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!!