Merry X-Mas...Yeah, Whateva!

I do not celebrate Christmas because I do not believe in God. I let December 25th pass as any other day because I do not consider Jesus Christ my savior. I do not celebrate the merriest of holidays like everyone around me not only because I have no one to celebrate with, but because I just don't. Don't feel bad about it. It's the honest truth. I am no longer a child, I no longer receive gifts, and I no longer care.

Untitled

Solitaire simply sitting there
Nerves exposed bare
Through the soul’s tear
Blind gaze shifting fixed stare
Dazed in trance state
Stunned by focused care
Move close retract and pull back
Shake the react
Shook by contact
Shine light to shallow deep black
Fearful of attack causing impact
Gone on to what is known wrong
Even if right fights to hold on
Please sung like a sad song
Lost voice hasn't been heard for long
Warm embrace has a different taste
With a sweet scent and a simple grace
Eyes cry to look and see the face
That transplants the heart to another place

Hi Everyone,

Just wanted to say a quick thanx to all who 1) can read, and 2) do read…my posts!! I kinda fell off in November but December has proven to be a creative month. Thanks again for your emails and wall posts on Facebook! It’s pretty cool to hear which entries are your favorites and why. You guys keep me motivated and creative. I cannot stress **thank you** enough!!!

Much Love,

KV

Dreams Are One Hell of a Drug

Last night I was on a journey to save someone. I traveled a far distance in the winter’s snow amidst an infantry of wolves. I knew they were there to protect me and I felt safe. Through darkness and bright light we trekked for days upon days, trouncing obstacles intended to keep from my destination. At times, members of the pack would travel off to the horizon to ensure we were not being followed. Impending hunters never survived coming too near. I was gracious to these wolves and shared my supply of water. In turn they kept me warm and fed. Although I came close to reaching my purpose last night, I woke before you had a chance to know I was there. But I was.

See Jane Live

I can see my phone from across the room, laying suggestively at the edge of my desk. I keep it on vibrate. Without my help I know it will soon dive and plummet off the desk. I happen to be pretty positive it can withstand the impact when it buzzes itself to my bedroom floor so, I just go with it. It’s not that I’m too lazy to walk across the room, pick it up and see who’s calling. It’s also not because I’m avoiding receiving any particular call. The reason I say “fuck it!” and refuse to save it from it’s descent to my oriental carpet is because I don’t really care who’s calling. Not at all.

I’ve been staring at my ceiling all afternoon. Even with a new coat of paint this room still makes me feel like shit. I’ve been living here for six months now and it just never feels like home. Home never felt like home either, that’s why I left. I hated it there and I hate it here. I’d move out if I could afford to but, this shitty apartment is unusually cheap for the area, so I deal with it.

I can hear bass from a stereo down the hall. Three apartments over, that’s where Raz lives. He’s a pretty chill Jamaican guy I buy pot off of occasionally. Sometimes we hang out and smoke together on the roof of the building. One night while we were high he told me the story of the girl who lived in my apartment before me. She was some pretty chick fresh out of college with mommy and daddy paying her rent. She was a naïve girl from I understand and would bring random men back to the apartment to fuck. The last night she brought a guy home she was raped, killed, and butchered into a half dozen pieces. The cops never caught the guy and I think thats why my rent is unusually cheap.

I’ve got about 45 minutes before I have to go to work. I waitress at some fancy bullshit restaurant. Thank god I’m only there part-time, I couldn’t bare it a second longer then I have to. It’s a high class place where I am nothing more than a servant with an extensive knowledge of wine. Rich men bring their ditzy dates in to show off their money. The women look down on me while their dates grab my ass. Management won’t do anything about it, god forbid we lose a customer. That’s why I came up with my own personal policy, I spit in their drinks.

Third drawer down in my desk is where I keep a quarter of weed and a gun. I’m not some gang banging hood rat, but, after Raz told me about the previous tenant he let me hold one of his pieces. I guess it makes me feel a little safer although, I’m not sure I would ever have the guts to use it. It’s the pot I’m reaching for right now instead. I’m at the point of needing to smoke a joint right before work or I won’t show up. I take a few pulls from the joint before I put my uniform on. Black slacks, white button down Oxford shirt, deep red silk tie, and an apron that reaches down to my black crew shoes. My name tag says Jane. I don’t know a Jane. My name is Lorelei.

I pick my phone up from the floor and finally check my missed calls. I’ve had 13 missed calls in the last two hours. Six of the calls were from a guy I’ve been seeing the past few weeks but, over the last few days I’ve lost all interest in him. Early in the week he come over to watch a movie and we order Chinese food. I don’t know if I had just never noticed before or what but, I could hear him chew every bite. That was it. As soon as the movie ended I was “really tired and have to get up early tomorrow morning, you can let yourself out!” Poor guy. I’ll send him a text later letting him know I’m now a lesbian.

A few of the other calls were from random friends that I probably won't get back to this week. Two calls were from Steve, one of the other servers at work. I’m not friends with anyone on staff so, I know he’s not calling to be social. I was curious to hear what he wanted.
“Hey Steve, you called?”
“Yeah Jane, I was wondering if we could switch shifts. I’ve got this thing on Sunday and Brian won’t take me off the schedule. He’s such a prick!” Steve has a southern accent but I’ve never asked him where he’s from.
“Sure, whatever.” I don’t sound too excited but really I’m thrilled. “My shift starts at 6.”
“Thanks girl, you’re real doll!” I wonder where he’s from but I still don’t ask. I hang up and collapse onto my bed. No work tonight. What ever will I do?

Being Single Causes Alcoholism

One of the main reasons I ended my last relationship was due to my strong curiosity with the single life. After spending nearly a decade as a girlfriend I began fantasizing about answering to no one and living free to do as I please. As a woman in my twenties, with two long-term situations under my belt, I felt I owed it to myself to be alone for a while. What I've come to realize is, being single is dangerous. At least it is for me.

Single people consume massive amounts of alcohol. It's true! Almost every time I interact with a fellow single, liquor is involved. Perhaps I happen to know a lot of drunks, or perhaps - and this is the one I'm going to go with - single people have nothing better to do than drink, get drunk, and attempt to get laid. Amidst this drinking and attempting, I am somewhere wandering around, wondering what the hell is going on. I equate being single to nothing more than liver sabotage.

Ok, maybe I'm making things seem worse than they really are. Although I'm exhausted, and probably permanently intoxicated, the past year has most definitely been fun. I've truly enjoyed getting all of the crazy out of my system by doing whatever the hell I want. It's been nice not worrying if my actions will screw with anyone else's head. I can make out with whomever I want, whenever I want, and no one gets hurt. The problem is, to remain single I have kept people at arms length so attachments do not develop, and as time goes by, this is becoming harder. So hard in fact, I'm actually repulsed with being single.

It's not as if I'll jump into the first set of arms that'll take me. Not at all! This time around I am super picky, which doesn't mean good things for potential suitors. Within the first five minutes of meeting a guy I've already decided whether or not I'm interested in pursuing something more than my usual mind games. Usually I don't want anything more, usually. Lately though, I've been feeling unusual.

Being as "alternative" as I am, I'm having trouble relating to the people around me. No one seems to really understand or get me. I'm becoming increasingly frustrated with the isolation I have unintentional forced myself into. I feel friendless in the world. Sorry friends, it's true. I'm tired of the bullshit routine each weekend but, what's a girl to do? I can't force a connection with someone. I guess I'll just have to wait it out. And another shot gets poured.

A Reasons to Stay Home Tonight

Last night!!

Dia de Trabajo

Moments pass as I look beyond the window, their window, before my thoughts become obsessed with running away. What kind of life is fulfilled while bound by confinement? What type of creature is satisfied with isolation? What would I be if I complied?

My hand begins to shake as I wipe frustration from my lips. I have said too much. At least no one is listening. My banging against the window, their window, disturbs no soul. At last, there is no one listening. No one hears a sound. No one sees me run. No one should be so privileged.

Team Edward vs Team REALITY

Edward Cullen of 'Twilight' is today’s perfect man. He is intelligent, witty, strong, sensitive, protective, beautiful, telepathic, and a fictional character in a book. Regardless of obvious reality, his image has crept into the minds of girls and women across the globe and seduced them into longing for what is truly unobtainable, the perfect man. Unfortunately, he is neither human nor real.

Facebook seems to be just the right environment to grow and sustain obsession. You can join any type of group you want to display your unhealthy desires, and if you can’t find the perfect association to do so, you might as well just create one of you own. Here are a few examples of groups that the hopelessly detached can join.

Dazzled by Edward Cullen

I’m In Love With Edward Cullen

I Want an Edward Cullen for Christmas

I Don’t Care if He’s a Blood Sucking Monster

I Want an Edward Cullen!

I Wish Edward Cullen Was Real

Edward Cullen Lovers Unite

Edward Cullen, Sexier Than You Since 1901

Why…Because He’s No Edward Cullen…That’s Why

I Have Trouble Realizing Edward Cullen is Just A Fictional Character

Edward Cullen and Bella Swan Gave Me Unrealistic Expectations About Love

And many, many more.

While it is completely unrealistic to expect a man to possess superhuman strength, or look like a pristine 17-year-old boy for eternity, perhaps there is something to this Edward Cullen craze. Maybe the ladies are a little tired of being taken for granted. Maybe a little chivalry and courtship are needed in these times of economic distress, constant war, ass-smacking, breast baring days of lost morality. Maybe this obsession is less to do with Edward Cullen, and more to do with finding safety and unconditional love. Although these fanatical females are in dire need of a reality check, it could be a signal for today’s real-live human man to kick it up a notch. A little fantasy could be a real good thing! ;)

Burn Him At the Stake, Or the Pizza Oven

You know those days when you’re hung over and tired, watching the minutes pass until you can finally leave work and return to bed? Yesterday was one of those days for me. Oh my bed, so soft and comforting. Blankets too. Isn’t it fantastic when instead of going home after work, a Domino’s delivery gut drives into your car??

They Make Pills For This Sort of Thing

I have had an intense felling of anxiety since late last night. I can't figure out what is causing the disruption of my usual tranquility. I suppose it could be all of the pent up aggravations I have internalized to maintain my typically calm demeanor. Maybe it is my sixth sense warning me of impending change. Whatever it is, I am on edge.

I know now, because I have felt this before, that as long as I do not allow the anxiety to fully consume me, in a matter of time I will snap back. But this feeling of purgatory can be relentlessly cruel as I try to create any sense of normalcy today. I am on the fucking edge.

Even my body seems to be rebelling against order. I feel queasy and ill. I am bitting my nails again and, I haven't done that in years. I am like a word on the tip of your tongue, a thought that itches the brain. I am the edge.

Love Is A Four Letter Word, Allegedly!

What is love?
I wonder this. Is overwhelming passion for another person nothing more than chemicals and reactions crossing through frames of mind as biological desires take over? Is love an intangible spirit possessing my entire existence, seeping through the faults of my emotions, and staining my soul dedicated? I wonder sometimes what sets the reaction of love off in me. I think about what it is that ignites the questions I pose while interrogating my own lust…I mean love.

What is the difference between love and being in love?
Love you feel. In love you are.

Do I love?
How can I ever be certain if what I think I feel is actually love? Sometimes I don’t even think a person like me is capable of intimately caring about anything besides my own well being. But then, just as I give up on that which I secretly need, a rush of enlightenment reveals to my imagination that positively, I can and do love.

Have I ever been in love?
I know I’ve loved before because I have felt it. I also know that I have never really been in love before because the feeling I had when I thought I was is no longer present. Miscalculations I guess. Mixing chemicals can be dangerous and may lead to severe intoxication. I had the wrong formula the entire time. No, I have never really, truly been in love.

Can I be loved?
Will I ever find that special someone to tolerate all that I am? I am a lot! Sometimes I think I might be too much. Sometimes I think I will always be alone. I don’t want just anyone to want me. Not those guys that hang around me, wondering what I am and how to get me, acting as if I’m like other typical girls. These guys can’t love me. But still I hear a little voice, and I can’t control it, that talks me into believing, eventually, I will find this elusive love.

Will I allow it?

My Facebook Status Currently Is:

Krysta is slowly falling into a coma! Or have I already??

The Truth Is

I don't care who reads this. I don't even care if it gets read. I have a few things on my mind today.

1. Although I am happy with the direction I am heading, I am getting slightly car sick. Are we there yet?
2. I am tired of smiles to my face, whispers behind my back, and underestimations in your thoughts.
3. I despise my own hatred.
4. My happiness waxes and wanes
5. We are all lairs. If you say you are not, you are lying!

Well, I feel much better now.

Poor Little Poet

I am lost in my own
I am found by the known
I think with my stare
I watch patiently aware
Though the many times
I have tried to find
I care
I am still not there

Rewind

Ok, so I’ve had a hard time keeping up with my posts since before the presidential election. I guess I should get caught up. Let’s run it back!

Halloween 2008 was pretty nice. It was unusually warm. The entire downtown area looked like a parade. Drunks in costumes and a lot of, “Woohoos!” filled the streets. I was a ninja.

Time changed, people had birthdays, Obama is the Pres elect, and I tried a margarita from tap, eww!

Also, the New Kids on the Block still know the lyrics to Step By Step, got a new phone, banana milkshakes are always awesome at Lucky’s, and French fries fell and remain stuck between the driver’s seat and center console in my Civic.

Well…that about sums it up! I look forward to the next few weeks, which will include the following:

Symphony

Paint ball

Boot camp

Thanksgiving

Work

Writing

Cleaning out car

This has no title yet. I just wrote it.

Absolutely is the best I can give you
Doing is more than I could try
Proving in your imagination
We should live this before we die

Shut up and listen when I speak
You say in your mind when we think
Finding we’re talking the same thing is priceless
When exchanging words on our link

Nervously I’ll stand my ground
Just do it anyway
Follow fear flowing from falling down
Knowing we’re going another way

Welcome to the New World

Here we are. Here we go.

Just Vote If You're Gonna! I'm That Girl, and I Approve This Message

At the helm of one of the most important and historic elections in American history, I urge all citizens to please, stop asking me if I’ve voted. If and when I choose to vote is entirely my own business and your curiosity only annoys me to the brink of rebellion. If I do decide to make an appearance at the polls, I can predict with great accuracy, it will be tonight. There’s a certain special something that accumulates in the air during an evening vote. People arriving from a long day of work with climaxing opinions make for intriguing conversations and these talks reveal a most interesting perspective on U.S. culture. Plus, getting up early sucks! Back off people, you are on a need to know basis!!!!

This One Goes Out to Frankie K…and the Baby in Her Belly

People drive like fucking maniacs around here. It’s ridiculous. Just the other day one of my best friends was stalked by some psycho soccer mom with a vengeance, for ten miles, spanning two towns. This crazy bitch followed my friend to a gas station over some minor traffic disagreement ,which leads me to my point. People should be a little more careful which impulses they pick to act upon. Pursuing well intentioned pregnant women across town lines would probably be one you’d want to second guess. What if my friend had been one of those pistol carrying, Ride or Die, I just shot a bitch at the baby registry in Target, types of pregnant women? Huh? What then?

I’m learning too! On my way to work I had to take a few deep breaths to keep my self from setting my shoe against my gas petal in such a way as to maintain the speed of 2mph that I had been traveling for the past 3 blocks and running up to the car in front of me, jumping in shotgun, and explaining to the 80 year old man driving exactly why he should probably start riding the bus but, I didn’t do that. I realized that this poor guy was just trying to be as safe as possible and it really wasn’t his fault I was about to be late to work. It’s the town of Stamford’s fault, but I’ll save that rant for another day. What really had me feeling like shit after fantasizing about high jacking his Oldsmobile was as we passed cops standing by the numerous construction sites in the South End, the little old man waived to each one. I’m a sucker and found that to be absolutely endearing. The point is, don’t chase down other drivers. You could run into homicidal pregnant women or friendly waiving grandpas. Think.

**The topic of this post was requested by Frankie...hope it lived up to your expectations!! Can't wait to meet the baby so we can teach him how to have swagga like us!!!!!!

Some People Make Meth, I Make Stories

I am so tired today. I was up extremely late last night tweaking an outline for what will be the 13th story in my collection of, "soon I'll get bored of this one, leave it, and move on" projects. I have no discipline dammit!! My ideas seem to stream into consciousness faster than I can articulate. It's a problem.

The story I'm working on now is by far my most explicit to date, in many ways. I'm trying to focus on character development, and in doing so, really explore basic human desires, needs, and wants. Sometimes when I write I still find myself worrying about the perception I give by expressing my thoughts. I'm trying to completely abandon that mindset this time around. It feels amazingly good to say whatever I want and not worry about anyone's reaction. I like saying things I'm not supposed to. Things people think they don't want to hear but, really they can't help themselves but want more of. It's my new favorite drug.

My Rainy Day

Today is gray. It is rainy, windy, and completely perfect. Yellow leaves sprawl across the earth and remind me of Chinese cinema. I imagine myself swirling up into the sky within a cyclone of the elements as I prepare to defend my honor. With a handcrafted sword passed down from the generations of fighters I call my descendants bound to my grip, and an ornate gown drenched in vivid red silks draping my pale white skin, I gracefully attack and conquer.

Today is gray. It is rainy, windy, and completely perfect. It’s the kind of day that demands to be spent between the warmth of a blanket and just the right love. I imagine listening to wind call beyond my window while I am safely held by the arms of the only one I will allow to hold me. Rhythmic sounds induce a hypnotic trance as I shed my body and intertwine with the soul of another. My pupils dilate and my breath quickens as I gracefully attack and conquer.

Happy Halloween to Everyone...Even Whores

Halloween is just days away and I have yet to decide on a costume. I just don’t know what to be. Here are a few of my ideas.

Bindi Irwin (Steve “The Crocodile Hunter” Irwin’s daughter) as a twenty something mal-adjusted drug addict.

A Ninja / A Burglar. Ninja carries throwing stars, burglar carries DVD player, same black costume.

Myself a year younger.

Myself a year older.

Invisible. I stay home and tell people I’m out.

My lack of costume enthusiasm dates back to early childhood. I remember being Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz when I was about 5 years old, and after that I was a witch until I was 15. At 16 I was Krysta the Vampire Slayer. I carried a wooden stake, which I still have, and wore a cross around my neck for the first and only time in my entire life. I completely slept through Halloween 2003, so, I guess you could say I went as unconscious that year. Last Oct.31st I ended up at a pretty awesome costume party, however, myself, my boyfriend at the time and two of his friends were the only ones not dressed for the occasion. Always quick to think on my feet, I transformed into a serial killer, and the three of them my future victims. No money lost on those outfits. Anyway, if anyone has any ideas please feel free to make suggestions. I am looking to NOT surpass my budget of free or look like a whore. No offense to whores.

I Look Just Like Me

People tell me I should highlight and cut my hair. People tell me I should get a tan. People like to tell people to change themselves. I wore glasses everyday until a year and a half ago and braces straightened my teeth. I am not a blond, my eyes are not blue, and I’m ok with that. I like my dark hair, I like my brown eyes, and my pale skin complements the pink of my lips. My breasts are real and my body curves. My mind is sharp and distinctive. I am alternative.

If I bleach my hair and wear colored contacts, I could be a pretty girl

Cut through my flesh to build me right, make me a pretty girl

Starve me please so I can fit everyone’s pretty girl

Watch TV to see me be every pretty girl

Attitude Adjustment

I was in a horrible mood all day long. Now I'm watching The-40-Year Old Virgin. I am thankful for funny movies, even if they're censored for network television!!!
:)

Dear Insert Name Here,

I don’t like it when people tell me they love me. You are not in love with me, believe me! I’m nothing but trouble and you can’t save me. I don’t want to be a heart breaker, I just want to be myself. I don’t think any of you really understand. There is no purpose to pursue me. I am not interested at this time, nor am I currently accepting applications for a counterpart. You can’t change my mind so, please don’t try. I don’t want to lead anyone on. I'm holding out. I'm going to wait until I know it's right. I guess posting a blog about this sort of thing is a pretty impersonal way to handle turning someone(s) down. I’m sorry. I just feel so bad and find it impossible when I’m in the position to have to tell you to your face(s). From the bottom of my heart, in the least wanting to hurt someone’s spirit kind of way, I don't want a boyfriend right now. Thank you for your consideration and good luck with future endeavors.

Don't Read This Post If You Can't Handle Being Told To Fuck Off

It is 11:15 in the morning and I’ve finally made it home. I spent the past three hours contemplating jumping out of a second story window with every intention on escaping the trap of a needless situation I had found myself in. Clearly I awoke from the fucked up side of the bed this morning, cause I have never felt such misery as I do right now. It’s pretty shitty.

While planning a get away route from my a.m., I realized, omg, I’m still running. Really? Still? Yes, still. Each and every day of my life, and guess what, I am no closer to any resolve or destination, I just run. Gotta keep up or…or…or, I don’t know. What happens if I just stop? I don’t know. These thoughts are making me feel empty, which is no good, because, like I said before, I contemplated jumping out of a window. That’s not healthy behavior, it’s a symptom of my truth. I am completely and totally ill. Fatally.

I learned that there are 152 names stored in my cell phone. I kept count as I ran down my contact list between thoughts of jumping out of windows. I never paused while scrolling through the list. Out of 152 people, I never stoppedscrolling. As you can imagine, this left me feeling painfully lonely. That window sure was enticing. 152 people. That seems excessive. I do not have 152 friends. I just don’t. Who the fuck are all these people? I don’t even care. Fuck them.

And fuck people who tell me I can get whatever I want. Me, anything. That sounds pretty good but, I know it isn’t true. I can prove it. If I could get whatever I want, shouldn’t I already have the one thing I want most? Well, I don’t have the one thing I want the most. I don’t have it and I can’t get it. I can’t get happy. To further my point, I don’t think people who can get whatever they want would be as concerned with the distance between window to concrete, as well as other potential bone breakage factors, as I happened to be this morning. Maybe it’s not the getting that’s the problem. Maybe it’s what I want. Maybe I’m just not one of those people who is supposed to be happy. Maybe I can’t handle happiness. Maybe this is happy. Maybe happy sucks. Maybe I’ve been happy my whole entire life and I really fucking love it so much . I don’t think a happy person who gets whatever they want would say that. Maybe that’s exactly what they’d say, I wouldn’t know.

So I’m an unhappy, window jumping fantasizing, compulsive phone number exchanging, homelessly homesick, emotionally retarded chick who's feeling a little angsty today. I’m bored with this topic. Thanx for reading.

Just Cave In

Laying on my bed, I am staring at the ceiling. I imagine it slowly coming down on me. I’m breathing in half time, waiting to be crushed. With my hands resting on my bare stomach, warm thoughts rush through the visions kept behind my eyes. Things that can not be controlled. My hands slide up towards my heart, I feel it beating, I feel the steadiness. My ceiling is at arms length by now. I can feel it, I lay wanting to be crushed.

Dear Readers,

I just wanted to say thanks to all of you who stop by and read my posts. The supportive comments I receive by email, txt, and in person, are awesome and really mean a lot to me. I still think it’s crazy anyone takes the time to read my stuff!! You keep me motivated. Some of you have even started your own sites, which I enjoy reading as well! Have a great day people, and thanx!

K

The Risk

I haven’t yet found the honesty to admit what it is I truly want. I’m not undecided, I’m just afraid of the certainty. I know that my desires will remain unattainable until I finally confess

And it just stops there. I can’t seem to go any further. I feel nauseas on the edge, on the verge, and I can’t stand another minute containing my truth, but I don’t say a word. I write around it hoping desperately my fingers go against my mind to just type it out. Just type it out, please. But they don’t. I ramble on, stupidly optimistic, but as the paragraphs accumulate, I have only drifted farther away from my intentions. I have created a deep sadness that diseases my cause. Sick with so much to say.

What I Learned Tonight Slash This Morning

Everyone I have ever met is fucked in the head. I mean it, all of you! It’s not a bad thing, just the truth. I’ve noticed this about a lot of people in my life, as well as the people at the bars downtown, the parties around the corner, and parked cars in the lot. Everyone seems to be searching to fill that void. Whatever void it is you try to fill, for each individual there is a void.

I know my story, sadness, crying, anger, blabidyblah! But it’s definitely not just me, as much as I want the world to revolve around me, it’s not just me. We all have certain triggers that have the potential to set us off into madness. Some of us guard that button better than others, but it’s still there. Waiting. Waiting for one more excuse to set it off. The insanity trigger.

My trigger goes off when I don’t get my way. I don’t mean in the Willy Wonka, Veruca Salt kind of way, I mean the way when I try so hard to do and be what’s right but still the walls come crashing down . This always leads me to wonder, why me? Oh, the sorrow, why me? Because that‘s what happens. Life is a tricky concept to grasp. Horrible things happen in life. Horrible things happen to me. But it’s not just me. We all have that trigger.

Old People Have Great Stories

I just heard a couple in their 80’s tell the story of their love. It was so beautiful that it brought tears to my eyes. After 60+ years of marriage, they are still very much in love despite the difficult times. Over these times they took turns taking care of one another and, in doing so, formed an unbreakable bond.

So it is possible.

Another story was told by a man who spent 67 years with his wife before she died. He said he still has dreams of her and he can actually feel her in his heart. He placed colorful flowers on her grave and called it a reflection of the love she had given him over their time together.

If that is love, I look forward to it.

Tonight

I went out tonight. But, not like I usually do. Tonight I watched. And I watched, and I watched, and now I’m home. Sitting here typing, candle light, warm blanket, thinking. Thinking mostly. About before, about right now, about after, then later. Later mostly. I swear time creeps up. Now my thoughts are obsessed. It seems I’m constantly on the chase but all I want to do is stop running. I just want to get there already. But, time has passed, it creeps on by, and I am home typing, candle light, warm blanket, thinking.

Time Travel

Last night I found a notebook that had long been hidden beneath the past ten years of my life. It was interesting to read the beginning of my identity. This is when I began to question Life, Justice, Family, Love, Friendship, Pain, and God. Here is a little taste of me ten years ago.

***

Midnight and your eyes awake

Troubles sleep on your soul

Questions have no answers

There is no point to regain control

***

To touch

To hold

To feel

To be

To look

To watch

To understand

To see

To give

To take

To share

To love

Question existence

The answer is above.

***

I’ve got a poetic license

And lyrical power

With imagination to spare

I could kill an hour

I pay my dues

With no financial support

With metaphysical thoughts

I have a tongue to contort

Feel free to tip the keeper

When you’re in my catacomb

I chose my place in life

Since then I’ve sat alone

My incoherent babbling

Will transform to eccentric work

Morbid yet intriguing notions

Are suspicious so they lurk

***

A quintessential replacement

Was spotted in my basement

While upstairs in the attic

Graves are cultivating static

Skeletons are hidden

That’s why closets are forbidden

I’m held to a disposition

Of bad memories in the kitchen

***

You drink my patience

You wear my blood

You make my innocence dirty

***

It tastes like fear

It’s bittersweet

It feels like hate

An absence of heat

It looks like shame

It’s trying to hide

It seems to be me

Stuck inside

***

Mama do you love me?

You never seem to be around

Mama do you love me?

I’m not safe or sound

Daddy do you hate me?

I think you do

Daddy do you hate me?

I don’t think I hate you

Sister have you heard of me?

I know we’ve never met

Sister have you heard of me?

Mom shows no regret

God are you watching?

I’m not sure you exist

God are you watching?

So many sins, I can’t resist

***

I’ve been roaming my mind

Trying to find

Remainders of my soul

Creatures in the dark

Have left their mark

Saying I have lost control

Alone and afraid

I hide in the shade

Grasping for a breath of air

I step outside

Unleash my pride

And the people all stop to stare

***

Notorious villains

Infamous schemes

Casual killings

Vicious themes

Drugs of variety

Weapons of choice

Persuasion of peace

Silence the voice

Individuals rebelling

Against the law

Vulgar acts committed by all

***

Up like the grim

Reaper coming down

City is big as

Small is town

Thrown at you

I will catch

Force in me

Out I’ll stretch

Troubles are happy

Angry is solution

Virgin to sell

Pure prostitution

Rain drips clean

Dirty blood drops

Farmer with clients

The firm owns crops

Cultivating madness

Mad needs to be improved

Good intentions roughed up

Bad was smoothed

Adroit at lying

The truth is out

Confident and smiling

Grinning with doubt

I, a bad seed planted

Without good but ill

Sorcerer is magic

Steak is burning with the kill

I am busy with my

Puzzle is my mind

Precious yet stoned

Visions for the blind

***

I can remeber exactly who I was when I wrote these. If I had to pick a time where I started understanding my identity as a creation of my own, this would be it. Here is where I learned I had a voice. Some stuff I wrote is shit! I knew it then, I know it now, but I can appreciate the development over time. While all of you were sitting in school, here is where I taught myself. I didn't have a computer back then, so my hand writing is perfection. I did things a little different back then and, I guess I still do. To another 10 yrs!!!

It's Really Early In The Morning and I Can't Sleep So I Write Until My Eyes Fall Heavy

I don’t even feel inspired to write. No fancy words or clever remarks. No, no more. For what? No, no more. I have nothing to say right now. I'm simply bored. Just thinking. Would you like to know of what? It's funny. I think it’s funny when anyone claims they know me, or want to, or think they know what they want, because it changes, and they just don't know. I’ve been meaning to mention that if you’ve had the feeling I laugh about you, you’re right. I have. I am. Right now. My favorite part is laughing at the idea of someone who thinks they know who I’m talking about. Because you don’t. I promise. You don’t. Ok, it’s you. But who are you? Not the one I’m talking about. It’s not you, it’s the other one. Yeah, you. Now ask yourself, have you been wondering if it's you that I’m talking about? What do you think that means? A little conceited? Do you believe I mean you? Look at this from my perspective, I just made this whole thing up. I had nothing else to write because it’s so late and I am tired. So it wasn’t you at all. Imagine if it was.

To Be That

I succumb to the cravings
Divine right of attention
Consequences aren’t acknowledged
Center stage rather than prevention
Depression has returned
In favor of a mortal sin
Engorged with poison
Fangs protrude through my grin
Eyes that lash
With extensions of contempt
I feed off their vulnerability
Too addictive to repent
Forgiving is the forgettable
Settled is more disturbed
I hesitate but turn to consumption
It’s mine and well deserved

Single In Stamford City

Being a single gal in this big little city of ours has certainly been an interesting trial. Downtown Stamford is now a Mecca for the devout seeking social experiences of unbridled debauchery on their pilgrimage to find the ultimate happy hour. I stagger in between different gregarious networks on my own personal journey to fill my own personal void, and what I have come across has left my desire to continue on this path barren. To date or not to date…that is the question.

Typically my outings consist of small group ventures, which usually snowball into unruly masses of people by the wee hours of the morning. I am most often enlisted as a backup agent by one of my other solo friends in hopes that I serve as a buffer for the undesirable. This always works to their benefit because I am a magnet for the undesirable. They flock to me as if I am the key to unlock their salvation. I try my best to remain polite however, as the weeks and months pass, my tolerance is tested. I am tired of pick up lines, I am tired of empty promises, I am tired of SoCo and lime shots and, most importantly, I am tired of guys with girlfriends. Yes guys, I said it. If you have a girlfriend, back off. In fact, don’t even approach me with your, “I always wanted to talk to you blah, blah, blah!” You look like idiots.

Honestly, I don’t even know what dating is. I have been on so few real dates that perhaps the ones I have been on do not even qualify as such. Here is how I imagine it.

Guy picks girl up…not girl picks guy up! I am tired of being the driver.

Guy and girl find a mutually interesting activity to do. None of this, what do you want to do? I don’t know what do you want to do, shit! Plan the date in advance.

If money is being spent I do expect the guy to offer to pay, although, I am one for fairness and will then suggest we split the tab.

Guy drops girl off. Then he leaves. Creating appetence is an art overlooked by those who prefer instant gratification. A little mystery is favorable

Really, I think the single life is broken down into two groups, those who are single by their own merit, and those who are forced into solitude by others. Either way it sure is hard to find a connection amidst the overpopulated circus that is Stamford. Good luck to all!

Things That Most People Don't Like, But I Don't Mind As Long As They Keep Their Distance

Change of Subject Wanted

Me, Me, Me...I, I, I....I am so sick of myself! Sometimes I think I'm a pretentious, self-involved, narcissist, who really only cares about myself. See, that was all about me.

Elton John Never Said It Was Easy

While a friend of mine mourns the death of a son and another is celebrating the birth of one, I am wedged somewhere in between, wrapped in a thick woolly scarf, stalked by a persistent case of the common cold. Typically when I'm sick I find myself slightly more emotional than usual, and considering that I am usually slightly more emotional than the average person anyway, I feel pretty screwy in la cabeza! All of this death, life, and illness has me coughing and wondering, who am I and where do I fit in? Am I just some crazy party chick that lives like a rock star understudy most weekends? Am I the introspective writer I portray myself to be scribbled amidst my humble blog posts? Am I simply the girl who schedules edit sessions at work between answering phone calls and accommodating the needs of others? What I would really like to know is, am I hopeless or hopeful?

I don't know, but if I had to guess I'd go with D, all of the above. Life seems to be based on a variety of complexities that allows many identities to flourish while sub sequentially creating an adjustable image of self. This realm of being grants the potential to achieve goals set against the edge of which your imagination conceives, or fail miserably at haphazard attempts of salvation, resulting in a defeated state of absolute nothingness. It's the devil vs angel contrast. Good vs evil. Life and death. A little bit country, a little bit rock and roll. Living in the unknown, and having a bad ass case of the sniffles, makes me very aware that I am living within life's rotation. Stupid circle.

How Close Do You Have to Get?

My friend’s son was killed last night. He was hit by a car while riding his bicycle, and soon found by police responding to a 911 call at 11:46 PM. He was twenty years old. The driver of the car that struck him remained at the scene and waited for help to arrive. He told police that he had hit the bicycler. According to the Stamford Advocate, "A criminal investigation is ongoing," however, I was told by the family that the driver was thought to be intoxicated and has yet to be arrested.


Mothers Against Drunk Driving estimate that on average a person is killed every 40 minutes by a drunk driver. 3 in every 10 people will be in an alcohol related car crash at sometime in there lives and I know the majority of those reading this post have been, and if not, will be.


I often self dissect and pull apart my own psyche in hopes to better understand what the hell is going on in life. I’m am constantly having these realizations of inner discovery that have me questioning my own actions, but, nothing is like hearing the sound of a mother cry out and ask you why. Why is my son dead? Because there is no justifiable reason, and no helpful answer.


Be careful.

I Take Good Cat Pictures Too, Guy From Catorialist

UPDATE

Friday night I ran into the pizza guy who called me fat a couple of months ago. He offered to buy me a drink. I accepted his offer. Moments later he handed me a Captain and Ginger, which I then handed back to him, and walked out! He really pissed me off!!

Torture

Peel back the skin of my decisions

Srape my thoughts so raw

Bind my mind by despair intertwined

with defeat and swallow all

Hold me close and keep me warm

Tell me what is wrong

Wake me as my dreams find out

I have slept you all along

Exchange my pain to keep me stable

Force my ill against the wall

Pretend that I am at the end

and push me when you fall

You'll Never Look At A Dollar The Same

Last night I learned that Wednesday is most certainly not Saturday. It’s true. Somewhere after 9pm I seemed to have forgotten about this very important detail, and now my Thursday doesn’t feel so good. I also learned that strip clubs aren’t so bad. They’re not. While I still find the regular attendance of such establishments pretty creepy, my thoughts on them will forever be altered. Here’s why…

1. The upbeat music creates a fun party atmosphere
2. You must be skilled to hang upside-down from poles
3. Really not as dirty as I had imagined
4. The girls can multi task and carry a convo about current events while hanging upside-down
5. Five bucks goes a long way
6. Some girls actually are trying to put themselves through school

In the end what I really learned is that strippers are people too. They manage a tolerance for gawking men that I will never have, nor do I ever want. I couldn’t picture myself entering a new and exciting career of exotic dancing, however, for some it is their chosen profession and they too deserve to be treated with respect. If you are thinking about attending one of these clubs, let me offer you some advice. Wash your hands frequently, don’t take pictures, and stay off of the stage. While you place a dollar bill snuggly in a stripper's g-string, do not think of it as wasting your money on half naked women, think of it as an investment. An investment in half naked women who may or may not carry STD's, may or may not be decorated with bullet holes, tattoos, or bruises, and possibly posses a desire to further their education in hopes of one day leaving the catwalk. My final suggestion is looky, but no touchy. You don’t know where those girls have been!!

All-America Weekend

I have never been the type to enjoy societies standard of a good time. I am a little, let’s say, avant –garde. Despite my anti-establishment tendencies, this weekend I did it up All-American style. My descent to normality began when I was offered two Mets tickets for the price of none. I somehow found my way to both the Friday 9/26 night game as well as what would be their final win at Shea stadium on Saturday 9/27. For those of you who follow sports, Friday’s game sure sucked! The intensity of the crowd’s optimism never faltered despite the horrific loss. The highlight of my evening at the park was overhearing one of the patrons trying to pick up a female cop while she diligently stood guard behind my seat. After the basics, “What’s your name?” and “Where you from?” where covered, sports spectator guy #1 stepped it up a notch. “I like the way you think Jeanette! What’s a guy gotta do to get your number?” Her response was typical of the non-interested, “Why don’t I just get yours?” His reply, “Cause that’s too easy!” And scene…or at least this is where I lost interest. Day two was far more exhilarating. I had never been to a game in its entirety and this was a great one to be there for. Johan Santana pitched his little heart out 117 times locking in the 2-0 win verses the Marlins. Despite the ongoing rainy mist, the spirit of die-hard Mets fans was humbling. I never understood how or why people could be sucked into an almost brainwashed state of dedication to a group of guys hitting balls with bats. That was until I looked at America’s favorite pastime from a new perspective. With all the wrong that goes on in our day to day lives, sometimes rooting for your favorite team, and hoping they win with all of your might, makes life a bit more bearable. Establishing traditions within one’s family, bonding with friends over a mutual hatred for the opposing team, hot dogs, $9 beer, and the ecstatic happiness of reaching home plate really does create a special aura of excitement. Plus I absolutely love when people yell things like, “Hey umpire, you’re a fucking bum!” RIP Shea stadium.

Sunday is typically a day I spend sprawled across my couch channel surfing the basic movie options offered through my limited (no HBO or Showtime) cable package. This past Sunday I closed my All-American weekend with a day trip to Six Flags Great Adventure New England. It was my very first time ever. Sadly, the nation’s most famous amusement park let me down. Perhaps it was years and years of highly intensified advertisements that left my expectations unsatisfied when the reality of an over glorified carnival met me at the entrance gate with $15 parking. Maybe it was the continuous technical errors that occurred amongst a handful of rides that put me off. It could have just been my cranky mood, but I considered Six Flags to be an average adventure at best. Thankfully there were no lines this day and the group I was with was able to make our rounds though park with haste. Did I mention one of the girls I was with ate a bug? I didn’t? Well, one of the girls in my group saw a line of people signing up for some type of spin-the-wheel game, and decided that she wanted to play too. Without inquiring about the actual details of this game, she eagerly jumped on the Popsicle stand stage and spun away. Larvae, she landed on larvae. Mmmm. She manned up and took her maggot shot without a chaser. What was the prize, you ask? It was two free pictures of her eating a bug. I equate her experience with mine, pointless while leaving me slightly nauseated.

I did happen to stumble across a fantastic deli on the mean streets of Old Greenwich Saturday morning. It’s called Corbos Corner Deli located at 1380 E. Putnam Ave. A deli after my own heart, they still served breakfast past 11AM!! The staff was playful…just the way I like it…and even labeled my bacon, egg, and cheese with mayo, “Almost Famous”, after the conversation we had in regards to me NOT being the girl from “Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist!” I promised the boys a shout out and I am true to my word!!! Go eat great food at Corbos Deli!

It sure beats what they were passing off as food at the shit hole Denny’s in West Haven. The service was slow, the food was cold, and when one of my friends was promised a blue sword in his fruity drink, he was given green. C’mon people, is it too much to ask for a blue sword? How about silverware? No, can’t do that either? I don’t mind stirring my coffee with the straw from my water, it’s cool! At least the coffee didn’t come watered down unlike the night before at the TGIFridays in Orange, CT. From what the locals tell me, if the Fridays staff don’t know ya, they don’t give ya liquor in your drinks. Stick to shots if you happen to be in the neighborhood!! Well, that’s that. What did you do this weekend?

Phones, Man!

Cell phones are crazy sons of bitches! I find it completely absurd that any human being at any given time is able to contact me, and most importantly, most ring tones suck! Now that we have that out of the way, Verizon sent me a promotional post card this week for their “Blackberry Storm... Fall 2008”. I was assured that I was sent this flyer due to my significant V.I.P. status held with said company since their envelope clearly stated, Inside: Exclusive invitation for select customers. They would never send it to me simply because they are my current provider and want to sell me needless merchandise before another company offers me some sort greener pasture. Noooo, not at all. I’m sure I am very special and mean a lot to each and every employee at Verizon. My bill is outrageous but, that’s only cause they care so much. Truth be told, I was curious. I was intrigued. I went onto the website. I did, and what I found pissed me off. I found a page that was practically blank with nothing more then what that seductive flyer alluded to: This phone is fucking awesome, but you can’t see, and you won‘t be able to get it. Nope, not until thousands of people place it on hold before you and it sells out. You’ll have to wait until they restock the stores, cause when it makes it to the stores it will sell out there too. You won’t see it in real life until one of your friends or co-workers gets it and you will secretly spite that person until you finally go out and get it yourself but, by then my friend, we will have already sent you another flyer about our version 2.0. Which you will surely miss out on too! Fall 2009! There was a spot for me to leave my email to receive updates on the birth of little BBS however, things have a way of not working when I use them. I was sent to a blank page. Twice. I give up. In short, the phone may or may not be awesome and I would probably break it.

TOP TEN FAV MYSPACE BLOG POSTS OF ALL TIME FROM THE PAST TWO MONTHS PLUS ONE FOR GOOD LUCK AND THEN ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD

AND I PLAN TO TAKE UP YOUR TIME BY HAVING YOU READ THEM IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER...

WHERE SHOULD I PARK AT THE COURT HOUSE
Last weekend, while down in Port Chester, NY, I found a parking ticket snuggly positioned between the glass on my windshield and it’s wipers. Oh shit, not another one of these. I shoved it into the pocket on the side of my door and basically forgot about it until today. Tonight, really. About an hour ago ,while out in my car, I reached into that very same black hole of a compartment and retrieved my long lost violation. Reading the ticket this time around I noticed something rather peculiar. It was a summons. Not only had I been summonsed to court, but my court date is tomorrow night at 7 PM. Well, that’s good to know. Upon, failure to appear, a summons or warrant for arrest may be issued. I’m not kidding, it says that under my hearing date. Where the hell did I park, you ask? Apparently in the wrong spot. Originally I was going to park my car in a cozy little lot across the street from my intended destination. “Don’t do that,” a man exclaimed,” they’ll tow ya away if ya park over there!”. “Thanks mister!” I found a spot on a side street within a line of about ten other cars. Not a good move. I had unknowingly situated myself where I did not belong. Where no one belongs. Where Nighttime Parking is Prohibited.


MIGHT AS WELL BE A TOUR BUS
Driving around Stamford is a lesson that has taken me years to learn.
I am all the short cuts and scenic routes this town can offer.
I have passed prostitutes on the corner, drug deals in the parking lot, and murder scenes at the bodega.
I drive by elementary schools, car accidents, birthday parties, cook-outs and children growing into adults sipping 40oz‘s until morning.
I have watched the police watch me watch them.
I look for familiar faces as cars pass.
I have been traveling around in circles for years and it has led me to find myself somewhere in between it all.
I drove around town today knowing myself.
I know exactly who I am.
I'm the girl fairytales are based on.
Not the standard image of a princess.
I don’t dwell within palace walls, but I am my modern day hope for a happy ending.
I am the girl with talent, the girl with torment, and the one with all the passion.
I am cursed, or at least I was until my identity crisis wore off.
An afternoon spent listening to, “The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me”, seeing the sunshine in the sky, and the prospect of Autumn making it’s familiar way through the hills by my house, leaves me ready for more.
My heart pounds to the beat of -----Ready For It All.


TALK ABOUT WAKING UP ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE BED
Before my alarm went off this morning I had already killed a man. The continuous beeping from my digital radio alarm clock lasted exactly two minutes. In those two minutes, post my murderous spree, I left me more disoriented then during the actual act of killing. I hit the snooze button and crouched over my prey. “You never knew what hit ya, did ya? They never do!” I smile and congratulate myself on a job well done. I inhale the metallic smell of blood as it fills my nostrils then exhale life. I never even knew his name. I know he told me repeatedly over the evening but I thought he looked more like a Paul and never paid his true name any mind. “Paul, look at you! Pathetic! You were a pathetic, sad, stupid man, Paul. It’s better off this way.” It is at this very moment that I always find myself a little queasy. Not because the gravity of my actions hits me here, but because I hate having to drag dead weight through the house trailing blood across the carpet and hard wood floors. What a bitch. And for what? The sheer satisfaction of killing.



SCREW YOU PIZZA GUY
A few weeks ago, a pizza delivery guy made a rather inappropriate comment to me. “Someone’s getting fat!” he said with a grin. I appealed his statement with a slanted look and a snarl. “Get the hell out of this office!” He nervously chuckled, but I was far from laughing, “Seriously, get the hell out!” The audacity, I thought, as I turned and walked away. Who the hell does this guy think he is telling me I’m getting fat? What this professional food delivery dude didn’t know was that moments before he mistakenly mentioned my girth, I had been thinking that recently I had put on a few unwanted pounds. The idea of gaining a bit of a pooch around my belly left me with a heavy feeling of anxiety. I felt angry towards myself, frustrated, and even slightly ashamed. Silly, I know. I am not what one would consider an “overweight person”, but facing your own imperfections can be trying nevertheless. Oh well, I thought, maybe nobody notices. Enter the pizza guy.
His comment, in turn, reminded me of a piece I had written earlier in the year on plastic surgery vs. society’s standards of a healthy self-image. So here it is…in honor of some asshole with a big mouth and little initiative to activate his common sense censor!

Hello Dolly
The moment my mind clicked to take on plastic surgery as a topic of interest, I wondered whether or not I was pro or con on the matter. Note, my opinion going in is con. The second question I asked myself was if that included plastic surgery for breast cancer survivors, those touched by violent assault, or burn victims. Not as easy to answer as it seems. I absolutely see the beauty man has created with technology to assist in improving the quality of life for others. The truth is, science has evolved into it’s own amazing entity, Godlike even. This is where the lines of reason become blurry, a side effect of being so power drunk. I was also curious to know if I shun bodily sculpting out of concern for my species, or if I contest the strive for perfection out of my own vanity? To be honest, I’m not so sure.
It’s funny, I remember growing up knowing Dolly Parton had fake breasts. It was novelty. I remember giggling about it with my friends on the blacktop basketball courts at school while we played four square. That’s where we would tell each other all of the things are parents never thought we heard, and learned about sex. We set rules to shape the people we would be. There is a time in childhood when your mind is so ready to be etched by the desires dictated by reality, then identity takes it’s form. As girl growing up in the 90’s, I was looking at a world of beauty and hierarchy. There I found dislike in myself by means of comparison. Look at what I’m up against. Prettier, skinnier, taller, the list goes on and on. It can be a maddening pattern to weave through.
As far as role models are concerned, Barbie and I where acquaintances, not friends. I’ll admit, there where a few good times. She had a fantastic RV and let me do whatever I wanted to her house. I may have wished for as many accessories as she had but, never was I confused or eager to emulate the body of a toy of no real use to me. Like I said, we only hung out sometimes. Pageants and displays of magnificence found themselves mainstream, and nonsensical expectations where set by a world in awe of silicon filled bags. Crazy. Now I am at a place in life where I am stepping into woman territory. I live in the real world. What I have noticed though, is that for some, reality is relative.
While watching one of the many interchangeable reality shows with one of my non-doll friends the other night, we saw the horror of a twenty-something year old chick who had ruined her face up with lip implants. Is that right? Sometimes I don’t know. Am I jealous of the appearance of this woman who implanted foreign objects into her face, or am I completely freaked out? I’m terrified. I understand thoughts of growing old or undesirable are hard to manage but, no matter how tight you pull back the skin on your face, we are all going to expire eventually. Why disguise the truth with a swollen magenta mouth, straw blond hair and artificial body parts? The further I analyzed the more I wondered, how many people are into aesthetic adjustments? According to one website, 11.7 million cosmetic procedures where performed in 2007 as opposed to 2,099,173 in 1997. I wonder if people in the future will even be made of people. Even if still people, certainly not themselves. But why?
Humans can be cruel. We can be cruel to one another, to other creatures, and to ourselves. Not only cruel, but also greedy. Wrapping my thoughts around the progression of such an epidemic, I obtained perspective on how insatiable society truly is. Since so many are buying into buying themselves, there must be somebody selling themselves to them. A body of mass consciousness certainly has a supplier for the demand. Opportunists come out and the games begin. Whenever somebody is selling anything you can bet, someone else starts selling it too. This generates competition, competition covets attention, and attention is created by interest. What is interesting to a collection of people? From what I can see, TV good, fat ass bad, instantaneous pleasure and being better than the guy next to you. Survival of the fittest! Even if that means you are nipped and tucked. I can become the object of everyone’s desire. Sounds tempting. I can look like movie star. I can have her nose, first they break it, I can have the fat in my thighs sucked out by a tube, and I can even have the bone in my toes shaved down for daintier feet. If I want to, I could be a virgin again. All I need are the pesos and the lack of self-acceptance.
A friend of mine actually went in to have “some work” done. He went to Peru for rhinoplasty and came back with more problems than it was worth. The tissue inside of his nose had become infected and doctors had to remove the tip to treat the contamination. It was bad; he was scared to lose his nose. He was back and forth and in and out of hospitals until finally he obtained resolution. The infection subsided and healing set in. After all of that you would think that he had learned his lesson. No, not at all. Months later he was planning a trip back down to Central America to have his ear lobes modified. What? When I asked why, I got the same answer I had received in the plastic surgery chat rooms I had visited. “It makes me feel more confident!” So, are you that concerned with what other people think? “I have more self esteem now that I know other people think I look good.” If I may quote Kat Williams, “It’s esteem of your mother-fucking self.” Learn it.
I’m riled up now. The Internet is swarming with prospects of changing yourself, and there are even social networking sites dedicated to finding men to pay for women to have their tits enlarged. I said, there are social networking sites dedicated to finding men to pay for women to have their tits enlarged. Traveling through the murkiness of You Tube, I found clips of parents reasoning away why they paid for their seventeen-year-old daughter to go under the knife. One woman, overweight and sloppy herself, went as far as saying, “I’m proud of what I’ve created.” If she where talking about knitting a sweater I would understand, but her daughter had been through multiple reconstructive surgeries to look like some carbon image of the girl before her. It’s becoming prevalent out there on the streets. A plague on all your houses!
Perfection is shoved in our saggy, creased faces by means of anti-aging creams, botox cocktail parties, newspapers, magazines and television. There’s no turning back. . Reflections are misleading, and after a while of staring at yourself, what you see is corrupt. My stance has maintained throughout my research, con status. To each his own though. Perhaps my mind will change as I grow older. It is possible that someday I may need a little tucking, plucking and sucking. For now, I stand on the other side of the fence, the side that looks like people.



HOLY SHIT, BRITNEY SPEARS WENT TO CHURCH
That was actual breaking news on Access Hollywood, or “ET”, or some show resembling the formula of unnecessary information and rumors. The horror of this tale is not only the subject matter, it is that this is what people are watching. I will be honest, even I get caught basking in the warming glow radiating from “Reality TV” . I don’t like to admit it but, it’s true. I prefer to think I do it for the science. The “people watching people and I wonder why“ science. I’m just studying. While conducting my analysis on most shows, I rub my chin, raise a brow, and I say to myself, “why do people do this to willingly?”
Few and far between are good impressions left by these primetime peeps into the psyche. Refer to how the current 20-something is portrayed on said shows. Most often drunken, lazy, stupid, and slut-like. Now look to the seasons of any one of the many dating shows on air. Feel the butterflies while you spend months locked hostage competing for the attention of one person, are allowed only limited contact to family and friends, look ridiculous, usually ingest a foul concoction of some sort , and have no access to real-life reality. Sounds like a breeding ground for only the most enriching, loving and long-lasting relationships. I actually met my boyfriend on one of these shows. No, I’m lying, those shows suck at finding love. What they don’t suck at is providing people, who I wouldn’t normally give a shit about, hours of my life that I will never get back. Damn marathons. A girl’s got to learn though, and that I have. Lessons include, but are not limited to, the fact that I reside within a society that would rather watch other people live life than live lives themselves. Voyeur by any other name...
Another example from my notes is that people clearly enjoy the suffering of fellow humans. The unraveling sanity of some of our favorite artists is definitely at the top of my list of crap I need to stay updated on. Not that the networks haven‘t planned for this and fully meet the demands. Like pimps to ho’s, we’ve been slapped like a motha$@&#. This is an addiction. Culture isn’t just partying on the week-ends anymore. Not just watching, “I Love New York” with a few friends to take the edge off of work either. Nope. Now it’s all day, every day. Overdosing is inevitable, not to mention long-term side effects, holes in the ozone and such. Consumed by being consumers, America has lost focus on what is really important. It’s time for culture to recognize that it has a serious problem and own up to the truth. Back off the pop-stars, and go to fucking rehab yourself. I’ll watch.


HARD TO SAY REALLY
I felt a sharp pain in my mouth
As my tongue spun around the topic
I find it hard to admit
I’ve had enough
A rasp to the voice in my head
While I rebel from the thoughts in my mind
What I can admit to you
Is just not enough
I wonder if what I can say could ever be
So raw to touch and soft in hand to hold me still
Although rough and tart to taste my will
My kiss reveals my lust
Such is shown so I creep
I tip toe home where I belong
Façade to face, appear detached
Fall hard and turn to dust


LONGING TO LEAVE LA VIDA LOCA
What can I say? As each month passes I continue make promises to myself to adjust my typical weekend debauchery and bring it down a few notches. Whispers of relaxation, and catching up on the sleep I complain about lacking during the week, grow to nagging echoes as Monday morning stumbles from my bed like a one nightstand. “Oh shit, it’s you! I mean, good morning! Coffee?” I perpetually swear to the inner Krysta, that this will be the weekend I start the projects that haunt my intentions M-F. Yup, this Saturday I will clean my room, write my novel, and most certainly cure cancer or AIDS. That, or I will end up down town living like some American Idol rock star reject while amateur photogs take pictures of me sucking back $10 vodka and Red Bulls. Did someone say shots? Don’t get me wrong, it is perfectly normal to live it up and succumb to the seductions nightlife offers. With its instantly gratifying allure and guaranteed next day regret, who could ask for anything more? Me, that’s who! I want more. It’s not that I don’t enjoy seeing almost everyone I’ve ever met within 100 square feet of one another. It’s not that I don’t like dancing around like a fool with my friends, spilling drinks on myself as well as the unfortunate souls to either side of me. It’s not that I think all the, “I love you, you’re awesome!” and the, “We need to hang out soon!” are disingenuous comments. It’s that I have this sneaking suspicion that there is more to life than bar tabs and beer pong tournaments. That is why this weekend I’m going to find out what the rest of the world has to offer. For the next few weeks I aim to refrain from my usual activities and really live life. I’m going to do it. This weekend. I swear.



SABATH 7/27/08
I spent this Sunday afternoon alone.
Wedge Inn for cheeseburger and reading.
Pictures before movie.
Movie before pictures.
Walking around downtown.
Met people.
Banana shake at Lucky’s.
Was glad to be alone,
Couldn’t think of anyone who should be there too.
I am reading, “The End of Faith“. Faith is all I have. It’s what propels me through life. Without faith the reality of an existence without any known significance seems unfulfilling and dreadful. That is why I encourage the talents of my beliefs to go on out there and put on a show. I call the presence that accompanies my desire for accomplishment Faith. With that being said, I do not share custody of my Faith with any house of God or my loyalty to any organized religion. I believe it is foolish for mankind to continue to allow such a malnourished and archaic idea structure to regulate our obedience. For the greater part of the human timeline, enforcement of a religious ideal system has been inflicted upon society. Murderous wraths have been spewed like a noxious gas upon our entire civilization, at every corner of the earth , by our own hands at the request of the intangible God(s). If this mentality guides us through our days of eternity it will certainly be the destruction of our existence. If you are theistic in thought then I am most likely a sinner in your eyes. I fit the profile. Never did make Holy Communion. I am an evildoer and by all cost should be put to death. Only according to the Bible, Old and New Testaments. And the Koran. I guess that’s not too bad, only three doctrines to list my wrong doings and sentence me to death, followed by an afterlife in hell. Upon examination of the standard set by many religious teachings, not only I but you as well will sear through the course of infinite time anguishing beside Satan.
Do you think that if Joseph where here today he would bring Mary to the Maury Povich show for a DNA test on Jesus? “Maury, I’m 110% positive that Joseph Jesus baby daddy. And he will be payin child support, wit his triflin ass!“.
It seems that religion was a natural progression of the awakening mind of early man. As the dynamics and depth of man’s relationships between one another changed by ways of language, artistic expression, and the very first, “Why?” , I can see where the utterly unbelievable explanations of one’s fears and new found awareness breathes first breath. The monogamy man has endured to prove love to his own falsehoods and fantasies exceeds appropriateness. With the development of more sophisticated science, why is it that as a species we still cling tight to our bedtime stories and farcical tales of a man in the clouds. Just as a child learning the fundamentals of riding a bicycle, there comes a time when it is necessary to remove the training wheels. We have had enough time to learn our balance. As we evolve we must do so alone. God would want it that way.
Secret #4: I do not believe in your God. I hope we can still be friends!



WHAT TO DO WHEN FRUSTRATION GETS THE BEST OF YOU
Maybe I am ill. Maybe my stress load has finally reached its threshold. Maybe I am simply due for a vacation. Maybe I contracted some sort of emotionally debilitating disease last week when I forgot to wash my hands after holding a turtle. I really couldn’t tell you. Truth of the matter is, I have been feeling slightly off the past few weeks. Discovering the antidote to my poisoned perception is number one on my “To Do” list. This calls for a complete inventory of all my current woes.
Frustrating Torment #1. I feel destined for a life of solitude and misery.
Frustrating Torment #2. I am dissatisfied. (With what you ask? Yeah, welcome to my mind!)
Frustrating Torment #3. I feel like I’m wasting my life, wasting time, wasting away.
Frustrating Torment #4. I feel like I’m not as good of a person as I should be. (Whom am I comparing myself to? The “me” trapped inside of my being. She’s pretty awesome.)
Frustrating Torment #5. I have never traveled. I so desperately want to see the world but I am stuck in Connecticut. Frickin Connecticut.
Frustrating Torment #6. This is labeled “Classified”…sorry!
Frustrating Torment #7. I didn’t even hold a turtle last week. I lied about that.
Well, there it is. What do I do with all of it? Highlight and delete? Take a deep breath? Count to ten? Honor sacrifice? No, not a single option mentioned really helps me here. Introspection is becoming annoying! Maybe I need a soul whisperer. Maybe I need more hugs. Maybe I need strong, experimental drugs. Maybe, most likely, I just need to get over myself!

DEATH BY SIX

Let me tell you how I really feel. I hate Alive @ 5! I do. I am sorry if that makes me less of a Stamfordite but, the truth must come out! I have been down to the green twice since the concert series began and both times left a foul taste. Tonight was hot and crowded. Two things I hate. And drunks. I find drunks completely annoying when I am trying to push my way through a hot crowd of loud and obnoxious townies on my way to see a band I never gave a fuck about anyway. In fact, when Eve 6 first came out I thought, "Hey, this band sucks!" Little did Eve 6 know that a few years later they would be proving me right DOWNTOWN STAMFORD at a free fest for the fucked! I did have an awesome burger from Bobby V's!
Let me take a moment to apologize to anyone I left down there. I'm sorry guys! Perhaps I was a little hasty to run off so fast. We all know my phone is experiencing some technical difficulties these days and maybe that caused me to be a little cranky! It all just brings us to my point, Secret 2 . As outgoing as I may appear, I hate large crowds of humans. A party here or there is one thing, but the entire town in the park, fuck that! If only Boys II Men where here!

EVIL WOODCHUCK…DUN,DUN,DUN
I have an evil woodchuck living in my backyard! He seems to be evil, although, I have no evidence of any sorcery. Perhaps he just wants to appear malevolent so we do not remove him from the tree stump he occupies. Either way, he sure helps control the Kebbler Elf population. Unfortunately this has resulted in a wide spread Rice Krispy famine across the lawn. Maybe the woodchuck is evil after all.

THE FIX
Tonight I find out what kind of person I am, a real eye-opening night. The guys and I are parked midway up the driveway, like any other evening of the week, sitting in a sea foam Volkswagen. Another episode depicting daily existence and it’s a re-run. We had recently been in one of those conversations that has you laughing, crying, and coughing all at once, we joke the best together. Using only impure narratives and detailed images we sketched shapes of ordinary and mundane life in new color leaving the monotony no longer intact, we live in our own world. This magnification of lackluster situations somehow resulted in my own enlightenment. I’m sick of this shit. I’m Ava, and I’m in charge.
Bored with my reflection in the black of night bouncing off of the rear passenger window, and annoyed that the temperature is just cold enough to see my breath, I close my eyes and run lost within the steadiness of the beat from the stereo. Distracted only momentarily from the banter I pick up on a few key words and jump back in.
“What the fuck do you mean you aren’t addicted? You’re high right now!”
“ Yeah but that’s cause I want to be.” That’s Sam. He is twenty-six, currently sleeping nine to five, and in denial that he might have a problem.
“ I’m just not in a place in my life where I feel I’m ready to say fuck you fun, so fuck you Ava!” I shouldn’t be talking. I’m no good girl. I just like to see how far I can push them. I don’t keep it going too long . Too long and we might come down.
“How many fucking night’s are we gonna sit around and bullshit and get fucked up, before we go fucking crazy?” I swear Jaxon’s eyes light up when he speaks . His cool green eyes, like mint to keep my view fresh. I love it when he stares at me, right as his voice sneaks through his lips without having a chance to censor.
“I mean, let’s just go already! Fucking put the car in drive and let’s go!”
A bottle of Captain Morgan falls to the floor as he shakes the car like an enraged gorilla. I climbed up to the front seat, where Sam had been before he got out to piss in the bushes, and turned the engine on. I‘m going to drive us away from this routine.
Right now I’m heading down the same old streets I drove up last night. Perpetual back and forth and round and round. I can hear the voice my head screaming bloody murder, but no one else can.
“What do you think boys, what’s good for tonight? What do you wanna do?”
By the snorting I hear coming from the back of the car I know Sam has already figured it out.
“ Someone pass me a cigarette, take the fucking child lock off the window, Ava, and lets go get more coke!” Those are the magic words. More coke. They light up Jaxon’s eyes again, just as they had the nights before. He agrees quickly and looks to me as if I’m his mother and he is pleading for a new toy.
“So…are ya gonna…I mean…can you give us a ride?” Dammit Jaxon! He knows I don’t want to say no. He knows I can’t say no. Not to him or to the coke. I picked up the habit while homeless for a year back when I was seventeen. My mother was a prostitute and left me alone when she died from hepatitis after sharing needles and fucking the city. I slept where I could for as long as I had to before ending up here. Wherever I am, home, with them.
I can’t help myself. I agree to the ride. I can take them there and they can do what they want. Just because they are doing it doesn’t mean I have to. Not at all. I can just hang out. I can be the sober one. I can be sober. I can be the only sober one. I will be the only one sober. Maybe I can do not too much, but a little, and then just, ya know, stop. I’m sure I wouldn’t go overboard, I have self control. I can do a little and stop before I do too much. I bet I can. Those are my thoughts all the way until we make it to our intended location. Shhhh! That voice sure is persistent.
“Turn the fucking headlights off, are you stupid?” Basically. Sam is a nasty drug fiend, he needs the fix. “Sorry asshole, I wanted to see what I was driving into.” I can't stand to be around him while he's so edgy.
“Call ’em again Sam so we can get the fuck out of here. You got the money ready?” Jaxon’s eyes are stern now. He’s agitated. Sam is agitated. I am agitated.
“Is that him?” I see a figure walking up to the car but, I can’t make out a face.
“Put your window down Ava, he’s going to your side.” I look over at Jaxon as he hands me the money. I hear two loud bangs before I’m shot, point blank, in the head.