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.

Poppin My Cherry

This is my very first post since leaving the comforting womb of Myspace! Deep down inside part of me wonders if anyone will continue to read my ramblings now that I have cut the immediate audience umbilical cord that attatched me to a certain social networking site. My reason for canceling my page was thought up in haste as most of my major decisions are. I would like to claim a spirit of Myspace bloggers past came to me in some sort of divine vision, exclaiming that my dues as a small time, wanna-be, local writer had been payed and my huge, "You did a great job!" check was in the mail. That didn't happen. Really, the idea popped into my head as I skimmed the internet looking up adult bed wetters and diaper wearers. I do not typically research adult bed wetters and/or diaper wearers however, this happened to be a rather special Saturday afternoon spent with two other well adjusted friends of mine. That is an entirely different story which is actually far less perverse than what I'm sure your over sexually stimulated minds have conjured up. Somewhere between learning what the initials AB/BL meant and watching 20 minutes of human beat-boxing, I though, "Hey...cancel your Myspace page!" So shall it be done, so shall it be did, and here I am! Well, I'm here. Hopefully you all still give a crap!