tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64612807867456938092024-03-12T19:01:51.273-07:00Quiet PandasTechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-65071213506954153532012-01-19T11:26:00.000-08:002012-01-19T11:33:03.963-08:00Livin' On A PrayerLiving on my own as been a mixed bag.<br /><br />In one week, I started a new relationship, contracted a UTI, went to urgent care twice and the Emergency Room once, and was misdiagnosed twice. That was fun. Happily things have been sorted out.<br /><br />I really like my new boy, Yon Faire Newcomer. A boy I met when I met Mistah Jay, who apparently wanted to ask me out. But Mistah Jay I guessed dibs'd me or something, and YFN pussied out. Point being, he called me up and asked me out, and to my surprise, I said yes.<br /><br />I said yes to someone who is NOT Mistah Jay. <br /><br />Anyway, YFN is fantastic. I couldn't have made it through this month without him. Could not. His family adores me.<br /><br />It's finally what I wanted.<br /><br />Anyway. Living with Bubby and his finacee is coming to an end. She Who Must Be Kept decided that she isn't making Croc leave, like she promised me. In her words, she had a choice between me and her, and she chose herself. She said Croc makes her a better person and is saving her.<br /><br />I told her that if someone is "making" you a better person, you're doing it wrong. You should do those things or yourself. Another person can inspire you, but shouldn't be your motivation.<br /><br />People are not good anchors.<br /><br />So now I'm moving in with Rosie and her sister. For free. <br /><br />But I just want to go home.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-51129904620683310142011-12-31T22:29:00.000-08:002011-12-31T22:47:57.833-08:00Baby, We're Bent Not BrokenI'm almost thirty minutes into the New Year. 2012.<br /><br />I didn't think I'd make it this far.<br /><br />I'm sitting in my best friend's apartment, The Boondock Saints on the television. I've been crying for ten minutes, at least.<br /><br />Croc is coming back. This is a horrible idea for everyone involved, me, She Who Must Be Kept, Croc. He started to drive up here two days ago. SWMBK didn't tell me because she didn't want to upset me.<br /><br />Oops. That worked well, huh?<br /><br />When this was originally mentioned, he was supposed to stay two weeks. Now it will be longer than two weeks, but "hopefully" not longer than a month.<br /><br />I told SWMBK that I am leaving.I cannot take living with him. I cannot. I don't have this kind of energy. I don't have it in me. I... I don't know what to do anymore.<br /><br />Bubby and his fiancee had said I can live with them and pay a small rent fee. It is temporary. SWMBK promised. And she's paying my rent because she didn't think it was fair that she's bringing someone into my home that makes me so miserable. Miserable enough for me to leave.<br /><br />"You don't have to go. I don't want you to go. Please try. Please try to live with him."<br /><br />"Mom, every word out of his mouth is something negative and I don't need that."<br /><br />"No no, I made him promise this time he'd be still!" You have to get him to promise to shut up. Yeah, he should sooo move in.<br /><br />"No, that's not good enough. He has sooo many ideas about what I should do around the house, you know, in my abundance of free time because I don't work and go to school. But he never does anything. I'm fucking tired of coming home from standing on my feet for five hours, or sometimes for ten hours, and having him lay around on our couch. Why the hell is he so tired? What did he do all day?"<br /><br />That was, of course, really unfair for me to say. Anyone can sleep whenever they want, really. Maybe he was tired because he is chronically ill. I don't know.<br /><br />"I know, but it won't be like that this time."<br /><br />"Yes, it will. He has problems everywhere he lives and he's sure it isn't him. Well, he's the common denominator! And it's all waaaah, my life is sad. Well, fuck, he needs to fix it and I don't want to hear about it."<br /><br />"I just want you to try!"<br /><br />"I tried it for six months."<br /><br />"I knew you'd leave. I knew you were going to leave."<br /><br />"Then why are you so surprised?"<br /><br />"I just feel like you're abandoning me."<br /><br />I don't want to leave. I don't. I want to stay there. My cats are there. My beloved BED is there. My sewing machine. My books. My mother. Everything. I want to stay there.<br /><br />(How can I be leaving my cats? I am the worst Mommy ever.)<br /><br />"I'm sorry. I'll pay the rent. I'm sorry. I'm the reason you're leaving."<br /><br />The thing is, she SHOULD be able to have people move in if she wants. I'm the one with the problem. I should leave, I shouldn't make her change her life to suit me. We're both adults. <br /><br />It's just...<br /><br />I wanted her to pick me. <br /><br />Just this one time.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-17614667186113648872011-12-28T20:00:00.000-08:002011-12-28T20:11:49.088-08:00Things I Don't UnderstandI've noticed a new trend recently amongst my friends.<br /><br />Blowing things off/flaking out.<br /><br />Three times in three weeks it has happened to me, with one particular friend. On two occasions he was too tired to go out. I wasn't angry that he was tired. I was angry that once he never called to let me know what was going on.<br /><br />The other occasion I hadn't invited him along. I had a game group with some other friends and he asked if he could come. I told him he'd have to ask the host of the game group, though I would like for him to come. So after asking, he decided about two minutes before I picked him up that he was too tired to go.<br /><br />And I had to call him to figure that out! I HAD TO CALL TO FIGURE THAT OUT. I. HAD. TO. CALL. If someone is too tired to go somewhere, I think they know before two minutes before pick up. Like say, a half hour before.<br /><br />Look, I don't deny that things come up. If someone got sick, that's fine. Please don't come along, rest and relax! If an emergency comes up, go and take care of it! Let me know what I can do to help you! <br /><br />I don't think say, staying up all night to play DnD when you knew you had plans is an emergency. (This didn't happen to me, another friend.) I don't think that staying up to watch My Little Pony is an emergency. See what I mean here?<br /><br />Am I weird? Is it common courtesy? What?TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-62027018592154060092011-12-25T23:16:00.000-08:002011-12-25T23:29:50.028-08:00Surprisingly...I've never gotten along too well with my father's mother. I don't fit her ideal of what a woman my age should be. My cousin does beauty pageants and is a cheerleader and gets decent grades.<br /><br />I never did any of that stuff. I wrestled. I went to a charter school. I write novels. I play Dungeons and Dragons. I'm dorky and get good grades. She doesn't get it. And in a way, that's okay.<br /><br />I usually HATE writing my Christmas list to her. She never gets me what I want. So the past couple years, I started being super general. I want pajamas, slippers, my favorite perfume, gloves, a scarf, and earmuffs.<br /><br />Sometimes I want a generic black hoodie. Sometimes I want boots, but usually she'll just give me a gift card because she's worried about the pin in my foot and what I can wear.<br /><br />This year, she bought me a FABULOUS fuzzy jammie set. WITH MATCHING SOCKS.<br /><br />"Oh, I know you like pajamas. I wanted to get you the warmest, most comfortable pair I could find." Wow. Thanks! I said as soon as I come home from work I get dressed in pajamas. "You should. You're relaxing."<br /><br />Also I'm a cold sleeper so these are awesome! AND THEY'RE RED. SHE REMEMBERED RED IS MY FAVORITE COLOR!!!<br /><br />I opened my perfume. "I am so sorry! I forgot what kind you liked. I just knew it was purple and had to do with the moon or something." It was Twilight Woods. I like Moonlight Path, but this stuff smells close and I'm not bothered. Hell, she got me two bottles and two bottles of perfume!<br /><br />"It's okay! I like this, too!"<br /><br />"Well, you're allergic to stuff and if you can't wear it--."<br /><br />"It'll be okay. Thank you!"<br /><br />Then she was worried because my gloves didn't PERFECTLY match my earmuffs. They were pretty close, and I wasn't bothered! I thought they looked cuter that way. And the scarf she picked is beautiful.<br /><br />And there's a problem with my financial aid right now. My grandmother whipped out an insurance policy she got on me when I was small and figured out how much I can borrow, and if all else fails, get on the payment plan, and then borrow against the policy. So I can finish.<br /><br />And *this* was the biggest surprise.<br /><br />"I've been talking to your dad. It really isn't fair that you're working and going to school and he's not helping." Well, it kind of is. I mean, I am an adult? I should have to do these things.<br />"So I told him he has to give you graduation money, because you really do need it. And you know what, if you need help paying for school, he's helping. I'll talk to him, because that's not fair. You're so close."<br /><br />Well! Thanks Grandma!TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-88757613403011361822011-11-27T11:25:00.001-08:002011-11-27T11:38:09.469-08:00Organically Expensively GOOD FOR YOUI'm wondering how I really feel about this whole ORGANIC EVARYTHIIIIIIING movement that's going on.<br /><br />I buy organic all natural bull shit for my skin. Why? Because my skin is a delicate fucking princess and can't stand a lot of stuff. I hate doing it most of the time, because shit's expensive. A bottle of facial cleanser cost me ten dollars. TEN DOLLARS! It wasn't a big bottle! I know a dab'll do ya, but good Lord.<br /><br />I can't believe some of the prices they charge for organic stuff. I don't buy say, organic dish washing liquid (Dawn for me! From the discount store because it's like, two dollars cheaper there!) or laundry detergent (because vinegar and baking soda is cheaper and better for your machine/clothes). Most of the green/organic things I don't do because I'm a snob, I do it because I'm cheap.<br /><br />I know someone who buys all the organic all natural stuff she can, because it's better for her and her daughter. That's awesome. I can't afford that. Why are the organic bananas a billion dollars more the regular, chemical laden bananas?<br /><br />I've heard it has to do with production. They don't make as many bananas, so they have to charge more to make the same profit as the regular banana people. (Heh, regular. Like organic is abnormal!)<br /><br />You know what though? I don't feel like most of the organic stuff works that much better than the regular stuff. I don't feel like organic fruit leather tastes different than the regular kind. I don't feel like organic bananas taste different. Organic meat tastes slightly different. Maybe I'm just uncultured, though.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-65992341579625367692011-11-25T21:40:00.000-08:002011-11-25T21:55:26.810-08:00Ho Ho Fucking HoI went Black Friday shopping. There were TONS of good deals, I saved LOADS of money, and I got all my shopping done. Or rather, that which wasn't being done via Internet is done. <br /><br />I shopped for about fourteen hours. Two hours of that was a nap in the parking lot of Menard's. I begged for the nap, because we had been going since eight pm and I was exhausted. <br /><br />I got three nose bleeds (I've been having nose bleeds lately. They're not terrible, just gross and irritating, especially in dance class). I almost fainted in Wal Mart. When I was done, lugging my bags into my house, all I could think was; "Everyone better fucking love me this year."<br /><br />It was nice to be able to buy people nice things that I thought they'd really like. And don't get me wrong, there are some things that I bought for myself. I found Jackass 3 for ten dollars, and I got that. I found a twenty dollar beanie hat for five dollars, and I bought it. Ten dollar blanket for six dollars became mine, along with an extra firm side sleeper pillow. I hate sleeping with pillows because I'm a picky bitch, but this one seems decent.<br /><br />I also got a brush for dry brushing and some hoity toity hypo allergenic all natural facial cleanser. I almost had a heart attack, I usually get my cosmetics for less than five dollars. Yay chemicals! <br /><br />Anyhow, here are things I thought about while doing my stint in Consumerism Hell.<br /><br />1. I hate buying presents for couples. They usually get you ONE present, and you either have to get them one really nice present, or two presents. No! There are TWO of you and ONE of me! I think we all should all get one decent present if we're even doing presents!<br /><br />2. Godfuckingdammit, why is that people over thirty forget to stand in line? Suddenly there are people cutting and line jumping and arguing and pinning me into a six inch space with their carts because they REALLY wanna check out. Hi, I know kindergartners that know how to stand in line. Maybe we can have them come and give the rest of us a lesson! Likewise, sighing and tossing your hair and whining won't make the line go faster. Yes, it's a two hour line. Yes, it sucks. Yes, you want to go home. I do too!<br /><br />3. Little kids have way more stamina than me. They can go all night and still be bouncing off the walls! I wish I had that energy still.<br /><br />4. When you're desperate, anything is suddenly a good present.<br /><br />5. When you come home sleep deprived and come home, suddenly you will realize that you have to store all this crap in your home until Christmas. December first is suddenly an amazing time to give presents!<br /><br />6. Also you'll forget what you bought who.<br /><br />7. Also, when finished shopping, you'll want a taco. And Taco Bell won't be open, which is why you'll take a nap at Menard's.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-43604502815281404752011-11-11T17:23:00.000-08:002011-11-11T17:48:29.983-08:00No Meijer, Five Dollars Won't Buy My Silence.I bought an external hard drive last month. I had to send in my laptop to Toshiba to get a new battery. I bought the hard drive to back things up. And luck of luck! Meijer had a 2 TB! FOR EIGHTY DOLLARS!<br /><br />You better believe I snatched the thing up. I got the last one! I bought the extended warranty because, well, why not, right? It can't hurt!<br /><br />My hard drive, after a month of use, died. Would turn on, but not spin or actually do things a hard drive does. Gross, right?<br /><br />Well thank God for that warranty! Because Western Digital, the company that made the product, couldn't replace it. They said Meijer could. Hooray!<br /><br />Only Meijer said WD had to replace it. Well no, actually. You do. We were going to do an even exchange, only--my product doesn't exist anymore. Discontinued. Which was why it was on super sale to begin with, I suppose. If I'd known, I wouldn't have bought it, or I certainly wouldn't have bothered with a warranty. Strangely enough, there was still a sale tag and a place for it on the shelf...<br /><br />A month later. We pointed out the tag was there. "Well sometimes they get busy." A month later? You're that busy?<br /><br />The girl at the courtesy desk shrugged and said she'd refund us for the old HDD, but we'd have to cover the fifty three dollar increase in the new one. It's the same product, only with USB 3.0... But--my warranty? Oh well, that's actually not really theirs, you see. It's from a third party company. And well, they might send me a check or a gift card, but no, they wouldn't really replace my item.<br /><br />So what was my warranty for? I mean, I was told when I purchased it, it would serve to replace my item. Only not? I guess? I'm confused. <br /><br />I got the manager, who said he'd give the item at cost. Okay, cool? Oh but I'd have to REPURCHASE my warranty. Seriously. What? I did for reasons I can't understand, because it didn't help in the end. I had to pay forty dollars over my original price.<br /><br />The manager scurried away after this while the girl at the counter haughtily told us they didn't HAVE to do this, so we should be happy. I'm happy I have to pay forty dollars more? <br /><br />So, for whatever reason, I sought out more shopping. There were things on clearance that I thought might make good presents for several little kids I know. The items were on fifty five percent clearance, so of COURSE they were cheaper. <br /><br />...And then they scanned incorrectly at the U-Scan. We went BACK to the service desk. We'd run into the manager again, and my mother made a comment to him about how old this was, and how we really didn't have much incentive to come back to the store. We were also told by the girl at the counter that we had run the U-Scan incorrectly. Oh, okay. Actually, one of the items refused to scan at all, so we had to get someone. The tags were bad. We mentioned that, and the girl goes; "Oh yeah, that happens. But you have to remember to scan the new tags." "...We did?" "Oh, then I don't know how that would happen."<br /><br />Well, I don't either. I don't work here. But don't blame your tags being strange on me.<br /><br />The manager sent a five dollar gift card to us via another employee who had nothing to do with it. I felt bad for the poor girl, because I was actually enraged. What are you doing, buying my silence? It didn't work, Meijer!<br /><br />I sent in a complaint. Ugh. I know where I won't be doing any more of my shopping. I'd rather drive out to Wal-Mart across town than go there again. At least Wal-Mart tries to be helpful.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-39665085083230894652011-10-22T22:00:00.000-07:002011-10-22T22:20:11.590-07:00Hands Off My 'ZaMy college is doing some renovations. Because the dining room is in the same building as the bookstore, which is being renovated, there's a lot of noise in the dining room, and it makes it hard to do our Between Class activities.<br /><br />Some people play that game Magic, or watch something on a laptop, or wonder of wonders, study. Our college has break out rooms, small rooms (with dry erase boards for walls!) with table, chairs, and a television. They're for studying.<br /><br />Since the renovations, my group of misfits has been checking out a break out room for a chunk of the day.<br /><br />I want to pull my hair out.<br /><br />I'm not proud of this next part of the story...<br /><br />One kid that hangs out went to high school with me. He has Asperger's Syndrome. The real kind, not the Internet jerk kind. He is difficult to be around. I'm more used to it and have learned to ignore a bunch of stuff. And, I don't play Magic. He does, and according to the kids that do, he is almost impossible to play with and drives them crazy.<br /><br />I can't attest to that part of the story.<br /><br />One day, we had a breakout room, and the kid came knocking. I didn't have the room in my name, so I couldn't say who could not come in. Rosie had the room in her name and decided that he couldn't come in. But she didn't open the door to tell him that. Instead, we all ignored him until he left.<br /><br />I feel like shit that I did that. There's no reason I couldn't have opened the door and said; "Look dude, we're full (which was true, there were already five of us in the room, and these are small rooms) we're not playing Magic (there was no room to, apparently. Again, don't play so I don't know), and there isn't room for you to set up your laptop." (That was true, too. He wants to use a table, and the table space was taken. The general rule in our group is first come, first claim. No one is going to move--unless they're in class--for you to set up camp.)<br /><br />I didn't do any of those things. I let him feel like a fool. And I feel terrible about it. Ugh. I understand that it's hard for people to deal with people like that. I need to figure out something else to do.<br /><br />But also, one day, I decided to order some pizza. I wanted some, and getting lunch made is now a pain in the ass, so why not, right? Mistah Jay decided he'd order two pizzas too. So now there are four pizzas being ordered.<br /><br />One kid's friend and girlfriend (note: this girl? She sat NEAR us all semester and never spoke to us. We have tried speaking to her, but she steadfastly ignored us. I don't know if she's shy or what, but it was really off putting) asked if they could "Wait for Reptar--someone we actually know-- in here".<br /><br />Before I could say anything, they were allowed in. So now I'd have to have three extra people eating the food I'd bought. Two of these kids I didn't even know. That irked me, because you can't just eat in front of other people, especially when there's an abundance of food!<br /><br />And this chick was pretty rude, too. She got snippy because Mistah Jay lent me fifty cents, and snapped that he bought pizza, so he shouldn't give me ANYTHING. I said that I had also bought pizza, and Mistah Jay blinked and said he always gave me quarters.<br /><br />And it's true, throughout the day he usually gives me a dollar or two for a drink or to get some fries or candy or whatever. I rarely ask, he usually just gives it to me and tells me to get whatever I'd like. It's lovely of him, and I always say thank you. <br /><br />so this chick rolled her eyes and said she wished she had someone to give HER money. I wondered where Reptar was to give her some money, but kept mum. <br /><br />Anyway, the pizza arrived, and I put down my two and said those were the only two we were opening. She glared at me.<br /><br />"Mistah Jay said we could eat his."<br />"He asked me to save his when he was on his way to the comic book store."<br />"No! He said two pieces! So we can eat it."<br />"We are NOT eating his food unless HE is here."<br /><br />So she sulked. Reptar arrived and began to dig into the food. Without saying thank you. Or hello, actually. He just started shoveling food in his mouth. And his girl who KNEW I bought the pizza refused to thank me, and waited until my back was turned to take some.<br /><br />I'm pretty irritated about it. I shouldn't be. I told everyone flatly that was the last time I bought food for other people. I did get plenty of thank yous, but I don't like being treated rudely when I spend a lot of money on food for people I don't even know. Who then think they're above thanking me.<br /><br />Also, I am mad at Rosie for telling everyone who walked in that I bought lunch and they could help themselves. Thanks for giving away my food!TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-33924361665304382462011-10-10T21:38:00.000-07:002011-10-10T22:00:31.228-07:00Things I've Learned At WorkI work at a fast food joint now. Although I suppose "fast" is sort of stretching it. We're not as fast as McDonald's. I don't know if this is because we're less streamlined or what.<br /><br />Anyway, my place of employment is a "Southern" style place. Let's say--Virginia Prepared Poultry? VPP?<br /><br />I've been working there for--mmm, about twoish months. Here are the things I have learned.<br /><br />-The moment you run out of something, everyone will come in and want it.<br /><br />-You WILL run out of the most ordered item on the busiest night of the week. For us, it's usually biscuits. I don't know how we run out of them, we're constantly putting them in the poorly cleaned, too hot ovens that spew black smoke the moment they open. But we're always out of them.<br /><br />-People will come in and stare blankly at the menu for five minutes. We have one thing; poultry. And only one kind at that! True, we have three different recipes, but you had to have some idea of what you wanted. <br /><br />-The church crowd comes in, and they are blood thirsty and will trash the spotless lobby in thirteen seconds. And I guess because they're all holy and Jesus-y they don't believe they should have to do things like--bus their trays. I've found trays on the floor, under tables, still on tables, and on the ledges we have with the random cutouts/pillar things in our restaurant. If you can't carry a tray, that's cool, one of us will help you.<br /><br />-The day that two people call off will be the day that it is busy. Especially a Monday afternoon in the middle of the month that's never busy. But it will be now!<br /><br />-Elderly people are very upset we don't put things on plates anymore. They use their coupons and give me a dirty look when their food comes in a box and not on a plate. <br /> "I need a plate."<br /> "Sure!"<br /> "Why don't you give me a plate to begin with?"<br /> "We don't put things on plates anymore, you have to ask, I'm sorry."<br /> "Why?!?"<br /> "I don't know, that's the way we're told to do things."<br /> "Well that is foolish!"<br /> "I'm sorry, here's your plate."<br /> "I shouldn't have to ask! No one can eat out of a box!"<br /> Strips, legs, and wings can be eaten out of a box. Breasts and thighs cannot, I agree. But I can't give everyone a plate because I'll get in trouble. You have to ask, and then you can have it. Okay?<br /><br />-People who try to clean up their messes are sweethearts. People who just leave the place looking like a tornado vomited up mac and cheese are awful. If I see someone trying to scrub their table, I will stop them and say not to worry about it. I have better tools. I have seen people come in with seven kids, and leave the place an astounding mess. Like, their kids just threw chunks of chicken everywhere, and they left like it was okay. I couldn't believe it. I have zero problem cleaning the crumbs on the floor or wiping down tables (again, that's my job), that doesn't mean go bananas. And if you spill something, don't be afraid to tell me! I'll get a mop and clean it, no harm done. No one's mad, no one here is Joan Crawford.<br /><br />-The stuff on the top shelf is always the stuff my manager wants me to get down. And then she acts surprised when she sees me getting down a step stool. Well hey, I have the tools to get the items so I'm totally cool doing it, I just need a moment to do it. I'm five foot three. That box full of chicken buckets is a foot above my head, at least. I can touch the corner on tip toe. I'm not going to bounce up and get it, that would be bad for me, because the box would land on my head.<br /><br />-Everyone is afraid of the walk in freezer. I like it, it is WAY cooler and quiet and no one bothers you. You can't get locked in, and even if you did, someone would come looking for you in a few minutes. Maybe they think it's haunted and no one wants to tell me?<br /><br />-People are gross in bathrooms. The toilets do flush! You can flush them! No one will be mad!<br /><br />-The first of the month is always super busy. I guess this is because people have money to spend then, or something. But we all go in knowing we're going to be slammed. It's so weird, because one second it'll be a ghost town, and then the next second you've got a line twelve deep and a bunch of orders on the screen and are going nuts packing/calling back.<br /><br />-We got rid of lettuce for our sandwiches. Mmm, carbs. <br /><br />-The average customer only comes in to VPP once every four months. According to my manager, this is because 1. we're pretty pricey fast food. 2. we have one thing. Really. One thing. 3. we don't have a lot of lunchy stuff. We have our popcorn meals and four types of sandwiches. But that's about it, and I'm not sure two of our sandwiches are really--lunchy.<br /><br />-It's surprisingly easy to tell if a customer is fibbing to get free stuff, and it makes me sad. :(TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-55742165745104736732011-10-02T19:52:00.000-07:002011-10-02T19:59:20.764-07:00When You're Done With Being Beautiful And YoungI always told myself I'd never be one of "those" adults.<br /><br />You know. The ones who are all "You're too young to understand." and "You'll see when you're older." and "You're not supposed to get it, because you haven't lived enough."<br /><br />I always hated that.<br /><br />Know why?<br /><br />I know seventeen year olds that have lived more than twenty five year olds, and I know twenty five year olds that are less ignorant than fifty year olds. I guess what I'm really trying to say is that age is a number, and you cannot (or should not) decide what a person does and does not know based solely on their age.<br /><br />You COULD make sweeping generalizations, it is only that they are so often flawed that makes them bad.<br /><br />There is a certain coworker of mine. She's a lovely girl, truly. It is only when things get busy that she just gets nasty towards the rest of us, particularly whoever is packing orders for her. And she turns on attitude towards the customers.<br /><br />I can't say I blame her. When we're busy, we're busy, and it makes everyone on edge.<br /><br />For the longest time, I wondered what her deal was. Then I realized that she just turned seventeen. Like, literally yesterday. It hit me "OH! OF COURSE! BECAUSE SHE'S SO YOUNG!"<br /><br />And then I wanted to kick myself in the damn teeth.<br /><br />Maybe it is because she's young. Maybe that's just the way she is and always will be. My point is, I don't like that I jumped to her age to say that. I don't like when people say I think or feel or act a certain way because I'm twenty one. Why should I do it anyone else?TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-8913154176694654312011-09-29T17:13:00.000-07:002011-09-29T17:28:07.789-07:00Never Fail Like Common PeopleToday in my English class, we were talking about Bakhtin and how he saw writing. There's one level of a story which was for the "common people". Then there was another level, a level of the story that was full of symbolism all the real meaning of the story.<br /><br />My instructor was telling us about this because she wanted to discuss what literacy is. Sylvia Scribner wrote an essay and said that literacy is three things; literacy is adaptation, literacy is power, and literacy is a state of grace.<br /><br />My instructor was really hung up on this whole literacy as power thing. Now, of course, I can agree with that to a point. When you are literate (and I don't just mean reading here, I mean communicating with your society as a whole) you do get power. But I don't think that's all literacy is.<br /><br />We discussed how, in the past, literacy was held away from certain people. Women, African Americans, Irish, the poor, anyone who wasn't deemed fit somehow. It goes back to that Descarte line "I think, therefore I am." From what my instructor said, illiterate people did not think like the literate, and therefore they were not human. <br /><br />I've never really linked literacy to humanity. You don't have to be literate in the strictest sense of the word to be human. Of course not! That's obtuse. But apparently people thought this way. Probably because of the time period I'm from, I can't really imagine anyone REALLY being illiterate.<br /><br />In this day in age, it seems to me that most people have some base of education. Naturally, there are a shit ton of people who don't go to college, but that doesn't make them uneducated, I don't think. Likewise, I know people who go to college and they still aren't educated.<br /><br />I'm rambling.<br /><br />By stripping people of their humanity, we are denying them the world. I can agree with that. However, my instructor talked about oral tradition. They seem to hold the statement that "I am because WE are." There is no denial of humanity there.<br /><br />Perhaps because I am from an individualistic society/culture, I don't understand holding my whole existence on other people acknowledging that I am here. Perhaps because I'm so used to finding my voice and screaming out loud to get noticed, I don't think I could hang my existence on that acknowledgement. I don't know if I could find that fulfilling.<br /><br />Also, my instructor was talking about how everyone has the right to literacy. Naturally, of they do. Books are not written for a special elite, to educate a group that is already educated.<br /><br />...Are they?<br /><br />I write. (Hurr durr.) When I write, I have an audience in mind, I suppose. I don't try and make sure everyone who picks up my "novel" (read: heap of word soup) will understand it. I don't know why I do that. Maybe I always felt like it was patronizing when authors did that? <br /><br /><br />Is it my responsibility as a writer, to write books that any and all can understand? Or is it the responsibility of the reader to research and figure out what they can't understand?<br /><br />Toni Morrison wrote Beloved, a prize winning novel. It's very, very post modern and hard to follow if you don't really understand post modernism. And yet, she won all those awards. <br /><br />I don't know.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-84836229341308621802011-08-29T18:59:00.001-07:002011-08-29T19:29:13.479-07:00Every Time You Point Your Finger, Three More Point Right Back At YouWhen I was young, She Who Must Be Kept had a best friend with two step kids and two children she had birthed. Her daughter was significantly older than me (and particularly bossy, so I didn't care for her at all), and her son was right around Big Brother's age, so they were about two years older than me.
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<br />As you can imagine, I really hated going over to this friend's house, because there was never anything for me to do. Big Brother and the son would run off to do secret boy things that I wasn't allowed to participate in, and the daughter would never let me color with markers--even when I was allowed to according to She Who Must Be Kept, or wouldn't let me drink my juice box, or pick a tape for the VCR or anything. She was pretty much a bitch, actually. I never did get around to liking her.
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<br />So, usually, I ended up hanging around in the kitchen where SWMBK and her friend would park themselves at Carrie's table. They'd sip on cups of coffee while I hid against the counter and tried to be inconspicuous. If I was found out, I was always told to "go play", which meant whining after my brother until he got screamed at to let me play.
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<br />Carrie and SWMBK typically complained. About their jobs, husbands, and most of all--their children.
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<br />It seemed like they saved up every naughty thing we had ever done and complained about it.
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<br />"And THEN he got an F! Can you believe that?"
<br />"He got detention for throwing a spit ball."
<br />"She broke curfew by thirty minutes. I was worried sick!"
<br />"She wandered away from me in the store *again*. I'm so tired of it!"
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<br />I hated it. Hated hated hated it. Because Carrie hadn't been there, and Carrie didn't get my side of the story. Even at seven, I knew this wasn't fair. Once I burst out in tears as my mother started in.
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<br />"Do you know what <span style="font-style:italic;">Tai</span> did earlier this week? It's terrible, she---."
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<br />"Stop it!" I cried. SWMBK turned to stare at me. "Don't tell that story! It's about me."
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<br />"I can tell whatever story about you I'd like. I'm your mother and you just have to deal with it. If you don't want me to repeat things that you've done, you'd better not do them."
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<br />I sobbed like I had a broken heart. I did, and still do, thing SWMBK was cruel to word it that way. Carrie told her off and said I was right, and if a story upset me, it shouldn't be repeated.
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<br />But it's led me to thinking, ten or so years later. What if I'm repeating stories that SWMBK wouldn't like? Do I have to ask her permission to have a blog on the Internetz? Does it even matter? All these strangers read it, but *they don't know who I am*. Does that make it better or worse?TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-82234716943644021972011-08-22T15:36:00.000-07:002011-08-22T15:57:57.475-07:00The One I Can't Replace-Ode to a Big Brother"Taima is headstrong, and loyal to a fault."
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<br />These were the words spoken about me at my high school graduation. The instructor giving the speech about all ten of us made it seem like a good quality. Something everyone should aspire to.
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<br />I barely heard the words that were said that night. I barely remember the words that I spoke myself when I gave my own speech a few minutes later. I have told everyone since that this is because I was hopped up on codeine for the sprained ankle that just wouldn't heal.
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<br />It's true that I was high that night.
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<br />I was high on my own adrenaline of accomplishment. I, for one in our lives, had something <span style="font-weight:bold;">that you didn't.</span> I had gotten to something *first*.
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<br />But more importantly, you were there. Getting you to see me walk the stage had been a fight. She Who Must Be Kept wasn't going to make you do it. You had claimed that all I was doing was rubbing in your face that I had graduated and you didn't. And she, like always, bought it hook line and sinker. I raised complaint to the therapist, and you were made to go.
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<br />For once in my life, you weren't allowed to ruin my day.
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<br />"Taima is headstrong, and loyal to a fault."
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<br />The day you left was the only time in my whole life that I can remember you telling me you loved me.
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<br />I don't know if you love me always, or in that moment you loved me. Loved me because I sounded so lost and pitiful, telling you that you didn't have to go, and I would talk to our mother, and I would make it okay, you could stay!
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<br />"Take care of Mom for me. I love you."
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<br />Perhaps that day you loved me because when Croc tried to pull his shit, like he always does, I ripped into him. I had Had Enough, and when I have Enough, things start happening. You might have loved me because I was defending you, and you've never felt that anyone in the world has done that before. But there's a lot that you were so blind and deaf to. Everyone was fighting for you... You were just fighting yourself.
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<br />I've always been more patient than you. This is probably because I grew up as your little sister. While I sat and waited for people to love me, for people to be able to give me what I needed, you demanded it. I fell into relationships, holding my arms out and trusting that someone or something would be there to catch me when I hit the bottom.
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<br />You launched into relationships, clawing and ripping the other person, desperate to hurt them before they hurt you. Eager to establish that status quo, because you knew what it meant to be hurt and you were tired of me.
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<br />I... I knew what it was to be hurt too, but I managed to climb up from the dirt when no one caught me. You sought revenge, while I sought to protect people from all the things that had happened to me. I didn't know that this made me more vulnerable, in the end. I've learned my lesson now, learned it through hands on my throat and the way that I cried in the shower, alone and empty, because no one wanted to hear it.
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<br />But in the end, I was able to protect and save myself when there was no one to do it.
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<br />There should have been someone there to do it. But you demanded everything our mother had. You sucked her dry. She and I have had discussions... Discussions about why she focused so much on you, chose to save you in all the ways that she couldn't save me.
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<br />There was only so much to her. And you took everything, while I survived on guilt and empty promises.
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<br />We've discussed why she let you beat the shit out of me. For years. Why she let you degrade, belitte, and ABUSE me. For years. You were, and still are, an abusive person. I can't say that I blame you. I can say that I didn't deserve what happened to me.
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<br />Nothing you did was okay. There is about a decade of my life that is just Not Okay. And never will be. It's taken me a lot of therapy to come to that conclusion. I am not a bad person.
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<br />I am not ugly. I am not worthless. I am not unlovable.I am not stupid. I am not any of the things that you said I was. I suspect you said these things to me because you felt them about yourself, and if it was true about me, it couldn't be true about you, because we were just so opposite.
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<br />You struggled to survive the most basic things in life, for reasons I will never understand. You had the tools. You knew what you had to do. I guess you were just waiting for someone to come and save you from yourself.
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<br />And more painful than that, you watched me soar. You watched me graduate, get friends, relationships. You watched me have a very strong relationship with our mother, based on trust and honesty and forgiveness. You watched me get into college and soar there, too. You watched me be such a loved person, even though you tried to pull me down, and make me miserable with you.
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<br />I don't apologize for that.
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<br />I have every reason to hate you. And yet, I don't.
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<br />"Taima is headstrong, and loyal to a fault."
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<br />In this month or so since you've run off, I've spoken to you more than in the past two years of living with you. You and I have our own language, our own inside jokes. We have the things that strike us and no one else has funny. We have Queen and Iron Maiden.
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<br />We have a love of World War Two. Although while you are scouring maps and battle plans, I am reading the accounts of the death camps, and the ways that this changed humanity. We love brown soda, although you like Pepsi and I adore Coke.
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<br />We lived through the same bullshit. We lived with the same alcoholic father, the same neglectful, unstable mother. You were the only one who validates me. I could always look at you and know that the screaming fights and broken glass were real. I didn't make them up in my head.
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<br />We survived. We both bare the scars, although in very different ways. You are cruel and callous to all but a very--VERY few. I am kind and loving, neurotic about those that I care about, desperate for approval and adoration.
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<br />"Taima is headstrong, and loyal to a fault."
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<br />You still call me "baby sister".
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<br />I still call you "big brother".
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<br />When you left that day, when you told me you loved me... Who were you seeing in your head? Were you seeing the six year old, trailing after you with skinned knees and tangled hair, clutching her Pooh Bear?
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<br />Were you seeing the thirteen year old, in long black skirts and too much lipstick, scowling at you and pretending she knew better?
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<br />Were you seeing the the twenty one year old woman, in high heels and tight dresses, with short hair and clear eyes, carrying her textbooks?
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<br />In your head, just who am I?
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<br />I know for me... You're the one I can't replace.
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<br />"Taima is headstrong, and loyal to a fault."
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<br />I know where my loyalties lie.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-77934425921296450132011-06-05T11:39:00.000-07:002011-06-05T11:40:07.797-07:00A Letter to NintendoDear Nintendo,<br /><br />Recently, I acquired a Nintendo Wii, the system I have been coveting for more than a year. I am a casual gamer at best, and this system seemed to be marketed specifically to my group. <br /><br />I was elated when I got a copy of Mario Kart Wii as well. Surely this game--THIS GAME would be well and good for me to play. After all, I had played on a friend's Gamecube and had not suffered an aneurysm, nor had I thrown a controller through a window or anything of the sort.<br /><br />Last night devolved into screaming hysterics from me. After half a dose of my mother's Valium and repeated watchings of The Boondock Saints to settle my nerves, I find myself here on my laptop, writing you this letter. I thought you would like to know about my concerns as a loyal consumer.<br /><br />1. Why are there blue shells? Why? These are redundant given every other obstacle from hell you put in those magical question boxes.<br /><br />2. Why are the aforementioned blue shells used more than once in a race? Why is a squid used more than once in a race? I find myself frustrated when I get slammed with a Pow, a shell, and a squid all at once. This is insanity. As a gamer, I anticipate and appreciate a certain level of insanity, but this is on par with Hannibal Lecter. (I do suspect you enjoy Chianti.)<br /><br />3. I strongly dislike the steering wheel attachment/headache/device from Hell. You cannot properly twist and turn, and instead end up writhing in your seat, much like an epileptic seal.<br /><br />4. Rainbow Road is the rectum of Satan himself. I know you have painted it so it looks lovely--but no. I am not okay with the fact that if you sneeze, run over an ant, or slightly turn, you fall off the edge. And the fact that you see your character bursting into flames will forever haunt my dreams.<br /><br />In short, this game could turn me off gaming forever. I find myself thinking day and night of Mario Kart and how I might possibly beat it. I know this is your intent, but it is becoming a sick obsession. My therapist's child is now able to go to Harvard because of me and this game.<br /><br />Yours Truly,<br /><br />TaimaTechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-486304172568383812011-06-03T13:32:00.001-07:002011-06-03T13:37:18.493-07:00My Lack Of PostingSchool let out on April 29th. <br /><br />I was on the bus to Ohio on May 2nd. <br /><br />I was on the bus back to Michigan on June 1st.<br /><br />So that's where I've been for about a month now. My best friend needed help packing up and moving, and my trip to see her was *so* short over Christmas, we were due for a long visit. It was so nice to see her. I miss her so much when I don't get to see her.<br /><br />We're getting older now. I used to go down twice a summer. This summer I *have* to get a job since She Who Must Be Kept has made it clear she wants to shut up our house and move down to New Orleans with Croc. I think it's a terrible idea, and I told her why. She agreed, but stated she was going to do it anyway. I'm getting ready to move out this winter anyway.<br /><br />I'm not a little kid anymore, and I just can't just shirk my responsibilities to go do something more fun, as much as I'd like to. I have to be a grown up and do grown up things. I don't always like it.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-4237438759741633422011-05-01T20:14:00.001-07:002011-05-01T20:31:14.942-07:00Writing Prompt 25: A Time When You Felt AloneThe year I was sixteen was tumultuous, to say the least.<br /><br />Perhaps the worst part of that year was the summertime. I was getting ready to start my senior year in high school. I remember going out every Friday night to a cafe that is no longer open, going with my friends and sitting outside in the parking lot, in various circles talking about things I didn't know much about.<br /><br />I remember She Who Must Be Kept crossing the brink into some place of madness. Her mother had just passed away. SWMBK kept it together for about two months. Then one day she sat in work and began to cry until they sent her home. <br /><br />I don't know how she made it home from work. Anyway she came home and laid on the couch and didn't get up for days. She was sleeping, I think. But she'd cry and vomit in her sleep. For three days, I didn't sleep because I was watching her.<br /><br />My Bubby said I needed to call an adult. I don't think he realized I didn't have any other adults. My only adult looked like she was dying. When she was finally able to sit up, I handed her the keys and said we were going to the hospital.<br /><br />I sat in the room with her while they put the yellow wristband around her. I was there when she began crying when the emergency therapist came in and told me quietly I could leave. She knew that I was tired, new I was close to becoming neurotic myself.<br /><br />I was sitting in the waiting room of my town's hospital. We had just gotten this new fancy ER in, I remember. In the midsummer heat, my thighs stuck to the chair. I tried to call my Bubby and another friend of mine, but there was no answer.<br /><br />I sat alone, in the ER.<br /><br />I sat alone.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-85267371872645230832011-04-23T15:28:00.001-07:002011-04-23T15:29:46.147-07:00Quote<blockquote></blockquote> Whatever they grow up to be, they are still our children, and one of the most unconditional things we can give them is unconditional love. Not a love that depends on anything at all except that they are our children.<blockquote></blockquote><br /><br />-Rosaleen Dickson<br /><br />Pretty much this.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-77738587553144182322011-04-16T17:52:00.000-07:002011-04-16T18:07:30.750-07:00I Know That I've Let You DownDear She Who Must Be Kept,<br /><br />I have, to the best of my ability, tried to keep the peace around here. After our last discussion about how I hurt you and make you feel like a failure, I have done my best to be better. I wasn't sure how, as you can never give me a clear answer about what I do wrong, but I tried.<br /><br />Which is more than I can say for you.<br /><br />For four years I begged for help to get a room. You resisted and refused and threw a fit. For about three days my bed sat in my room untouched because you refused to ask Croc to put it together, even though he was the only one who could. Because for you, it was better for me to lay sleepless on the couch while you and Croc caroused on school nights until four in the morning.<br /><br />But I am the one who hurts you.<br /><br />After this last fight where you couldn't give me a clear answer about what I do wrong... After you couldn't even give me a clear answer about what I could do DIFFERENTLY to make you happy...<br /><br />I'm more or less done.<br /><br />I cried a lot. I cried for probably three straight hours. I woke up twice in the middle of the night and cried. I cried for my own confusion, my pain, my sense of abandonment; which is nothing new coming from you. You've always been obsessed with making sure that when I was gone, you had someone else to catch you when you fell.<br /><br />But I'm done crying. I am. Know why?<br /><br />You. Are not. Worth it.<br /><br />You have shown me numerous times that I'm not worth your time--your love--you are, by that token, not worth my tears.<br /><br />And it kills me to say things like that. I'm sure if you knew you'd fly into another rage that you're so famous for anymore. Good job icing me out, by the way! I love that you only do that when Croc is around, too. <br /><br />You must think I'm stupid. Please. You raised me better than that.<br /><br />Also, clinginess will drive your friends away faster than the supposed crimes your 21 year old has committed. Just--just saying. <br /><br />I get that the way you treat me is nothing personal. OlderBrother refuses to listen to a word you say. You can't change your job. You've got yourself in a pit you can't get yourself out of. I get that screaming at me is all you think you can do. I'm the only one that listens.<br /><br />Just remember I'm the only fucking thing you've got. And you're driving me away. I don't see how you think this is going to make you a winner in the end.<br /><br />And to say I don't appreciate you? That I've never told you that? You can just piss right off, you martyr. That is such bullshit and we both know it. I'll just remind you of that damn diamond ring I got you. Oh and the notes I leave you for on the TV telling you how sorry I am you work so hard and how glad I am to have you? That's... What?<br /><br />I can't wait to leave. And you're going to cry when I'm gone because you already do. I don't know what you're mad about, but I just can't fix it. YOU fix it, YOU fix YOU. That's what you've always told me.<br /><br />And that mysterious thing you claim has been making me depressed since October? You're the only one who sees it. The quotes I've gotten; "You're only depressed when your Mom gets after you."<br /><br /><br />...Yeah.<br /><br />I think you're projecting.<br /><br />So, just remember that I love you. I love you so much. You just can't seem to appreciate it.<br /><br />-TaimaTechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-64978258545610323322011-04-12T08:14:00.000-07:002011-04-12T08:23:30.592-07:00I Never Want To Stop ScreamingIt's been about a year now.<br /><br />A year since the life that was inside of me failed to blossom, and left me empty. It's been about a year since I sat with my head in Mistah Jay's lap, his fingers in my hair, feeling her slipping out of me.<br /><br />It's been about a year since I failed at the one thing I was built to do.<br /><br />Does it look up from here? Do I stop missing her so badly now? Now that I've crossed this line and I realized that I'm bent not broken... Do I stop feeling like I've done so very many things wrong? Do I stop thinking that my life would be better without her?<br /><br />A part of me never wants to stop missing her. A part of me never wants to stop the scream I started when I realized how badly it hurt. A part of me never wants to stop the scream I started when I knew that I had lost something so precious... Something I could never even hope to replace.<br /><br />I should let her rest in peace. I should let go of these things, let go of my own misery and then begin to understand that I can still carry on. I am still a human, and I am still worthy.<br /><br />I'm still worth---.<br /><br />It hit me like a ton of bricks today, what exactly this meant. It hit me, and left me breathless. This sense of loss has been haunting me. I can't believe how much I miss someone that I never even laid eyes on.<br /><br />Mistah Jay smiled at me today. Jokes around with me. Lets me sit next to him and presses his body against mine. I don't think either of us are at a place where we can twine our fingers together and find peace.<br /><br />Someday we will. I have hope. We'll be there soon. <br /><br />This all has to go one step at a time. I've never been patient. I always want to take off at a run and get wherever it is I'm going. Only right now, I don't know where that is.<br /><br />Mommy loves you, Vivian.<br /><br />I'll never stop screaming.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-84366684352212175252011-04-11T00:42:00.000-07:002011-04-11T00:53:52.612-07:00I Won't Say Anything At AllI am flawed in the sense that I have learned very early on when to keep my mouth shut. Alco-Pop always taught me that if I didn't want to get hit, I shouldn't say anything at all.<br /><br />There are some people, my Bubby's fiancee, Belinda, that I just don't say things to anymore. She consistently says things that are cruel and hurtful, disguising them as jokes.<br /><br />In the past, I have called her out on nasty things she has said to me. Like in high school, when I once told her that if she didn't like the way I ran my life, feel free to take yourself out of it. Like the whole Halloween incident I previously blogged about. In the end, I don't really bring things up to her, because she doesn't listen.<br /><br />Instead of taking what you say as something like you trying to help her, or just make her aware of something she does hurting you, she tries to pick your feelings apart. She tries to make you "aware" that she was "making a joke" so you don't need to feel "hurt".<br /><br />And I can't take it anymore. So when she says something to hurt me, and she isn't ignorant, she knows when jokes she makes are going to hurt you, I ignore it. I shut my mouth. I don't say anything at all. I don't see the point in wasting my breath.<br /><br />It all comes down to wasted breath. She exhausts me. She emotionally drains me. The only reason I still come around is that Bubby is so very dear to me. Bubby is one of maybe three people in the world (the other two being Mistah Jay and my Charliam) that know how to settle me down. And know when to let me cry. I have held my tongue about their relationship, even though I don't think it is right for either one of them.<br /><br />I won't waste my breath.<br /><br />So tonight, she started in on me again. Being hurtful. Calling me hurtful names. And I was upset, visibly, and then she instantly said I was IMing about her or blogging about her. And I wasn't, I was role playing (a guilty pleasure of mine) with my friend Daisy.<br /><br />Belinda started in demanding to know what I was RPing about, and I refused to tell her. Because every time she finds out about something I like, she goes out of her way to make fun of it if she doesn't understand it. And there are few things I really like that she does, mainly because I have some out there tastes. Just like she hates on my love interests, Mistah Jay included. Just like she hates on She Who Must Be Kept. Or even my other friends.<br /><br />Tonight she tried to deny nasty things she had said to me. About the things I like... About crocheting... She got defensive. In her mind, Belinda is never wrong. And that's why I don't bother to try and talk about it. I ended the conversation because I have better things to do than bang my head against a brick wall.<br /><br />She later came to me crying, Belinda did. Crying about how I'm one of her best friends and she loves me and and and and and. I just looked at her coldly. I'm not--not up for that anymore It felt like hot air. We've had this conversation before. We've done this all many times. She always says she won't do it anymore; and she does. I know why she makes these jokes. She makes them to feel better about herself. Putting other people down makes her feel better.<br /><br />Awesome. Good for her!<br /><br />I just don't want to deal with it anymore.<br /><br />She makes me tired.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-8225814714949658632011-04-05T18:55:00.000-07:002011-04-05T19:12:12.549-07:00I Hope You Enjoy The Six BucksDear Person Who Has My Wallet,<br /><br />Perhaps you were very hungry and thought that there was something of value in my wallet, like a credit or debit card. There was not. Perhaps you thought there was an abundance of cash. There was not. Perhaps you thought there was something that you enable you to tap into my identity. There was not.<br /><br />I am not sure the means to which you acquired my beloved wallet. It was brand new, you know, just purchased this weekend. I am a Batman fangirl and I have never before seen a wallet with the Batman symbol on it that was intended for girls. Anyway, I am pretty certain my wallet was in my purse or otherwise on my person. I am not sure how you got it.<br /><br />I could have dropped. I do drop things. I doubt I did. Even if I did, the point is that you are now in possession of my wallet and have not given it back. Why? Why have you not given it back? Are you GoogleMap searching my home? Are you planning to sacrifice my wallet to some dark god? <br /><br />I hope not, because that's mojo that I don't need.<br /><br />There was nothing in my wallet that was of value. There was six dollars for my dinner, and you can keep that if you return the wallet. There were two cards; one from Magic the Gathering and the other was a Pokemon card. You may not keep these. They are not worth money. They only have worth to me. Give them back.<br /><br />As for my IDs, well, you are clearly not me. So why would you be able to use them? Yes, I am twenty one, so you could try to buy liquor, but--well, you're not me and I doubt you look like a short white girl with dirty glasses and frizzy hair and a smirk too smug for her own good.<br /><br />Then there is my insurance card. I suppose you could use them in conjunction with my ID to get some kind of medical care. But you do not know my social security number, date of birth, known allergies... You're going to have a hard time pulling that one off.<br /><br />In conclusion, please return my wallet. I miss it.<br /><br />-love<br /><br />TaimaTechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-19720104845778681082011-04-03T16:10:00.000-07:002011-04-03T16:17:35.545-07:00Bubbles PopHer best feature was her giggle.<br /><br />I don't mean her laugh. When she laughed, it was beautiful for sure. I did love it when she laughed. I loved the way it rose from the bottom of her throat, the way her head fell back, the way her laugh seemed to echo inside of her mouth before emerging like the first sip of hot chocolate.<br /><br />But it was nothing compared to her giggle.<br /><br />When she giggled, it bubbled up from her chest, right where her heart is. Her cheeks turned pink, and the corners of her lips tugged up gently. The bubbles popped like champagne, and they tasted bittersweet on my tongue. <br /><br />I loved to watch her clamp her hand to her mouth, trying to hold in her bubbles. She bent over, trying to keep them buried deep inside her chest. I always wanted to pull her hand away, to pull her standing up straight.<br /><br />Let it out! I wanted to cry. Let it out, let me hear! Let me taste the way you giggle, It could make me drunk, intoxicated on her mirth. But of course, I never touched her. I let her hold it in the way she wanted to.<br /><br />She couldn't keep them all in. She couldn't hide forever. The bubbles always popped.<br /><br />I was reminded of those bubbles as I watched her blood dripping down her face where the glass was embedded. The blood fell onto the dashboard with a little *pop*.<br /><br />I wasn't drunk this time.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-7578452783133189252011-04-03T00:12:00.000-07:002011-04-03T00:21:12.900-07:00Imagination Prompt: High School MemoryI found this thing with StumbleUpon. It's a writing prompt generator. You click and it brings up something to write about. Well, I suppose you could just ponder the question or use it as a discussion topic. I use it as a writing prompt. I might do these at least once a week!<br /><br />Today's Prompt: What was a good High School memory?<br /><br />My third year of high school (we didn't have grades but yes, at an ordinary high school it would have been my junior year) I took a literature class. It must have been American literature. I took world literature my first year of high school. <br /><br />Halloween rolled around, as it always does. The teacher, Jean who also taught my advisory, writing, senior seminar prep and Spanish class decided that we would have a contest to write the scariest Halloween story.<br /><br />I wrote about a group of children going to play hide and seek in an abandoned factory. One of the girls had brought along her baby sister. For some reason, the Devil was meandering about and decided to have some fun. So he gives the baby sister an apple to eat, and says since she has eaten of the underworld, she has to stay in the underworld. Yes, I took some inspiration from the tale of Persephone.<br /><br />Anyway, I wrote this story about these kids hiding and Satan finding and killing all of them but one. It didn't matter though, because the police came and the winner of the game was arrested for murder. The little girl just kept eating her apple.<br /><br />I won but a handful of votes. My prize? Lunch at BK paid for by Jean. She let me have anything I wanted, including a slice of pie. I remember keeping the cup from my meal that day and looking at it thinking; It's like I got paid for writing. It's like I'm a REAL writer!<br /><br />For one whole afternoon, I felt glamorous and talented.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-4154665312452327472011-03-31T23:37:00.000-07:002011-03-31T23:44:30.159-07:00Under the BridgeThere's this one bridge by the hospital that She Who Must Be Kept works for. When she was still on site, I used to have to cross this bridge to get to a specific bus stop to catch a certain bus to go to the mall when I went to work with her. <br /><br />I hated crossing over this bridge. I would always get distracted and look over the edge at the water running below. There was this seaweed that grew on the rocks. The water would push on it, and it gave the illusion of flowing hair from a swimmer.<br /><br />I hated it.<br /><br />I hated those rocks, and I hated that seaweed.<br /><br />I have nightmares about these women in the water. Like harpies, maybe? These women would swim in a river, and sometimes their green, scaly faces would break the surface, slowly rising like some sort of glorious goddess.<br /><br />And then they would open their yellow eyes, their black serpentine tongues slithering out in a warning hiss. And they all had flowing green hair. <br /><br />I know, of course, that the seaweed covered rocks are just seaweed covered rocks. There are no murderous harpy women to pull me under.<br /><br />I just don't want to take my changes.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6461280786745693809.post-25525160677876786682011-03-29T18:37:00.000-07:002011-03-29T19:00:32.102-07:00Nice Things And Why I Don't Do ThemSometimes I really want to stop being nice to people. I like being nice. I like doing things for people and being generous and being giving and just being a Nice Person. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.<br /><br />So I suppose you could argue I do nice things for selfish reasons.<br /><br />I've talked about this before. I've mentioned that sometimes it really bothers me.<br /><br />For instance, it really bothers me when I offer to help someone make something on my sewing machine, even though I'm in the middle of a project. I really hate it when the person then latches onto the fact that I'm going to help and harps on me for a week about it, EVEN WHEN MY MACHINE BREAKS AND I AM BUSY TRYING TO GET IT FIXED.<br /><br />I guess the worst part about that story is I'm finally all prepared to work on that project and the person is all; "Oh... Well I don't know when I can go shopping. Why can't you go with me in the middle of the week (when I have classes and other things to do)?"<br /><br />If I'm doing you a favor, I will accommodate you, but there is a limit. You need to meet me halfway here!<br /><br />I bought someone a doll off eBay. I have an eBay and a PayPal account, most of my friends don't. I have zero problems ordering something and having it sent to my house. I did it for Something Mysterious, and that went beautifully. I gave her the item, she gave me the money owed to go back into my PayPal, I gave the seller positive feedback. Perfect.<br /><br />This person with the doll hasn't paid me. I have a custom made hoodie I want to order that I can't because I'm waiting on her to pay me. I stayed with her on Friday and she said; "Oh, I'll take dinner (which she VERY kindly paid for) out of what I owe you!"<br /><br />After we've already gone to get it. After she already got mad that I didn't have money. Well maybe I would have had money if she had paid me on time! I should have said something but I didn't, because I wasn't opposed to the arrangement, I was opposed to the way she brought it up.<br /><br />Just like I don't mind helping people with projects. I mind when they get pissy when I can't jump right to it, and then when I say I'm ready are not ready and want me to make sure I can still do it "soon".<br /><br />This is all very passive aggressive. And I will continue to do nice things.<br /><br />Sometimes I wish I didn't let these things get to me. There are some things I don't do for people anymore. There are certain people I won't plan surprise parties for. There are certain people I won't buy presents for. I just refuse to listen to people be jerks about the things that I do for them.<br /><br />And it sucks because not everyone I do stuff for is like that! I made my friend Aero a stuffed Batarang to celebrate his new job and he was *thrilled*. I made my other friend a crocheted Heartless doll and he was overjoyed. I know it's that for every one person that an asshole, there are two more that are not.<br /><br />It's just that the assholes stick out more. Maybe that's just a me thing.TechnicolorDreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03491352685502398965noreply@blogger.com0