did not subject himself to such a level on the train (because drunken barking is, afterall, acceptable). So this dog barks and says that he is not a dog, rather a wolf and points to his beer can. Can we assume that wolves come in 22oz Budweiser Light beer cans? The answer is yes. We can.
More drunken stories. Andrew and Brittany (and Karen and myself) came to Hempstead last night. We did not go to the dance party as planned. Karen was tired and went to bed. I think Andrew and Brittany wanted to dance and be hella flashy but I was hella tired from being up all day and out and about in the city (and battling drunken dogs...I mean, wolves, on the train) so we decided getting drunk would be the better option. We got eight forties, and picked up a six pack of Heinekin for Dave. So Dave met his nemesis Andrew. Andrew met his Spice Girls rival, Dave. Brittany met someone who is over a foot taller than her. Dave met the girl that he thinks is hot. So it was a meeting of my two worlds once again. And these two worlds can only meet when drunk, apparently. Brittany, after one forty, was falling all over the place. Andrew, after two, giggled like a princess at every thing that I said...or he said...or Brittany...or Dave. Dave and I were totally entertained. And I was most def entertained by Dave who was sorta tipsy last night! I can feel it in my bones, it's gonna happen soon. Perhaps I will actually see Dave drunk one day. I think it just might happen. He finished his beer and drank the rest of what I didn't want and was just sleepy, but still kinda tipsy. He stumbled out of my bed and couldn't initially walk in a straight line. And he repeatedly said he hated me. And almost fell asleep, but apparently I'm not good enough, so he left. Shwatevs. I think the best part of the night is when Andrew, Dave and I were chillin' in my room and Britt came back from the bathroom (drunk off her ass) and gave me a hug, gave Dave (that totally rhymes) a hug, then hugged Andrew. And ate his face for about thirty seconds. Then she turned around and almost fell over. My I'm-still-sick-so-I-sound-like-a-cackling-old-lady-witch laugh was kicked into high gear last night and I thought everything was funny. I was not drunk, but I was sleepy and happy to see Andrew and Britt. So fucking sue me.
Any other drunken stories? Not for today. I could talk about Valentine's Day and how it was shoved down my throat...alcohol that is. But no, I won't because I'm tired of typing in this thing about alcohol and porn. Porn, porn, porn, porn, porn. That's all I do. I drink beer and watch porn. And scratch myself, but that's a whole new story that we should discuss at another time. Perhaps later.
It was nice being home, even if it was for two hours. I got to drive around and be a crazy Long Island driver. We are insane and I kinda miss that insanity. I love almost getting rear ended by a truck as I'm trying to merge on the service road. Yummy!
I want lunch.
'cause my kind of love is an ugly love
But it's real and it lasts a long, long time
Monday, March 3, 2008
I want to paint you a lovely world
To let myself go, I have to write. It's like this tick inside of me that isn't satisfied until ink swirls called words hit paper. Or until the word processor processes. In class today (because why would I actually learn?) I've decided that there are some things I just gotta let go. Things have happened to me, and I've heard things and I've seen things. And these things have made me who I am yet these things also take up space; new things can't come in until these other things are let go. Too many things, huh? So yeah, in class I've decided to let go. By writing. I want to write a letter about everything that bugs me. Everything that I've experienced. Everything and anything I want. And I won't read it ever again. It will be on paper then it will set sail in the deep blue sea. Yeah, I'm putting a message in a bottle. For the fish and the algea and sea urchants and mermaids and pollution and waves to swallow. If my thoughts and experiences ever reach someone and they read it, I hope that they help them in some way. Maybe it's relatable. Maybe they'll have the same story. But I'll share my secrets with the water because we relate; we both have insatiable depths. I don't mind if the ocean swallows my thoughts whole and drowns them; it's better than something else destroying them. And I will never have to see them again and I can just let them go. I feel like it's the best thing I can do for myself at this point. There are some things which I only know and I need to write them down and get rid of them. Maybe some of my knots will even disappear? No, that won't happen. But an old part of me is slowly decaying and leaving nothing for something new. So it's time to rejuvinate myself, eh? A spiritual cleansing, a makeover if you will. So this is what I've decided and this is what I'm going to do. I will save myself in a bottle and set it to sea. werd.
I gotta read shit for this new class and I really dont want to. I've been downloading music for the past two hours, and I'd rather do that as opposed to reading about Paris in the 19th century. Who the fuck cares? Well, I do. I care a lot actually; I love history. I just want to read on my own time and shit. Fuck this class. Fuck it to hell. But I need a quote to discuss with her in our one-on-one meeting tomorrow morning. This is a short week, we only have two days of class and that's nice, but I still have to show up and be redonk.
Have you ever wanted to go swimming and not come up for air? Just to stay under the calm of the water forever, and only hear your ears pounding and yourself swimming. Ever want to live underwater and be weightless and forget it all? I think water has a way of making one's problems just kind of melt. Like it all trickles away, just like the water trickles. I think I'd like to fly during the night and live in the water during the day. Two things which are impossible for my species to accomplish naturally, but I'd like to. And if I can't do that, I'll just join the Peace Corps and be happy on the same high. I'll just float and flutter through life and smile at people when they tell me I'm crazy and need to shower and see a dentist. I'd like to do that. I want something from life that isn't attainable. I just want to be happy doing what I want to do. But that'll never happen, because we all go with the flow of society. So instead I'll live underwater...until my oxygen runs out and then I'll just have to come up for air and be reminded of what I'm not missing. Too much shit. Just too much.
I gotta read shit for this new class and I really dont want to. I've been downloading music for the past two hours, and I'd rather do that as opposed to reading about Paris in the 19th century. Who the fuck cares? Well, I do. I care a lot actually; I love history. I just want to read on my own time and shit. Fuck this class. Fuck it to hell. But I need a quote to discuss with her in our one-on-one meeting tomorrow morning. This is a short week, we only have two days of class and that's nice, but I still have to show up and be redonk.
Have you ever wanted to go swimming and not come up for air? Just to stay under the calm of the water forever, and only hear your ears pounding and yourself swimming. Ever want to live underwater and be weightless and forget it all? I think water has a way of making one's problems just kind of melt. Like it all trickles away, just like the water trickles. I think I'd like to fly during the night and live in the water during the day. Two things which are impossible for my species to accomplish naturally, but I'd like to. And if I can't do that, I'll just join the Peace Corps and be happy on the same high. I'll just float and flutter through life and smile at people when they tell me I'm crazy and need to shower and see a dentist. I'd like to do that. I want something from life that isn't attainable. I just want to be happy doing what I want to do. But that'll never happen, because we all go with the flow of society. So instead I'll live underwater...until my oxygen runs out and then I'll just have to come up for air and be reminded of what I'm not missing. Too much shit. Just too much.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Don't drink the water
Grass used to hug me and conform to my curves. I had a lovely bed of green eyelashes to rest upon underneath warm blue skies. We went on our picnic dates, me in my white dress, you wearing red shirts that made me laugh because you looked like a lady bug. We'd sit on the blanket your grandmama made with dedicated hands and tender heart. Competitions to see who could peel their oranges first; you'd win because you had hands just like your grandmama: dedicated. I know you had a heart just like hers too. Picnic dates with blankets, oranges, water and giggles. And the grass that was soft and harmless and came in waves under my body. I swear I was carried away by green currents. And the picnic dates where there was no blanket, just soft grass and we would watch the clouds pass by in the blue sky. There were puffs of smoke and cottontails and white dresses. You pointed out a lady bug, but that was foolish because that means that the sky would bleed, and in those days, that wasn't possible. The sun was warm, as were your hands, and when we were lazy in the grass, your hand crepty across the thick eyelashes into mine and we'd sit in silence. Then you'd hum a tune, and only sing parts that you actually knew. Either way, a smile grew, bright, like the sun was warm. In those days, I tanned in the grass that hugged my curves and didn't stain my dress in envy. I was white like my dress on our first picnic date of that summer. By the end of the summer, I was brown and that damned dress was like a lonely cloud in the crystal blue sky, against my skin. Stark.Our fingers laced together and only cupped by the stream to relieve our faces from the heat. That summer cultivated a love, just as it made the fields of grass shimmer like emeralds in the sun.
just an experiment of something...
just an experiment of something...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
