Embrace Your Inner Geek

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Theme 12b

Quiz:

If you had to eat one of the following, which would it be?
A – finger paint
B – toothpaste
C – poop
D – mom’s cooking
E – EMCC dorm food

If you had to sleep on one of the following, which would it be?
A – floor
B – broken glass
C – rock
D – pull out couch
E – EMCC dorm bed

If you had to wear one of the following, which would it be?
A – bottle
B – dirt
C – turkey
D – shirt
E – EMCC sweatshirt

If you had to live in one of the following, which would it be?
A – card board box
B – trash can
C – industrial waste park
D – house
E – acadia hall

If you had to go to school at one of the following, which would it be?
A – Jeeve’s school of butlery
B – Igor’s school of lab assistants
C – Madame le Goth’s school of obedience
D – Jenna Jameson’’s school of sex
E – EMCC

If you picked anything other than d on any of the above, you may want to seek help. If you answered E on any of the above, you have been brainwashed, seek immediate reprogramming.

“My car's name was your mom, but she died, so now I'm driving Jesus to hell and back. I dance to cheesy 80's pop. I embrace my inner geek. I have a nonsexual argyle fetish. My favorite color is green. I dislike normal people. Gir is my hero. I can't keep up with boys from Connecticut. Maine girls do it better, but Jersey girls do it best. Sex is my therapy. Harry Potter is a God. I have a tendency to be completely out of control. I live in the Champagne Room. I have a tendency to name everything. Kittens would be God's gift to the world if he existed. I love Canada. I play drunken croquet. Pirates kick ninja ass. I dream of owning colors. My sisters and I fight over who gets to drink the pickle juice. I know the words to nearly every Pink Floyd song ever written. I AM the red-headed stepchild.

I love to write, but can never seem to get inspired unless someone is holding a gun to my head, I’ve been reading since I was three, and like the worlds found in books better than the reality I live in. I categorize my laughs. The back roads of Penobscot and Hancock Counties are my favorite bar. I’m competitive to a fault, but always seem to lose. I’m a former member of the now defunct Hancock County P’diddle league. Air Hockey is my religion. I’m obsessed with discussing life, the universe and everything. I’m not an alcoholic, alcoholics go to meetings, I’m a drunk.

This is me. I don’t care if you take or if you leave it, but I feel it has to be said.”


I want to write my autobiography. But not some timeline piece explaining what the problems in my life are and why I have them, but a series of short pieces about my life and who I am and let the pieces do the work. I want to make a written photo album rather than a written scrapbook that lays everything out for the reader. I want give just enough for the reader entranced, but not so much that they can’t think for themselves. As much as I want it, I’m afraid that my work won’t stand up to what I am trying to do. It terrifies me that I’ll assemble my work and build it into a “novel” and it will suck. Simply put, I’m afraid of failure. But I can’t get it out of my head. It’s sitting back there. Every time I write a piece, I think “Wow that would be great for the book!” or “How could I rewrite that for the book?” Maybe some day I’ll get to it. Until then, I keep everything I write, just in case I ever get to it.

Monday, December 19, 2005

Theme 11

“I really messed up, didn’t I”
“Well, to be honest, you royally fucked up.”
“Want to know the worst part? The way I figured out that I really had made a mistake? I keep almost saying ‘I love you’.”
“Wow.”
“Do you think I have any chance?”
“He’s usually good for second chances.”
“Let’s hope…”


“I want to have sex with you.”
“What?”
“Really, and it’s not just the alcohol, I’ve wanted to for awhile.”
“But, you have a boyfriend…”
“Well, besides that.”

Later that night I found out that my boyfriend had spent the entire previous week boning his ex. Somehow in my drunken stupor I managed to convince him that we should wait till the morning to talk about it rather than screaming at each other on the balcony. I tried to sleep on the floor next to him, and as usual when I’m drinking I flash, everyone still awake. One thing led to another and I started making out with the boy I had been making rather suggestive comments to earlier in the night, Jacob.

So my boyfriend and I talked the next day, well I suppose I should say ex-boyfriend. The next Monday I took Jacob’s virginity. I was clear form the start that it was just sex, and a week later asked out a week later. The relationship lasted three days before I broke up with him. Not that the relationship really ended, it just lost its title.

In my defense I was confused. I didn’t know what I wanted. I thought I could date him, I thought that was what the situation called for.

I see now that I was wrong. Not about going out with him, but for breaking up with him. I guess it is true that in order to realize what you truly want or need, you have to lose it first.

I asked Jacob back out a few hours ago. I’m not sure what the answer will be, he’s making me wait so he can think it out. The talk with his best friend made me realize how lucky I’d be if he let me have another chance. But if I lose another boy I love…

“I hope he realizes that I really want it this time.”

Theme 15

Relationships are about common ground. Here’s a description of me using my friends' quotes about themselves. (Some qoutes may have been changed, but not the meanings.)

“I like pretending to be someone else. I have guy friends who really are just friends. I can’t save money, I have to spend it.” - Jess “I say things that make people go ‘what the fuck?’ and do things that make people question my sanity.” - Justin “I try to figure out how the universe really works. The idea of being emotionally vulnerable is like the concept of suicide to me. Relationships = Suicide. But, here's the thing: I am an incredibly social person.” – Cortney “Some people find my humor to be stupid and or dry and sarcastic but that’s just me.” – Aaron “the Beatles, david bowie, labrynth, anything Kevin Smith, ER X-Files, The Daily Show, Harry Potter, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, His Dark Materials, Wicked, Memoirs of a Geisha” – Jessa “I love road trips, concerts, music, and movies. I drink a lot.” - Bill “So yeah... I like a lot of things, including but not limited to kittens, breaking pumpkins against a brick wall, scavenger hunts, sleeping, and video games.” – Courtney “Who I'd like to meet:
Anyone smart and open-minded with similar likes or dislikes. (of course I couldn't fit all likes and dislikes within 500 characters but, oh well)” – Al “i am sick of people who are not real... i like to dance..” – Jessie “My tastes are very eclectic” – Shawnna “so here's the deal. My name is steph. I go to EMCC. I have a mouth like a dirty sailor and I drink like one too. If you don't like it you can go Eff yourself. That's all.” – Peaches “I like to drive and i can assure you that I’m not like everyone else.” – BJ “if you think that calling me "baby girl" or "sexy thang" is a good way to pick me up....do not even bother. Thanks.” – Shannon “I'm a big goofball” – Jill “Fat People Will Someday Rule The World” – Ryan “I am also a part of the Red-Head-Union-Local 666!” – Amanda “I’m not fat, I’m just husky.” – Damien

Theme 12

Twenty-five reasons students of EMCC don’t spend any longer than necessary living in Acadia Hall

ONE
Monday, you go into a stall, pull down your pants, sit down realize there is no toilet paper, stand up, pull the pants up, hold them closed and hop to another stall, all because the bathrooms haven’t been cleaned since Monday.
TWO
The skeevy people (not current students) that are kind of friends with someone who lives on campus or used to go to school here that find it crucial to spend every waking moment in the lobby. Don’t these people have homes?
THREE
The exciting new pastime some people have devised of stealing every dry erase marker in the school.
FOUR
It’s EXPENSIVE.
FIVE
People seem to think, from time to time that expelling the contents of their stomachs in the hall is a dandy idea.
SIX
You end up living in a dry sauna or an igloo because you can’t control the heat in the frickin’ rooms!
SEVEN
Even if you are of age, you can’t sit down and enjoy a drink or two after a stressful day of classes or work.
EIGHT
You are required to purchase a rather expensive meal plan and the food sucks. Plus after a year of bugging Tommy, there is still NO Ben and Jerry’s anywhere to be seen.
NINE
Quiet hour are a good idea, but you either end up with no enforcement, or over enforcement by…
TEN
Anal R.A.s who let power go to their heads. Yea, you job is important, but get some perspective.
ELEVEN
No cat’s… or dogs for that matter.
TWELVE
There are two signs in the lobby. “This is your home…” and “There will be no swearing in the lobby.” EXCUSE ME?
THIRTEEN
People can’t seem to remember that poop needs to go away, as in you may have to flush more than once.
FOURTEEN
Everyone does it, but listening to your neighbors do it constantly when you’re not getting any yourself just plain sucks.
FIFTEEN
A distinct lack of parking for residents, but a Gestapo rated security force for inappropriate parking.
SIXTEEN
400 pound female culinary student in the hall in a bra and short shorts with half the ass hanging out or pieces or terrycloth closer related to washcloths than towels.
SEVENTEEN
Rats. and I don’t mean rodents.
EIGHTEEN
Drunken eighteen year old adolescents screaming and running down the hall at two am when your R.A. is sleeping three floors away
NINETEEN
People with absolutely no musical tastes who assume the higher the volume, the higher the sound quality.
TWENTY
Excessive cleaning fees for many due to the inability of a handful to puck up after themselves. (And the laziest janitor I’ve ever seen.)
TWENTY-ONE
Neither telephone or internet access is included… that’s a good, fifty to a hundred dollars a month. HELLO! We’re college students.
TWENTY-TWO
The rooms look like prison cells and in the middle of the winter, the walls seem to close in like the walls of a prison.
TWENTY-THREE
People who don’t understand the meaning of the words subtle or mature telling you to grow up.
TWENTY-FOUR
Absolutely no space for students to spend spare time hanging out. The lobby I better known as a living room.
TWENTY-FIVE
standing in two feet of snow, pouring rain, and/or the freezing cold to have a cigarette.

Theme 13

I woke up at 5:30 again last night, my bladder screaming for the bathroom. As I fumbled around looking for clothes to walk to the bathroom, I thought I was going to die. The dry air was wreaking havoc on my already irritated sinuses. I walked blindly down the hall towards the bathroom, the lights killing me. The only thing I could think of was the pain.

Climbing back onto the bed I lay on my back staring at the back of my eyelids. I can feel my eyes starting to tear up. My throat is raw and my head feels like there is a balloon blown up inside it. I roll over and grab the water , chugging half the bottle, cursing myself for leaving my pain killers in the car. I try desperately to get comfortable, think about anything else, will the pain away. The pressure increases in my sinuses and I blow my nose, yet again. My nose is raw. Somehow I fall asleep.

Only to wake up an hour earlier. I blow my nose, cough trying not to irritate my throat anymore, and drink more water.

I wake up again at 7:30 and 8:30, each time reliving the pain and routine of 5:30.

At nine my alarm goes off. I get up to hit the snooze, knowing I’ll still be awake when it goes off again. I pull myself out of bed, force myself outside to have a cigarette. The pain increases as I inhale, my throat killing me. I work through it, but I can only finish half of it. I make it back to my room and plop down in my chair, breathing laboriously. I finish the water and turn the computer on. I have an hour before I leave for class, I can’t think straight, so what better time to work on my English homework. I know I should go up stairs to write my Sociology teacher to say I won’t be making it to class, but I just don’t have the energy. Halfway through my first piece, I get up and go search for pain relievers. Luckily I only have to go across the hall. I sit back down and begin typing, waiting for the Tylenol to kick in. I hope it happens soon.

Friday, November 11, 2005

Theme 10 – when things don’t mean what they seem – irony

I’m competitive. It varies on day to day how much, but I like a good rivalry regardless of the topic. A lot of times people don’t even know that they are competing with me. I set up theses challenges in my head, complete with rules, guidelines and prizes.
I’m dead serious when it comes to game time. I can’t handle losing. Most of the time, I get violent, moody, quiet, and refuse to compete against the person that beat me for a very long time. Every time I pick a new competitor, or target, I get excited at the thrill of the challenge.
However, from time to time, I get absurdly stuck on one target. I am in the middle of this process now. I have lost at every contest I have held with one target over the last week and a half. So now we are at the point where everything is a contest. And I just keep losing and losing and losing. It’s not just the big contests like grades or air hockey matches. I’m losing at rock/paper/scissors, bets on what movie characters are going to do, pool, the true definitions of words. I’m losing at things that I’m normally infallible at. I think I’m met my arch nemesis.
I think our literature teacher is a bit afraid of us. Our second paper is due on the eighth and this time we get to pick our own pieces and topics. The first round were all using short stories. He’s doing his over The Stranger and another book on existentialism, and the theory of the absurd man. I’m using the Narnia series and the His Dark Materialism series as a study in the use of religion as a theme in children’s literature. All because I can’t stand that he beat me by two points on the last paper. And the grades that we get mean more as a judge of who won than how they’re going to affect our GPA. I will not lose.I’ve started dating him simply so that I can get closer to him and study his strategies. Soon he will be my pawn, putty in my hands, and I WILL be triumphant. He can’t keep up this winning streak. As blueberry muffins will be my witness, I will defeat him. He will taste the sour of annihilation and it will be my doing.

Theme 9

Love
Nicotine
No
Why
Please
Tattoo
Moan
Alcohol
Paint
Stop
Yes
Cry
Hug
Try
Give
Smile
Leave
Kiss Drink
Stay
With
Hate
Food
Sex
Without
Starve
Pierce
Sigh
Take

Theme 8

The last three years of my life sit in the corner of my room. It’s this ongoing collage, a good two by three feet. Perhaps it will never be done, or maybe I’ll just run out of space and have to start a new one. The first time people see it I think they’re a little overwhelmed. It’s mostly pictures, but scattered in are bits of my history. A wristband here, a sticker there, a scorecard or two, a postcard, a ticket. There are nearly countless smiles throughout, but several frowns or what can nearly be considered a frown are spread throughout.
Near the upper left hand corner is a picture of my friend Josh. His arms are crossed along the top of his guitar, his head resting on them. You can barely see his eyes as he looks at the camera as if to say WTF. Anyone who wasn’t there that night would think that he was pissed at having his picture taken. Not so. He was just tired. The sun was about to come up and we were all exhausted from twelve hours of drinking. I think he was actually in one of the best moods I have ever seen him in that picture. We all were.
That was over two years ago, but I can still remember that single moment in a life of moments. It was the night of my birthday, Bill had gone to bed and we were sitting on the porch at the Flume cabin in Canada. Kelly was sitting between Josh and I. We had just finished singing along to some song he was playing on the guitar, sitting listening to the river go by. I looked up and saw the look on Josh’s face. In the moment it was peaceful, a rare emotion. We had all been drinking so my judgment might have been off. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the picture, but I was having the time of my life and wanted to record every glorious moment of it.
I miss that night. Soon after I moved to Philadelphia, when I moved back, Kelly moved away. The group fell apart and things will never be the same. There are so many crazy pictures clumped together here, but that one… it may be my favorite. More than any other one it speaks of being alive, enjoying life simply because you can. When I look at the big picture, I get scared, I want to run away. Then I remember the single moments of peace and it all comes back to me.

Theme 7

There is a shirt in a box under my bed that I haven’t worn in over twenty-one years. It was the first article of clothing ever purchased for me. My dad bought it for me before I was born. It’s a Harley shirt. If you had known my dad, you’d understand. It’s part of a collection, the only one that I don’t have memories for.
Sometimes when I’m reorganizing things, I come across the box of shirts and sit going through them. As I hold that one little one, I start to cry. How perfect things must have been then. My parents married barely a year, me coming into the world. I’ve seen the pictures of my dad holding me in the hospital. He was still proud of me then.
My mind screams through the years as I go from shirt to shirt, the memories pounding me like hail on a dark winter night, sharp and painful. I sit there and wonder things would be if he’d never have gotten sick. Would my parents have stayed together, would we have moved back to New Jersey, would I have gone to college immediately out of school, would I be well adjusted, would I still be emotionally warped, would I have ever regained his pride?
The shirt sits on my lap as I lean back into the wall and begin to sob, unsure why. One would think that after nearly eight years, I would have begun to come to terms that daddy is never coming home. But no. I have dreams every so often that he is still alive. I wake up hopeful and have to live through the pain again as I realize it was all a dream.
I’m jealous of so many of my friends that have gotten the chance to reconcile with their fathers. They don’t understand what I would give for one last afternoon with him. One chance to tell him that I’m sorry for all the things I did that made his life harder than need be. To tell him that I forgive him for not knowing what to do with me.
In so many ways my father was fantastic and horrible at the same time. In his defense though, he was never ready to be a parent. He did the best he could and I know this, but I still can’t let go of the anger. There are still days that I go through the memories and wish for just one minute with him, just long enough to tell him that I hate him, spit in his face, and walk away. Those days are fewer and fewer as I get older.
I turned twenty-two this summer. The December after she turned this age, my older sister got married, and my father gave her away. They spent that year reconciling with each other. They finally got over many of their problems and they were able to speak to each other as adults. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I wanted my daddy to give me away. I wanted him to respect my decisions.
All I’m left with is this big answerless question. “What would Dad say?” It may seem small to many people, but I live half of my life in fear of what the answer would have been. I really hope that he’d be proud of me, that he’d be tolerant of my mistakes and support my decisions. I pray to a nonexistent God that I can do right in his closed eyes, that if he were alive I could see one of those rare smiles that told me I had done well, have one of those treasured hugs. Just once more. Please, someone tell me that he would be proud instead of just the opposite.

Theme 6

The first thing you notice is least important, a decoy set to scare off the weak hearted. We call the place the Champagne Room, but really it’d have to be one of those really cheap places where the champagne is a fifteen dollar bottle. The anti Matel doll sign on the door the first week of school caused some bad blood that has managed to go under the bridge, but the occupants were pleased with the message the door conveyed. Simply stated: we’re not here to take your shit, peddle it elsewhere.
The sight after the door opens reeks of past inebriated nights, from the labels to the menu. Even before entering, you can tell the sex of the occupants, but the forties style pin-up on the wall might throw off a person with strict ideas of gender roles.
At first the room seems nearly barren of personality. Then the little things seem to jump out at you. The color here and there attracts the eye and you get a better idea of what is going on.
Eventually the curtains hanging in the middle of the room get the best of you and you can’t withhold your curiosity anymore. Having just had to search for personality, your eyes are overwhelmed.
It seems as though a crazy person may live here. Or at least now they’re crazy. From every surface there is visual stimulation. Living here would drive a sane person right into crazy canyon. Between the three curtains that don’t match, the bright bedding and the mess, its a wonder anyone lives here. The décor speaks of confusion, pressing a different message at you from every direction.

Monday, October 10, 2005

Narrative... rewrite

The way I am today is a lie. This isn’t me, it’s a façade created by drugs. Oh my you say. No, these drugs are completely legal, perhaps they shouldn’t be but they are, and I use them. No, make that I ABUSE them. I Am addicted, and though I may not be proud of that, I like who I am today because of them.
What? you ask. How could I be happy that I am living a lie? Well you see, my dear reader, I wasn’t always such a fun loving girl, I wasn’t always this laid back. I used to be spastic… constantly. Before I fell victim to the Nicotine gods, I couldn’t let go of anything. I had less control over my mouth and my body, I couldn’t handle any stress what so ever. Not that I’m so great at handling stress now. Though you might agree with me that smoking is better than cutting or burning myself. When I was 16 and 17, before I found cigarettes, I would burn the insides of my wrists with incense, leaving little wounds that I could scratch when I was stressed in public. Lovely, huh? Now I just breath toxic smoke into my lungs.
I never had the goal of NOT smoking, but neither did I ever say “hey smoking is horrible, I’m never going to do it.” I know now that not saying that you’re not going to do something is as bad as saying that you are going to do it. I started smoking for the same reasons many people do. I was hanging out with a rebellious group. They weren’t cool, but they were everything that I wasn’t supposed to be and that none of my other friends were. They smoked, they drank, they lied to their parents. The first X number of times that a person smokes, and if they go awhile without a cigarette, they get a buzz. Well I love that buzz. I would smoke half a cigarette and be set. The next thing I knew I could smoke a whole cigarette and not get a buzz. Shortly after that I was getting cravings, and to this day I can’t go a single day without one. Damn, I can’t go an hour.
So I wasn’t always this way. I used to have energy, I loved running around and being silly. I used to swim half way across the lake and back at least once a week in summers past. This summer, it was all I could do to fall asleep floating in the lake drunk. I used to have the power of youth. No longer, though. The evils of slow method suicide are hunting me down and I'm losing ground, quickly. I was seventeen and impressionable, eager, and ready. Now I’m twenty-two and apathetic, callous and uninterested. I may be cooler, but damn I wish I was happy.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Narrative...

It wasn't always this way. I used to have energy, I loved running around and being silly. I used to swim half way across the lake and back at least once a week in summers past. This summer, I fell asleep floating in the lake drunk. I used to have the power of youth. No longer, though. The evils of slow method suicide are hunting me down and I'm losing ground, quickly. I was seventeen and impressionable. Anything that I could get my hands on that would give me a buzz... I was there. I had been ostracized from the group of friend's that I'd been in since grammar school, over a sip of wine. So I was hanging out with these other kids who weren't as goody-goody. They drank, they smoked, they shoplifterd, they smoked other stuff. They were BeYoND cool... not. But they liked me and I needed some way to show my other "friends" that I didn't need them. (I found out not much later that I did need them and that because they were angry with me for a time didn't mean the end of a long standing friendship.) So I would bum half a smoke at time, just enought to get a buzz... yeah I was a light weight, but it saved me money, It was awesome. Then as I grew to be able to handle it, I would smoke whole cigarettes. I mean my tolerance to nicotine wasn't going up, I was still getting a buzz. I was just becoming cooler. Then it got to the point when my buzz went down. I wasn't getting a buzz at all. I wasn't hooked, just immune to the feelings. It still felt great to smoke a cigarette or two a day. Then I went back to my other friends and quit for four or five months. Then I started working in a restaurant. And I would bum a smoke or two a shift just so that i could get a break. Then I turned 18. It was over at that point. I tried to quit several times that first month to no success. Once I was comfortable smoking and driving at the same time... I was up to a pack a day, and haven't been back since. I stopped smoking weed a few years ago, but can still feel the craving from time to time... Acohol became weed's replacement. MMMMMM... Liquor. When I was younger I didn't see the point in drinking. I'd rather soke a joint and get a buzz then sit and drink something I didn't like the taste of. Then I found wine coolers. They tasted like soda and after a couple I'd start to get all warm and fuzzy. It was fantastic. After awhile I graduated to Smirnoff Ice, a vodka malt beverage. I would drink one or two and be smashed. It was embarrasing. So I started drinking everyday in order to build up a tolerance. Within six months I could finish a six pack and still function. I had to find something new, if only to save money. That's when I discovered coconut rum. I spent many a night at Manny Brown's in Philly drinking up the house stock of Parrot Bay. It's all I drink now. I can kill a fifth in a night. And still be fine. I found that I have this immunity to hang overs. It's lovely. I'm always the first person up the next morning cleaning and trying to get everyone to go out to breakfast. I love alcohol. I love the way it makes me feel. I love the way it tastes. I love everything about it... except the cost. Some people work so that they can go on vacation once their bills are paid. I work so that I have cigarettes and alcohol.

Monday, October 03, 2005

A person...

A back which stands as my wall. Legs whose strength amaze me. Arms that hold me in comfort and in lust. Hands that caress with caring and hunger. Fingertips that explore with eagerness. Ears that listen carefully. Lips that kiss gently. Mouth that gives me wisdom, laughter, pleasure. Eyes that plead softly and make me melt. Mind that blows me away. Talking through the night about the meaningful, the meaningless, the fruitful, the empty. The breath I awaken to. The cuddling that centers me. The voice on the other end of the line. The lunch date I never miss. The name I call out. The best platonic love of my life. Hugging me close while I cry, letting me hug you when you cry. Letting me have my freedom and being splendidly in touch with yours. Telling me to do my homework, then driving me to distraction. Geeky without being a nerd. Loving that I embrace my inner geek. Enjoying alcohol, the strange avoidance of caffeine. Appreciating simplicity while over complicating everything. Cute as hell and unpretentious. Noticing the physical, feeling it unnecessary to comment. Loving all the facets of me, having enough different yous that I don't bored. Being centered enough to let yourself get carried away with my mania and still be able to bring me back to earth.Celebrating stupid anniversaries. Not being Christian. Loving Halloween as much as me. Reading! Being a Physics major, but knowing proper grammar. Being creative. Loving me.

Friday, September 30, 2005

Journal Day Seven

Have you ever wanted something, given someone a week to decide wether they want the same thing, then decided twenty-four hours later that it wasn't what you wanted at all? Well I just did and now I have to figure out how to tell them this without hurting them. I thought I wanted to date a boy and last night I figured out that I don't have the energy to be what this boy needs. That and that I would be driven crazy being with him. There are things that I hadn't taken into consideration and things that I hadn't known. Now that I know these things... I don't want to be with him. Aaaargh I don't know how to handle this. Any recommendations?