I'm trying to vent some of the terrible passion

It's about time that I wrote in this thing again, eh? I mean, it's only been like a day. Someone's gonna have a heart attack and die if they can't read something new from Reptar. So here it goes.

It's easiest to write in this blog when I have something to say. When I'm bored, the blogs are boring which then translates to I am uninteresting and the reader is uninterested in the blog and me. So what can I write about? Home. That's right. That four letter word which brings so many emotions into my throat that it's hard to know where to begin. Home. It means a lot to me. These walls hold a lot of memories for me and my family. Some good, some bad, some just forgettable. These walls have seen it all though and they've kept up with the increasing, decreasing and increasing size of my family. It's these memories that makes the walls a home--not just wood, drywall, nails and paint. And these walls have kept us, and continue to keep us safe. I can't complain much about those who reside within these walls either, ya know? I'm fortunate to have a sane, loving, giving family. So home and the people who help to make it a home are great. But I cannot wait to leave again! It's hardly been a full week since I've been home and I'm ready to move out again. I'm independent and I like to do things on my own, on my own time, with my own people. And it seems that it's not possible. I am a big fish in a small pond here, with my mind in places that I feel most others aren't. And I have grown up while away from home--with new ideas, morals, beliefs, experiences. And I have gained and shed everything out of the watchful eye of my family and friends. And yes, every few weeks when I came home, people noticed differences in me, but no one here was at school to see me go through the changes. I just expect people to be accepting because it's who I am. And I cannot change that. But I come here and people put me in the same exact spot I was in when I left for college, as though those eight months meant absolutely nothing to them. Well, they mean something to me. Whether anyone likes it or not, I am changing and becoming more secure with myself and what I believe in. So sorry if I don't conform to this place like I used to. I'm sorry I want bigger and better things for myself. I'm sorry if I know that I deserve the bigger and better things like happiness and success in making others happy. But most of all, I'm sorry for not being sorry about any of the above because maturing is not something to be apologetic about. I do not like limits. I do not like barriers. I do not like that I cannot breathe here. I was at Hofstra contemplating whether or not I really wanted to leave Hofstra because of the friends I have made. Well, four days at home and I remembered why I wanted to be six hours away. Bliss in the middle of nowhere, just chillin' with the cows and horses. Bliss to not have to deal with the shit put on me at home. Shit that I don't deserve just because there is jealousy and a blindness to whom I am. I cannot tolerate disrespect of any kind, especially since I don't disrespect ANYONE, so when my beliefs are mocked or manipulated because it's "funny" I am ready to pick up and leave. I have too much respect for myself to let that happen. So, these walls, it's not your fault that these memories are here. It's not your fault that you remind me of this shit. So stay kind to everyone else who wants to stay behind in the little pond. I am moving on.

wowzers!

yeah, I usually use song lyrics as titles, but wowzers! is fitting. Why? Because it's 7:20pm and I've done nothing with myself today. Just went online, watched TV and ate lots of food. Wowzers! Have eight hours passed already? Wowzers!

Tonight I'll be sure to write a song called "wowzers" just so this title is legit.

I need productivity with my life today. It sucks not having a car during the day. But at night we all know what happens. Fran gets pulled over by AIRPORT SECURITY because she ran through one of thirty stop signs located two feet apart, and she failed to stop for a pedestrian in a crosswalk. A non-existant pedestrian at that. And Fran only has expired registration and expired insurance proof thingies, apparently, so we can all imagine how well that worked out. I spent the night in jail with a woman named Bertha. And I have lost my anal virginity to this (woah!)man. Wowzers!

I have a bad headache. Wowzers!

I'm not happy at home. I want to drown in the raindrops. Wowzers!

My house is a smaller version (not by much) of the Hofstra campus; I am still trapped without a car. Wowzers!

Oh, and according to Andrew, I'm a lesbian because of the car I drive. Wowzers!!

You ain't got no beef

I will never be anything substantial. And I know it.

The end.

Sing and dance, I'll play for you tonight

I'm back at Hofstra. I'm sitting in the museum. So far one person has come and it was an old woman. The kind that likes to talk a lot. Saying anything that's on her mind about what she's viewing, just trying to make friendly conversation. I always find this annoying at first but then I think that maybe she lives by herself, or she's alone for most of the day, so she likes to make conversation with people (and not her cat). She was really nice to me and she thanked me for talking to her while she was here. I guess she is alone...or she just knows that she is annoying like that. But, I guess I'm happy that I could have made a difference in her life. Or at least just this day.

I got a huge packet of mail from Geneseo. I'd like to visit them before June, just to get a feel for the campus again. And see if I could be there and love it, ya know? And if not...I dont know. I just don't know. Meepness.

So I'm officially done at Hofstra, for my Freshman year. My shit that collected dust in 525B from August to May is now gone and sprawled out on my basement floor. My clothes are smushed in the closet and in suitcases and I'm patiently awaiting the room upstairs to be finished so Mel and I can move in. I dont want to unpack anything just to pack it up again only to unpack it twenty minutes later. I like the red on the walls (good choice on my behalf) and the purple is a good spot to put my bed. I can't wait to entertain people in my room and on my bed again ;p. I want all my friends to come over and cuddle on my bed with me and watch Dumb & Dumber and Airplane. I want Karen to scratch my scalp with her extra long fingernails and Sam to tell Eric to shut up as he makes fun of me and impersonates Dave. And I want Andrew to encourage Eric with his "jokes" with his laughter and for Jen to actually meet everyone, and Brittany to make fun of Andrew. But not while the movie is playing. Not cool. So yeah, my Freshman year is over. How crazy is that? It went by so fucking fast, I can't believe it. It seems like just yesterday I was scrambling to make friends, then hanging out in Dave's room every night from November (?) forward and going to the city every week with the New College classes. How crazy is it that I won't see everyone for dinner every night again? How crazy is it that I will be home for three months (I guess?)--and not returning after the weekend is over to chill with my friends here. Eric can't impersonate my dad to my face, Dave and I can't drink and say "Charlie" to eachother every three seconds, Karen and I can't grind with eachother and Sam can't vouch for me getting Baskin Robbins anymore. Jesus. The symbolism that was Freshman year is finito. That self that I gained and lost in about seven/eight months... ahh, whatever. Let's stop dwelling, eh?

So, I'm working in the museum and I should be working with Jasmine (not from Aladdin, unfortunately) and she's here and we're "working together" but she is cozy in Andrea's ex-office just on the computer (with the door closed!), while I have to deal with everyone walking in and out. Totally bogus. Yeah, I get paid to sit here and go on the computer too, but I actually have to pay attention to them. She's just sitting there. Not cool!

I have to go Wal-Mart after work and get razors and deodorant. My mom bought the wrong one for me. She got Veet. Normally I wouldn't mind, but I read the directions and anything that I have to rinse from my hands IMMEDIATELY after application is not going to stay on my legs for three fucking minutes! When I use the razor, I think my skin will peel to the bone...silky smooth, hairless bone! oolala! Such a waste, so I'll have to tell her to take it back so she can bitch at me and tell me that she won't buy me that kind of stuff anymore if I dont appreciate it and she's "doing it wrong."

A positive about being back at home: I can go walking at the park! Can we say four miles a day?! woooooo0000t.

I think it'll all be alright. Right?

Dark clouds may hang on me sometimes

But I'll work it out then I

Look up at the sky

My mouth is open wide, lick and taste

What's the use in worrying, what's the use in hurrying

Turn, turn we almost become dizzy

changes

This is all happening too fast. It's Friday. People are leaving and I wont see them for a very long time. I really can't handle picking up and leaving the place that I have made a second home--with people that I have made a second family. This is all too ridiculous and it's unfair. And it's unsettling to not come back and have the same moments as I've had this past semester with Dave, Karen, Eric and Sam. It just won't be the same and anyone who says otherwise is foolish. One of those things that I can look back on and smile about because each person that I have met here will hold a place in my heart forever. I will smile and laugh about the good times I've had here. And without the people that I've come in contact with, I would not have found my way out of the hole that I had dug for myself two years prior. So much laughter. And tears from laughter. And memories on the Hofstra campus that I cannot let go. We were all friends despite our differences and we all deeply care for one another, regardless how often Eric tells me to jump in front of cars on the Turnpike. I dont know how I am supposed to say goodbye to these people, knowing very well that the next time I see them, we will all be different and our personalities Freshman year will not be the same the next time we meet. However, they are all special, and I will miss them dearly. And I will even miss my roommates because I like to think that I have taught them something as much as they have taught me. Maybe they won't realize it now, but maybe one day they'll go "ohh!" and smile for me. And I will miss 525B. It's been my (loud) home, but a home nonetheless. A place I could come back to and smile about. It was my domain, sorta, and it symbolized my independence from home. I still remember my first night sleeping in the room, my walls bare and my hopes high. I was so nervous about what Freshman year would bring, but it was alright because I had these walls to come back to. A haven if you will. Even if I didnt make friends, I still had a place to be my own girl in. I can say, despite how corrupt Hofstra is, and how much New College screwed us over, I do not regret Hofstra and even if I have to take extra classes to make up the credit difference, I will not be scornful. Freshman year has transformed me into the person that I lost. And into someone that I knew I could be. Yes, it made me crazy. But college is crazy. And the memories are crazy. And I love it.

Peace and love, for real real this time.

My mind changed me so much I can't even trust myself

I remember when I was little I imagined my future to be glamorous and carefree. I could think of anything and make it work. When I wanted to be a famous actress (known worldwide) by the time I was 24, I conjured up a plan that I would be discovered at my high school by fifteen and the movie directed by Steven Speilberg would be released by the time I was sixteen...and my career would just take off from there--I had natural acting abilities. When I wanted to be a doctor like the ones on TV, I imagined myself doing open heart surgery, and it taking a turn for the worse. After five minutes of dramatic background music, screaming and tossing of surgical utensils (and tons of blood splattered on the nurses), I saved the man's life and I was a great and heroic doctor who didn't buckle under pressure. And of course, my love life was always great. Filled with long-term, short-term and in-between term romances with only good looking guys with good careers and solid personalities. Someone to bring home to mom. And they all knew how to treat me, and they would always smell nice and they just got me and my tendencies. But every Elijah, Jake, William, Alex, Jim and Tim just couldn't keep up with this fast-paced, witty, challenging girl. No worries though, the sex was always great (even after we broke up; but that was only with Jim because he had persuasive grey eyes). And guess what? I never became the famous actress, nor am I pursuing a medical degree, and my love life is like the flatline of the so-called patient on my supposed operating table. And I dont think my life will ever be like that. Because I am never like that. I cannot be constant. Perhaps you could say that the only thing I'm constant at are my inconsistencies. I could never just decided to pursue one career for the rest of my living days. I could never pursue so many guys...who the fuck am I kidding? I'm too modest for the flashing lights of Hollywood; I'm too indecisive and fickle to be a brilliant surgeon; I'm too committed and emotional to just flop from one dude to the other.

We all imagine things because they are unattainable. If they could be in front of us, we would never imagine having it. I could never be those things, so it was easy to live in that imaginative world where I could. In the imaginary world I could be the ultimate smart, funny and sophisticated girl whom all the guys dig and pine for. I wanted to be that, so in my brain I became that. An imagination to hide behind, if you will. And sometimes I still find myself hiding behind an imagination, making plans for things that may or may not happen. Just because I want some things to work out a certain way, I'll think that maybe, just maybe, it will be just like that. But of course it doesn't happen and I sit and wonder why not? Well, smarty pants, it's becaues you sat around waiting for that shit to fall in your lap as opposed to working for it. Sometimes it's sheer luck to be discovered in a school auditorium. Other times you have to stand out in the crowd on purpose to be noticed. Sometimes one is just smart enough to be the perfect surgeon, but usually it takes a lot of studying and insomnia and dedication. And maybe I could bump into Mr.Right Now as I'm walking down the street with an armful of groceries, and he happens to break my jar of spaghetti sauce when our bodies collide. And he just happens to want to talk to me and I just happen to give two shits and let a complete stranger wine and dine me later that evening. But usually, as I'm learning more and more, those things (are non-existent, and)have to come to you, you can't just go looking for it wherever a singleton arises.

I've learned to make due with what's presented to me. And all of these presentations (?) are just in reach. For example, tonight was supposed to be the night...and it wasn't. Well, that's cool, I won't complain. It wasn't determined to be this way, right? So I shall wait patiently and let things pan out. And if it fails, well...

***
...I have a proficiency exam in eight hours, so I should get some sleep. But I'm gonna drink some water first because I is parched. And I ain't imagining that.



And I claim I'm not excited with my life any more
So I blame this town, this job, these friends
The truth is it's myself

And she'd beg for time

It's too sad, this whole leaving thing.

As hopeless as the day she came

And she feels the weighted lies

And the colors mix together to grey

I need to stop flaunting the fact that I'm drunk on every web page possible. It's going to come back to haunt me one day...my deepest apologies.

I'm waiting for my laundry to be done. It should be good stuff. I like clean clothes and towels. Sort of a waste considering there are only six days until the semester is over but I needed towels and jeans. And underwear. It was more the underwear that I was concerned about. So I'm waiting. And I hope that the dryers don't get backed up because I dont want to wait an extra hour to put my clothes in the dryer. And some little fuck is going to fuck that up for me. I should be a laundry ninja.

I have so much to do for my project. It's so ridiculous. And it's not fair because all of us don't have a lot of time left and we'll all be busy with finals and papers and it makes me sad. Fooey.

Oh, when I walk out in the morning

What a lovely sunlight

And all the colors mix together to grey

who knows

i'm drunk. i had alot todrink. and i'm stupid. i'm trying tostay aawake for as longas possible and i'm rinkinga ot of water. maybe i wont be sick in the am. i dont know. i'll have some tic tacs. i'm going to be laughed at for this. i tried to hide in ralph's bed and i got advice from allie.

What do they know about this love anyway?

I should probably stop having dreams where I wake up crying.

I am not my hair

I am not. How many close minded fucks asked if I was gay because I cut my hair short. How many more passer-bys assumed my sexuality based on my length. Having this new length, I've realized that it takes a certain kind of girl to have short hair. I have to carry myself a different way because my hair is short and intensely red. It's not totally feminine thus I'm butch and love to reside in the lick 'er cabinet. But I'm still a girl who likes to wear dresses and put on make up and smell pretty. I still blush when I get hit on by guys and I still find guys attractive. Just because my hair is shorter than yours does not mean my testosterone levels shot up and I'm suddenly checkin' girls out as they walk by. I am not my hair. But what I am is freed from my hair. For a long time I feel like I've been in this grey area. One half of me is the chic, funky, free-spirited, artsy girl; the other half was more conforming with a hint of independence from traditional standards set by my family. And now my hair makes me more of the former--me--and I like that because that's how I want to be perceived. I'm wondering if hair can make you feel a certain way about yourself. That short red hair is a mask for me to live under. Because I do not look like the old Fran at all; I'd say that my hair is dramatically different from before. Does this mean that the old Fran is totally out the window? That all of my inhibitions are done with? Well, all I know is that I don't feel 100% different. I am the same girl with the same beliefs as before. But now something has shifted, I think. Perhaps it's just how I have carried myself differently. I most def have to because of the looks I get. Yeah, most people aren't used to seeing short red hair on a girl. Most also assume something from a girl with uber short hair. It takes a certain guy, I think, to have the balls to date a girl with such short hair. It's being comfortable with your sexuality to date a chick and be that chick with short hair. And we all know that I am comfy in my sexuality recliner so I've become content with my short red hair.

I finally met with my advisor for my IP. He is totally awesome and free-spirited about sex. Right off the bat he told me that the conversation about sex would be open because there was no other way to approach it. And he meant it. I thought I was very open in discussing sex, but I was way wrong. LIke, really wrong. But it was okay. After my initial shock of how much he really wanted to talk about it with me, I was comfortable and soon we were sharing stories and personal sexual experiences, making references to eachother's genitilia. haha...verbally, of course. But it wasn't weird and I didn't feel uncomfortable telling him what my orgasms feel like nor was I embarrased when he talked about his first time with a woman or how he felt with vibrations up against his penis. I know it all sounds wrong that a professor and student would discuss this with one another but it wasn't meant to be dirty in that sexual way. After all, my IP is about sexuality and I think I'm focusing on the taboo of sex, so it would be hypocritical of me to be hush hush when I'm trying to reveal why we're all so hush hush. But I was relieved afterward because he was willing to help me any way he could and he also gave me advice about other things (that were NOT related to sex whatsoever, thank you very much). In fact, I gotta go read some of the books he gave me, so I'll keep everyone updated. Only if you want.

I blow kisses

I wrote this a long time ago and while Dave and I were in the common room, and I was without internet connection, I stumbled upon it and decided to copy and paste it. So yeah... (oh, and it has no title).


White flowing dresses in the green swaying grasses
Yellow sunlight in yellow eyes
Brings bright happiness in the unadulterated smile.
You don’t know how happy you make me when you smile back.
Fingertips graze the grazing tips of green grass.
Serene landscapes of pastel and waves ahead.
Run and hop and bees sting sensitive skin
Run swiftly to dark water with deep secrets.
White flowing dress like a bird’s wings
In a strong storm home.
Green grass whispers to the wind back in retaliation
To us.
It hurts. Don’t hurt the wildflowers, wildly whimsical.
Colors of the rainbow on a cereal box.
Red is charming, especially on cheeks.
Indigo is sweet, especially in cyanide speckled eyes.
Violet is alarming and unarming like your love.
You don’t know how sad your back is.
Blue like the wading water.
Orange like our lunch in the grass, peels, peels.
Strong legs, heart beats like a leaky faucet.
Green like my heart.
Drip, drop, drip, drop.
Cold noses.
Run, run, run.
Cold noses.
Buzz go the bees
White dresses swish against green swashing grasses.
Sky like glass, water like diamonds.
Jump, jump, jump.
Water cuts the sky.
Hold.
Stay.
White flowing dresses in the wallowing dark waters.
Hands and teeth and lungs grasp for air.
Swim and tantalize me. Jump hoops. Looms.
You don’t know how black your ego is;
It makes my white dress stiff with rage, bastard.

I always keep a bottle near

I've tried thinking of the most honest thing ever. Something that I could write in this blog and people would be so blown away by it that they'd have to go outside for some fresh air. And then they'd sit outside, take up smoking and reevaluate their lives because my five to ten words would make them question everything they've ever thought to be true. But I don't know if I have that sort of statement in me. I know I randomly come up with amazing one-liners without even knowing it and people tell me "wow, kiddo, that was amazing." If it were Eric, it'd be Julio or Kiddo, but never Champ. Either way, it's all shwatevs. I think we all look to leave an imprint on someone's life, ya know? We all seek that something so that we're more than just a name after we perish and our bones dissolve and recycle into the earth. I know I'd like a legacy for posterity. And I think I'm on this earth for something very important. I feel it in my bones that have yet to dissolve and recycle. But then again, maybe that's what I'm good for--returning nutrients back to the soil. Maybe that's what most of us are here for. Maybe. Just maybe.

I've listened to "Rehab" at least fifteen times so far and I'm not sure why. I heard it in H&M when Karen, Sam and I had a girls day in the City. And going down into the lingerie/girlie section, it was on the loudspeaker and I couldn't help but to sway my hips and head with the rhythym. And long after the song was over I continuted to hum it: "They tried to make me go to rehab, I said no, no, no." Just over and over again. When I was trying on cute halters, when I was picking through the clearance rack, when I was feeling bras for padding and fishing for the right size. It just wouldn't stop. And then I heard it today somewhere, sometime and when I finally sat down at my computer, I found the song and have been lovin' every second of its beat and lyric.

My red hair is fading. It's still turning my shower water red and I see some blonde peeking through. I gotta rid of those fuckers. But I should read more of sex...I'm SOOO behind on the paper because I haven't even met with my advisor yet. It's crazy, right? I have two weeks to do this shite and I haven't even met with an advisor yet. It's all retarded and I'm going to suffer for this, especially since I dont know what direction I'm going in, ya know? Fuckin' a. I gotta email this bitch and set some times straight. Ya dig?

We named him "Baby"

Sitting in silence is fun when you're surrounded by nakey paintings at your job. But it really isn't.

I've decided to give up on "best friends." The more I think about it, the more I dislike the term best friend. I used to believe in them and have best friends and do the friendly best friend things like giggle all night, tell secrets, have sleepovers, talk for hours on the phone, shop, sing like a loser with best friend, talk about boys, try to impress boys, et cetera. And I consider past best friends as the best friends that I will ever have because I had a relatively happy chidhood and they helped to make it happy; my innocence of childhood is cemented within those friends that were once my best friends. But today, sitting in this museum (which is quite nipply), I've decided to ditch the term best friend. I feel like I'm too old for it; it is an association with happier, girlier times from my childhood. I am becoming an adult, and I may have good friends with whom I'm close, but I don't have that "best" friend. The person that surpasses every other friend that I have met ever. No one is worth getting that close to to be considered the "best." No one is ever the best to me. I don't tell any one person everything; I tend to scatter my secrets and thoughts with different friends depending on the topic, so forth. I want to use the term "better friend" when describing them to other people...and describing those "better friends" to the better friends themselves. Everyone else is a good friend or just a friend that I have, but no one will ever be best to me again. That title is tainted in my eyes and has been since high school. Because I believed in best friends and the giggles and tears and love and secrets and trust and that belief was shattered and I can't believe in something that I'm not sure exists. Especially after it fell through the cracks on one occassion. So basically, no one is my best friend so dont be offended if I just call you my "better friend" or just a good friend. No one can be the best because that implies perfection and no one is perfect...especially to me.

I'm sick of the importance of useless titles. They only prove things to others, never to yourself.

I had an opinion that didn't matter

I had a brain that felt like pancake batter

I got a backyard with nothing in it

Except a stick, a dog

And a box with something in it