- I am intelligent
- I am well spoken
- I already blog! Woot!
- I'm very interested in people
- I grew up somewhere poor?
- I don't snore
- I'm a good writer
- umm...
All right.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Rough Draft
Why I should go to Africa...
All right.
All right.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
25
Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.
(To do this, go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.)
1. I was born on the coldest, shortest day of the year... go figure I love sunshine and daylight.
2. I dream a lot.
3. I had to suck my thumb to fall asleep until I was like, ELEVEN, and, if you believe my slumber party buddies, I still do in my sleep sometimes.
4. I LOVE Forest Gump, and once, when I was sick in the third grade, watched it four times in a row. Like, literally in a row.
5. I cry a lot, too. But hey! It's totally healthy!
6. I loooove music. Life happens in rhythm, meter and rhyme. Music is everywhere.
7. I always wish on eyelashes, stars, and backward necklaces. Always.
8. I read my horoscope daily and take what I read into serious consideration.
9. My feet sweat a lot. (Yum)
10. I orgasm easily and frequently. Maybe that's more than you needed to know, but if you could cum 20 times in an hour, you'd brag too.
11. The first time I heard Abbey Road all the way through I cried.
12. I also got teary singing, once, too. I was part of the Region Choir singing a piece called Ring Out, Wild Bells my junior year of high school. Music makes me emotional.
13. Speakin of high school, I was nominated my senior year as "wittiest," but I REALLY wanted to win "most talented"
14. When I was little, I thought Bob Saget on America's Funniest Home Videos and Bill Nye the Science Guy were one and the same, and probably related to my father (I was wrong)
15. I once had a pet chick that I won at a church carnival. It used to follow me around n molt all over my house, til a snake ate it.
16. Sometimes, when I'm bored/lonely, I replay moments from arrested development in my head and laugh and laugh and LAUGH... oh how I laugh...
17. I'm having a hard time stayin on task. 17 is good enough, right?
(To do this, go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.)
1. I was born on the coldest, shortest day of the year... go figure I love sunshine and daylight.
2. I dream a lot.
3. I had to suck my thumb to fall asleep until I was like, ELEVEN, and, if you believe my slumber party buddies, I still do in my sleep sometimes.
4. I LOVE Forest Gump, and once, when I was sick in the third grade, watched it four times in a row. Like, literally in a row.
5. I cry a lot, too. But hey! It's totally healthy!
6. I loooove music. Life happens in rhythm, meter and rhyme. Music is everywhere.
7. I always wish on eyelashes, stars, and backward necklaces. Always.
8. I read my horoscope daily and take what I read into serious consideration.
9. My feet sweat a lot. (Yum)
10. I orgasm easily and frequently. Maybe that's more than you needed to know, but if you could cum 20 times in an hour, you'd brag too.
11. The first time I heard Abbey Road all the way through I cried.
12. I also got teary singing, once, too. I was part of the Region Choir singing a piece called Ring Out, Wild Bells my junior year of high school. Music makes me emotional.
13. Speakin of high school, I was nominated my senior year as "wittiest," but I REALLY wanted to win "most talented"
14. When I was little, I thought Bob Saget on America's Funniest Home Videos and Bill Nye the Science Guy were one and the same, and probably related to my father (I was wrong)
15. I once had a pet chick that I won at a church carnival. It used to follow me around n molt all over my house, til a snake ate it.
16. Sometimes, when I'm bored/lonely, I replay moments from arrested development in my head and laugh and laugh and LAUGH... oh how I laugh...
17. I'm having a hard time stayin on task. 17 is good enough, right?
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Interpretation and Explanation
So I put "dreams about killing" into Google to see what came up.
My favs:
My favs:
- If the dreamer is killing an enemy, this implies the end of a difficult time in his life attained through his own efforts.
- Dream workers find the most useful way to approach these dreams is to first see that the deaths and slayings are not meant to be taken literally, but rather symbolically. This becomes especially clear when we kill figures that don't even exist in waking life. The image of death taken symbolically can mean many things, one of which can be the death of an old attitude or personality trait or behavior pattern. In this way the whole sense of the dream is reversed, and death becomes a doorway to a new way of living.
- To dream that you kill someone, indicates that heavy stress may cause you to lose your temper and self-control.
- To dream that you have committed a murder, indicates that you are putting an end to an old habit and your former ways of thinking.
Game
The bathroom, like most high school bathrooms, smells like urine and mold. The sea green walls and florescent lighting make the entire environment feel sick and hopeless. Looking into the mirror, I feel sick and hopeless, too.
My round-collared button down shirt is wrinkled and stained. My plaid skirt twists and pulls around my waist. As I tug my sinking sock - the final atrocity of this cliche, ugly uniform - I wiggle my toes in my pinching Mary Janes. I can't wait to get home and out of this suffocating costume and every bad, angry thing it represents.
I run my fingers through my matted, sweaty hair and choke back the stench of vomit and bleach radiating from the sink. I close my eyes and focus on the symphony of the sputtering air conditioner and rhythmic drip of a leaky sink. Toilets hum and cough. Pipes slosh.
Voices.
My spidey sense tingles to the tune of the low whispers. Female voices. Of course. This is a woman's bathroom, after all. But any female can mean only mean bad things for me right now, and with my heavy sighs and careless, stomping entrance, I know those muttered conspirings could only be about me.
They come from the other end of the large bathroom, twenty stalls or more deep. The whisperers themselves stand next to the outside door, my path to freedom. I can't go through the door that led me into this stinking sanctuary - that door leads back to the inside of the school, and knee deep into more trouble than the two conspirators can bring. No, I have to go through that outside exit, the one that will take me across the lacrosse field, over the chain link fence, and out of this hell hole. But to get through that door, I have to get through these girls. Whoever they are.
Light, light steps carry me to the wall of the nearest stall, so they would be coming around the corner toward me, and I would have the element of surprise. Whether I want to or not, I know what I have to do, and I am prepared to do it.
The whisperers bite a final conclusion. Minds have been made up and plans have been formed. Tight, military style tip toes carry one girl out my escape route (MY escape route. The glowing exit sign has become my guiding light, and the fresh air on the other side the final stage of this dirty video game) The other girl pauses, as if to gather resolve. Then, on quick mouse feet, she heads toward me.
I am ready.
As she nears the last stall, I tense, and as soon as I see a flash of gray wool sock, I swing my arm around the corner with a strength I didn't know I had. My elbow locks and the heel of my hand tears upward, connecting with her nose and knocking her backward. I feel the softness of her skin, the moistness of her mouth, and I feel the cartilage of her nose give way under my palm. He head flies back and her eyes pop open. I recognize her crunchy, red died hair and her smeared blue eye shadow. I recognize her small, mousy frame and whiny, smug voice, the one that whimpers now. I had seen her smile as she held the plastic bag over Diana's head, and watched her as she tightened the cord from the window blind around Melanie's neck. She knew, as I did, that I knew too much. And I must have been the only one left now, if she was finally coming after me.
"Sarah."
I say her name, but I don't know why. I don't want to reason with her, befriend her, or even taunt her. Sarah is not a girl who one could really trust, especially not in a game like this. Besides, I had just broken her nose. She knew it was on. I said her name to label her, to feel the bitterness of all that she was in my mouth. It is resolve to help me get through this, this that I have to do.
She steps back, both hands clutching her face. Blood pours out from between her fingers. All I see of her face is her wide, blue ringed eyes and her hands forming a mask, fingers like teeth soaking in sinister blood.
She had dropped a chain! A heavy, metal chain. It must have been what she was going to use on me. While she is still reeling, blood dripping on her oxford shoes and high pitched curses coming from out between her fingers, I grab the chain. It's a little ghetto for me, a middle class white girl whose never had to use a weapon before, especially not one as crude and cruel as this one.
Foreign to me or not, I've seen movies. I know what in need to do. I swing the chain like a rope, whipping her across her cheek. Blood trickles out her ear.
"Why are you doing this?" I plead to her, and flash the chain again. Sarah is now on her knees. She crawls inside the nearest stall.
"I never wanted to be a part of this! Can't you see what you've done?" I come up behind her and grab her bloody head of hair with one fist. She struggles and screams, finally dropping her hand from her face. Blood drips onto the toilet seat.
"I'm not a violent person," I reason with her, and push her head into the toilet. "I tried to stay away from this as long as I could." She flails and waves her arms. With one foot I step on her hand, then press my other knee into her back. "You just never should have come after me." Leaning a little bit, I reach and flush the toilet. Sarah kicks and bucks. Her shoulders twitch and she tries to shove her head backward. Bubbly screams come from inside the bowl. And then...
it's over.
I feel no pity for her, just remorse that it had to come to this end, and disgust at the blood and toilet water staining my already messy uniform. I really need a bath now.
But I can't rest yet. If Sarah was sent after me, than that must mean Rebecca was the one doing the sending. And Rebecca is much more dangerous than mousy little Sarah.
The game was Rebecca's idea after all. She always did like violence and power. And she was smart, too, which is why she probably sent Sarah after me. She must have known I wouldn't be taken down easily. It's better for her to let us duke it out and then deal with the survivor herself. Only one girl can win in the end.
I move toward the exit I heard her leave through. The exit holding my sweet, sweet freedom from this place. I have to be prepared, I have to be ready to-
The door swings open, and I'm face to face with the tiny Rebecca Peterson. Her trademark bandanna - purple today - forms a homemade headband. Her short hair and delicate features combine to form the innocent, pixie-like facade she hides behind so well. Bitch.
"Oh, hey, Ca-" before Rebecca can get out her fake, time-buying greeting, I grab her wrist and swing it around her body, pinning her arm behind her back. Our face-to-face meeting caught us both by surprise, and the chain... the chain... where is my chain?! Shit! I see it in my minds eye lying next to Sarah's lifeless body. All I have on Rebecca is strength, and I plan on using it.
With my left hand, I push her left wrist up higher and higher into her back. I've done this before, I can do it again. How far do I have to twist again?
"Sarah's dead." I push her into the nearest stall, buying my own time before her arm finally gives away. "Now hold still, so I don't have to break your arm." I lock the door behind us, and press her face up against the door, smearing her makeup into the faded graffiti of who loves who.
"Fine, fine, I'll cooperate." Rebecca winces, but I see her eyes dart and sparkle as she plans. Her right hand tightens around something.
Now just a little more... when will this give way? I push a little harder, Rebecca's hand almost to her hair, and then I finally hear the snap of torn bone and muscle. Her shoulder sags, and her elbow flops. She screams.
"I thought you said you wouldn't break my arm!" Her right hand flails around, trying to grab me.
"I meant I wouldn't break this arm." I grab her right wrist and let her left arm flop. It's useless now. I squeeze her wrist to make her palm open. Inside is a plastic HEB bag. "Is this what you were planning on using on me?" I let the bag flop and drive her own right elbow deep into her spine. No mercy now. I have to immobilize her other arm.
The second time around, breaking her arm will be much easier. I push her elbow higher and higher, twisting her around like a contortionist. Behind my strength is a fury of what she's done, as well as the confidence from what I've just done. And the hope of the finish line, the last burst of energy that this will all be over soon... Snap.
And there it goes. She's worthless now, a floppy, armless freak, and entirely at my disposal. I leave her leaning on her cheek against the door as she cries. She can't open it to run away. Pathetic. I pick up the plastic bag off the floor, and fold it in half.
"What did you think was going to happen, Rebecca?" I fold the bag in half again. "Did you really think you would win, that you could be the last one standing?" I fold the bag in half again. "I never wanted to be a part of this. I didn't jump on your sadistic little bandwagon like everyone else, and I didn't go after anyone either." I fold the bag in half again. Now it's only an inch wide, and a foot and a half long. "But you had to send your little minion after me. You had to include me- even though I was totally content on the sidelines watching!- and I won't go down without a fight." I hold the bag up in front of her face with one hand and grab her dead wrists behind her back with the other. I turn her toward me. "Is this what you were planning on using against me? A fucking plastic bag?? I saw you turn this useless thing into a weapon before. Don't think I don't know how this works."
I rope the bag around her neck like a wide plastic ribbon. Holding both ends in one hand, I tighten it as hard as I can. I use the other hand to steady her half dead body. Rebecca is turning blue. Her head flops back and forth like 'no no no' but I steady her, and tighten the bag even more. She weakens, trembles, and her head flops down a little bit. She's almost gone. Just a few more minutes to make sure she's dead, and then I can leave, go home, and...
The bathroom door opens. Shit! I'm going to have to wait until this person - oh, no, a conversation - these people leave. I count voices. One, two, three, four, five, six. At least six girls have come in. Damn that stereotype that girls can't go to the bathroom alone. I'm just going to have to wait til they leave. I hear them talk. Stupid shit. Boys, and teachers, and TV drama. Blah blah blah. Rebecca trembles and slurs in my arms, and I know she's already far enough gone.
Just a few more minutes of waiting... just let me hear them pee and wash their hands and redo their lip gloss...
"Hey, look at this."
Just another line in the mindless dialogue between the stupid barbie dolls, but my spidey sense tingles again. "Check out what's written on this wall." I peer out between the crack in the stall and see a girl (a junior, obviously, since all the girls in my grade are dead now) with long brown hair and a perfect white headband reading something off the wall of the stall across from me. Those stalls are shorter, and only come up to her nose, so I can see her eyes narrow as she reads. The other girls gather around her.
"Notice to all girls in the St. Jude Catholic School for Girls, class of 2009. The game has started. The rules are as follows: 1. Never pair up to take someone down. Every mark must be made one on one or it doesn't count! 2. No firearms or knives. Let's get creative, ladies! 3. Every death is one point. The person with the highest number of points is the winner, and therefore, the most popular. Let's see if you can take my crown... Signed, Rebecca K. Peterson, Freshman Lady '06, Sophomore Duchess '07, Junior Princess '08, and reigning Prom Queen, 2009."
My stomach sinks. The dumb bitch in my arms posted the rules on the bathroom wall. Did she think she would never get caught?
"What's that all about?"
"This is crazy."
The younger girls continue their conversation. I'm getting restless. This may mean they won't be out of here for a while.
"Ya know, I haven't really seen any senior girls around in a while..."
"Do you think it's real?"
"Hey, something moved in that stall."
The eyes of the six girls turn toward the stall where I stand. Uh oh. What am I going to do? First, I gotta put this body down and prepare myself. I prop the lifeless Rebecca on the toilet seat. Her head flops forward, and, in some sick form of a death roll, her mouth opens and with a retch, she pukes chunky, dark red blood all over the floor. I step back so it doesn't get on my shoes.
Muttering outside my stall. After today, I know low female voices are never a good sign. Through the crack of the stall door, I see the lead girl, a tall giant of an almost-woman with amber colored hair, move toward me. I swing the door open and step outside.
"Hey, what's up?" I put on my best friendly smile. It doesn't seem to be working.
"What are you doing?" The behemoth gets in my face. Damn it, I won't be able to take all of them. My eyes stretch toward the closed outside exit. Just a few steps and I'll be there...
"Just doing what you do in a bathroom." No wonder everyone is glaring at me. I'm a mess. Blood and sweat mark my clothes, and I know I smell like toilet water. Still gotta smile... "What are you guys doing? Don't you have class?" Please leave. Please, please leave. I hold on to the handle of the door behind my back.
"Lunch." The Amazon states matter-of-factly. "What's inside there?" She tries to push past me.
"Oh, I wouldn't go in there if I were you! I have a pretty upset stomach." I smile a don't-you-hate-it-when-that-happens! smile. Hopefully, they'll emphasize and move on.
"Yeah, we heard." The lead girl smirks. She must mean the splatter of Rebecca's puke echoing across the floor. Some of the girls laugh. Bitches. But I'll let them think I had the worst case of diarrhea in the world if that means they don't find the body... "But you didn't flush." She pushes me aside again, and this time my hands separate from the handle.
"I can do it! Really, it's my mess!" I plead with her, but she's swinging the door open. Oh no oh no oh no Her face contorts as she sees whats inside... there's no where to run I'm doooomed...
And then I wake up.
My round-collared button down shirt is wrinkled and stained. My plaid skirt twists and pulls around my waist. As I tug my sinking sock - the final atrocity of this cliche, ugly uniform - I wiggle my toes in my pinching Mary Janes. I can't wait to get home and out of this suffocating costume and every bad, angry thing it represents.
I run my fingers through my matted, sweaty hair and choke back the stench of vomit and bleach radiating from the sink. I close my eyes and focus on the symphony of the sputtering air conditioner and rhythmic drip of a leaky sink. Toilets hum and cough. Pipes slosh.
Voices.
My spidey sense tingles to the tune of the low whispers. Female voices. Of course. This is a woman's bathroom, after all. But any female can mean only mean bad things for me right now, and with my heavy sighs and careless, stomping entrance, I know those muttered conspirings could only be about me.
They come from the other end of the large bathroom, twenty stalls or more deep. The whisperers themselves stand next to the outside door, my path to freedom. I can't go through the door that led me into this stinking sanctuary - that door leads back to the inside of the school, and knee deep into more trouble than the two conspirators can bring. No, I have to go through that outside exit, the one that will take me across the lacrosse field, over the chain link fence, and out of this hell hole. But to get through that door, I have to get through these girls. Whoever they are.
Light, light steps carry me to the wall of the nearest stall, so they would be coming around the corner toward me, and I would have the element of surprise. Whether I want to or not, I know what I have to do, and I am prepared to do it.
The whisperers bite a final conclusion. Minds have been made up and plans have been formed. Tight, military style tip toes carry one girl out my escape route (MY escape route. The glowing exit sign has become my guiding light, and the fresh air on the other side the final stage of this dirty video game) The other girl pauses, as if to gather resolve. Then, on quick mouse feet, she heads toward me.
I am ready.
As she nears the last stall, I tense, and as soon as I see a flash of gray wool sock, I swing my arm around the corner with a strength I didn't know I had. My elbow locks and the heel of my hand tears upward, connecting with her nose and knocking her backward. I feel the softness of her skin, the moistness of her mouth, and I feel the cartilage of her nose give way under my palm. He head flies back and her eyes pop open. I recognize her crunchy, red died hair and her smeared blue eye shadow. I recognize her small, mousy frame and whiny, smug voice, the one that whimpers now. I had seen her smile as she held the plastic bag over Diana's head, and watched her as she tightened the cord from the window blind around Melanie's neck. She knew, as I did, that I knew too much. And I must have been the only one left now, if she was finally coming after me.
"Sarah."
I say her name, but I don't know why. I don't want to reason with her, befriend her, or even taunt her. Sarah is not a girl who one could really trust, especially not in a game like this. Besides, I had just broken her nose. She knew it was on. I said her name to label her, to feel the bitterness of all that she was in my mouth. It is resolve to help me get through this, this that I have to do.
She steps back, both hands clutching her face. Blood pours out from between her fingers. All I see of her face is her wide, blue ringed eyes and her hands forming a mask, fingers like teeth soaking in sinister blood.
She had dropped a chain! A heavy, metal chain. It must have been what she was going to use on me. While she is still reeling, blood dripping on her oxford shoes and high pitched curses coming from out between her fingers, I grab the chain. It's a little ghetto for me, a middle class white girl whose never had to use a weapon before, especially not one as crude and cruel as this one.
Foreign to me or not, I've seen movies. I know what in need to do. I swing the chain like a rope, whipping her across her cheek. Blood trickles out her ear.
"Why are you doing this?" I plead to her, and flash the chain again. Sarah is now on her knees. She crawls inside the nearest stall.
"I never wanted to be a part of this! Can't you see what you've done?" I come up behind her and grab her bloody head of hair with one fist. She struggles and screams, finally dropping her hand from her face. Blood drips onto the toilet seat.
"I'm not a violent person," I reason with her, and push her head into the toilet. "I tried to stay away from this as long as I could." She flails and waves her arms. With one foot I step on her hand, then press my other knee into her back. "You just never should have come after me." Leaning a little bit, I reach and flush the toilet. Sarah kicks and bucks. Her shoulders twitch and she tries to shove her head backward. Bubbly screams come from inside the bowl. And then...
it's over.
I feel no pity for her, just remorse that it had to come to this end, and disgust at the blood and toilet water staining my already messy uniform. I really need a bath now.
But I can't rest yet. If Sarah was sent after me, than that must mean Rebecca was the one doing the sending. And Rebecca is much more dangerous than mousy little Sarah.
The game was Rebecca's idea after all. She always did like violence and power. And she was smart, too, which is why she probably sent Sarah after me. She must have known I wouldn't be taken down easily. It's better for her to let us duke it out and then deal with the survivor herself. Only one girl can win in the end.
I move toward the exit I heard her leave through. The exit holding my sweet, sweet freedom from this place. I have to be prepared, I have to be ready to-
The door swings open, and I'm face to face with the tiny Rebecca Peterson. Her trademark bandanna - purple today - forms a homemade headband. Her short hair and delicate features combine to form the innocent, pixie-like facade she hides behind so well. Bitch.
"Oh, hey, Ca-" before Rebecca can get out her fake, time-buying greeting, I grab her wrist and swing it around her body, pinning her arm behind her back. Our face-to-face meeting caught us both by surprise, and the chain... the chain... where is my chain?! Shit! I see it in my minds eye lying next to Sarah's lifeless body. All I have on Rebecca is strength, and I plan on using it.
With my left hand, I push her left wrist up higher and higher into her back. I've done this before, I can do it again. How far do I have to twist again?
"Sarah's dead." I push her into the nearest stall, buying my own time before her arm finally gives away. "Now hold still, so I don't have to break your arm." I lock the door behind us, and press her face up against the door, smearing her makeup into the faded graffiti of who loves who.
"Fine, fine, I'll cooperate." Rebecca winces, but I see her eyes dart and sparkle as she plans. Her right hand tightens around something.
Now just a little more... when will this give way? I push a little harder, Rebecca's hand almost to her hair, and then I finally hear the snap of torn bone and muscle. Her shoulder sags, and her elbow flops. She screams.
"I thought you said you wouldn't break my arm!" Her right hand flails around, trying to grab me.
"I meant I wouldn't break this arm." I grab her right wrist and let her left arm flop. It's useless now. I squeeze her wrist to make her palm open. Inside is a plastic HEB bag. "Is this what you were planning on using on me?" I let the bag flop and drive her own right elbow deep into her spine. No mercy now. I have to immobilize her other arm.
The second time around, breaking her arm will be much easier. I push her elbow higher and higher, twisting her around like a contortionist. Behind my strength is a fury of what she's done, as well as the confidence from what I've just done. And the hope of the finish line, the last burst of energy that this will all be over soon... Snap.
And there it goes. She's worthless now, a floppy, armless freak, and entirely at my disposal. I leave her leaning on her cheek against the door as she cries. She can't open it to run away. Pathetic. I pick up the plastic bag off the floor, and fold it in half.
"What did you think was going to happen, Rebecca?" I fold the bag in half again. "Did you really think you would win, that you could be the last one standing?" I fold the bag in half again. "I never wanted to be a part of this. I didn't jump on your sadistic little bandwagon like everyone else, and I didn't go after anyone either." I fold the bag in half again. Now it's only an inch wide, and a foot and a half long. "But you had to send your little minion after me. You had to include me- even though I was totally content on the sidelines watching!- and I won't go down without a fight." I hold the bag up in front of her face with one hand and grab her dead wrists behind her back with the other. I turn her toward me. "Is this what you were planning on using against me? A fucking plastic bag?? I saw you turn this useless thing into a weapon before. Don't think I don't know how this works."
I rope the bag around her neck like a wide plastic ribbon. Holding both ends in one hand, I tighten it as hard as I can. I use the other hand to steady her half dead body. Rebecca is turning blue. Her head flops back and forth like 'no no no' but I steady her, and tighten the bag even more. She weakens, trembles, and her head flops down a little bit. She's almost gone. Just a few more minutes to make sure she's dead, and then I can leave, go home, and...
The bathroom door opens. Shit! I'm going to have to wait until this person - oh, no, a conversation - these people leave. I count voices. One, two, three, four, five, six. At least six girls have come in. Damn that stereotype that girls can't go to the bathroom alone. I'm just going to have to wait til they leave. I hear them talk. Stupid shit. Boys, and teachers, and TV drama. Blah blah blah. Rebecca trembles and slurs in my arms, and I know she's already far enough gone.
Just a few more minutes of waiting... just let me hear them pee and wash their hands and redo their lip gloss...
"Hey, look at this."
Just another line in the mindless dialogue between the stupid barbie dolls, but my spidey sense tingles again. "Check out what's written on this wall." I peer out between the crack in the stall and see a girl (a junior, obviously, since all the girls in my grade are dead now) with long brown hair and a perfect white headband reading something off the wall of the stall across from me. Those stalls are shorter, and only come up to her nose, so I can see her eyes narrow as she reads. The other girls gather around her.
"Notice to all girls in the St. Jude Catholic School for Girls, class of 2009. The game has started. The rules are as follows: 1. Never pair up to take someone down. Every mark must be made one on one or it doesn't count! 2. No firearms or knives. Let's get creative, ladies! 3. Every death is one point. The person with the highest number of points is the winner, and therefore, the most popular. Let's see if you can take my crown... Signed, Rebecca K. Peterson, Freshman Lady '06, Sophomore Duchess '07, Junior Princess '08, and reigning Prom Queen, 2009."
My stomach sinks. The dumb bitch in my arms posted the rules on the bathroom wall. Did she think she would never get caught?
"What's that all about?"
"This is crazy."
The younger girls continue their conversation. I'm getting restless. This may mean they won't be out of here for a while.
"Ya know, I haven't really seen any senior girls around in a while..."
"Do you think it's real?"
"Hey, something moved in that stall."
The eyes of the six girls turn toward the stall where I stand. Uh oh. What am I going to do? First, I gotta put this body down and prepare myself. I prop the lifeless Rebecca on the toilet seat. Her head flops forward, and, in some sick form of a death roll, her mouth opens and with a retch, she pukes chunky, dark red blood all over the floor. I step back so it doesn't get on my shoes.
Muttering outside my stall. After today, I know low female voices are never a good sign. Through the crack of the stall door, I see the lead girl, a tall giant of an almost-woman with amber colored hair, move toward me. I swing the door open and step outside.
"Hey, what's up?" I put on my best friendly smile. It doesn't seem to be working.
"What are you doing?" The behemoth gets in my face. Damn it, I won't be able to take all of them. My eyes stretch toward the closed outside exit. Just a few steps and I'll be there...
"Just doing what you do in a bathroom." No wonder everyone is glaring at me. I'm a mess. Blood and sweat mark my clothes, and I know I smell like toilet water. Still gotta smile... "What are you guys doing? Don't you have class?" Please leave. Please, please leave. I hold on to the handle of the door behind my back.
"Lunch." The Amazon states matter-of-factly. "What's inside there?" She tries to push past me.
"Oh, I wouldn't go in there if I were you! I have a pretty upset stomach." I smile a don't-you-hate-it-when-that-happens! smile. Hopefully, they'll emphasize and move on.
"Yeah, we heard." The lead girl smirks. She must mean the splatter of Rebecca's puke echoing across the floor. Some of the girls laugh. Bitches. But I'll let them think I had the worst case of diarrhea in the world if that means they don't find the body... "But you didn't flush." She pushes me aside again, and this time my hands separate from the handle.
"I can do it! Really, it's my mess!" I plead with her, but she's swinging the door open. Oh no oh no oh no Her face contorts as she sees whats inside... there's no where to run I'm doooomed...
And then I wake up.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Open Letter
This was thrown on me out of the blue.
Something in my psyche knew it was coming- I was dreadful and nervous about you coming back, and I didn't know why; I planned break up talks I couldn't think of needing to use- but you really threw me for a loop saying what you did last night. I feel like the plush Persian rug of our pretty little relationship was just pulled out from underneath me.
What happened in these last two weeks that made you so sure it's not going to work? I know what happened- you fell in some pussy (AND expect me to be OK with that) and went on a life changing trip made to shake your shit up. The cheating is almost expected (still doesn't make it right) but how could you go from being my best friend and a wonderful boyfriend and so in love with me to sure we are totally over?
I know you to your deepest core. I see you for who you are (good, and slimy cheating bad) and love you for it. I know you better than you know yourself, and I know our relationship. I can see and have always been able to see the roles we've given each other, good or bad, and I have been OK with them. We have a codependent relationship because we've built it, built it with full knowledge of what we were doing. I hesitated at first- not wanting to borrow money, always come to you with problems, or stop sleeping without you- but you were so encouraging me in my neediness, you wanted so much to take care of me, that I wallowed in you like a happy little pig covered in the mud of your emotions.
I'm not here to place blame, mostly because I think it will turn you off and stop you from being receptive to what I have to say, but I was totally aware of where we stood with each other. And I thought you were too. I guess you were- the only difference is that I was OK with it, and I guess you weren't.
The positive spin I'm seeing on all this (and hoping you'll, too) is that our problem is not communication, or respect (although cheating isn't very respectful) or love or any relationship killers like that- the problem we have is the roles we've set ourselves up in. Roles can change. We can make our relationship different and be successful at it because we at the core have the beautiful, well oiled motor that keeps all good relationships running- respect, communication, love, and (well, I used to think) a desire to make it work. We still can, and I know you maybe don't want to, but it would really taint the memory of our relationship if you don't at least try.
I'm not trying to say we should get married, I just know once it's over it's over and I'm not sure you realize that. There will be no back treading with this relationship, no 4 AM 'what was I thinking?!' revelations. I refuse to try and fix myself to then have you come back into my life two days, or two weeks, or six months later and turn me into a puddle of myself because you had a change of heart. I cannot stress this enough, so I'll say it again- when it's over, its over. That's why I think we should give it one last shot. It might be a way for us to realize we're not good for each other, but it would be easier for me to ease out of this slowly that to get sent flying through the air just to land on my ass.
This is what I propose we do- two dates a week for the next month. No sleeping over, no dating anyone else (!!), no future plans. Just the two of us hangin out, cookin dinner, going for a hike, getting to know each other on a level we skipped as we went from casually dating to practically married. Let's take a step back and use our romantic relationship like most people do- someone to talk to and have sex with, a warm body whose company you enjoy. Nothing else.
This slow down approach could be really good for us, not just in regards to our relationship, but on a personal, rest-of-your-life-kinda-lesson. You will finally have to be in a relationship where you're not playing daddy, (cuz let's be real, that's what you do) and I will gain the confidence and self sufficiency that comes with standing next to you, but on my own two feet.
And if it doesn't work? If we can't stick to those rules, if we end up bickering the whole month, or we find out we really just don't like each other that much after all... well, it would be easier to have eased out of this s-l-o-w-l-y than this sudden jarring rip that you gave my heart last night. I will be able to prepare myself for a youless life, I won't have any 'what if...?' midnight conversations with myself, and I'll be able to hold on to the respect and trust I've built for you these last four months. I don't want to hate you, and I don't want to become jaded and distrustful of relationships after this. Our relationship meant too much to me to be left with the bitter taste in my mouth of biting down too hard on my tongue.
So do it for me. One last thing for your needy, twenty year old girlfriend. At the very least, try and earn back your karma points you lost when you cheated on someone who thinks the sun shines out of your ass...
If you're reading this, it probably means we already talked. This is just a rough draft of what I want to say to you tonight. (although hopefully with less talk of your infidelity. It hurts, but it's not the big issue here) Maybe you're reading this to get a better understanding of what the fuck I was talking about as you gather my shit from your house, or maybe it'll be a way to install confidence in us making it work. Either way, I'll always have a special place in my heart for you. A Jew shaped scar that I feel with every drop of blood pumpin through...
Don't make the same mistakes again, and I promise I won't.
Caroline
Something in my psyche knew it was coming- I was dreadful and nervous about you coming back, and I didn't know why; I planned break up talks I couldn't think of needing to use- but you really threw me for a loop saying what you did last night. I feel like the plush Persian rug of our pretty little relationship was just pulled out from underneath me.
What happened in these last two weeks that made you so sure it's not going to work? I know what happened- you fell in some pussy (AND expect me to be OK with that) and went on a life changing trip made to shake your shit up. The cheating is almost expected (still doesn't make it right) but how could you go from being my best friend and a wonderful boyfriend and so in love with me to sure we are totally over?
I know you to your deepest core. I see you for who you are (good, and slimy cheating bad) and love you for it. I know you better than you know yourself, and I know our relationship. I can see and have always been able to see the roles we've given each other, good or bad, and I have been OK with them. We have a codependent relationship because we've built it, built it with full knowledge of what we were doing. I hesitated at first- not wanting to borrow money, always come to you with problems, or stop sleeping without you- but you were so encouraging me in my neediness, you wanted so much to take care of me, that I wallowed in you like a happy little pig covered in the mud of your emotions.
I'm not here to place blame, mostly because I think it will turn you off and stop you from being receptive to what I have to say, but I was totally aware of where we stood with each other. And I thought you were too. I guess you were- the only difference is that I was OK with it, and I guess you weren't.
The positive spin I'm seeing on all this (and hoping you'll, too) is that our problem is not communication, or respect (although cheating isn't very respectful) or love or any relationship killers like that- the problem we have is the roles we've set ourselves up in. Roles can change. We can make our relationship different and be successful at it because we at the core have the beautiful, well oiled motor that keeps all good relationships running- respect, communication, love, and (well, I used to think) a desire to make it work. We still can, and I know you maybe don't want to, but it would really taint the memory of our relationship if you don't at least try.
I'm not trying to say we should get married, I just know once it's over it's over and I'm not sure you realize that. There will be no back treading with this relationship, no 4 AM 'what was I thinking?!' revelations. I refuse to try and fix myself to then have you come back into my life two days, or two weeks, or six months later and turn me into a puddle of myself because you had a change of heart. I cannot stress this enough, so I'll say it again- when it's over, its over. That's why I think we should give it one last shot. It might be a way for us to realize we're not good for each other, but it would be easier for me to ease out of this slowly that to get sent flying through the air just to land on my ass.
This is what I propose we do- two dates a week for the next month. No sleeping over, no dating anyone else (!!), no future plans. Just the two of us hangin out, cookin dinner, going for a hike, getting to know each other on a level we skipped as we went from casually dating to practically married. Let's take a step back and use our romantic relationship like most people do- someone to talk to and have sex with, a warm body whose company you enjoy. Nothing else.
This slow down approach could be really good for us, not just in regards to our relationship, but on a personal, rest-of-your-life-kinda-lesson. You will finally have to be in a relationship where you're not playing daddy, (cuz let's be real, that's what you do) and I will gain the confidence and self sufficiency that comes with standing next to you, but on my own two feet.
And if it doesn't work? If we can't stick to those rules, if we end up bickering the whole month, or we find out we really just don't like each other that much after all... well, it would be easier to have eased out of this s-l-o-w-l-y than this sudden jarring rip that you gave my heart last night. I will be able to prepare myself for a youless life, I won't have any 'what if...?' midnight conversations with myself, and I'll be able to hold on to the respect and trust I've built for you these last four months. I don't want to hate you, and I don't want to become jaded and distrustful of relationships after this. Our relationship meant too much to me to be left with the bitter taste in my mouth of biting down too hard on my tongue.
So do it for me. One last thing for your needy, twenty year old girlfriend. At the very least, try and earn back your karma points you lost when you cheated on someone who thinks the sun shines out of your ass...
If you're reading this, it probably means we already talked. This is just a rough draft of what I want to say to you tonight. (although hopefully with less talk of your infidelity. It hurts, but it's not the big issue here) Maybe you're reading this to get a better understanding of what the fuck I was talking about as you gather my shit from your house, or maybe it'll be a way to install confidence in us making it work. Either way, I'll always have a special place in my heart for you. A Jew shaped scar that I feel with every drop of blood pumpin through...
Don't make the same mistakes again, and I promise I won't.
Caroline
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Fifty Great Things, Part Deux
16. Rza.
17. Rhythm.
18. Smiling at a stranger (or have one smile at you)
19. Compliments.
20. Sweat.
21. Dessert.
22. 'I love you.'
23. Learning something new.
24. Accomplishment.
25. Respect.
26. Listening.
27. Change.
28. Making something wonderful.
29. Screaming at the top of your lungs sometimes.
30. A good night's sleep.
17. Rhythm.
18. Smiling at a stranger (or have one smile at you)
19. Compliments.
20. Sweat.
21. Dessert.
22. 'I love you.'
23. Learning something new.
24. Accomplishment.
25. Respect.
26. Listening.
27. Change.
28. Making something wonderful.
29. Screaming at the top of your lungs sometimes.
30. A good night's sleep.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Twenty
They say your early twenties can be the most exciting years of your life. You're the strongest, most attractive and have the most stamina and sexual heat than any other time in your life. Your whole future stretches before you like the ocean. You don't know what's out there for you, but it's big and it's gonna be great!
Your early twenties can be hell, too. You have so little background and experience, no knowledge of how to take care of yourself, your home, your bills, your dog. Crises are met with higher stages of alert and more freaking out because this is the first time that you have to solve them without an umbrella of protection coming from your parents, your school, or the 'hey, don't blame me, I'm just a kid!' excuse. You're a full blown adult with no credentials to back it up.
This is where I'm supposed to find out what I'm really made of, to show my strength. So why do I feel so helpless?
Your early twenties can be hell, too. You have so little background and experience, no knowledge of how to take care of yourself, your home, your bills, your dog. Crises are met with higher stages of alert and more freaking out because this is the first time that you have to solve them without an umbrella of protection coming from your parents, your school, or the 'hey, don't blame me, I'm just a kid!' excuse. You're a full blown adult with no credentials to back it up.
This is where I'm supposed to find out what I'm really made of, to show my strength. So why do I feel so helpless?
Saturday, January 10, 2009
It's the End of the World as We Know It...
So I've been thinkin lately about my skillz. I have pretty high opinion of myself, so I think, by and large, my tricks and talents are not only extensive, but awesome.
But the thought that worries me now is... Right now my expertise and technique are gettin me through life. However..... What if society fell? What if alien's attacked, or even just the economy collapsed? Would I be able to survive? How will my good memorization skills, my humor, and my random file of facts help me get food, find shelter, or not get killed?
I don't mean that super dramatically. Right now what I can do helps me get a job that helps me get food and shelter and what I do know keeps me from getting killed. (Like not to cross the street when a bus is comin.) But what about the day when restaurants are but a memory? When the food you eat comes from you own hands in a much more direct manner than the present day? Will I be able to keep on kickin?
It's kinda like the old "Could I survive a zombie attack?" question that everyone must ponder at some time in their life, but much more realistic. I think I'm more likely to see a fourth world war in my life time than my mother eating the remains of her neighbors. For which I am very glad.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Justification
Sometimes it's OK to close your hand to a friend. Or shut a door in their face. Say no. This is something I have decided to stand firm on, and no one can change my opinion. Cutting someone out of your life because their not doing enough for you is reasonable. It doesn't mean your selfish to finally say Enough! It just means your tired, jaded, and poor. Or under the influence of a Jew.
Tennis golf
Sometimes I think people are like tennis balls when their lives begin. Tennis balls that get shot out of those tennis ball shooter things and go wildly spinning through the air. Some of them knock all over the place, some of them go off in the completely wroong direction, some soar through the air with a grace that makes one believe in miracles. But they all get pulled at by gravity, and they all eventually slow down, and they all eventually stop. Some get stuck in a rut.
That's what made me think of this tennis ball analogy, thinkin of someone near and dear who has rolled into a neat, comfortable little rut with no way to get out. And the more I think about it, the more I think of other people I know that are the same way.
Sometimes, I just wanna take em and shake em and tell them to do something else with their time- anything would be better than comfortable misery.
But instead I just blog like this.
On an unrelated note, I took my dog down to the tennis courts today to pick up a free ball n then throw it around. It was fun.
Monday, January 5, 2009
2009
My birthday and Christmas both passed in this last month without a mention from me, so I don't want to let New Years pass without notice.
I always really liked end of the year commentary and 'best/worst/most interesting of the year' lists from everyone to CNN to the Chronicle. Seems like anyone who can put a sentence together feels like that entitles them to the right to judge and categorize the happenings of the last twelve months and use their opinions to define a year and cast them in stone as historical fact.
The pop culture junkie in me always lapped it up willingly. I still think it's interesting to hear about what some random blogger thinks were the worst movies to see while drunk were of 2008.
The problem with these end of the year reflections is, in a year, hell, by February, none of their witty observations or intense judgments will matter. No one will give a shit if your blogging uncle thought Batman sucked or that People magazine thought George Carlin will be more missed than Betty Page. It's on to the next thing, and the compiling of new 'worst dressed' or 'biggest block buster of the summer' lists for the next December issue.
Normally, I wouldn't really care. If we all still gave a shit about who sold the top ten best records of 1996, life would be really boring. Music would prob sound a lot different, too.
For me, though, 2oo8 will go down as an important year for me. As I reflect back on the last 12 months, it's a struggle for to sum up what they meant to me and my personal growth. For me, 2oo8 will not just be the year Heath Ledger died, we got our first black president, or even the year I dropped out of school. 2oo8 has been such a big one in personal growth for me in every aspect. 2oo8 was HARD, filled with ups and downs, and more downs. I had too many 'events' this year that changed me or will become a story, not just to tell while sittin around one day with a beer in my hand, but major crossroads in my life.
For example, in 2oo8, I went from being a smoker to stronger than a cigarette. 2oo8 was also the year I met the man, who, even if he leaves my life soon, will forever go down as my first love and real relationship. It was the year I grew up and wanted to settle down, even though I failed at it a few times. 2oo8 was the year I learned how to ride a bike, got fired for the first time, and took a stab at supporting myself. 2oo8 was the year of mushrooms, roommates, and zennin out, or at least trying to. And let me not fail to mention the Clay Pit.
2oo8 was the year life threw a bunch of crap at me just to see what would stick. Sometimes I made it out clean, sometimes I didn't. But I learned a lot, and am pretty determined not to make (some) of the same mistakes again. I have to admit a lot of the shit that I stepped in could have been avoided, but it's all part of the process of livin, right? I just hope I can get though the next year more independent than the last one, and more of a support to the people around me.
That brings me to my new year's resolution- to be more self sufficient. Can't wait to read this in December and reflect...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
