November 30th 2009
I'm trying to stay awake all day today. I've had the awful habit of sleeping my days away, essentially wasting my life, but I will say that my dreams are pretty kicking sweet. I said to my friend one time that I wish I could I could be in a coma sometimes, so I can just dream, but then I realized that I was being an insensitive prick because said friend WAS in a coma. Hell, can you even dream when you're in a coma? I guess it depends on how much of a vegetable you are. You know, scratch this whole entire endeavor. I couldn't be in a coma because I'd miss out on too many video games.
So far this staying awake is working out okay, but I don't know how long I'll last. I'm actively trying to do something in order to ignore the siren call of my bed. Right now, I'm torrenting Inglourious Basterds and I let out a crazy high squeal when I saw Til Schweiger's name in the opening credits. When I was young, I never had a 'type' that I seeked out. Nowadays, though, I seem to be drawn to Nordic sex gods. I think it's more a physical thing, though. I'm at that stage in my life where I don't care about love, because it's stupid, and I just want a good romp. In a funny act of irony, I made a comment to my ex-boyfriend Bryan about how we'd only get back together because of the sex, and he actually got offended that I only wanted him for his body. This is amusing because I always felt like a warm hole for him to stick it in towards the end of our relationship.
It's 10am and I don't know how I'm going to last. I could drink coffee, or do sprints, or a line of coke off a stripper's ass, but I wonder how long that'll make me stay awake. I wish this torrent for Inglourious Basterds didn't have Russian captions -- I can't read what they're saying when they speak German. I totally misspelled that as Russian Captains which would have been misleading because I LOVE Captains that are Russian! Can you imagine those shenanigans? In fact, real life just delivered because check out this headline: Drunken Russian Captain Crashes Ship Into Danish Island. Never change, Russia! That reminds me of the time at my previous job, Crabtree & Evelyn, that an old Russian woman toddled in, checked out the robes, and asked me ceaseless amounts of questions about the cotton count. She reeked of vodka and it was noon.
That's how I want to live. I can't wait to start being senile.
Oh, and I'm being harassed by Discover card. They call me every hour, every day, and are acting like a clingy ex-boyfriend. They're asking for someone I don't even KNOW, and then they apologize -- say they'll take me off the calling list -- but they haven't. Fucking great. Fuck you, nameless stranger, with your unpaid Discover card. It's making my life hell.
November 28th, 2009
Let it be known that when I'm left alone for too long, with nothing to do, I end up doing one of two things. I was going to actually say something clever for my second favorite distraction, but in reality it involves a lot of dirty thoughts and a cold shower afterwards. I'll spare you details. What I did instead was design a new layout, because I decided I hated what I made. Just like how I'll end up hating this layout.
The inspiration for this website design came from a lot of things. I'm always interested as to why people get ideas, and what they listened to, so as a public act of service I'm going to show you what inspired me.
The Fountain: Death Is The Road To Awe
I have deep steel in my core, but sometimes I look longingly into the distance when I think about true love. The Fountain is about a man fighting death, especially once his wife succumbs to a brain tumor. Instead of just burying her in the pet semetary, which is always Plan A, his Plan B involved him traveling several centuries into the future in a bid to bring his wife back. The movie utilizes several Mayan myths, especially with creation and rebirth. In the movie, his wife becomes fascinated with Xiabalba, which is the Mayan underworld, and you see Xiabalba as a dying star. Eventually, that star will explode, but in the process it will create new stars (life). What the husband learns eventually is that he will meet his wife in death, and he had been postponing seeing her again by clinging to the mortal coil.
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon: The Eternal Vow
Listening to this song is like finding someone close to you again, after they've been gone for so many years, and you get to finally be with them. I know it's corny, but I attribute this feeling to my mom. I left my home when I was 19yrs old, and I had a really hard time adjusting in my new place, far from home, with nobody to rely on. My survival skills weren't exactly top notch, and I'm surprised that I didn't develop scurvy because I was eating ramen noodles and poptarts. But that following Christmas, after being on my own for months, I went racing to my mom's side, for plenty of warm Mom Hugs and tuna sandwiches.
White Oleander: watch the movie
This is one of my favorite movies. I find that most girls don't have the best movies to really look at as a 'role model', and this one is certainly fucked up, but I see myself in the main character. However, the mom in this story isn't anywhere close to my mom (my mother's a saint!), but actually more attributed to my sister. She's had a heavy hand in my growing up, and even in how I am today. I admire and love my sister, but she frightens me, and I feel like she's a beautiful lion that's not caged.
That's basically it, kids. No sacrificing of goats or fasting went into the creation of this layout, but I will say that I am very bland with my color schemes. I wanted to make the words a focal point, as always, but I didn't want to be conventional. As always. I rather like the formatting I came up with, although I wish I can wrap my head around making a random quote generator. I'm not that crafty with the PHPs but I'll look at it again after a night of sleep because, right now, code is running together and looking like spiderwebs.
My Thanksgiving was pretty chill (thanks for wondering). I spent it with my mom and the rest of my tiny family, which is rather remarkable, since I haven't spent Thanksgiving with my family in 5yrs, because I'm a black sheep vagrant of a family member. So of course, being my family, we didn't even have a turkey to chow down on. It's not that my family's vegan (they're barely even omnivores), but they waited too long to purchase a turkey. This is keeping with an accidental and lazy tradition of not having a turkey each year. We settle for ham.
My time away made me fill in all my turkey needs these past few years, and I even came up with some kicking sweet recipes to take TO THE GRAVE! Or else make bank on it because I'm easily lulled into selling secrets if liquored up. But you've got to get past my Sean Connery accent that I adopt once I start drinking, because I'm a light weight.
November 23rd, 2009
Last night, I wore fuzzy Hello Kitty pants, because it's cold and I can't sleep in panties anymore. Bryan bought them for me as a gift, and this is after we had long since been broken up. But he said he saw them and was compelled by a force so strong that even he couldn't understand it as the sales clerk swiped his credit card. For the record: I enjoy people buying me Hello Kitty things, because I will always be typecast as cute no matter what I do, but I think the only reason they do is because I'm hard to shop for and I expressed interest in Hello Kitty once so it spread like wildfire.
I woke up in the middle of the night because I was getting really hot, and I wanted to employ the One-Leg-Sticking-Out-From-The-Blankets strategy. I share my bed with a furry dachshund, who generates so much heat that she could power her own Matrix, so I slipped my pants off. It was dark and the pants are made of a really fuzzy material like you get from bunny fur and clouds, so there was a lot of static electricity.
The blue sparks woke up my dog who promptly had a sneezing fit. This fit made her get incredibly anxious so she wiggled her body, and wagged her tail, and crawled up to my face in a bid for affection. I went to wrap my arms around her and tell her she was a silly puppy, when she lunged and licked my open mouth with her God Knows Where It's Been tongue.
Needless to say, that's been the most lip action I've gotten in two months.
I really only am writing to write tonight. I have things I could talk about, but they're so boring that even I don't care, or else it's just stress relating and won't matter the next day. Especially because it doesn't concern me, so therefore NOT IMPORTANT. Why do the holidays bring out the worst in people? You think it'd be the opposite, but everyone I interact with seems to have a stressful ball that's wound tight inside of them.
I remember reading an article about Seasonal affective disorder and I think this is so true for many people where I live. Basically, whenever winter comes around, some people get plunged into a depression and don't break out of it until spring follows. It sounds incredibly romantic in print, like as the rest of the world gets cold and blanketed in snow, you find yourself closing up like a delicate flower, waiting for the sun. But that's just bullshit writing, and I'm sure it genuinely sucks to have to deal with this.
When I think about people and how they yearly react badly around the holidays, I'm reminded of what my old manager Mary once told me. She was (and is) married to a man who would get really depressed around Christmas time. When we worked together, she found out her husband had been sort of cheating on her, with a girl through text messages. They weren't exactly sexually explicit, but he had a fantasy kind of "house" game with this other girl, and he turned to the stranger instead of his wife for comfort. This happened around the holidays, when he would repeatedly fall into the cycle of being sad and lonely for no reason. I take that story into consideration when dealing with people who are Mopey Myrtles and Gloomy Gus' for the holiday season.
In closing, look at how shiny my hair is!
My hair's fighting my roots, which are blonde, so this is the transition from my maroon red to an orange carrot like object of a mop that's ontop of my head right now. I get a lot of compliments about how soft and shiny my hair is, so I'm going to strut it out as much as I can. For all those naysaysers who blast dyeing your hair, and saying that it gets dry and frazzled, they are obviously citing people who cannot manage their hair correctly.
I've had many hair colors throughout the years. Nothing drastic, because I have a job to maintain, but I will say that being brunette was incredibly boring. I don't even have pictures of me as a brunette because I despised it, and I felt like I was part of the background. I've stuck with the red color for about three years now, and it hasn't let me down once, although I wish it'd stay dark red without me having to dye it every 4 weeks.
November 19th, 2009
Maybe it's because it's overcast, and cold, but my mood can only be described as melancholy right now. With a hint of irony and a dash of self deprecation. I frequent other people's blogs, but their lives can be kind of overwhelming when my life already occupies my time 24/7, and I feel I can't relate with most of them because most people don't actually talk about, they talk at. So, to keep myself at least partly involved in humanity, I read gossip websites. No, really, stay with me here.
Gossip websites are easy. There's a bit of news, followed by an image, and sometimes there is commentary and that's when it's fun to decipher whether the person writing is being butthurt and snarky for no reason, or if it's actually fact base. What follows after that is a slew of comments from people, and that's even more fun to read because it's a Hive Mind mentality of massive Id with an actual Ego to signal what the majority of people really think. But, who wants boring, rational logic?
There's been two posts that I've read today that has really made me think, and thus brought me out of my stupor to write. One was about a movie called Remember Me. The trailer had an opening line from Mahatma Gandhi, in which he said: Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.
Is it just important that you do something instead of nothing, even if you don't think it'd change anything? Should we not flatter ourselves into thinking we're serious business, because being shy or restrained will stop us from living our life? Do we need to leave a lasting impression, and to be remembered, because of a false sense of entitlement?
Conversely, I can relate to that quote when I look at it beside my own life experiences, and especially how I want to be treated. It's incredibly humble but also encouraging, and I need to eat Humble Pie a lot of the time. I feel I often have a chip on my shoulder, because when I set out to do something, I get it done and I do it well and I make sure people notice. I'm not saying that I'm like the secret weapon that needs to be brought out to assure victory, but sometimes I wish I was. That's a terrible position to be in, though. What will happen if I fall, or let someone down?
To combat the public ever knowing of my decline in popularity, I disappear, and then stage tiny comebacks. I disappear a lot from people's lives and stories, never really sticking around and getting too involved. Even just last night, I had a friend contact me, asking me where have I been all these months. I replied "Existing in myth and legend", and it seems to be true a lot of the time. I don't want to exhaust my image, so I move on and come back whenever I see fit.
But is life really worth the sum of all the adoration you receive? Especially when it's superficial praise?
The second post was about the suicide of a popular and young model named Daul Kim. She had a blog named I Like To Fork Myself. It's just eerie because she JUST posted yesterday, on the 18th, and was found dead today. If you read her blog at face value, she had a good sense of humor and enjoyed her profession. Often sticking up for modeling and being intelligent about it when faced with haters, especially due to the fact that she was Korean and received incredible heat for posing topless.
What really made me think about this one is the fact she has a legacy left behind in the form of an actual blog. If this girl wasn't famous, would the people who read it or any passerbyer know that she died? Would most people assume she fell victim to just forgetting and getting over the project of upholding a blog? All signs point to "yes" on both of that.
When I read someone's journal, and they're so earnestly upset and hating life, I have often thought if maybe they killed themselves if there's been no recent updates. But that's just a natural association, especially when someone's writing about killing themselves. In the case of Daul Kim, there was no notification or "twitter" about wanting to end her life. It's a really scary thought. Can you imagine all the ghosts of bloggers out there that are actually dead? Especially in this culture where everyone is connected through a social network or creative outlet. I actually mourn a little bit inside if people give up on a journal because their life is 'too busy' or something.
What I'm trying to say here is that I'm having a major case of dichotomy going on. I want to be remembered, and to leave a footprint, but I understand that what I do is incredibly insignificant right now, but it's important to me. I'm just in the exhausting process figuring out why it's important.
I promise I won't write so many boring and emotionally exhausting entries in the future. I'm just Miss Mopey right now, and I blame the weather and girl hormones.
November 14th, 2009
I've struck upon an idea! It involves me getting rich and famous. No, seriously. Fortune and glory, kid.
I'm going to write a book! This comes on the crest of two things: One being that I noticed most books written for young adults have the story of the young, delicate girl swooning over a supernatural-esque boy. It's trite and boring as shit! The second being the fact that I'm going to admit something really nerdy and extremely delicate here (because I'm embarassed), but I've got to share the process in order to even start.
When I was a kid, I was the Queen Bee of my social circle. I had a lot of fun as a child but my parents moved frequently and I never got to have a lasting friendship beyond a year. Due to that, I turned into myself a lot for my own entertainment, especially because I was pulled from school for something like 5yrs. I missed out on the whole "growing up" experience. I'd make up stories, and little fantasies, because I was a really lonely and shy kid at that point in my life; having no friends and little interaction. Really atypical to my personality!
To combat my shyness, I made a character, and situations and environments, that sort of mirrored my own, but not quite. I was very precise about keeping it incredibly fantasy driven, but I wanted to relate to the characters as well. Where I was shy and quiet, the character I made was strong and resilient. I couldn't control things going on in my life, and this character, the girl, fought them. Often she fought really powerful enemies with a lot of combat and magic, but what do you expect? I'm a fantasy nerd.
Basically everything that I wanted to be, which was strong and independent but to be relied on, this is what the girl had. Wistful longing! I'm happy, though, because nowadays I see myself strongly in what I wanted in the girl, so I think all that projecting worked out. For my Psychology class, we discussed how it's often a great exercise to daydream an alter ego and scenario to doing something, because if you can see yourself doing it then you will.
Anyway, at the time, I would write about scenarios where she'd save the day or something cheesy, because I was 13yrs old. There's also incredibly huge gaps in my exposition about the girl, as I was always changing origins and reasons and backgrounds. There was always an ongoing epic battle churning but I never put too much thought into developing what this girl was going after, and why.
I kind of forgot about my childish nonsense for a long time, especially once I hit High School. All my years in exile just made me flourish and grow when I was around people again, and I had a great time. The subsequent years afterwards, where I am now a Woman Child, pulled me further away from this whole world that I had created and cultivated. The only reason I've been remembering this lately is because I'm really trying to write again, but I don't want to do short vignettes anymore. I want to actually manufacture a story, and one that's not about a heroine in distress.
I've been reading the Sookie Stackhouse books, and I watched Twilight. Both of them have a mortal heroine as the narrative, and both have supernatural supporting characters. The thing with the Sookie Stackhouse books is that the men Sookie dates are portrayed as dangerous, and lacking mortality. Yet they turn into big pussies by the end of the series. What the fuck is that?
Twilight has the more delicate heroine pining for and wasting away for her boyfriend, seeming to justify that you aren't anything if you're not in love or loved. What twaddle! I can't believe how over used this formula is.
What I'm doing instead is I'm going to do the opposite. I've already fleshed out a first few chapters. The heroine in my story isn't going to be ruled by the "love or be loved" rule, and she's going to kick ass and take names, but not chew bubblegum (because she's all out of gum). She has a mission to save a little girl, and I think I'm going to tell the story from a 3rd person perspective, as that's often easiest, although I might change that and switch it to the little girl's view the entire time.
I'm not going to update or post snippets of what I've written, because I know nobody is going to actually follow it. I know I sure as hell don't do that to the blogs that I follow, no matter how much I like them. Nobody can be expected to remember that much about a stranger's life and stories! But I will let you know once I'm rich and famous, because I'll require a fan website.
November 9th, 2009
I've been bordering the fine line between being comatose and awake and miserable. Why? I've been frippin' frappin' DYING from the flu. Being born and raised in warm weather, with the only season being Sunny, has made me really sheltered towards northern climates. I've had a flu for this entire weekend. Nothing fancy like the H1N1 flu, which I AM disappointed about. It would have garnered me more pity and attention. But I'm going to be sniffling like a crackwhore all winter, let me just tell you. I've been asleep for most of the weekend, but I don't have any kickass dreams to show for it. The only thing I am right now is disappointed and antsy because I have all this pent up energy.
With nothing better to do, I've been reduced to doing Blue Steel and Captain Morgan poses in the mirror. I know I look like crap, having come from the brink of death, but I'm going to be as fierce as possible! I'm also bringing back my childhood by watching the entire Merlin TV series. I often wish I could have been alive during ancient times, especially in the celtic countries. I am hereby declaring that I believe that there was magic, even if their beliefs were made to compensate the lack of knowledge for what they couldn't understand. It seems so simple, and beautiful, with little fuss. But then I think about the poor hygeine, and how they preserved their food (much less how they cooked), and how I would likely be raped and pillaged. And not in the way that I would like, with a dinner and movie first.
Merlin's kicking sweet, though. I loved this movie so much that I even started reading The Lost Years of Merlin by T.A Barron a long time ago. I used to live on a Naval base, and I'd often visit the library because there were no kids my age to play with, and I lived in the barracks with my family, in a room that resembled a hotel. I literally had nothing to do, except wander, read, and swim in the pool. It's kind of dismaying to me that my niece and nephews need constant stimulation when I got by on solitude and my imagination.
Funnily enough, I read so much at that library that the people working there knew me by name, and even awarded me with a certificate for something like "most books read in a month". I was in the newspaper and everything, holding up a certificate and pimping out that geekiness.
I think I need to branch out, though. As a kid, Barron's books was my thesaurus on uncovering Celtic history and to figure out Merlin. Now that I'm older, I read it and his writing is incredibly repetitive, and it's easy to figure out where the plot is going and how it'll end. I understand it's not supposed to be over a 12yr olds head, but he has something like 9 books, and each third book is the same thing with different characters.
My obsession with Merlin has even come out in my writing, and when I was 16yrs old, I wrote a story that was parallel to how Merlin raised Arthur. I didn't showcase it in the actual writing section, but you can read it here. I wonder how badly my kid would be teased if I named him Merlin? Would he be pressured to live up to greatness? Would I be disappointed if he ends up a loser? I worry about these things! A child is the ultimate PR tool, and I don't want my offspring fucking it up for me.
Wow, I don't even know what this entry was about. I'm still on these amazing Nyquil meds, and they make me incredibly buzzed and sleepy. It's a good feeling, but I always get paranoid when I enjoy being being a little wasted that I'll become an addict later on in life. I blame my mom for instilling that fear in me, because she always likes to remind me that my father's an alcoholic. No pressure!
November 5th, 2009
Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I know of no reason
Why the Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
For my website, I'm going by the name V. I've heard several witty -- in which case I mean tired -- responses about how I got the name from V for Vendetta. Alas, this is not true. In fact, V can even stand for the roman numeral 5. In which case, further advocates any relation to Guy Fawkes, as he wants us to strongly remember the fifth of November. I rather like my online alias, though. I've had several reincarnations throughout the years, so who can say what I will be in 3yrs? Maybe Polly Pilate.
In any case, I used to work at a Halloween costume store. At the time, V for Vendetta and Pirates of the Caribbean were coming out, so we had a lot of costumes like that in stock. The V costume, in particular, ran about $160.00 but had a latex mask, daggers, cloak and hat. Top of the line stuff, packed in a vacuumed sealed bag.
This Halloween store was run by a man who owned only two stores, so it wasn't a franchise. Everything was handled hand to mouth, and the owner hired his best friend to co-run one of the store locations. This guy's name was Bob, and he was the coolest boss I've ever had.
Bob was an old man who had suffered a stroke at one point in his life, to which he would happily regale you with the story. It involved him being very calm and going to the hospital, telling the nurse at the front desk he's having a stroke and then being told to wait in line. Having none of it, Bob told her in the sing-song voice he used when he was REALLY angry at you, that he was having a fucking STROKE, could he go see the doctor now?
Bob had a way with words, and how to work people with those words. He was the original shuckster, and could sell you the shirt off of your back. It was like he came from another era, or universe, and his language was Barter and his dialect Charm. We had massive props throughout the store, the kind you hang from rafters and put on the roof of your house, or original movie masks. When someone came in asking about said decoration, or the masks, we'd go fetch Bob.
He always loved to tell a story, even if it was the same one he told you the day before. It's not because he was senile, but because a good story amongst friends -- in our case, co-workers -- is often shared with fond humor. Speaking of his co-workers, Bob had been running the Halloween store for a few years and often hired the same people to work the August to November shifts. They all knew each other, and their quirks, and it was really odd being inducted into this work environment when I applied there.
At the time, my roommates and I often passed by the Halloween store as they were setting up in the mall. They joked that I should work there because I'd get crazy discounts by Halloween, effectively pimping our townhouse out. Taking stock of this, I marched in there and got an application. I actually joked really hard on it, not expecting to get a job there. Working at a seasonal COSTUME store was beneath me, I thought. Here's some of my answers.
Former occupation: Space cowboy.
Leadership qualities: I raised an ant farm once.
Additional experience: I can breathe pretty well and I know German but only the swear words.
Who does that? I would never do an application like that again, but I was 20yrs old and full of piss and vinegar. Nowadays, I'm full of lilacs and catydids, but mostly chewed up little kids. In any case, Bob loved me. I don't know if it was my looks, or my weird sense of humor (maybe both?), but I got called in and hired on the spot.
It was a great job. I got to wear costumes every day, even walk around the mall advocating people going into the store. I met one of my best friends there -- even helped in hiring him because I thought he looked cool. It helped that his friend was wearing a Silent Hill t-shirt when they walked in together, I won't lie. I whispered to Bob that anyone hanging out with someone with THAT shirt is going to be wicked awesome. It turns out he's only quasi-awesome, but not everyone can be a V.
In any case, the Halloween store shut down November 2nd. I aided and abated in my then boyfriend's friend stealing a gum ball machine. His reasoning was that his friend LOVED gum ball machines, so we snatched it away whilst clearing the store. My friend Ray even helped me out, because Bob noticed the gum ball machine was missing. As luck would have it, though, the mall had an electrical fire and everyone had to be evacuated. Ray used that excuse to say that some hooligans must have come in and stolen the gum ball machine.
The spoils of the gum ball machine was $95.00 in quarters, which my ex-boyfriend and I counted out one night in sheer amazement. Oh, the pirating life was for me! I haven't made true on any pillaging or raping, but I'm pacing myself with pirating video games off of Torrent websites.
November 1st, 2009
Rabbit rabbit! It's always customary for me to say "rabbit, rabbit" at the very first of the month. The rules have slowly morphed through the years, though. Here's a brief history lesson.
At the beginning of time, it was decreed that if the VERY FIRST THING you say is "Rabbit, Rabbit", on the first of the month, you will then have good luck all month. Sometimes it's hard to wake up and say that magical sentence, regardless of how many signs you may have put up on the walls. Guilty. Or of the alarm that you may set. Ahem. It's been hard for me to stand true to this ritual because I own a cat that is very much like a toddler, and if I don't wake up in time to feed him, he gets destructive. So my mornings often begin with a resounding "FOR FUCKS SAKE, TOM!", often in exasperation once I see how he tore my chair up.
Look at this GQ, motherfucker!
I actually own two cats, because I'm becoming crazy cat lady, but my other cat has a healthy respect towards me. He's also way more clever than Tom and I think he just doesn't want to get yelled at, or tricked. When I play with them, I often inflict the most humiliation on Tom first, because he'd roll over and take being wrapped in yarn or plastic. However, lurking in the shadows is Bonanza, and he watches everything that goes down. Whenever I call out for him to get close, you can see he's torn because he wants to come over for cuddles, but he's also aware that his fate would fall similiar to Toms.
My Halloween weekend was semi-eventful. In my last post, I talked briefly about Bryan and how we were sort of talking again. Well, I hereby rescind what I said because he ruined it. If my horoscope's true, I'm sure we'll talk again in a few weeks, but for now I'm standing by it.
Bryan and I have a three hour time difference, and he's currently three hours in the past. The other night he calls me at 3 o'clock in the morning. Drunk as a shameless skunk! He was lost in San Diego, and was hiccuping so bad that I couldn't understand him. He was also cursing me out, calling me a names, and calling himself a bad boyfriend. Very confusing, because he kept hanging up after saying I should find someone elses dick to jump on.
I shifted gears between being amused, to having incredibly hurt feelings, but I stuck in there. He was obviously lost, and nobody else was helping him because he kept calling me back. I made him tell me what street signs he was at, and where he needed to go. This whole process took far too long and doesn't warrant repeating, but he finally managed to shut up, and listen to me, and actually start walking.
Once he got to his room, I hung up and laid in my bed for a good long while, wondering what the fuck just happened. I've never had him be so angry and mean to me like that before. Is it true that people say what they really feel while drunk? Because I'm thinking it was, even though he apologized a few hours later. He said he was scared and upset and he had taken it out on me, and he didn't know why. Yeah, right.
I left it alone for a few hours, since I had Halloween plans of my own. I made a cameo appearance at a party, dressed as a zombie, but nothing can top my first Halloween when I was living on my own. My very first concert was GWAR!, and they played Halloween night at the 930 Club. I had to work that night, and didn't have time to change my clothes, so I hoped that I was convincing as a preppy chick once I made it to the concert, since everyone was decked out in costumes. I met a really hot guy there, too, who bought me a beer since I was 19yrs old. Oh, the flirtations of youth. He had a barcode tattoo on the back of his neck, and Hot Topic pants, so my interest remained low.
In any case, being in good spirits, I asked Bryan what he was up to for his Halloween. He gave a one word answer ("Out") and when I asked what else he had planned, he gave me a "Have fun" out of nowhere, which is a nice way of ending the conversation. I guess he and I won't be talking anymore. Especially because I deleted his number (and the phone records and txts), so as not to enable me talking to him again. Sometimes I wonder what his major malfunction is, but jumping into Bryan's psyche isn't worth it. Especially since I'm sure it's mostly empty.
In any case, I noticed that I was txting Mr. Malfunction at 12:03am, so the very first thing I said was "Rabbit, rabbit". Here's to a better month!
I'm also doing something a bit different here with the site. I don't want to use Wordpress to create comments, because I'll only get incredibly disappointed at the low numbers that will clearly be visible on the front of the website. Instead, I've created a mirror LJ account for this blog, and enabled comments.
Short Stories
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My Weekend Starts Early
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I Am Batman Cats vs. Dogs Simon Says A Pocket Saviour |
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