There is a book I love called "Lucas" by Kevin Brooks. I read it a while ago. The first page, however, has one line I will never forget.
The father tells the girl to cry herself a story.
Last night, I began to think about some of the things in my life that have affected me greatly.
Those few certain things that I cannot fully talk about with others.
I have narrowed it down to three things:
My father
My current relationship
My first job
I thought about 'crying myself a story' and the thought scared me to death.
Well, it scared me enough to make me finally go to bed.
I had finished reading "Wicked" and started reading the latest Augusten Burroughs book and figured that after looking inside my head for a little bit was enough to make me say goodnight to dear Mr. Burroughs and sleep.
(Being inside my own head for more than ten minutes is, for the most part, a terrifying journey.)
Today, I woke up and I still wanted to 'cry myself a story', so I chose work.
I would write all I could about my old job and then, let that place finally die.
No longer would I resent anyone, or myself for what happened.
I would write it all out, and then I would be done.
I figure if I can do that, then maybe (MAYBE) I could move on to the harder subjects.
Plus, I used to tell many stories about my job when I was still in school and people always told me to write a book about it. Well, here goes.
My first attempt at a book.
A difficult piece of my history will be the topic.
Bright side: Even if the book is a pile of garbage and I never want to show it to 'the world', at least all the crap that happened will be off my chest and in a papery grave.
Friday, February 22
Stronger
The feeling I get from deleting my myspace is beyond words.
Lucky for you, I have (somehow) coaxed those words out.
Ha.
I no longer sit and stare at my home page praying for a new something.
New comment.
New blog comment.
New friend request.
New picture comment.
New message.
Myspace had a sick way of making me feel lonely and friendless.
If a day went by in which I didn't receive something I would feel low.
That is pathetic.
Not only that, but why does everyone become obsessed with other people's pages.
(Hence, the new 'let's-private-my-page-so-no one-can-see-it!')
I was part of that.
I thought everyone was looking at my page.
Reading my comments.
Being nosy bastards.
I guess I only thought that because I was doing that.
Using Mozilla because it has that great function where you can blank out all of the editing someone did to their page and be able to read all of their comments.
My little sisters taught me that.
Wow.
I do feel really pathetic now.
Oh well, I broke the spell though.
Another bright side is:
I no longer am getting harassed by that stupid gapping vagina chick (see an older post).
No really.
She was taking my myspace way too seriously!
I had some headline about how no one is going to take what I worked for, or stop me, or something all "grrrrl power" like I am a Spice Girl or something.
This girl decides that it MUST be about her, right?
Because I must have NOTHING better to do than create surreptitious headlines referring to me winning Jonathan and not her.
How completely crazy is she?
Sure, I have bitched about her but why the hell would I made my whole damn profile about her?
(She has made her whole profile about me and Jonathan...it is creepy.)
This was the final thing that made me realize that I needed to get rid of my damn myspace.
It was getting out of control.
Plus +++
Myspace takes up too much time anyway.
Even now, I promised myself I would finish reading 'Wicked' finally and what did I do instead?
Sit on myspace all day and post bulletins about how I should be doing something else.
Wow.
I know.
I am embarrassed.
Now that the cycle is broken I feel better.
I can focus on other things.
I am twenty pages away from finishing 'Wicked'.
*proud*
ANNNND I do not have to postpone blog writing because I struck up a boring (yet addictive) conversation on myspace.
I wonder what Ms. Gapping Vag-Freak will post about now?
How lonely is it fighting against nothing?
:]
Lucky for you, I have (somehow) coaxed those words out.
Ha.
I no longer sit and stare at my home page praying for a new something.
New comment.
New blog comment.
New friend request.
New picture comment.
New message.
Myspace had a sick way of making me feel lonely and friendless.
If a day went by in which I didn't receive something I would feel low.
That is pathetic.
Not only that, but why does everyone become obsessed with other people's pages.
(Hence, the new 'let's-private-my-page-so-no one-can-see-it!')
I was part of that.
I thought everyone was looking at my page.
Reading my comments.
Being nosy bastards.
I guess I only thought that because I was doing that.
Using Mozilla because it has that great function where you can blank out all of the editing someone did to their page and be able to read all of their comments.
My little sisters taught me that.
Wow.
I do feel really pathetic now.
Oh well, I broke the spell though.
Another bright side is:
I no longer am getting harassed by that stupid gapping vagina chick (see an older post).
No really.
She was taking my myspace way too seriously!
I had some headline about how no one is going to take what I worked for, or stop me, or something all "grrrrl power" like I am a Spice Girl or something.
This girl decides that it MUST be about her, right?
Because I must have NOTHING better to do than create surreptitious headlines referring to me winning Jonathan and not her.
How completely crazy is she?
Sure, I have bitched about her but why the hell would I made my whole damn profile about her?
(She has made her whole profile about me and Jonathan...it is creepy.)
This was the final thing that made me realize that I needed to get rid of my damn myspace.
It was getting out of control.
Plus +++
Myspace takes up too much time anyway.
Even now, I promised myself I would finish reading 'Wicked' finally and what did I do instead?
Sit on myspace all day and post bulletins about how I should be doing something else.
Wow.
I know.
I am embarrassed.
Now that the cycle is broken I feel better.
I can focus on other things.
I am twenty pages away from finishing 'Wicked'.
*proud*
ANNNND I do not have to postpone blog writing because I struck up a boring (yet addictive) conversation on myspace.
I wonder what Ms. Gapping Vag-Freak will post about now?
How lonely is it fighting against nothing?
:]
Monday, February 18
Skittles
Maybe not everyone has seen this commercial but I must talk about it.
The latest skittles commercial is ridiculous.
Basically, there is this old guy and everything he touches turns to skittles.
The young(adult) male and female are all excited and said something to the effect of "That's awesome!"
Then, the old man says something to the effect of "Did you get to hold your newborn child? Were you able to dress yourself today? I wasn't."
The commercial ends with the old man turning (by accident of course) his work phone and desk into skittles and the male and female next to him nonchalantly eating skittles.
This commercial is weird.
The first thing I said after watching it was, "Dude, he couldn't masturbate or his dick would turn into skittles!"
Yes, this is the first thing I say in response to the commercial.
Talk about mature.
I know.
Seriously though, how horrible would life be if everything you touched turned to skittles?
On the bright side, if you knew someone with this problem how awesome would it be for you to be their friend?
I would hate to have the 'rainbow' touch but if Jonathan had it....I think it'd be okay.
Wait, then....he'd never be able to be intimate with me again.
Okay, if I had a friend (in which I didn't really touch or hang out with that much) had this problem it would be awesome.
The latest skittles commercial is ridiculous.
Basically, there is this old guy and everything he touches turns to skittles.
The young(adult) male and female are all excited and said something to the effect of "That's awesome!"
Then, the old man says something to the effect of "Did you get to hold your newborn child? Were you able to dress yourself today? I wasn't."
The commercial ends with the old man turning (by accident of course) his work phone and desk into skittles and the male and female next to him nonchalantly eating skittles.
This commercial is weird.
The first thing I said after watching it was, "Dude, he couldn't masturbate or his dick would turn into skittles!"
Yes, this is the first thing I say in response to the commercial.
Talk about mature.
I know.
Seriously though, how horrible would life be if everything you touched turned to skittles?
On the bright side, if you knew someone with this problem how awesome would it be for you to be their friend?
I would hate to have the 'rainbow' touch but if Jonathan had it....I think it'd be okay.
Wait, then....he'd never be able to be intimate with me again.
Okay, if I had a friend (in which I didn't really touch or hang out with that much) had this problem it would be awesome.
Bald
I am fucking lucky that I am not bald.
Why?
Well, in the past year I have done too many things to my poor hair.
I was eighteen years old. I started off with long (like middle of my back) blond hair.
The only dying I had done to my hair was keeping the roots the same color as the rest of it.
(And the double bleaching fiasco in eight grade because I wanted to dye my hair
blue but did not realize that blue and yellow made green.....but that's a different story.)
I am now nineteen years old. My hair is barely resting on my shoulders and is a light brown color with a red tint to it and blond streaks/roots. Different yes? Very.
(This information has been collected through Jonathan, pictures, and my two close friends -- and that girl I am not friend's with anymore that thinks we still are....ew.)
Two months of being eighteen, I decide to have Jon die my hair strawberry blond. I hate it. My hair does not really look different.
First 'Heather cut' (that means I cut my own hair...).
My length is "end of bra" level.
Two more months and I am bored.
I want radical change. I pick up a box of "midnight black" hair color.
My face is pale, but it was 'radical' enough to make me happy.
A month later I cut my hair again.
It is right above where my chest pops out.
I actually wait long enough for my hair to fade. I have some blond roots. It is a dark brown.
I go black again.
Three weeks later, I want to go red.
This is the first time I let someone other than Jon or my mother dye my hair.
That girl jacks up my hair color.
I had flaming red roots and maroon hair. Her hair, which I dyed, came out great.
Five hours later I apply a little black to the roots to calm them down.
A month later I go back black.
I cut my hair again. Shoulder length.
Two weeks later, I cut my hair again. Chin level.
My face is expanding. I have yet to notice. I think it looks good. I was wrong.
I keep going shorter and shorter like for the next two weeks.
My hair is now a little past the top of my ears. I looked like a damn mom.
Around Thanksgiving, I let my close friend Rachel convince me to get extensions.
I think it is a great idea because I have finally noticed that my hair is way too short and I really have started looking like an overweight soccer mom. Not the look an eighteen year old wants to have, right? You're damn right!
Extensions are smart is your hair is not extremely thick and if you have an extra hundred or two to shell out on 'fake human hair'. Oh, and make sure you get someone to put them in who knows what they are doing. <--- That last tip helps the most. I learned the hard way. Me and my friend Rachel go to Sallys Beauty Supply store and pick up one package of extensions; we do not get hair glue or anything else. We get to my friend's house and realize that we need something to make it stick to my head because the extensions we bought cannot be "woven" in. I am pissed. I want them in my head as soon as possible. I do not care if that kid CJ at work called me a "hot mom", point was I looked like A MOM! So on the way to my house we go to Wal-mart and we buy some super glue. Yes, I did type super glue. This is how dumb I am, and how cruel my friend is for not stopping me. (Well to defend her she is not a bright girl. Seriously, I am not being mean. I told her I was thinking of going to an Adult Education School and she said, "I didn't know you wanted to be a porn star." Yes, a PORN STAR. I asked her what she was talking about and she said, "You know ADULT EDUCATION.....like ADULT VIDEOS??! Duh." Shhh, she is a nice girl and we have been friends for almost three years now.) Anyway, we get back to my house and start gluing the damn things in my head. Half of the hair in we realize that my hair is ten times thicker than the extensions. Uh oh, I have a thick top and at the bottom there is stringy hair. I looked like I was wearing a retarded hair helmet. Her brilliant idea: LETS THIN YOUR HAIR! Now I could use thinner arms, a thinner set of thighs, a thinner stomach, but my hair? That was the only place that was allowed to be thick. I agree anyway. By thinning my hair she was really saying, "Heather can I cut out chunks of your hair?" So yes, we started to just cut out chunks of my, once, beautiful hair. I was down to nothing in many many areas on my scalp. It was sad, but at the time I was 'making a sacrifice for beauty'. I should be punched more often. The result was decent. There was one spot on my head that needed an extra piece, but all in all it was passable. Problem was, using super glue on your scalp makes your head itch in a manner that only a junkie trying to kick heroin would understand. Also, I could not keep them in that long because I did not have the funds or knowledge to keep the extensions healthy. So after a month (and those extensions were getting ratty) I had to cut them out. I cried at the result. I had patches of hair. My hair was just at my ears. The top of my head, and underneath was missing massive chunks of hair. I cried for three days straight and did not leave the house for a week. I hated the way I looked. I could not look in the mirror without cursing myself. Especially because I did not know why I had extensions until the day I cut them out. I was furious at my own stupidity. I do not fully even know why I put them in my head. Lucky for me and my friend that I do not remember it because I may kick both our asses. (Liar Liar moment: I'm kicking my own ass. Lol.)
I am at January now. My hair is growing nice and is healthier than it has been in years. I decide towards the end of the month that my roots are growing in too much and I have way blond roots and nasty black hair. I felt like trailer trash. I had to fix that. A girl has to stay as cute as possible.
Why did I think I could go back blond, being dark haired, from box dye I bough at damn Wal-Mart?! More importantly, why didn't my mother stop me? I guess they thought my hair was not going to turn out as horrible as it did.
My hair was bright orange with piss blond roots.
It looked like my hair was on fire and someone had peed on my roots.
(Fortunately for me, I deleted the picture Jonathan told me to take. & he deleted his copy of the picture too!)
For the first time in my life I was so shocked that I actually could not cry. I ran downstairs and begged my mom and grammy to help me. I screamed about how I could not go out in public and I had a date the next day. They said I had to wait until the morning to get it all sorted out.
I put 'unred' in my hair and then dyed my hair a light brown-ish color that had blond streaks in it so it would mask and blend with the color that it had become. It is lovely. I think it is my second favorite hair color.
But throughout the past year I have learned that a. I love my natural hair color and b. I should thank a higher power (or whatever) that I still have hair on my head.
Why?
Well, in the past year I have done too many things to my poor hair.
I was eighteen years old. I started off with long (like middle of my back) blond hair.
The only dying I had done to my hair was keeping the roots the same color as the rest of it.
(And the double bleaching fiasco in eight grade because I wanted to dye my hair
blue but did not realize that blue and yellow made green.....but that's a different story.)
I am now nineteen years old. My hair is barely resting on my shoulders and is a light brown color with a red tint to it and blond streaks/roots. Different yes? Very.
(This information has been collected through Jonathan, pictures, and my two close friends -- and that girl I am not friend's with anymore that thinks we still are....ew.)
Two months of being eighteen, I decide to have Jon die my hair strawberry blond. I hate it. My hair does not really look different.
First 'Heather cut' (that means I cut my own hair...).
My length is "end of bra" level.
Two more months and I am bored.
I want radical change. I pick up a box of "midnight black" hair color.
My face is pale, but it was 'radical' enough to make me happy.
A month later I cut my hair again.
It is right above where my chest pops out.
I actually wait long enough for my hair to fade. I have some blond roots. It is a dark brown.
I go black again.
Three weeks later, I want to go red.
This is the first time I let someone other than Jon or my mother dye my hair.
That girl jacks up my hair color.
I had flaming red roots and maroon hair. Her hair, which I dyed, came out great.
Five hours later I apply a little black to the roots to calm them down.
A month later I go back black.
I cut my hair again. Shoulder length.
Two weeks later, I cut my hair again. Chin level.
My face is expanding. I have yet to notice. I think it looks good. I was wrong.
I keep going shorter and shorter like for the next two weeks.
My hair is now a little past the top of my ears. I looked like a damn mom.
Around Thanksgiving, I let my close friend Rachel convince me to get extensions.
I think it is a great idea because I have finally noticed that my hair is way too short and I really have started looking like an overweight soccer mom. Not the look an eighteen year old wants to have, right? You're damn right!
Extensions are smart is your hair is not extremely thick and if you have an extra hundred or two to shell out on 'fake human hair'. Oh, and make sure you get someone to put them in who knows what they are doing. <--- That last tip helps the most. I learned the hard way. Me and my friend Rachel go to Sallys Beauty Supply store and pick up one package of extensions; we do not get hair glue or anything else. We get to my friend's house and realize that we need something to make it stick to my head because the extensions we bought cannot be "woven" in. I am pissed. I want them in my head as soon as possible. I do not care if that kid CJ at work called me a "hot mom", point was I looked like A MOM! So on the way to my house we go to Wal-mart and we buy some super glue. Yes, I did type super glue. This is how dumb I am, and how cruel my friend is for not stopping me. (Well to defend her she is not a bright girl. Seriously, I am not being mean. I told her I was thinking of going to an Adult Education School and she said, "I didn't know you wanted to be a porn star." Yes, a PORN STAR. I asked her what she was talking about and she said, "You know ADULT EDUCATION.....like ADULT VIDEOS??! Duh." Shhh, she is a nice girl and we have been friends for almost three years now.) Anyway, we get back to my house and start gluing the damn things in my head. Half of the hair in we realize that my hair is ten times thicker than the extensions. Uh oh, I have a thick top and at the bottom there is stringy hair. I looked like I was wearing a retarded hair helmet. Her brilliant idea: LETS THIN YOUR HAIR! Now I could use thinner arms, a thinner set of thighs, a thinner stomach, but my hair? That was the only place that was allowed to be thick. I agree anyway. By thinning my hair she was really saying, "Heather can I cut out chunks of your hair?" So yes, we started to just cut out chunks of my, once, beautiful hair. I was down to nothing in many many areas on my scalp. It was sad, but at the time I was 'making a sacrifice for beauty'. I should be punched more often. The result was decent. There was one spot on my head that needed an extra piece, but all in all it was passable. Problem was, using super glue on your scalp makes your head itch in a manner that only a junkie trying to kick heroin would understand. Also, I could not keep them in that long because I did not have the funds or knowledge to keep the extensions healthy. So after a month (and those extensions were getting ratty) I had to cut them out. I cried at the result. I had patches of hair. My hair was just at my ears. The top of my head, and underneath was missing massive chunks of hair. I cried for three days straight and did not leave the house for a week. I hated the way I looked. I could not look in the mirror without cursing myself. Especially because I did not know why I had extensions until the day I cut them out. I was furious at my own stupidity. I do not fully even know why I put them in my head. Lucky for me and my friend that I do not remember it because I may kick both our asses. (Liar Liar moment: I'm kicking my own ass. Lol.)
I am at January now. My hair is growing nice and is healthier than it has been in years. I decide towards the end of the month that my roots are growing in too much and I have way blond roots and nasty black hair. I felt like trailer trash. I had to fix that. A girl has to stay as cute as possible.
Why did I think I could go back blond, being dark haired, from box dye I bough at damn Wal-Mart?! More importantly, why didn't my mother stop me? I guess they thought my hair was not going to turn out as horrible as it did.
My hair was bright orange with piss blond roots.
It looked like my hair was on fire and someone had peed on my roots.
(Fortunately for me, I deleted the picture Jonathan told me to take. & he deleted his copy of the picture too!)
For the first time in my life I was so shocked that I actually could not cry. I ran downstairs and begged my mom and grammy to help me. I screamed about how I could not go out in public and I had a date the next day. They said I had to wait until the morning to get it all sorted out.
I put 'unred' in my hair and then dyed my hair a light brown-ish color that had blond streaks in it so it would mask and blend with the color that it had become. It is lovely. I think it is my second favorite hair color.
But throughout the past year I have learned that a. I love my natural hair color and b. I should thank a higher power (or whatever) that I still have hair on my head.
Sunday, February 17
Confession
My dreams have always been out there, to say the least. I have my on-going fantasies of the life me and Justin Timberlake will one day share. I used to have strange dreams of this giant work house (yes, half of the building was a domicile and the other half was my old job) and me and my co-workers would go on adventures. I have had dreams about men that I should never have had any dreams of. I have had bizarre nightmares where this television alien creature from my childhood would try to kill me. Point is: my imagination is more active than the va-jay-jay, mouth, and hands of the busiest prostitute in the world.
The past week I find myself having the same dream over and over. I will not share the dream right now, unless y'all ask. I will only share what I learned from this dream.
When I wake up I try not to think of this dream but earlier I was forced to figure it out. I was listening to this song on the Wicked soundtrack and the meaning of my dream was pushed upon me. The song is called "Thank Goodness" and this is the part that helps me figure out my dream:
"And if that joy, that thrill
Doesn't thrill you like you think it will
Still -
With this perfect finale
The cheers and ballyhoo
Who
Wouldn't be happier?
So I couldn't be happier
Because happy is what happens
When all your dreams come true
Well, isn't it?"
Two weeks ago if you would have asked me if I had everything I wanted, I would have smiled and loudly exclaimed that I did. Second guessing is horrible in this situation. I participated in some actions that I am not proud of now. At the time I thought it was smart, because I thought I was going after the right thing. I destroyed another girl's heart for something I thought I wanted. She would have taken him for everything he was, is, and will never be. I keep thinking he'll be something better. I always forget how people will not change for you, they change for themselves. The girl's parents are now making her life hell because I leaked everything hoping she'd feel an ounce of what those two made me feel.
Where did it get me though? I got everything I wanted. I have him. I am far away from the people I used to work with that treated me like dirt. I am away from the place I gave my soul. I am miles from the family I have never felt a part of. I now have a family I feel like I belong to. I am going to school starting Tuesday. I am getting everything I wanted, and to top that off I have the man I scream out that I love.
I heard it took at least a month to get him to the point of asking her out. That same day that they started dating was the day I broke up with him. She thought I was the one that was going through hell. I want to ask her so badly: who really got cheated on? It was not me. I may have heard them screw each other but I was single. I may have been hurt at first. I mean the audacity on both their parts was tremendous. Then I have realized that I never went through what she had to go through. She was the one played. I was never played the way Jon played her. I made sure she knew it.
Oh it was terribly easy. She was foolish and left a trail that could connect crimes to her. She let her hatred for me sing to loudly to Jon. I was so quiet and so skillful in my deeds that it almost scared me. I would give her the shovel and the casket; she finished herself off.
It was too easy to make me happy in the end. For now I realize, he was not the prize I wanted. I loved him. I do not anymore. He is a comfort level. I enjoy his company, both decent and under the sheets. I stopped putting my faith in him. The more his parents talk to me, the more I realize that he is unchanging. He is this wretched constant. I hate him for it, yet I envy how he can stay so true to himself no matter what is thrown at him. He always puts himself first.
My heart does not ache during the day. I am kept idle with television, music, books, my cell phone, and other things man created to dull the constant dribbling of his mind. I find myself in a storm every night. I toss and turn. Nights I lay to bed alone I just cry. I know the decision I made was smart for my future, in terms of education and advancement in my life but in terms of what makes my heart light and gay? I made the wrong choice. I made a stupid and selfish choice. I wanted to rip that demon girls heart right out of her chest like she did to me, and I wanted him to feel the loss of attention like I did the day I found those msn conversations many many months ago.
I feel as if I am his Frankenstein.
[Update: I do love him. My love just weakens everyday that goes by that a change is not made. It's like fighting a dragon with a head that constantly grows back. You know that zit that you pop that is gone for a day and then reappears in another spot? This is what it feels like; I fought for a dying cause. Maybe I am wrong. I have talked to him. We actually had our first real and full conversation. Maybe it can be saved. I mean we have been through so much already. Shouldn't we be able to get through this too?]
The past week I find myself having the same dream over and over. I will not share the dream right now, unless y'all ask. I will only share what I learned from this dream.
When I wake up I try not to think of this dream but earlier I was forced to figure it out. I was listening to this song on the Wicked soundtrack and the meaning of my dream was pushed upon me. The song is called "Thank Goodness" and this is the part that helps me figure out my dream:
"And if that joy, that thrill
Doesn't thrill you like you think it will
Still -
With this perfect finale
The cheers and ballyhoo
Who
Wouldn't be happier?
So I couldn't be happier
Because happy is what happens
When all your dreams come true
Well, isn't it?"
Two weeks ago if you would have asked me if I had everything I wanted, I would have smiled and loudly exclaimed that I did. Second guessing is horrible in this situation. I participated in some actions that I am not proud of now. At the time I thought it was smart, because I thought I was going after the right thing. I destroyed another girl's heart for something I thought I wanted. She would have taken him for everything he was, is, and will never be. I keep thinking he'll be something better. I always forget how people will not change for you, they change for themselves. The girl's parents are now making her life hell because I leaked everything hoping she'd feel an ounce of what those two made me feel.
Where did it get me though? I got everything I wanted. I have him. I am far away from the people I used to work with that treated me like dirt. I am away from the place I gave my soul. I am miles from the family I have never felt a part of. I now have a family I feel like I belong to. I am going to school starting Tuesday. I am getting everything I wanted, and to top that off I have the man I scream out that I love.
I heard it took at least a month to get him to the point of asking her out. That same day that they started dating was the day I broke up with him. She thought I was the one that was going through hell. I want to ask her so badly: who really got cheated on? It was not me. I may have heard them screw each other but I was single. I may have been hurt at first. I mean the audacity on both their parts was tremendous. Then I have realized that I never went through what she had to go through. She was the one played. I was never played the way Jon played her. I made sure she knew it.
Oh it was terribly easy. She was foolish and left a trail that could connect crimes to her. She let her hatred for me sing to loudly to Jon. I was so quiet and so skillful in my deeds that it almost scared me. I would give her the shovel and the casket; she finished herself off.
It was too easy to make me happy in the end. For now I realize, he was not the prize I wanted. I loved him. I do not anymore. He is a comfort level. I enjoy his company, both decent and under the sheets. I stopped putting my faith in him. The more his parents talk to me, the more I realize that he is unchanging. He is this wretched constant. I hate him for it, yet I envy how he can stay so true to himself no matter what is thrown at him. He always puts himself first.
My heart does not ache during the day. I am kept idle with television, music, books, my cell phone, and other things man created to dull the constant dribbling of his mind. I find myself in a storm every night. I toss and turn. Nights I lay to bed alone I just cry. I know the decision I made was smart for my future, in terms of education and advancement in my life but in terms of what makes my heart light and gay? I made the wrong choice. I made a stupid and selfish choice. I wanted to rip that demon girls heart right out of her chest like she did to me, and I wanted him to feel the loss of attention like I did the day I found those msn conversations many many months ago.
I feel as if I am his Frankenstein.
[Update: I do love him. My love just weakens everyday that goes by that a change is not made. It's like fighting a dragon with a head that constantly grows back. You know that zit that you pop that is gone for a day and then reappears in another spot? This is what it feels like; I fought for a dying cause. Maybe I am wrong. I have talked to him. We actually had our first real and full conversation. Maybe it can be saved. I mean we have been through so much already. Shouldn't we be able to get through this too?]
Friday, February 15
Hide That Bunny
There is drool going down my jacket. I have two blankets wrapped around me but I am still in this half asleep half frozen awake trance. I watch Jon's father and stepmother enter the garage and start to bring our stuff into the house.
I get a few stares. I do not care. It is seven in the morning. I have been in this car for over ten hours and I do not know how to respond to the destination yet.
Grumbling and rubbing the thick layers of sleep from my eyes I get out of the car and try to help. I start to pick up my clothes and put them into the laundry bins that T (the stepmom) brought down. In the middle of it all I find the huge pink vibrator Jon had bought me, not this last Christmas but the one before it. I stuff it quickly in the pocket of a pair of sweatpants I found and continued to sort through the rest of the clothes.
I did not think T would be doing our laundry, let alone at seven in the morning.
Twenty minutes later I am in the bathroom washing my face and I hear T giggle. I go back down to the garage and notice the laundry bins are gone. After a moment, I realize that she is upstairs doing the laundry and she might have already found my pink vibrator.
(For the record, I never really use it. I do not need to. It is a beast of a toy though. There are little white beads, a pink bunny on it, and it's this crazy contraption.)
I wait til G (the dad) leaves and tell Jon. He laughs and tells me to go tell her. I have only met his folks once, and due to my accident I cannot remember meeting them. I flip him off, shove him towards the door and get back in the car pretending I am busy with something. He comes back down and hands me the toy. I quickly ram it under my seat and begin to calm down.
G comes back down and tells us where to start putting the Xbox 360 and the guitars for Rock Band and Guitar Hero. As I untangle the guitar wires, T comes down laughing very loudly.
T: "Oh children!"
(I look away)
J: "Heather didn't want to go up there and tell you."
T: "It is so cute though."
G: "What are y'all talking about?"
H: "No idea. I am so tired. I could use some sleep. Wow, such a long trip. What a long trip. I hate long trips."
T: "I bet you two kids would love to go to bed."
(T winks)
(I concentrate on my shoes)
G: "I am confused."
J: "I wish I was."
T: "G it's nothing! You don't want to know dear. *giggle* It's between me and the children."
(G walks out)
T: "Oh sweetheart look at you blush!"
(I give Jon a look that is supposed to say "WHY DID YOU PACK THAT DAMN THING ANYWAY?")
J: "Well I am going to shit."
H: "I am going to ... hide in a dark empty place."
T: "I will change the sheets."
Omgsh.
Thank gosh she didn't open the glove compartment.
She would have found the case containing the vibrator that is actually used.
Living with boyfriend and boyfriend's parents is ... too much fun.
I get a few stares. I do not care. It is seven in the morning. I have been in this car for over ten hours and I do not know how to respond to the destination yet.
Grumbling and rubbing the thick layers of sleep from my eyes I get out of the car and try to help. I start to pick up my clothes and put them into the laundry bins that T (the stepmom) brought down. In the middle of it all I find the huge pink vibrator Jon had bought me, not this last Christmas but the one before it. I stuff it quickly in the pocket of a pair of sweatpants I found and continued to sort through the rest of the clothes.
I did not think T would be doing our laundry, let alone at seven in the morning.
Twenty minutes later I am in the bathroom washing my face and I hear T giggle. I go back down to the garage and notice the laundry bins are gone. After a moment, I realize that she is upstairs doing the laundry and she might have already found my pink vibrator.
(For the record, I never really use it. I do not need to. It is a beast of a toy though. There are little white beads, a pink bunny on it, and it's this crazy contraption.)
I wait til G (the dad) leaves and tell Jon. He laughs and tells me to go tell her. I have only met his folks once, and due to my accident I cannot remember meeting them. I flip him off, shove him towards the door and get back in the car pretending I am busy with something. He comes back down and hands me the toy. I quickly ram it under my seat and begin to calm down.
G comes back down and tells us where to start putting the Xbox 360 and the guitars for Rock Band and Guitar Hero. As I untangle the guitar wires, T comes down laughing very loudly.
T: "Oh children!"
(I look away)
J: "Heather didn't want to go up there and tell you."
T: "It is so cute though."
G: "What are y'all talking about?"
H: "No idea. I am so tired. I could use some sleep. Wow, such a long trip. What a long trip. I hate long trips."
T: "I bet you two kids would love to go to bed."
(T winks)
(I concentrate on my shoes)
G: "I am confused."
J: "I wish I was."
T: "G it's nothing! You don't want to know dear. *giggle* It's between me and the children."
(G walks out)
T: "Oh sweetheart look at you blush!"
(I give Jon a look that is supposed to say "WHY DID YOU PACK THAT DAMN THING ANYWAY?")
J: "Well I am going to shit."
H: "I am going to ... hide in a dark empty place."
T: "I will change the sheets."
Omgsh.
Thank gosh she didn't open the glove compartment.
She would have found the case containing the vibrator that is actually used.
Living with boyfriend and boyfriend's parents is ... too much fun.
Wednesday, February 13
Barely Escaped Death
Let me begin with one simple statement: FUCK WYOMING! (you will find out later)
Jonathan and I worked out our problems (joy to the world, the cheating is over) and now we are doing extremely well. Better than we ever have, in fact. Guess that other girls gapping vagina (well actually he claims it was extremely tight but y'all probably didn't want to know that. too bad i'm all about the details!) helped me out. Haha, I am just trying to make light out of a very crazy situation.
Anyway, we decided to move to Illinois because that is where his family lives and we figured that his family (being less psychotic than mine) could help us both out. Now that we are here it is great. We are both enrolled in ged courses and will be getting our high school diplomas finally. I will be learning how to drive and will get his younger brothers car, and we will both go to college and have an actual career. (no more chicken and tacos bullshit. fuck fast food!)
Problem is: getting to his parent's place was hell. In all seriousness, I ALMOST DIED IN WYOMING.
Snow, ice, freezing to death, cars driving too fast = washington & oregon.
I wake up in the car on the second day of our trip and see white. That is all I can see. White roads, white land, white shit flying in front of us. I go into 'overly paranoid mode' (thanks mom for teaching me how to overly flip out whenever i want!) and grip the door handle and just stare. (yes, i know i am such a woman. how the hell is that door handle going to save me? it is beyond me, but the need is still there.) I keep quiet because Jon has not slept yet and I really didn't feel like fighting with the exhausted driver (did i want to die? no.) All of a sudden, the semi that WAS very far ahead of us starting braking. Jon goes to brake and cannot (thanks icy roads) and it becomes a: swerve into the other lane though we cannot see the oncoming traffic or lose our heads because we are in a lowered car and that semi is at a complete stop. I scream and he chooses option one. Crashing (after making a one-eighty) into the opposite side of the road I start bawling.
"Oh my god a car could hit us."
"Oh my god we are going to get trapped in a snow coffin."
"Oh my god my door won't open."
*sob repeat sob*
Why Jon didn't smack me, I don't know.
(he is sitting here right now bitching though:
"i did yell at you to calm down though!" he is so jealous he doesn't have his own blog. pssh.)
ANYWAY JONATHAN LET ME CONTINUE:
(insert a choke-hold & then a "you're an ass" and yes, this is the loving side of him....i am so not getting any tonight....)
I am crying.
Car is stuck.
Jon is stressed.
Wow.
I have never really been in a car accident before.
Well, kind of but I was definitely in a position where I could just leave at any time I wanted.
Not this time, fuck we couldn't leave if we wanted to (and with my weak bladder I WANTED TO!)
Some guy comes up to our window and tells us he'd help us but he can't. Kudos asshole, I did not want to know what you would do only what you can do.
Luckily for my sanity (which there was ... none left at this point), an old couple in a truck waves us over. We exit the car (him like a normal person, me climbing over the center console and getting out of his side) and can barely walk. It is so unbelievably windy that I am sliding back towards the car. I cannot even fully open my eyes because of this damn wind. I started thanking myself for being overweight and then realized that Jon was almost in the car and then cursed my weight for holding me back (he is the weight of my fourteen year old sister. how the hell did he not get blown away?) and making this way too difficult. Alright, so I am in the car and we are chatting with these old people. Okay, Jonathan is talking to the old folks and I am texting my best friend about how I just nearly escaped death. (i know drama never ends for me) An hour later, we are still in the damn truck smashed up against each other and I smell something disgusting. I swear someone farted. (Jon just fessed up so now the mystery is solved....i think for more blog attention he keeps talking....it's not like i don't already write about him in every damn post now he wants his own "insert jonathan's personal thoughts" too? jeeez. i don't have the patience for this.) Ten minutes later, Jon decides we should wait with the car.
THREE HOURS LATER: (yes, this event reached about FIVE HOURS!) i have peed my pants, cried, smoked, yelled, texted too many people bitching, bitched at Jon, felt embarrassed because i actually peed my pants, cursed the gods of traffic for this dilemma, and then finally all the semis in front of us start moving. Praise sweet baby Kanye (..um i'll explain the Kanye/God thing in a later post) I will be out of this fucking mess in no time.
We go to stay at a room in a town five minutes away. Yeah too bad all the rooms are full and there are semis everywhere and I do think that the whole state of Wyoming and everyone in it lost their minds.
Two more hours later: I am in a hotel in Rock Springs stuffing my face with a chicken sandwich from Sonic and watching Psych (i cannot decide which one of those boys i like better. threeway please? i can't believe there wasn't a comment from the peanut gallery next to me......) and hoping to get some.
It was a traumatic day and I seriously thought I was going to die.
Again: FUCK WYOMING.
& i missed y'all & will be catching up on y'alls blogs again soon:]
Jonathan and I worked out our problems (joy to the world, the cheating is over) and now we are doing extremely well. Better than we ever have, in fact. Guess that other girls gapping vagina (well actually he claims it was extremely tight but y'all probably didn't want to know that. too bad i'm all about the details!) helped me out. Haha, I am just trying to make light out of a very crazy situation.
Anyway, we decided to move to Illinois because that is where his family lives and we figured that his family (being less psychotic than mine) could help us both out. Now that we are here it is great. We are both enrolled in ged courses and will be getting our high school diplomas finally. I will be learning how to drive and will get his younger brothers car, and we will both go to college and have an actual career. (no more chicken and tacos bullshit. fuck fast food!)
Problem is: getting to his parent's place was hell. In all seriousness, I ALMOST DIED IN WYOMING.
Snow, ice, freezing to death, cars driving too fast = washington & oregon.
I wake up in the car on the second day of our trip and see white. That is all I can see. White roads, white land, white shit flying in front of us. I go into 'overly paranoid mode' (thanks mom for teaching me how to overly flip out whenever i want!) and grip the door handle and just stare. (yes, i know i am such a woman. how the hell is that door handle going to save me? it is beyond me, but the need is still there.) I keep quiet because Jon has not slept yet and I really didn't feel like fighting with the exhausted driver (did i want to die? no.) All of a sudden, the semi that WAS very far ahead of us starting braking. Jon goes to brake and cannot (thanks icy roads) and it becomes a: swerve into the other lane though we cannot see the oncoming traffic or lose our heads because we are in a lowered car and that semi is at a complete stop. I scream and he chooses option one. Crashing (after making a one-eighty) into the opposite side of the road I start bawling.
"Oh my god a car could hit us."
"Oh my god we are going to get trapped in a snow coffin."
"Oh my god my door won't open."
*sob repeat sob*
Why Jon didn't smack me, I don't know.
(he is sitting here right now bitching though:
"i did yell at you to calm down though!" he is so jealous he doesn't have his own blog. pssh.)
ANYWAY JONATHAN LET ME CONTINUE:
(insert a choke-hold & then a "you're an ass" and yes, this is the loving side of him....i am so not getting any tonight....)
I am crying.
Car is stuck.
Jon is stressed.
Wow.
I have never really been in a car accident before.
Well, kind of but I was definitely in a position where I could just leave at any time I wanted.
Not this time, fuck we couldn't leave if we wanted to (and with my weak bladder I WANTED TO!)
Some guy comes up to our window and tells us he'd help us but he can't. Kudos asshole, I did not want to know what you would do only what you can do.
Luckily for my sanity (which there was ... none left at this point), an old couple in a truck waves us over. We exit the car (him like a normal person, me climbing over the center console and getting out of his side) and can barely walk. It is so unbelievably windy that I am sliding back towards the car. I cannot even fully open my eyes because of this damn wind. I started thanking myself for being overweight and then realized that Jon was almost in the car and then cursed my weight for holding me back (he is the weight of my fourteen year old sister. how the hell did he not get blown away?) and making this way too difficult. Alright, so I am in the car and we are chatting with these old people. Okay, Jonathan is talking to the old folks and I am texting my best friend about how I just nearly escaped death. (i know drama never ends for me) An hour later, we are still in the damn truck smashed up against each other and I smell something disgusting. I swear someone farted. (Jon just fessed up so now the mystery is solved....i think for more blog attention he keeps talking....it's not like i don't already write about him in every damn post now he wants his own "insert jonathan's personal thoughts" too? jeeez. i don't have the patience for this.) Ten minutes later, Jon decides we should wait with the car.
THREE HOURS LATER: (yes, this event reached about FIVE HOURS!) i have peed my pants, cried, smoked, yelled, texted too many people bitching, bitched at Jon, felt embarrassed because i actually peed my pants, cursed the gods of traffic for this dilemma, and then finally all the semis in front of us start moving. Praise sweet baby Kanye (..um i'll explain the Kanye/God thing in a later post) I will be out of this fucking mess in no time.
We go to stay at a room in a town five minutes away. Yeah too bad all the rooms are full and there are semis everywhere and I do think that the whole state of Wyoming and everyone in it lost their minds.
Two more hours later: I am in a hotel in Rock Springs stuffing my face with a chicken sandwich from Sonic and watching Psych (i cannot decide which one of those boys i like better. threeway please? i can't believe there wasn't a comment from the peanut gallery next to me......) and hoping to get some.
It was a traumatic day and I seriously thought I was going to die.
Again: FUCK WYOMING.
& i missed y'all & will be catching up on y'alls blogs again soon:]
Monday, February 4
Untitled
"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned/Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."
- William Congreve
I'll be back in a few days. I have some big things to take care of. Full update and all of that when things are settled again. Y'all do not need to worry. Things are looking up, in the most surprising manner:]
- William Congreve
I'll be back in a few days. I have some big things to take care of. Full update and all of that when things are settled again. Y'all do not need to worry. Things are looking up, in the most surprising manner:]
Sunday, February 3
Like a Bad Night Time Soap Opera
Jonathan almost died last night.
He got the shit beat out of him.
This guy tried to curb stomp him,
and was beating him with a baseball bat.
It is wrong that Jonathan had relations
with his seventeen year old daughter,
but it defiantly does not excuse her father trying to kill him.
Some kid at work watched.
This girl's father did not come alone.
He had a guy hold Bryce back.
This kid just had to watch his co-worker and friend get cruelly beat.
Jonathan was so afraid he cannot remember what the men were saying.
Bryce relayed all of it to me:
"We should shove this bat up your ass."
"We told you not to come here tonight."
"You like sticking your dick in seventeen year old girls?"
"If that kid wasn't here we would fcking kill you."
"This is not the last time you'll see us."
Two wrongs do not make a right.
I do not see why she is not being held accountable for what happened.
Just because Jonathan is older than her
does not mean that he is the only one with a functioning brain.
If we can allow these teens to drive then we should
hold them responsible for what they do with their body.
I think the logic here is stupid.
The girl knew what she was doing.
Just like I did when I was seventeen.
She took off her clothes and asked him to have sex with her.
Did he have to?
No, but the point is she knew what she was doing too.
I do not understand.
....Though I am pissed about what Jonathan did to me,
I still do not think he deserved what happened last night...
What the hell is wrong with people?
Jonathan did not do something wise but that does not mean ...
that does not mean that he should have his life taken from him...
Holy hell I am afraid.
He got the shit beat out of him.
This guy tried to curb stomp him,
and was beating him with a baseball bat.
It is wrong that Jonathan had relations
with his seventeen year old daughter,
but it defiantly does not excuse her father trying to kill him.
Some kid at work watched.
This girl's father did not come alone.
He had a guy hold Bryce back.
This kid just had to watch his co-worker and friend get cruelly beat.
Jonathan was so afraid he cannot remember what the men were saying.
Bryce relayed all of it to me:
"We should shove this bat up your ass."
"We told you not to come here tonight."
"You like sticking your dick in seventeen year old girls?"
"If that kid wasn't here we would fcking kill you."
"This is not the last time you'll see us."
Two wrongs do not make a right.
I do not see why she is not being held accountable for what happened.
Just because Jonathan is older than her
does not mean that he is the only one with a functioning brain.
If we can allow these teens to drive then we should
hold them responsible for what they do with their body.
I think the logic here is stupid.
The girl knew what she was doing.
Just like I did when I was seventeen.
She took off her clothes and asked him to have sex with her.
Did he have to?
No, but the point is she knew what she was doing too.
I do not understand.
....Though I am pissed about what Jonathan did to me,
I still do not think he deserved what happened last night...
What the hell is wrong with people?
Jonathan did not do something wise but that does not mean ...
that does not mean that he should have his life taken from him...
Holy hell I am afraid.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
