Embrace Your Inner Geek

2005-12-20T07:46:00.000-08:00

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.

2005-12-20T06:37:00.000-08:00

“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.

2005-12-19T23:05:00.000-08:00

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.”

2005-12-19T23:02:00.000-08:00

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

2005-12-19T23:00:00.000-08:00

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.

2005-12-19T18:16:00.000-08:00

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.

2005-11-11T08:01:00.000-08:00

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.

2005-11-11T08:00:00.001-08:00

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

2005-11-11T08:00:00.000-08:00

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.

2005-11-11T07:59:00.000-08:00

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.

2005-11-11T07:58:00.000-08:00

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.

2005-10-10T13:24:00.000-07:00

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.

2005-10-04T10:39:00.000-07:00

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.

2005-10-03T08:53:00.000-07:00

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.

2005-09-30T10:28:00.000-07:00

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?

2005-09-28T15:42:00.000-07:00

Journal Day Six (and three quarters)

I'm having trouble handling stress lately. last night a friend of mine canceled on me... well he didn't cancel on me exactly. We had plans to hang out sometime around midnight - there are a bunch of things that we need to talk about and we were going to deal with them last night. So he called me at 11 to let me know that his prior engagement was done and that he was free, but that he had to get upo at seven and therefor had to be in bed by midnight. Now it would have taken me twenty minutes to get to him, so that would have left us forty minutes to talk. The converstaion - when it finally happens - will probably be several hours long, or fifteen minutes. All of this depends on how much longer it takes for us to find time to sit down and talk. Right now i am working very hard to organize my time and figure out what I need emotionally, physically, and mentally. One of my largest current emotional issues relates to this friend. I don't want to just write off the confliction we're having, but I can't handle dealing with it or worrying about it much longer before I lose my mind, or something quite like it. So after I get off the phone with him last night, I scream many profanities and explatives at my phone... while standing in a bar parking lot nonetheless. Ugh. I have no idea how I'm going to get this kid to sit down and talk to me. he wants to have this conversation, but he's in the middle of moving and it seems that he's too busy being a geek to have time for this. I think i'm going to go punch something now... like a cigarette... in the non filter end... with a lighter... yeah... lighter and cigarette... yeah

2005-09-27T13:13:00.000-07:00

Journal Day 5.5

So I was bad and didn't get around to posting yesterday, but... I wasn't near a computer until 7 this morning and at that point my bed was screaming my name. Went to see the pope yesterday again (aka Our Lady Peace, this atheist's 2nd favorite band). When we went to see tham in Montreal, it was incredible, a perfect experience. Yesterday was nice, but in many ways the antithesis of the last show. We left the school for Boston at ten thirty yesterday, a half hour late. By the time we got to Topsham, nearly two hours away, I realized that i had forgotten three of the five tickets. We turned around and drove back to Waterville where we met my roommate's boy who had driven who brought them down to us. Then we got lost in new hampshire trying to find cigarettes, then we got lost in Boston. Then the three of us girls stood holding our spot in the windy rain for two hours while the boys sat at the bar and got their drink on. Then the crowd was horrible and my roommate nearly got squashed, then I almost had fistacuffs with this cunt who was trying to push past me. Then we waited at the back of the venue for two hours waiting for the band member sto come out and the one I hadn't met at the last show and who I needed to sigh my CD didn't come out until 4am, two hours after we had to leave. But overall it was a great show. My friend Jess and i talked to Duncan the bassist again and I got up the nerve to tell him how their music saved my life. Then he smiled at us during the show and gave us the thumbs up. As they were finishing the one songthat helped more than any other, I mouthed thank you to Raine, the lead singer. He smiled, nodded and mouthed your welcome. I'm still on an OLP high... talk to you tomorrow

2005-09-25T10:23:00.000-07:00

Journal Day Four

I don't want to go to work. I don't want to do my laundry. I don't want to do my homework. I don't want to take a shower. I don't want to clean my room. I don't want to clean out my car. I don't want to brush my teeth. I just want to crawl into bed with a good book, a cuddly boy and lay around in my pajamas all day. When do I get that? OK, so now I have to go do all the things I don't want to do... yay!

2005-09-25T09:47:00.000-07:00

Story: Three Creative or Not So Creative Ways

Non-fiction
I went to a concert in Montreal a few weeks ago, the best concert of my life, hell it was the best day of my life. The doors didn't open until 6:30, but we were in line by 1:30. While we were sitting in line, we met these really awesome kids. One of them was really adept at meeting band members before shows, so he would sneak off and wait out back every so often to see if the band had shown up yet. Finally they did. He called on of his friends still sitting in line with us and she pulled my friend Jess and I out back with her. I should pause now to explain that I'm, an Aethiest and music is my religion. The band we were going to see is my second favorite and therefor, I compare meeting them to meeting the Pope. We go out back and the only band member that hadn't made it inside was the Lead Singer... my favorite member of the band. Another girl was having her picture taken, so I handed my camera to Jess and when He was done I got up the balls to ask him if I could have my picture taken. He wasn't gruff exactly, but I could tell He wanted to get into the building so I felt bad. The look on my face in the picture is absolute pure bliss. After the picture was taken he managed to get in the building and I started shaking a little and giggling like a school girl. I nearly cried, but managed to hold it in. However, for the next hour... ok two days, I'd do a little jump and squeak that I had touched Him.

Creative Non-fiction
Two friends and I drove seven hours to Montreal to spend two nights in hostel and try to survive on limited funds. That was great, but the point of the trip was spiritual... to see our favorite band live, in a small venue. For two of us, it was our first time. After driving seven hours we figured it would be a waste to not be in the front row. The doors didn't open until 6:30, but we were in line by 1, making us eighth, ninth, and tenth in line. As we sat down to hold our spots, I resolved myself to six hours of reading with bathroom breaks. However, the kids in line in front of us turned out to be awesome, only furthering my conclusions that Canadians are cooler than Americans. Instead of reading for nearly seven hours, we made friends. Mike, one of the kids in front of us, was really adept at meeting band members before shows, so he woould sneak off and wait out back every so often to see if the band had shown up yet. Finally they did. He called on of his friends still sitting in line with us and she pulled my friend Jess and I out back with her. I should pause now to explain that I'm, an Aethiest and music is my religion, therefor meeting my favorite band would be like meeting the Pope to a Catholic. We go out back and the only band member that hadn't made it inside was the Lead Singer... my favorite member of the band. Another girl was having her picture taken, so I handed my camera to Jess and when He was done I got up the balls to ask him if I could have my picture taken. He gladly said yes and slid his arm around me. To this day I'm still in a bit of shock that He touched me. The look on my face in the picture is absolute pure bliss. After the picture was taken he managed to get in the building and I started shaking a little and giggling like a school girl. I managed not to cry, but I definitely teared up. To this day I still have these moments where I'm in shock that I even went to the concert, let alone touched Him... hehe

Fiction... kinda
Two friends and I drove to Montreal to see the greastest band on this Earth, Our Lady Peace. We had decided that since they were a Canadian band, it'd be better to see them in Canada. We had problems on the drive up, so it ended up taking us ten hours. We ended up having to spend the night before the concert in our car baecause we missed check in time at the hostel. Since we didn't have anything else to do before the show due to a lack of a place to stay, we got in line at 10, making us the first poeple in line. The doors didn't open until 6:30. My friends wanted to go get food, so I told them that i would wait in line while they went off and did stuff. I resolved myself to eight and a half hours of reading with bathroom breaks and a sore ass. However kids in line behind us turned out to be awesome, only furthering my conclusions that Canadians are cooler than Americans. Instead of reading for nearly eight hours, we made friends. Mike, one of the kids in front of us, was really adept at meeting band members before shows, so he would sneak off and wait out back every so often to see if the band had shown up yet. Finally they did. He called on of his friends still sitting in line with us to tell they had shown up. She pulled my friend Jess and I out back with her. I should pause now to explain that I'm, an Aethiest and music is my religion, therefor meeting my favorite band would be like meeting God to a Christian. We go out back and there they are. Mike was standin there talking to them. I gathered up all my courage and joined in on the converstaion. By the time we were done I had my picture taken with every band member, gotten tons of stuff signed and back stage passes for after the show. One of the lines in their new single is "This could be the best day of my life." It was the best day of my life. To this day every time I think about the amazing events of the day, I cry.

2005-09-24T13:25:00.000-07:00

Journal Day Three

When one carefully builds a card house of lies around them, they ususally are able to convince themselves that is actually made of brick and mortar. Such is the case with my roommate. My goal last night was to get out of work, go have a few drinks at my friends, drive home (post sobering up), go to bed by 2 and get up at niine to do home work. I didn't get to sleep until 5:30. For privacy reasons, we'll call my roommate... April. Now, April can be the greatest person you've ever met... but she can also be the worst person you've ever known. She's moody to the point that borders schizophrenia. Anywho... it all came down on her last night, between six months to a year of lying to the people who care about her the most, from the small white lies to the "OMFG, how could you" lies. We fought. Not just me but our friend Jess, and her on again off again boyfriend. We all cried, I screamed horrible things at her, woke up an RA in the middle of the night to check on her. She yelled at us, told us it didn't concern us, and told us we didn't matter, I called her a useless two faced bitch and that she deserved everything that was happening. She's one of my closest friends, but I can't handle lying, it makes me want to fight. I even made her engage me in a physical tussle. It didn't work, I was afraid I was going to hurt her and merely ended up holding her off the ground while she tried to break things. There was no getting through to her. I finally let her go. We're all worried and angry and me... I don't know how to cope with this. When I'm emotionally where she is now, I hurt myself, I don't know how to deal with people that take out on others. She won't talk to us... I'm sorry, i can't deal with this right now, maybe I'll come back later and finish, maybe not.

2005-09-23T14:03:00.000-07:00

Journal Day Two
I hate boys, but I love them at the same time. i get along better with boys than most girls, and we make great friends. It's not until their penises or my interest in their penises gets involved that i start to have issues. I was up late last night doing my home work and I thought a lot about the boys in my life and how they are all similar and different. I'm still compiling information, but when I'm done, I'll let you know my conclusions. I'm mad excited about Halloween. I'ts my favorite holiday, but it never seems to pan out to be as good as it could be. This year, though i am the controler of my own holiday destiny. We're having a party, with real invitations and everything. Three of us planning a party, three wallets funding it, three groups of friends. I can't wait. We were at Wal-Mart today looking at the Halloween sshhtuff when we realized what we needed to do. I know it may seem early to start planning, but we need to get invitations out soon if we're going to pull it off, so tommorrow, after I'm done my homework, we're going to make up the guest list and such. I can't wait. Yay... more tommorow

2005-09-23T12:29:00.000-07:00

Dialogue piece

It takes me awhile to get in and out of the car and I knew that if I took my time, he'd hang back. Gathering my essentials, keys, lighter, cancer sticks, and cell phone, I rolled the window up and locked the door. I began to walk towards the building when i saw the look in his eye and stopped.
"Hey you..." I said unsure of his emotions.
"Have I ever told you I'm a moody boy?"
I began to respond when he grabbed ahold of me.
Pulling away several moments later, "I think I know what mood you're in now."
"Maybe."
" But you have to go play with the geeks."
"The game should only last another hour or two, and you have homework, young lady."
"But..."
"No buts about it, you have to go do your homework."
I slipped my arm around his waist and pulled him towards me.
"Ok, I'll go do my homework, but I want you to think about this while you're playing..."

2005-09-23T01:39:00.000-07:00

Journal Day One

Today was bad. It was a fruitless day, one of those days when everything that was supposed to happen kept not happening. I was supposed to get up early and do homework, but got distracted by carnal pleasure. I was supposed to take a one hour nap, but it turned into two hours and I missed dinner. I was supposed to spend the whole evening on Eng 162, and didn't get started til midnight. I was supposed to go drinking at a friend's but she was asleep when we got there. I was supposed to go to Denny's with my roommate and her boy, but they decided to go off and do... I was supposed to have a friend over tonight so that we could talk about some issues in our friendship, but he didn't get his homework done, so he had to go to bed early so he could do it in the morning. I was supposed to be happy, but I'm not. I had a horrible dream involving a $500 dollar cell phone bill, but didn't realize until three hours after my nap was over that that was the reason for my mood crappiness, by that time, it was too set in for me to pull out of it. I've been on such an emotional high the last few weeks that i've found the time and energy to ignore the reality of my life. Now it's all crashing down on my shoulders and I can feel myself crumbling. I'm scared.

2005-09-23T01:15:00.000-07:00

I love to write. I consider my self to be an artist, and the engish language is my favorite medium. At times, it's all i can do to get the words out fast enough. Other times, it's like trying to squeeze blood from a rock. Damn near impossible, but if you're determined enough, anything can be done. I'm an emotional wreck and at times in my life, the only person I felt comfortable talking to was myself, but that can get a person put away so I used a number two pencil and college ruled paper to get it out, to pull it out fromt the scary places within myself. Writing is not only my art form, it's my escapism. It's my therapist, my best friend. It's my confidant and my worst enemy. Sometimes I not only hate what i write, but hate myself for writing it.

You're a great writer, but so unpredictable and inconsistent. Why can't you write like this all the time. Your command of the English language is phenomonal, the way you use words shocks and amazes me, but then I don't see any work, or any work worth noticing for months or years on end. You're a force to be reckoned with when you're on the ball, but when you drop it, you seem like a blind person fumbling for a needle in a haystack. You can tell when you've picked it back up, because your work is shocking like someone who has been stuck with a needle when they think they're looking fo a ball. You're style varies, but it's all the same. It's always about you even when you're not involved, you self centered, egotistical, drunk on yourself little bitch.

She needs to work on this and she needs to work on that, but her work is emotionally challenging to the reader. One moment you love her, the next you want to punch her. Her collections are varied, but even in her fiction you can see her shining through. She's like a tornado, dropping out of the sky and tearing this house apart, but ignoring the barn. One needs to beware her quick tipped fingers, for her fury flows out of them like lava out of the depths of our planet. Then just as quickly her tone changes and you see a sad little girl curled in the corner crying, a nurturing mother hen clucking over her band of friends, a sensational lover bringing men to their knees in pleasure, a laughing college coed blowing bubbles in the dark. She is everything you love and fear and it all comes through her writing. Beware the girl witht he writer's gleam in her eye... you could be her next vicitm, or her next hero and in her world it's hard to say which is worst.

2005-09-13T06:47:00.000-07:00

It’s only been a couple hours since I arrived, maybe three. The lights were bright, the movement disturbing, the people hateful. Now I’m alone… in the children’s ward. That’s a laugh, considering my sins, considering why I’m here at all. I lie in bed, the tastes of the night mingling in my mouth, the fears of the night pressing down on my chest. I begin to roll on my side and emit a short squeak, settle back again and stare at the ceiling once again. A tear begins to roll down my cheek, I realize I have yet to cry. I begin to laugh at the absurdity of that, breaking the eerie silence. I stop quickly, afraid someone will come. I let the cries flow down my cheek and begin to shake. I hit my hand on something, the pain makes me cry harder. I pull myself into a ball and hold myself, a whisper escaping my lips. All I want is my mother, and she’s three hours away.