Haven't blogged in a while it seems, and I miss it. Such a dry spell, rather, a lack of things to talk about. I can't even get more than one line of poetry done anymore either. I have so many bits and pieces it's overwhelming and quickly takes the urge to write out of me.
Just got done watching my Sunday night show, Grey's Anatomy. I love this show. When it was over in my head all I could think about was, "that was a good episode...I wish I had watched it with someone." I don't watch TV with anyone anymore with the exception of watching House with McKenzie and her mom a new "habit/ritual". It occured to me why I'm not so interested in watching TV anymore...I don't have anyone to watch with me. I love being able to watch something funny and look at people's faces to see his or her reaction. I have absolutely no idea why. I've done it all my life it seems, but only noticed it semi-recently. And then there are times when you just want to comment and discuss things you saw together. When I was in Cali with my brother and his girlfriend the three of us watched Grey's. I guess usually my brother doesn't watch those shows, but his girlfriend does and it was awesome to just be able to talk to her about the show...who we like, who we don't, what we want to see happen...normal things...a tiny conversation about a show that isn't actually important...but what it does for me is important, at least when I watch with someone else. I only recently started watching House and partly cause I got hooked, but it's just now occuring to me that I watch it because, a) I know for a fact someone I see a lot of the time watches it so if I want I can discuss it with her, and b) most Friday nights I watch it with McKenzie and her mom so I get that whole "reaction" thing. Just realized how watching people's reactions makes me sound really creepy which in turn makes me feel like I'm creepy. But then again, it just shows more of how I enjoy seeing and making other people happy and in turn it makes me happy. Still creepy though huh?
Michael, I know you watch it to, but damn it, different time zones and all...oh plus the fact that we aren't watching it together and the even bigger fact of you not being online so much anymore...makes it hard...but I'll take what I can get I suppose...so...dude, I totally hate Alex...asshole...and...even though I hated her in the beginning and love her now...I don't want McDreamy's wife and McDreamy to stay together I want him and Meredith back!
And on a huge note...totally unrelated to anything else I've said in this post...
When and if I have kids, I'd be worried about having more than one because the first child might get/feel neglected...and I'd hate for them to feel the way I do...as though I was the guinea pig...I wouldn't want to have only one child though, cause there's always that chance of them being a spoiled brat past the age where children know how to get what they want. Still though, there's always the chance that I won't make a good mother. Looking back I am remembering the two kids I used to babysit then became the "nanny" for. They were pretty much the same age difference my brother and I are, even the same situation...girl was older, boy was younger. I know for a fact I favored the boy, new him when he was only a few months old and his sister was 3ish. She reminded me a lot of myself and naturally we butted heads a lot...and I noticed too much of my dad (the way he used to be) in myself, in my words, in my tone/voice...I hated it while I was doing it, and looking back on it, I hate it even more. They were and still remain awesome kids, very well behaved, hell I think my brother and I were as well, I know we could have turned out a whole lot worse than we did...especially compared to how my cousins were/are. Oh well, I just don't want to be the way my dad used to be and I don't want to be the way I was to the girl I used to babysit...and then I feel like in my head I'll judge myself and say, "sure, it was okay to fuck someone else's child up but not your own, you fucking hypocrite!" I'm too hard on myself I'm sure, but until I figure out a better way of keeping myself in check, I suppose it's going to have to do. Shure, I'm more docile and quiet than I was back then...but what if it all comes back...I went from being a puppy dog follower/easily controlled/dominated person (before moving in with my friend and her family) to controlling (while I lived with them) right on back to docile/follower type...though not as easily pushed around (after living with them). I hated being pushed around...but I turned into what I hated...eh, I think you get the idea...
Done rambling, I hope.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Damn it...I know companies and advertising people have the pure and simple goal of making things appeal to us, making us want and need things...but come on! "Hey let's make alchohol more appealing!" Let's make this diet pill convince weak minded people that it will not only cause them to lose weight, but, it'll make your hair, skin, and nails healthier! Please! Now of course I mean nothing offensive by refering to us as "weak minded people," but let's face it, a lot of us are. Commericals play to our weaknesses, appeal to our vanity. I know none of this is new, and I know I'm not the only one outraged by these types of things. I'm a huge fan of the "truth" commercials. Hell I know a ton of people realize and know the risks of smoking and drinking, and all those other nasties that are out there...I also know it's incrediby difficult to quit anything like this...that's where advertisers have it even easier...they don't have to do much convincing with products that we're all hooked on anyway.
There are kids out there who know more than I do, not only is that sad and embarassing, it's outragously unnecessary. I'm all for educating kids so they know what not to do, and repeating "don't smoke, don't do this or that" cause yeah, I didn't listen, but I did. I watched my grandma died from lung cancer years after she quit smoking...too late. A lot of people have died because of his or her addiction(s)...we are so fucking ourselves over. We know, but we can't stop.
Gah! And now I act as if advertisers and big companies aren't human too...they're doing what they need to do to survive. They're playing on their own weaknesses too, they know what works cause they are us and we are them...ugh...I exhaust myself!
I dunno, sorry for the outburst...might not happen again...nah, it probably will.
I need to go watch cartoons now
There are kids out there who know more than I do, not only is that sad and embarassing, it's outragously unnecessary. I'm all for educating kids so they know what not to do, and repeating "don't smoke, don't do this or that" cause yeah, I didn't listen, but I did. I watched my grandma died from lung cancer years after she quit smoking...too late. A lot of people have died because of his or her addiction(s)...we are so fucking ourselves over. We know, but we can't stop.
Gah! And now I act as if advertisers and big companies aren't human too...they're doing what they need to do to survive. They're playing on their own weaknesses too, they know what works cause they are us and we are them...ugh...I exhaust myself!
I dunno, sorry for the outburst...might not happen again...nah, it probably will.
I need to go watch cartoons now
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Some pics
13 pixie sticks...
13 pixie sticks in my mouth.
And the bird...Phoebe...who loves my mom and my brother...even though I'm the one who feeds her...well, when neither of them are around and that's a lot.
And, once my friends give me approval that I keep forgetting to ask for...I want to post a few of the pics of them I've taken.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Me at the moment
THAT I WOULD BE GOOD
by Alanis Morissette
that I would be good even if I did nothing
that I would be good even if I got the thumbs down
that I would be good if I got and stayed sick
that I would be good even if I gained ten pounds
that I would be fine even if I went bankrupt
that I would be good if I lost my hair and my youth
that I would be great if I was no longer queen
that I would be grand if I was not all knowing
that I would be loved even when I numb myself
that I would be good even when I am overwhelmed
that I would be loved even when I was fuming
that I would be good even if I was clingy
that I would be good even if I lost sanity
that I would be good whether with or without you
Monday, April 10, 2006
Where memory takes over...hell yes I'm bitter...
...but I'll survive.
(Blogger's spellchecker screwed up a few words so if by chance there are a few melded words, extra letters at the end of words, or anything else that looks out of place...it's Blogger's fault and I got tired of re-reading and fixing.)
I've been going through a lot of the pictures that I've taken on my digital camera. Recently I took a few of places/things that are important to me, that have changed from how I wish to remember them. A few years back I had intended to take a bunch of pictures of everything about the farm that was significant to me, I waited too long; never ever hesitate on moments like this. Just in case it gets confusing, the description for each picture is under the picture. One more thing, whenever I say "we" or "us" I am talking about the five grandchildren; from youngest to oldest: my cousin Lucas, my brother Ryan, my cousin Veronica, my cousin Rachel, and myself. Our mother's are sisters and the farm we "grew up" on belonged to our maternal grandparents who live/lived near us here in Washington.
This is a poorly shot picture of the house my parents built...less than a year before they got divorced. Neither of them could afford to keep it so it was sold. The new owners (don't know how many owners had it after us) added the shop that you see in the back right of the picture (light colored building). The grass wasn't ever there [we weren't there long enough to grow any grass aside from on the "mound"(our septic tank which that shop was built on)], neither was the fence or those pretty trees next to the house...and the house was painted (same color as the shop), not wood paneled.
What you see now is what's left of Nana's (my grandma's) garden...nothing. What I can remember her growing were potatoes, little tiny ones. We used to have to chase the chickens out of the garden for Nana all the time because they dug up the potatoes. She also grew corn, sunflowers, poppies (we used to pick them after the petals were gone, let the "shells" dry out, then shake the seeds out and sprinkle them everywhere), carrots, squash, pumpkins, and she even had a rather large raspberry bush. There used to be two stacks of hay bails, one on either side of the side entrance to the garden. One year Nana turned them into "boats" for us; girls got one, boys got the other (not actual boats or even a boat shape, she just planted it in our minds and we went with it).
On the right is the house (used to be pink, gag me), to the left is the covered patio, and right smack-dab in the middle is where you see the skeleton of our old playhouse. My aunt, not the backstabbing-bitch, but I will admit she is a bitch as well, tore the playhouse, swing-set, and swinging bridge apart, added that metal gate and fencing so that her five bouviers (breed of dog) had a yard. Papa (grandpa), two uncles, and I think my dad built that playhouse for us. There was a fireman's pole and tire-ladder that lead to and from the upper level of the playhouse. A swinging rope-ladder, and climbing rope were on one of the sides, both leading to nothing but a beam but were still fun to climb on nonetheless. My brother once fell backward off one of the regular ladders that led to the top section. He tried to brace his fall and broke his wrist, just a little fun fact. Half of the bottom section of the playhouse had a sandbox, which was enclosed when we weren't playing in it because there were cats on the farm...you can imagine where that would have led had there been no cover. Course the cover didn't keep pincer bugs out... As I mentioned there was a swinging bridge as well, how many kids can brag about having one of those growing up? There was even a swing-set that sort of matched the playhouse, far better than one of those store bought plastic/metal ones.
This is one of two barns on the farm. I can remember it being full of hay, up to the rafters. We used to climb all the way up, when allowed of course, had we fallen we would have been greeted by a long drop to the cement floor or, if there was room, the back of Papa's truck. Our parents and aunts used to take a couple trucks and collect bailed hay from fields Papa cut that belonged to other people (I'm unclear on this, but it was either bought or traded for Papa cutting it all, I don't know for sure). It was something we always wanted to go and help with, but of course we were not strong enough, nor fast enough, and however helpful we might have intended to be, we'd only be in the way. To the left of this barn (facing it, as in the picture) was an enclosure for the sheep.
This is the second of the barns. Those cars were never there and the roof of course hadn't collapsed (that happened a few years ago). In fact right in front of that barn is where one of the bulls was enclosed, his name was Rover and at some point he became dinner, well several dinners of very, very tough beef. In between the two barns was another enclosed area for one bull (Rex, Rover's daddy, as we were told anyway) and two cows (Momma Cow, Rover's Mom, duh!, and Rover's sister-we didn't give her a name). Two the right of this barn was a huge enclosed area where maybe a dozen of cattle roamed. Not sure why there were three separate places but oh well. I remember the electric fencing and touching it lol, several times. There were two huge water troughs which coy, or maybe just goldfish, were kept to keep the water from getting too nasty. We used to hop in the bed of Papa's truck to take bails of hay to the cattle in the big enclosure and each of us was taught how to "tie up" the bailing twine, not a difficult task.
This is Papa's final resting place. I'm not sure how many of my relatives actually visit, and I'm pretty sure no one other than my friends know of my occasional visits. As you can see we don't do much upkeep, but we should, and since I'm pretty sure no one will, that "we" is going to have to be me. I loved him, he was my hero, he died just 13 days after my 12th birthday. Here's a short poem (about Papa) that I wrote way back when I first started writing poetry:
Papa
The unspoken words and fading memories
Have left me feeling empty inside.
The things I wish I had said or had done
Have left me wondering.
Your face isn'’t so clear to me anymore,
Your big hands and wonderful smile also fade.
I wish I could climb into your big lap,
I wish you could hold me in your arms.
I loved and adored you, why didn'’t I tell you?
You were always there and suddenly you were gone.
And this is my ex-uncle's final resting place. I say ex-uncle because my aunt (yes this time I'referringng to the backstabbing bitch, my mom's youngest sister) divorced him probably about a year before his death. Since he wasn't part of my family by blood, I have dubbed him "ex-uncle" though I believe this is the first time I've ever thought of him as my "ex-uncle". He is the father of my three cousins I mentioned in the beginning. For those of you who didn't notice the "deathday" of both Papa and my uncle...my uncle committed suicide less than a month after Papa died. As far as I know Papa's death was not in any way part of the reason for my uncle's suicide. My uncle was a police officer in town, I'm pretty sure he was depressed from the divorce (and now that I'm grown up and now how my aunt can be, I'm pretty sure she made his life a living hell, or more of one at least, after the divorce). Ah, the knowledge that comes with age...I would give some of it up.
This is MuuMuu's (my paternal granmother, as I named her, affectionately, because she always wore muu-muus that my mom made for her) final resting place. As you can see, she's in a wall...a huge wall, which is now full on the inside of thcemeteryry and soon to be full on the outside. Think I mentioned how it's possibly the second largest military cemetery...second to Arlington. My paternal grandparents live in California.
At the moment I'm in bizarre state of mind. The kind where I feel the next step is, well best described as, "angry-sad, emotional movie scene" mind-set. The one in which the character breaks shit, throws things around, can't feel any physical damage done to them. It starts off angry and fades to angry-sad leaving said character in a heaping pile on the floor/ground, body shaking from sobbing, a blubbering pile of nothing...ah, emotion.
Either I'm not close enough to the state of mind in which I could care less about breaking my own things and destroying my mom's house, or I just don't feel like being found this way and having to explain things.
It's hard to remember these places and people in their prime. Memories have been skewed a bit and new "stories" have been introduced to me that have changed how my memories should be. Luckily even these few pictures here of places time has forgotten manage to spark some good memories for me. I knew things would fade from me, and I understand, but I'm sure everyone has moments where you just have to dwell on old times, rummage through your mental pictures. One day, after Nana passes I will get ahold of every picture possible, especially those from before my mom was even born. I'm worried that when this day does come I may never see any of those pictures. A huge family falling out is inevitable, fights will occur, despite Nana's will, over who gets what. Even though my money-grubbing aunts, and possibly my mom will fight over the many valuable antiques and such, I know that out of spite, one of them will get their hands on the photos, which are probably worth absolutely nothing money-wise, and I'll never get a chance to see them. After Papa died, the shit hit the fan, as most of you know, but when Nana dies, the world will end. This isn't just a matter of me looking at only the dark side, this is me looking at what I know will happen, in fact, I am probably picturing it the best possible way it could play out...I've seen how this family operates and it ain't pretty.
Ah, hell, why don't I end this with a poem I wrote about my childhood with my cousins (also written back in my earlier poetry days, please ignore the blatant misuse of comas...):
Childhood
Running through the field,
Making up worlds of our own,
Day after day,
Kittens and truck rides,
Cooking and cartoons,
Rain or shine, the world was our own,
Treats and smiles,
Giggles from our bellies,
A nap in the afternoon,
Toys and costumes,
Who shall we be today?
Picnics in the sun,
Trips to the beach,
Remember the lion?
Sandcastles surrounded by pebbles,
Nets and 10cent butterflies,
Climbing apple trees,
Hay-bail forts,
Sweet raspberries tickling our tongues,
Baby animals stealing our attention,
String cheese and squeeze pops,
The shoe on the fence,
Summers from our past,
Gone but not forgotten.
(Blogger's spellchecker screwed up a few words so if by chance there are a few melded words, extra letters at the end of words, or anything else that looks out of place...it's Blogger's fault and I got tired of re-reading and fixing.)
I've been going through a lot of the pictures that I've taken on my digital camera. Recently I took a few of places/things that are important to me, that have changed from how I wish to remember them. A few years back I had intended to take a bunch of pictures of everything about the farm that was significant to me, I waited too long; never ever hesitate on moments like this. Just in case it gets confusing, the description for each picture is under the picture. One more thing, whenever I say "we" or "us" I am talking about the five grandchildren; from youngest to oldest: my cousin Lucas, my brother Ryan, my cousin Veronica, my cousin Rachel, and myself. Our mother's are sisters and the farm we "grew up" on belonged to our maternal grandparents who live/lived near us here in Washington.
This is a poorly shot picture of the house my parents built...less than a year before they got divorced. Neither of them could afford to keep it so it was sold. The new owners (don't know how many owners had it after us) added the shop that you see in the back right of the picture (light colored building). The grass wasn't ever there [we weren't there long enough to grow any grass aside from on the "mound"(our septic tank which that shop was built on)], neither was the fence or those pretty trees next to the house...and the house was painted (same color as the shop), not wood paneled.
What you see now is what's left of Nana's (my grandma's) garden...nothing. What I can remember her growing were potatoes, little tiny ones. We used to have to chase the chickens out of the garden for Nana all the time because they dug up the potatoes. She also grew corn, sunflowers, poppies (we used to pick them after the petals were gone, let the "shells" dry out, then shake the seeds out and sprinkle them everywhere), carrots, squash, pumpkins, and she even had a rather large raspberry bush. There used to be two stacks of hay bails, one on either side of the side entrance to the garden. One year Nana turned them into "boats" for us; girls got one, boys got the other (not actual boats or even a boat shape, she just planted it in our minds and we went with it).
On the right is the house (used to be pink, gag me), to the left is the covered patio, and right smack-dab in the middle is where you see the skeleton of our old playhouse. My aunt, not the backstabbing-bitch, but I will admit she is a bitch as well, tore the playhouse, swing-set, and swinging bridge apart, added that metal gate and fencing so that her five bouviers (breed of dog) had a yard. Papa (grandpa), two uncles, and I think my dad built that playhouse for us. There was a fireman's pole and tire-ladder that lead to and from the upper level of the playhouse. A swinging rope-ladder, and climbing rope were on one of the sides, both leading to nothing but a beam but were still fun to climb on nonetheless. My brother once fell backward off one of the regular ladders that led to the top section. He tried to brace his fall and broke his wrist, just a little fun fact. Half of the bottom section of the playhouse had a sandbox, which was enclosed when we weren't playing in it because there were cats on the farm...you can imagine where that would have led had there been no cover. Course the cover didn't keep pincer bugs out... As I mentioned there was a swinging bridge as well, how many kids can brag about having one of those growing up? There was even a swing-set that sort of matched the playhouse, far better than one of those store bought plastic/metal ones.
This is one of two barns on the farm. I can remember it being full of hay, up to the rafters. We used to climb all the way up, when allowed of course, had we fallen we would have been greeted by a long drop to the cement floor or, if there was room, the back of Papa's truck. Our parents and aunts used to take a couple trucks and collect bailed hay from fields Papa cut that belonged to other people (I'm unclear on this, but it was either bought or traded for Papa cutting it all, I don't know for sure). It was something we always wanted to go and help with, but of course we were not strong enough, nor fast enough, and however helpful we might have intended to be, we'd only be in the way. To the left of this barn (facing it, as in the picture) was an enclosure for the sheep.
This is the second of the barns. Those cars were never there and the roof of course hadn't collapsed (that happened a few years ago). In fact right in front of that barn is where one of the bulls was enclosed, his name was Rover and at some point he became dinner, well several dinners of very, very tough beef. In between the two barns was another enclosed area for one bull (Rex, Rover's daddy, as we were told anyway) and two cows (Momma Cow, Rover's Mom, duh!, and Rover's sister-we didn't give her a name). Two the right of this barn was a huge enclosed area where maybe a dozen of cattle roamed. Not sure why there were three separate places but oh well. I remember the electric fencing and touching it lol, several times. There were two huge water troughs which coy, or maybe just goldfish, were kept to keep the water from getting too nasty. We used to hop in the bed of Papa's truck to take bails of hay to the cattle in the big enclosure and each of us was taught how to "tie up" the bailing twine, not a difficult task.
This is Papa's final resting place. I'm not sure how many of my relatives actually visit, and I'm pretty sure no one other than my friends know of my occasional visits. As you can see we don't do much upkeep, but we should, and since I'm pretty sure no one will, that "we" is going to have to be me. I loved him, he was my hero, he died just 13 days after my 12th birthday. Here's a short poem (about Papa) that I wrote way back when I first started writing poetry:
Papa
The unspoken words and fading memories
Have left me feeling empty inside.
The things I wish I had said or had done
Have left me wondering.
Your face isn'’t so clear to me anymore,
Your big hands and wonderful smile also fade.
I wish I could climb into your big lap,
I wish you could hold me in your arms.
I loved and adored you, why didn'’t I tell you?
You were always there and suddenly you were gone.
And this is my ex-uncle's final resting place. I say ex-uncle because my aunt (yes this time I'referringng to the backstabbing bitch, my mom's youngest sister) divorced him probably about a year before his death. Since he wasn't part of my family by blood, I have dubbed him "ex-uncle" though I believe this is the first time I've ever thought of him as my "ex-uncle". He is the father of my three cousins I mentioned in the beginning. For those of you who didn't notice the "deathday" of both Papa and my uncle...my uncle committed suicide less than a month after Papa died. As far as I know Papa's death was not in any way part of the reason for my uncle's suicide. My uncle was a police officer in town, I'm pretty sure he was depressed from the divorce (and now that I'm grown up and now how my aunt can be, I'm pretty sure she made his life a living hell, or more of one at least, after the divorce). Ah, the knowledge that comes with age...I would give some of it up.
This is MuuMuu's (my paternal granmother, as I named her, affectionately, because she always wore muu-muus that my mom made for her) final resting place. As you can see, she's in a wall...a huge wall, which is now full on the inside of thcemeteryry and soon to be full on the outside. Think I mentioned how it's possibly the second largest military cemetery...second to Arlington. My paternal grandparents live in California.
At the moment I'm in bizarre state of mind. The kind where I feel the next step is, well best described as, "angry-sad, emotional movie scene" mind-set. The one in which the character breaks shit, throws things around, can't feel any physical damage done to them. It starts off angry and fades to angry-sad leaving said character in a heaping pile on the floor/ground, body shaking from sobbing, a blubbering pile of nothing...ah, emotion.
Either I'm not close enough to the state of mind in which I could care less about breaking my own things and destroying my mom's house, or I just don't feel like being found this way and having to explain things.
It's hard to remember these places and people in their prime. Memories have been skewed a bit and new "stories" have been introduced to me that have changed how my memories should be. Luckily even these few pictures here of places time has forgotten manage to spark some good memories for me. I knew things would fade from me, and I understand, but I'm sure everyone has moments where you just have to dwell on old times, rummage through your mental pictures. One day, after Nana passes I will get ahold of every picture possible, especially those from before my mom was even born. I'm worried that when this day does come I may never see any of those pictures. A huge family falling out is inevitable, fights will occur, despite Nana's will, over who gets what. Even though my money-grubbing aunts, and possibly my mom will fight over the many valuable antiques and such, I know that out of spite, one of them will get their hands on the photos, which are probably worth absolutely nothing money-wise, and I'll never get a chance to see them. After Papa died, the shit hit the fan, as most of you know, but when Nana dies, the world will end. This isn't just a matter of me looking at only the dark side, this is me looking at what I know will happen, in fact, I am probably picturing it the best possible way it could play out...I've seen how this family operates and it ain't pretty.
Ah, hell, why don't I end this with a poem I wrote about my childhood with my cousins (also written back in my earlier poetry days, please ignore the blatant misuse of comas...):
Childhood
Running through the field,
Making up worlds of our own,
Day after day,
Kittens and truck rides,
Cooking and cartoons,
Rain or shine, the world was our own,
Treats and smiles,
Giggles from our bellies,
A nap in the afternoon,
Toys and costumes,
Who shall we be today?
Picnics in the sun,
Trips to the beach,
Remember the lion?
Sandcastles surrounded by pebbles,
Nets and 10cent butterflies,
Climbing apple trees,
Hay-bail forts,
Sweet raspberries tickling our tongues,
Baby animals stealing our attention,
String cheese and squeeze pops,
The shoe on the fence,
Summers from our past,
Gone but not forgotten.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Mancala boards and crackfaces...these are a few of my favorite things...
*for those of you not in the know, "Mancala board" will be explained in due time, and "crack face" is a MSN messenger emote.
So, it's been awhile...how is everyone? Adjusted to the new month and time change yet? Hope so, there's nothing like writing the wrong date on your papers and such. I suppose it's even worse when you actually write "2/4/2006" instead of "4/4/2006". Yeah, that's right, not only did I use the wrong month, I went back to the one before last.
Lately I've been having rather anxiety ridden days, but in intervals. Like primarily when I think about the things that cause me anxiety. Yeah, cause when I'm thinking about anxiety causing issues, I'm totally calm (note: that last sentence was said in sarcasm)...glad I could give you two explanations that you probably didn't need....anywho....almost vibrated myself into "puke mode" (no that's not a reference to a dildo, I meant that I couldn't stop moving). And I probably could have cried all day. Something must be in the air, because not only was I miserable, the only people I'm around on a constant basis were miserable too, but it wasn't me bringing them down. I suppose we're just getting more and more in sync (I almost spelled that as 'Nsync, curse you Nsync for screwing with my words. And why the hell did they name themselves 'Nsyc? I mean I'm sure it has something to do with them singing in sync, but damn that's a lowsy name. Gah, more tangents, I'm so good at straying). Continuing on (hope you weren't looking for the short story)... It's as if we're in sync with each other much like women who live together (omg I almost said to getter WTF, it's not even a word I have to think about but I manage to screw it up, Bravo!) women who live together get in sync with each other (I'm hoping you all know what I'm getting at cause I so don't feel like describing it further). Somehow we fixed ourselves, but bandaids don't last for very long and we'll probably pick at the scab. Wow, I don't even know where that came from.
On to the good times! Tonight we decided to take a trip to the mall so that we could find the new Placebo album that we're all dying to hear. One problem, we didn't leave town until 8pm and even though we knew that the mall was going to be closed at 9pm (it's basically a 45 minute drive, give or take)...we headed there anyway. So, no new cd. Reminds me of the time we went to the Green Day concert and stood in the wrong, seeminly endless line for a very very long time, only to be told we were at the wrong door... *another sidenote, isn't it odd how when you're the last person in a long line you feel totally better when other people fill in behind you? It's like "gee, I sure am glad we aren't last anymore", even though no matter what, we're still going to have to wait forever.
So, we went to Red Robin had some shakes and fries, and Cody had a burger (as if it's imperative for you to know this). It was awesome, I'm fairly certain that we appeared to be high. Nearly endless moments of laughter, french fries in milkshakes (McKenzie you're weird), and non-stop "let's insult the hell out of each other" moments; we do that so well. Red Robin has some great advertising. They had a menu card with this phrase, "Consume the shrooms...(there was more to it but I don't remember it)". I was crazy insane before our trip even started. I can't seem to function properly if I spend almost the whole day alone, or at least not interacting with people, regardless of the fact that I've been chilling with my homies most days, you think that'd hold me over. Sad thing, there's nothing about my "alone" day that's worth discussing with anyone, yet somehow I wind up talking non-stop.
Tonight was just one of those moments that you want to keep with you always (there's a song in there somewhere. I mean, that line could be used to fashion a poem/song, not that it made me think of an already sung song). Got to keep those moments around just in case you'll never have them again. I loved every minute of it, even the "Mancala board" incidents, they're what keep us all together, if we had nothing but "Mancala board" moments, it would at least give us something in common. By the way "Mancala board" moments is basically our new term for insulting and bashing each other mercilessly, but I'm pretty sure it's a term reserved only for bashing me...it's actually hilarious and tolerable as long as no one is in "broken down emo kid" mode.
OMG, not only do I talk too much, apparently I "write" too much...I know this won't be any problem for Stephanie, in fact I'm sure she'll enjoy it. Stephanie you speed reader you!
So yeah, anxiety about not being financially secure. I still have no job and now I have a very nearly empty bank account. I do want a job, but I'm scared to death of not having time for friends. It's rather hard for me (the money issue). Usually I'm the one saying, "if you don't have enough money for that energy drink, I'll get it, just pick one out." But now, I feel like a mooch. So Cody, thank you very much for paying for that tank of gas and for taking us out for some treats. It meant a lot. Means even more to me that you two won't let me worry about taking from you, like it's no sweat, that's what friends do. And thank you McKenzie for being the one buying me the energy drinks. You guys are good to me, even in the "Mancala board" moments. As long as we are laughing at those moments I'll know I'm safe and loved by you guys.
We are endless.
We are hopeless and copeless.
But we make it okay.
So, it's been awhile...how is everyone? Adjusted to the new month and time change yet? Hope so, there's nothing like writing the wrong date on your papers and such. I suppose it's even worse when you actually write "2/4/2006" instead of "4/4/2006". Yeah, that's right, not only did I use the wrong month, I went back to the one before last.
Lately I've been having rather anxiety ridden days, but in intervals. Like primarily when I think about the things that cause me anxiety. Yeah, cause when I'm thinking about anxiety causing issues, I'm totally calm (note: that last sentence was said in sarcasm)...glad I could give you two explanations that you probably didn't need....anywho....almost vibrated myself into "puke mode" (no that's not a reference to a dildo, I meant that I couldn't stop moving). And I probably could have cried all day. Something must be in the air, because not only was I miserable, the only people I'm around on a constant basis were miserable too, but it wasn't me bringing them down. I suppose we're just getting more and more in sync (I almost spelled that as 'Nsync, curse you Nsync for screwing with my words. And why the hell did they name themselves 'Nsyc? I mean I'm sure it has something to do with them singing in sync, but damn that's a lowsy name. Gah, more tangents, I'm so good at straying). Continuing on (hope you weren't looking for the short story)... It's as if we're in sync with each other much like women who live together (omg I almost said to getter WTF, it's not even a word I have to think about but I manage to screw it up, Bravo!) women who live together get in sync with each other (I'm hoping you all know what I'm getting at cause I so don't feel like describing it further). Somehow we fixed ourselves, but bandaids don't last for very long and we'll probably pick at the scab. Wow, I don't even know where that came from.
On to the good times! Tonight we decided to take a trip to the mall so that we could find the new Placebo album that we're all dying to hear. One problem, we didn't leave town until 8pm and even though we knew that the mall was going to be closed at 9pm (it's basically a 45 minute drive, give or take)...we headed there anyway. So, no new cd. Reminds me of the time we went to the Green Day concert and stood in the wrong, seeminly endless line for a very very long time, only to be told we were at the wrong door... *another sidenote, isn't it odd how when you're the last person in a long line you feel totally better when other people fill in behind you? It's like "gee, I sure am glad we aren't last anymore", even though no matter what, we're still going to have to wait forever.
So, we went to Red Robin had some shakes and fries, and Cody had a burger (as if it's imperative for you to know this). It was awesome, I'm fairly certain that we appeared to be high. Nearly endless moments of laughter, french fries in milkshakes (McKenzie you're weird), and non-stop "let's insult the hell out of each other" moments; we do that so well. Red Robin has some great advertising. They had a menu card with this phrase, "Consume the shrooms...(there was more to it but I don't remember it)". I was crazy insane before our trip even started. I can't seem to function properly if I spend almost the whole day alone, or at least not interacting with people, regardless of the fact that I've been chilling with my homies most days, you think that'd hold me over. Sad thing, there's nothing about my "alone" day that's worth discussing with anyone, yet somehow I wind up talking non-stop.
Tonight was just one of those moments that you want to keep with you always (there's a song in there somewhere. I mean, that line could be used to fashion a poem/song, not that it made me think of an already sung song). Got to keep those moments around just in case you'll never have them again. I loved every minute of it, even the "Mancala board" incidents, they're what keep us all together, if we had nothing but "Mancala board" moments, it would at least give us something in common. By the way "Mancala board" moments is basically our new term for insulting and bashing each other mercilessly, but I'm pretty sure it's a term reserved only for bashing me...it's actually hilarious and tolerable as long as no one is in "broken down emo kid" mode.
OMG, not only do I talk too much, apparently I "write" too much...I know this won't be any problem for Stephanie, in fact I'm sure she'll enjoy it. Stephanie you speed reader you!
So yeah, anxiety about not being financially secure. I still have no job and now I have a very nearly empty bank account. I do want a job, but I'm scared to death of not having time for friends. It's rather hard for me (the money issue). Usually I'm the one saying, "if you don't have enough money for that energy drink, I'll get it, just pick one out." But now, I feel like a mooch. So Cody, thank you very much for paying for that tank of gas and for taking us out for some treats. It meant a lot. Means even more to me that you two won't let me worry about taking from you, like it's no sweat, that's what friends do. And thank you McKenzie for being the one buying me the energy drinks. You guys are good to me, even in the "Mancala board" moments. As long as we are laughing at those moments I'll know I'm safe and loved by you guys.
We are endless.
We are hopeless and copeless.
But we make it okay.
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