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Thursday, February 12
Wednesday, July 9
HAZE
Living life in an awful haze,
I thought my cups were full.
As the bandages fell from my, once blinded, eyes
I realize my pockets had been empty for days.
Left insecure ---
I had yet to completely wake up.
You stole from me all that I had;
I allowed you to.
My dreams were shredded into chaos.
Importance shifted to lesser ideals.
I danced to a tune you sang,
and destroyed everything I came across.
Left in shambles ---
I had yet to completely wake up.
From a coma-like trance I wake.
Weak, like a newborn, I could not rise.
As my thoughts became in sync,
and my focus filtered out your meddling
I learned to stand by myself.
One step left: following this path I created,
without you.
I thought my cups were full.
As the bandages fell from my, once blinded, eyes
I realize my pockets had been empty for days.
Left insecure ---
I had yet to completely wake up.
You stole from me all that I had;
I allowed you to.
My dreams were shredded into chaos.
Importance shifted to lesser ideals.
I danced to a tune you sang,
and destroyed everything I came across.
Left in shambles ---
I had yet to completely wake up.
From a coma-like trance I wake.
Weak, like a newborn, I could not rise.
As my thoughts became in sync,
and my focus filtered out your meddling
I learned to stand by myself.
One step left: following this path I created,
without you.
Tuesday, July 8
Diabetes
Blurry vision.
Stomach aches.
Bruises taking abnormally long to heal.
Late periods.
Headaches.
Web MD tells me I am diabetic or have 'pre-diabetes' (which means
I need to stop eating like a lard ass or I will become diabetic.) and
I laugh. Fuck Web MD, right? It is just a web site.
I call my grandmother who has had diabetes, syndrome 'x' (which is
the worst form of diabetes apparently), and I tell her the information
above. She tells me to go to the doctor because diabetes runs in our family
and I am overweight and have a terrible diet.
I had a job at McDonalds. The day before I plan to go to the doctor
I get fired because I was not 'flexible' enough for them. This would,
typically, make me become negative and spiral downwards into a deep
dark sulky hole.
Instead I decided to get off my lazy ass and start eating right and
working out.
I have always had problems with motivation and keeping up
with eating right. I love fast food. I love soda. Now those foods
and soda make me feel wretched.
Two weeks and I am three pounds lighter.
I do not feel sick. I still have the blurry vision
but no stomach aches (except when I had a small
coke on forth of July) and no headaches.
I am feeling great. My attitude has improved.
I took a situation and make it work for me, not against me.
Wow.
Go me.
Stomach aches.
Bruises taking abnormally long to heal.
Late periods.
Headaches.
Web MD tells me I am diabetic or have 'pre-diabetes' (which means
I need to stop eating like a lard ass or I will become diabetic.) and
I laugh. Fuck Web MD, right? It is just a web site.
I call my grandmother who has had diabetes, syndrome 'x' (which is
the worst form of diabetes apparently), and I tell her the information
above. She tells me to go to the doctor because diabetes runs in our family
and I am overweight and have a terrible diet.
I had a job at McDonalds. The day before I plan to go to the doctor
I get fired because I was not 'flexible' enough for them. This would,
typically, make me become negative and spiral downwards into a deep
dark sulky hole.
Instead I decided to get off my lazy ass and start eating right and
working out.
I have always had problems with motivation and keeping up
with eating right. I love fast food. I love soda. Now those foods
and soda make me feel wretched.
Two weeks and I am three pounds lighter.
I do not feel sick. I still have the blurry vision
but no stomach aches (except when I had a small
coke on forth of July) and no headaches.
I am feeling great. My attitude has improved.
I took a situation and make it work for me, not against me.
Wow.
Go me.
(finewithoutyou)
For each word that is not about you,
there are thirty for only you.
For each minute that I think not of you,
there are twenty spent highlighting your glory.
For each day I claim I am fine without you,
there are ten nights I realize I am not.
I try to forget you.
Stories with wondrous plots of me and you,
I have kept on these faded lines.
Despite all my effort, I cannot get to you.
There remains a roadblock.
What have you been waiting for?
I am not fine without you;
I always forget to forget you.
Wednesday, July 2
FREE
(Bharat picked this one out.
If y'all want to see more stuff it's on my myspace blog.
Page is public and so is my blog.
Myspace.com/holidayfromreal86)
simple, it once was.
clean and clear,
free of confusion.
nailed to this wall of disorder.
i want to be --
f r e e
could you set me free?
you did not before.
the clock is stretched to fit your needs.
let a smile from me become your duty.
the good times have almost killed me.
If y'all want to see more stuff it's on my myspace blog.
Page is public and so is my blog.
Myspace.com/holidayfromreal86)
simple, it once was.
clean and clear,
free of confusion.
nailed to this wall of disorder.
i want to be --
f r e e
could you set me free?
you did not before.
the clock is stretched to fit your needs.
let a smile from me become your duty.
the good times have almost killed me.
Rejuvenate
I was watching American Beauty and Lester Burnham inspired me. Yes, the man who jacks off in the beginning of the movie in his shower inspired me.
Most people spend their whole lives talking about what he/she wants, what he/she is going to be, and what he/she wishes. I am tired of lying scissor-shaped in bed and wishing of a different life. Why can I not have this different life? I have made changes, for another, in my life. These changes took me a very lengthy amount of time to realize but I nonetheless made them.
In the movie, American Beauty, the character Lester tells the audience in the beginning that he is going to die within the coming year. He goes from living in this stale life where he is practically in a coma to being happy, confident, and looking and doing what he wants. If an older man can change his life in less than a year, why can I not? I am only nineteen. I have youth on my side. I am in this isolated, boring place and I have so much time on my side it is not even funny.
The place I want to be, if I make that my final decision, I would not even be leaving to for about, at least, four months. I have no distractions, besides working. I have no one to bring me down, only a person trying to support me. I have, again, time and a lot more to spare. Most of all, I do not have to focus on anyone else but me.
I learned, in the past two years, that I need to focus on myself. I need to make myself happy otherwise my negative edges will only sharpen and begin to deflate myself and others around me. I took some time yesterday to really ponder what would make me sparkle and shine. I have a list; I have goals; I have a plan.
I will be so much better than before. I will do what I told myself in December I would do. I have made it through the storms. I want to feel sunshine again, and I will.
"I'm just an ordinary man with nothing to lose." –Lester Burnham
Sunday, June 22
Playplace
Who thinks I am insane for having a strong fear of the tubes in a McDonald's playplace?
I would like everyone to put their hand's down now.
Thank you.
I am wiping up the drink station for, probably, the twentieth time
in the hour and my one of my asistant managers (No, not Mr. McCrush.
He, sadly, did not work today.) told me to go into the playplace and
ask the parent in the bathing suit where the accident is.
I, naively, assumed that it was a soda spill or a ketchup packet
that was squashed with a tiny shoe and left spilling its guts on the floor.
I was wrong.
The woman looked away from me when she said,
"I am sorry but my child peed somewhere in the
play tubes. I would clean it up but I can not go inside of them."
(The woman is shorter than me and carries less weight on her bones.)
I had to clean up PEE in the tubes.
The tubes I fear.
In case you are wondering, someone else works in the lobby
with me but she is in her sixties.
I could not have asked her to go inside the play tubes.
If she was even twenty years younger I would have asked.
I am that much afraid of the tubes.
Within five seconds of being inside the tubes I start
to feel like I am trapped and I know a panic attack is coming.
There is a strong smell of little kid feet, sweat, and piss
in the tubes.
I struggle to navigate my way through wondering how in
the hell I did it when I was younger.
My knees are on fire.
The panic attack hits before I find the pee.
A child stares at me while I try to calm down.
I move my hand just a millimeter forward to steady
myself and a wet sensation hits my palm.
Fuck, I just put my hand in some little kid's piss.
I start to gag.
The random child continues to stare at me, figures
out what just happened and cracks up laughing.
I, with as much politeness as I can muster at this point, ask
the child to please exit the tubes while I clean.
The child obeys and then tells the other children
outside of the playground from hell that "the McDonald's
working up there is playing in piss so we can't go up".
So I guess today I played in piss.
I deserve way more than minimum wage.
I would like everyone to put their hand's down now.
Thank you.
I am wiping up the drink station for, probably, the twentieth time
in the hour and my one of my asistant managers (No, not Mr. McCrush.
He, sadly, did not work today.) told me to go into the playplace and
ask the parent in the bathing suit where the accident is.
I, naively, assumed that it was a soda spill or a ketchup packet
that was squashed with a tiny shoe and left spilling its guts on the floor.
I was wrong.
The woman looked away from me when she said,
"I am sorry but my child peed somewhere in the
play tubes. I would clean it up but I can not go inside of them."
(The woman is shorter than me and carries less weight on her bones.)
I had to clean up PEE in the tubes.
The tubes I fear.
In case you are wondering, someone else works in the lobby
with me but she is in her sixties.
I could not have asked her to go inside the play tubes.
If she was even twenty years younger I would have asked.
I am that much afraid of the tubes.
Within five seconds of being inside the tubes I start
to feel like I am trapped and I know a panic attack is coming.
There is a strong smell of little kid feet, sweat, and piss
in the tubes.
I struggle to navigate my way through wondering how in
the hell I did it when I was younger.
My knees are on fire.
The panic attack hits before I find the pee.
A child stares at me while I try to calm down.
I move my hand just a millimeter forward to steady
myself and a wet sensation hits my palm.
Fuck, I just put my hand in some little kid's piss.
I start to gag.
The random child continues to stare at me, figures
out what just happened and cracks up laughing.
I, with as much politeness as I can muster at this point, ask
the child to please exit the tubes while I clean.
The child obeys and then tells the other children
outside of the playground from hell that "the McDonald's
working up there is playing in piss so we can't go up".
So I guess today I played in piss.
I deserve way more than minimum wage.
Friday, June 20
McCrush
Oh I fall yet again for the adorable eyes of an assistant manager.
I have a McCrush on my assistant manager Jeff.
I just started working there last week.
Today was my fifth day of work.
We have worked together everyday.
He makes me smile.
I have not really smiled, honestly, in quite a few months.
My favorite part of the McCrush is that he is married.
I can just like from afar.
There is no worries.
No flirting.
No possibility.
Just a sweet fantasy.
In other news:
I want a tattoo; needles freak me out.
My vision has been extremely blurry for the past four months; free clinic trip is scheduled for Thursday.
I am struggling to read "Rant" (Palahniuk); I have only make it through thirty pages.
Jon actually took me to see Sex and the City the other day; we did not fight.
(The great thing about being friends is there is less fighting.)
I just started working there last week.
Today was my fifth day of work.
We have worked together everyday.
He makes me smile.
I have not really smiled, honestly, in quite a few months.
My favorite part of the McCrush is that he is married.
I can just like from afar.
There is no worries.
No flirting.
No possibility.
Just a sweet fantasy.
In other news:
I want a tattoo; needles freak me out.
My vision has been extremely blurry for the past four months; free clinic trip is scheduled for Thursday.
I am struggling to read "Rant" (Palahniuk); I have only make it through thirty pages.
Jon actually took me to see Sex and the City the other day; we did not fight.
(The great thing about being friends is there is less fighting.)
Friday, June 13
HUMAN
I contradict.
I fail.
I speak honestly.
I rise above.
I cry.
I think clearly.
I move on.
I have too much passion, at times.
I have too many fears, sometimes.
I have an unhealthy desire for justice, everyday.
I have a thing I carry around, everyday.
I let some of my past get to me.
I dream of a greater future.
I worry about what is, ultimately, pointless.
I love with blind faith,
or with eyes wide open.
I hate with blind reason,
or with logical fever.
I trust a very select few,
yet still feel alone.
I question the world,
yet let new people in.
I strive to be the best I can,
but always remember I am human.
Tuesday, June 10
COME
gripping the sheets --
oh silent love,
making us all jesters --
force those legs open,
god may not come.
escape --
the lovers laugh in sync,
gasping for more skin.
let us feel new again;
our sins will not be punished.
this place,
more like a prison.
shackles left on the floor,
cause the heart rules no longer.
good means naught now;
god may not come.
oh silent love,
making us all jesters --
force those legs open,
god may not come.
escape --
the lovers laugh in sync,
gasping for more skin.
let us feel new again;
our sins will not be punished.
this place,
more like a prison.
shackles left on the floor,
cause the heart rules no longer.
good means naught now;
god may not come.
Zombie
Finally I arise back from the dead to start posting again.
I was gone.
I was sad.
I hid myself in a tiny hole and threw giant pity parties.
Oh joy.
So here's the nit grit:
I have a job that I plan on keeping this time.
Me and Jon are done for good.
I am in Illinois living with Jon and his parents until I save up money to move out.
I am a tad bit happier.
Me and my mother are getting along better.
I want two tattoos and no longer have a tongue ring.
Okaaay.
That's all I can think of right now.
I will look at y'alls blogs soon.
Sorry for being dead for a while.
=]
I was gone.
I was sad.
I hid myself in a tiny hole and threw giant pity parties.
Oh joy.
So here's the nit grit:
I have a job that I plan on keeping this time.
Me and Jon are done for good.
I am in Illinois living with Jon and his parents until I save up money to move out.
I am a tad bit happier.
Me and my mother are getting along better.
I want two tattoos and no longer have a tongue ring.
Okaaay.
That's all I can think of right now.
I will look at y'alls blogs soon.
Sorry for being dead for a while.
=]
Wednesday, March 26
Understudy
Demonic dreams distancing deliverance,
blacking out the friction and lies.
Plot re-writes lead to cement smiles.
Misspelled name calling and the heart breaks.
Creak creakk
Cccreak
Creak
Caught on fire in a thunderstorm,now who can brag?
Swirl the logic but I cannot drown.
Loss of hope did lead to distress.
I hurt myself, I will confess.
Stage is open and there’s my cue:
No understudy, tonight I’m on.
Tuesday, March 25
Awaken
weaker i once was
those sweet words stuck,
like taffy to my hungry ears.
knees breaking at the bend.
swooning for the untouchable.
always letting me down,
yet i remained disillusioned.
the alarm goes off,
hazy eyes, limb so stiff.
write it off a cold,
ignore the truth again.
this will get bigger,
and prayers seem futile,
but the awakening will come.
those sweet words stuck,
like taffy to my hungry ears.
knees breaking at the bend.
swooning for the untouchable.
always letting me down,
yet i remained disillusioned.
the alarm goes off,
hazy eyes, limb so stiff.
write it off a cold,
ignore the truth again.
this will get bigger,
and prayers seem futile,
but the awakening will come.
Tuesday, March 18
Short
bvt better than nothing right?
To keep it simple so I do not get harassed:
I finally have a damn job.
I am no longer unemployed.
Thanks Target.
(and i'm not even starting over at min. wage ... hello relief)
&& I am probably going to have a second job also.
(hello spare cash/future car)
I will update more soon.
Sorry I have been a bag of assholes.
I am just either busy or sick.
More soon.
(& i'm going to catch up on y'alls too!)
=]
ps: Thanks Chloe! I appreciate the compliment. I try to keep it real.
To keep it simple so I do not get harassed:
I finally have a damn job.
I am no longer unemployed.
Thanks Target.
(and i'm not even starting over at min. wage ... hello relief)
&& I am probably going to have a second job also.
(hello spare cash/future car)
I will update more soon.
Sorry I have been a bag of assholes.
I am just either busy or sick.
More soon.
(& i'm going to catch up on y'alls too!)
=]
ps: Thanks Chloe! I appreciate the compliment. I try to keep it real.
Thursday, March 6
Maternal Affection
You have all heard about my 'Jonathan deserves a chance today/I must leave Jonathan for good now' dilemma. How one moment I am ranting about the new men I can find in my life. Then, how (sometimes) not even an hour later I will blither on about how astounding Jonathan is and how I cannot go on another day without him. Annoying right? My on and off-ness is dreadfully annoying. This is even getting on my own nerves now.
I am in Florida meeting his mother. On the very first day, while Jonathan is taking a nap, his mother looks at me and says, "What is with this underage girl he fucked?" A.) She is about, I don't know, almost fifty years old. B.) I do not even know if I should call her by Jeanette or Mrs. Miller. C.) Jon's father has not asked me a damn question about Jonathan's indiscretions so I have no idea what is appropriate to say. I look at her and say, "What do you want to know?"
J: Tell me everything because I know my son never talks to me, and if he does I am not sure if it is lies or not.
*now silence because I do not know where to begin*
H: I do not know where to begin.
J: Go for it.
*insert depressing story on the last -almost- three months of my life*
J: Why are you still with my son?
H: I love him and I can't just turn it off. Sometimes, I wish I could.
J: *talks about Jonathan's father*
H: I just keep thinking maybe he will change. Maybe he will love me and be good to me.
J: He has been this way, for what? Oh yes, he has been this way for t w e n t y s e v e n y e a r s ...... He is not changing. That's what I think anyway.
H: You really think that? He is not going to change?
*inserts lies from Jonathan's past*
H: Fuck.....
J: I like you. You aren't as crazy as Glenn (father) and James have said.
J: Yes, G and J tell me all this stuff that Jonathan says to them, apparently.
*insert all the things Jon, might be, saying about me*
H: What?!
J: Yes, Glenn warned me that you are leeching off of Jonathan to better yourself and after James met you he said he was not impressed.
H: You have to be shitting me!
J: No shitting here.
H: I am not crazy. Maybe crazy for loving his damn son. In fact ... (this is where I blither on about all the things I did to help Jonathan out) ..... (it is long)
*dramatic pause*
*more dramatic pauses*
Alright, so the conversations ends with another "leave my son" and I am just very confused. I do not know what to say. What can one say after that wealth of information I received. A leech? Get real! I am getting angry again just thinking about what is family, mother not included, thinks of me. Of course, I go to talk to him about it and he denies that his father and brother think anything horrible of me. Then, I think of how my family has treated him. My mother was always polite and kind to him. She treated him as if he were the best man I had chosen. My father is a different story because any man is wrong for me. Also, my sisters have never said anything bad about Jonathan. The only time my family has been rude about Jonathan was after they found out about him and that Amanda girl thing. It really hurts. I keep looking for the pros of being with Jonathan but the cons are making the search too difficult. I do not want to question why I am with someone. I want to just know the guy is right for me. I think, maybe...just maybe, I am starting to see that Jonathan might not be right for me.
If there is good in everyone, like I have always thought, then why is this man so cruel to me? Why does he constantly say hurtful things about me behind my back? Why, when I bring up what I am feel, does he blow me off? Why would he beg me to come back to him if he does not truly love me?
I do not mean to lament and go on about my love life or my relation-shit (fuck Dane Cook) but
I just had to vent before I went to bed. Please do not be harsh in comments, saying you leave one. I wanted to get my feelings off my chest before I went to bed.
I am in Florida meeting his mother. On the very first day, while Jonathan is taking a nap, his mother looks at me and says, "What is with this underage girl he fucked?" A.) She is about, I don't know, almost fifty years old. B.) I do not even know if I should call her by Jeanette or Mrs. Miller. C.) Jon's father has not asked me a damn question about Jonathan's indiscretions so I have no idea what is appropriate to say. I look at her and say, "What do you want to know?"
J: Tell me everything because I know my son never talks to me, and if he does I am not sure if it is lies or not.
*now silence because I do not know where to begin*
H: I do not know where to begin.
J: Go for it.
*insert depressing story on the last -almost- three months of my life*
J: Why are you still with my son?
H: I love him and I can't just turn it off. Sometimes, I wish I could.
J: *talks about Jonathan's father*
H: I just keep thinking maybe he will change. Maybe he will love me and be good to me.
J: He has been this way, for what? Oh yes, he has been this way for t w e n t y s e v e n y e a r s ...... He is not changing. That's what I think anyway.
H: You really think that? He is not going to change?
*inserts lies from Jonathan's past*
H: Fuck.....
J: I like you. You aren't as crazy as Glenn (father) and James have said.
J: Yes, G and J tell me all this stuff that Jonathan says to them, apparently.
*insert all the things Jon, might be, saying about me*
H: What?!
J: Yes, Glenn warned me that you are leeching off of Jonathan to better yourself and after James met you he said he was not impressed.
H: You have to be shitting me!
J: No shitting here.
H: I am not crazy. Maybe crazy for loving his damn son. In fact ... (this is where I blither on about all the things I did to help Jonathan out) ..... (it is long)
*dramatic pause*
*more dramatic pauses*
Alright, so the conversations ends with another "leave my son" and I am just very confused. I do not know what to say. What can one say after that wealth of information I received. A leech? Get real! I am getting angry again just thinking about what is family, mother not included, thinks of me. Of course, I go to talk to him about it and he denies that his father and brother think anything horrible of me. Then, I think of how my family has treated him. My mother was always polite and kind to him. She treated him as if he were the best man I had chosen. My father is a different story because any man is wrong for me. Also, my sisters have never said anything bad about Jonathan. The only time my family has been rude about Jonathan was after they found out about him and that Amanda girl thing. It really hurts. I keep looking for the pros of being with Jonathan but the cons are making the search too difficult. I do not want to question why I am with someone. I want to just know the guy is right for me. I think, maybe...just maybe, I am starting to see that Jonathan might not be right for me.
If there is good in everyone, like I have always thought, then why is this man so cruel to me? Why does he constantly say hurtful things about me behind my back? Why, when I bring up what I am feel, does he blow me off? Why would he beg me to come back to him if he does not truly love me?
I do not mean to lament and go on about my love life or my relation-shit (fuck Dane Cook) but
I just had to vent before I went to bed. Please do not be harsh in comments, saying you leave one. I wanted to get my feelings off my chest before I went to bed.
Monday, March 3
Sunshine State
Sorry I haven't updated.
I have about six pages of my story completed.
I am in Florida up until the eighth.
I had to meet Jon's mom.
We hit it off superbly.
We have a lot in common and she gave me all the dirt on Jonathan and his family.
Good to know.
(for the most part)
But I am going to soak up more of the wonderful Florida sun before I am stuck back in the freezing Illinois cold.
Next post should include the beginning of my story.
:]
I have about six pages of my story completed.
I am in Florida up until the eighth.
I had to meet Jon's mom.
We hit it off superbly.
We have a lot in common and she gave me all the dirt on Jonathan and his family.
Good to know.
(for the most part)
But I am going to soak up more of the wonderful Florida sun before I am stuck back in the freezing Illinois cold.
Next post should include the beginning of my story.
:]
Friday, February 22
Let Go, Let Flow
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.
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.
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.
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