Stories, Rambles, Rants, and Thoughts

A Visit to the Appalachian Center

2010-06-23T08:28:00.001-07:00

The Strangers and Kin film marked my first visit to the Appalachian Center, so I drug my boyfriend and roommate along with me. While waiting for the film to start my boyfriend turned to me, looking fairly concerned, and asked if the film would be about incest. I was mortified at the sheer ignorance of so-called "city folk" in Kentucky (as he is a resident of Richmond). My roommate gave him a sneer and asked "Haven't you ever heard of kissin' cousins?" adding to his terror.

Before the actual film, a short documentary was played entitled The Real Cost of Coal. This documentary had a particular play on my heart as my grandfather had suffered a crippling accident while working in the coal mines during his early thirties. During the short film memories of my childhood flooded my vision and I realized I had never lived a day in emy life without seeing a coal train, be it crossing the tracks to get to my broken down home in Woodbine as an Elementary child, getting to Main Street from my current home, or living beside the tracks in one of many trailer parks. The south is certainly worth more than the coal it can mine, and the miners themselves have souls and hearts the same as any other person, and yet we are all seen as expendable, dividends, a smudge on an otherwise spotless record. What a disgrace.

The film itself featured the classic hillbilly portrayal of Appalachians, bringing in quotes of multiple historical figures who discussed "Mountain People" as "lazy drunkards who are comparable to the barbarians of the Old World." I have lived in Kentucky all my life, and my family stems from a long line of Leslie Countians. I have watched my crippled grandfather work in any aspect he could during his late years of retired life, my grandmother work her fingers to the bone to be the perfect house wife, and my father, as well as his siblings, work from sunrise until sunset only to see more work piling in on top of them. Lazy is not a word to use against people of the region, for, if anything, it is those who depend on servants, assistants, modern privileges, and the sweat of others who are lazy.

Further, the film portrayed an elderly woman, cutting down limbs and scraping the bark to make a salve. My boyfriend had never heard of such a thing, but I had spent many of my childhood days hunting up "Burn Plant" for salve, grinding tomatoes for canning, peeling beets, pouring gasoline on my bee stings, and running around barefoot with knots in my hair the size of Texas. These memories are to be cherished, not scorned by those who did not experience them. Backwards is a phrase often used to describe us, but we're as forward as it comes, especially in the instance of telling you just what we think without a care to the wind of politeness.

I am from Kentucky. I have never been without at least 5 pairs of shoes. I have never had less than two weeks worth of outfits in my closet. I have never taken a Christmas present or leisure hour for granted out of knowing how hard someone else had to work to get them for me. I have a deep respect and love for the land, nature, and the beauty it brings to and out of people who will allow it. I walked around in just a T-Shirt and panties as a 3 year old, and I fought to get out of baths. I have every tooth in my mouth I was meant to have, with only one cavity in the set. I've had hair down to my ass and smacks to my mouth. I've run along side a multitude of pets and spent every summer of my life at my grandparents learning more about the old days and the hard times. If I am backwards, barbaric, or uncivilized, I will be in my grave, decayed to dust, before I ever consider changing.

NOW, Feminism, and Modern Boyfriends

2010-05-03T09:49:00.001-07:00

Of all the texts we experienced this week on gender, the Love Your Body campaign touched me the most. As I watched the images slide by on the screen, and, towards the end, read them all to Andrea, a singular thought kept rolling through my mind: So many people are going to see this campaign and say that women are looking for any excuse to stir trouble--probably because we're PMSing.

As a quick testing of this idea, I brought my boyfriend back to my room last night and had him watch the slideshow, read If Men Could Menstrate and The Myth of the Vaginal Orgasm (Schneir 333). When he had finished he looked at me and said, "I agree with the slideshow, but the readings really offended me. Feminists take things too far, past anything realistic." I had began to nod my head and regret upsetting him when it occured to me--I did not have to agree with his thinking. I had found all three texts to be very truthful and meaningful, I had no obligation to downplay that because it had upset him. Of course it had! Who likes having the tables and jokes turned back on themselves? "Men would not get free tampons, that's ridiculous," he pressed. By this point I was aggravated with us both so I got right in his face, "Is that so? Condoms can be gotten for free from most hospitals and any Health Department. Birth Control is costly. How is that not similar?" He hung his head, ashamed.

The experiment had led to a discussion of menstruation and why men felt so uncomfortable hearing about it. My roommate, being the intrusive, opinionated third wheel, shouted "Uh, because it's DISGUSTING!" This, of course, caused another thought to come into my head. Do women naturally view this cleansing week as gross or foul, or has the socially taught secrecy around the subject given us that view? I began to think about my body, my body image, and how it all related to the advertising I had just shown my boyfriend.

As a child I discovered the various parts of my body, and I never thought anything was wrong with them. I had always been a little bigger than my childhood friend, but we had viewed it as a race to grow up faster, and I was winning. I never cared if my hair got brushed or if my clothes were in fashion. I had spent my days playing outside...and watching cartoons. In the 90s cartoon characters weren't sexy or pressuring. I didn't feel like I needed to look like a cartoon character. Then, when I began to watch movies, I started to feel insecure about my larger size and my unruly hair. It's happening now to younger girls, and the ads for products, as displayed in the campaign, are getting so much worse. Dead girls are beautiful? Skinny dead girls are better? Beautifully executed. Even Americans Next Top Model had a few "look like your dead, but still sexy" photo shoots. This. Is. Wrong.

My boyfriend is convinced, my roommate refuses to see it. Can anyone explain that to me?

God Is A Mean God

2010-01-14T19:48:00.000-08:00

If God is Dead, Is Everything Permitted? By Elizabeth Anderson addresses many morally sour issues found in the Bible. Anderson reflects on God’s cruelty, favoritism, racism, genocide, and pleasure in the death of others (especially children) as detailed in books including Leviticus, Exodus, Hosea, 2 Chronicles, 2 Kings, as well as others. Need examples of God’s sickening morality?
Hosea 13:16 -- The people of Samaria must bear their guilt, because they have rebelled against their God. They will fall by the sword; their little ones will be dashed to the ground, their pregnant women ripped open.
Leviticus 20:18 -- If a man lies with a woman during her monthly period and has sexual relations with her, he has exposed the source of her flow, and she has also uncovered it. Both of them must be cut off from their people.
Exodus 34:11-14 – Obey what I command you today. I will drive out before you the Amorites, Canaanites, Hittites, Perizzites, Hivites, and Jebusites. Be careful not to make a treaty with those who live in the land where you are going, or they will be a snare among you. Break down their altars, smash their sacred stones and cut down their Asherah poles. Do not worship any other god, for the LORD, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God.
Exodus 21:7 – If a man sells his daughter as a servant, she is not to go free as menservants do.
Deuteronomy 21:10-14 – When you go to war against your enemies and the LORD your God delivers them into your hands and you take captives, if you notice among the captives a beautiful woman and are attracted to her, you may take her as your wife. Bring her into your home and have her shave her head, trim her nails and put aside the clothes she was wearing when captured. After she has lived in your house and mourned her father and mother for a full month, then you may go to her and be her husband and she shall be your wife. If you are not pleased with her, let her go wherever she wishes. You must not sell her or treat her as a slave, since you have dishonored her.
How a so called loving God encourage, if not demand, such horrific acts to be performed by his followers? Not only are you expected, during the course of your life, to perform heinous acts that would no doubt leave a believer emotionally scared, but should you fail to perform to near perfection you will suffer eternal torment in the fire filled pits of hell. Aren’t you feeling the love?
Now you might notice I used the New International Version for the translation of the original scripts for this article. Being raised Methodist, I was always thought the King James Version was the only version to be taken seriously. As I began to question my faith around the age of twelve or thirteen I flung myself into studies of religions and biblical transitions. To my surprise and amusement the attachment of the term “version” to King James was more than fitting—some of the translations were completely inaccurate—after all, it is hard to find words between languages that do not have the exact same meaning. Take Lithuania, for example. Lithuania does not have brownies; I know this because I dated a Lithuanian during my junior year of high school. The closes the Lithuanian language could come to “brownie” is keksas—muffin. The language barrier kept him from accurately describing to his grandmother the American chocolaty dessert. Translating the biblical text must have been the same way. Words could come close, but not be perfectly accurate to get across the proper meaning. Because of this language barrier, how can anyone, believer or not, trust the text of the Bible to lead them about their day to day life? Unless it is read in its original form, in its entirety, it cannot be a valid reference or trusted by any means.
It has also come to my attention that many Christians ignore the Old Testament, whose scripture is used for this post. How, if they are good Christians, can they ignore half of their sacred text? Many have told me it is because Jesus came in the New Testament and told the peoples the Old Testament was outdated and wrong. If this is the case, hasn’t Jesus, the ultimate Christian leader, committed blasphemy by denouncing the direct word of God? Just sayin’.

Theological Arguments FAIL

2010-01-14T19:41:00.003-08:00

All readings assigned for Atheism Monday seem to be centered on three arguments: ontological, cosmological, and teleological. Writers from Carl Sagan to Mel Gibson have studied these theological arguments, analyzed them, and threw all but the old lady next door at them. Once you understand the arguments, I’m sure you will join me in praising, and perhaps furthering the arguments presented by these authors.

Ontological Argument

This particular argument sounds more like an excuse than an intellectual, well thought out reasoning. The ontological argument proposes that if we, as imperfect humans, can consider the idea of the greatest possible being, then it must exist. Now, before we chase this idea out of town on a rail, let’s consider its logicality.

A chair cannot be produced if it is not first thought of by a chair maker. While I will not ask the continuously used question “Where did the chair maker come from?” I will ask this: Is it not possible that the inventor of the chair conceived the notion out of necessity or desire rather than it being put there as evidence of a chair’s existence. I understand that connecting a chair to God might be somewhat difficult, but let me explain. To believe that having the idea of God’s existence is proof of that existence because there is no way to know of something that is not already in existence is the same as believing chairs have always existed because the idea of a chair is proof.

Chairs were made because humans wanted something sturdy and comfortable to sit on. It was solely out of desire. In this way, one can venture into thinking God was invented solely out of the desire for comfort and justification for every good and bad experienced by people in every day life.

Cosmological Argument

This argument declares that something had to cause the Universe to exist, and that cause had to have been God. Not only has science already shown how the universe started, it leads to the obvious question “Where did God come from?” Further, if the Universe did not always exist and had to have been created by a God, where does God live and just how large of a person is He? Assuming he made the universe, one would have to believe he is larger than the universe in terms of size, not specialness. The universe is infinitely large and continuously expanding, as science has shown, so where does God stay? What is larger than the universe, size wise, for God to rest his hat at the end of the day? It certainly cannot be Heaven, because the galaxy is always referred to as “the Heavens.”

Teleological Argument

This argument states that nature is so complex and orderly that it could not be run or created by sheer chance or accident; this means God must exist and he is the reason for the complexity and order found in nature. This, again, seems like an excuse believers have to explain things that are hard for them to understand in their uneducated ways. I don’t think it needs more discussion than that.

Craig's Cogent Arguments

2010-01-14T19:41:00.001-08:00

In relation to my previous post, and, consequently, the same assignment, Christian author William Lane Craig published literature called Theistic Critiques of Atheism speaking on the unreasonableness of Atheism and the clear truth of Christianity. Craig has two main points in this piece: There is no cogent argument for Atheism, and there are cogent arguments for Theism. Each section is broken down like so:

No Cogent Arguments for Atheism

Presumption of Atheism

If there is no evidence of God, then it would be reasonable to assume that God does not exist. Craig challenges this as an Agnostic belief, not an Atheist one, and therefore irrelevant in the determination of whether or not God is real.

(In)coherence of Theism

The notion of God is weird and incoherent.

Problem of Evil

God would not allow there to be evil, but evil is a big part of our world, so God cannot be.

Cogent Arguments for Theism

Contingency Argument

Everything has a reason for being. That reason is God.

Cosmological Argument

Everything that is now had an initial start. That start was God.

Theological Argument

Everything in this world has a pretty set pattern. Can’t be chance, must be God.

Moral Argument

Without God, there would not be morals. We have them, so God is real.

Hmm…

Craig’s arguments for why there is a God are lazy, useless, and prove nothing. Merely repeating over and over that God exists because Christians believe he does is by all means a waste of air. Craig’s arguments are monotonous and ineffective, which is heartbreaking considering he is a modern writer. If anything, the Atheist arguments he presents in this piece are more believable than the ones he presents to discredit Atheism. Take chance, for instance, chance caused me to get a paper cut and a hang nail in one day. Did God really sit down on his big throne in the sky and ponder to himself “Hm, Crystal’s hands have not suffered injury lately, perhaps I shall give her a slight annoyance of an injury so she does not become cocky and believe her hands to be immortal.”? Preposterous! Chance is real, it’s alive, and it’s provable. Just ask any 5th grade math teacher.

Mediations

2010-01-14T19:39:00.002-08:00

Rene Descartes wrote a so-called “philosophical guide” in Latin during the year of 1641 by the name of Mediations on First Philosophy. Though I have only been forced to read the first three mediations for my Atheism course, I do not believe I would ever, in a conscious state of mind, finish the last three of the guide. Not only is Descartes a rambling lunatic, he’s a pompous Frenchman who goes so far as to delude the reader into thinking his years of grueling work happened in a matter of merely six days. I implore you to, should you ever feel as though a migraine would be the perfect way to end your day, read some of Descartes’ Mediations so that you can see the madness for yourself.

First Mediation

Descartes’ First Mediation deals wholly with the idea of doubt in a person’s ability to distinguish the difference between reality and the dream world. His reasoning, focused mainly on the body’s makeup and movement, is that real life can be as confusing and unrealistic as a dream, whereas a dream can be as convincing and reasonable as real life, after all, a dream can only use images based on images seen in the life of the dreamer. This being the case, how can one know if they are living in a dream they just haven’t (recently) woken from, or actual reality.

Second Mediation

In the Second Mediation, Descartes concerns himself with exploring, finding, and proving what is real. He discovers that his thoughts are the only things that cannot be taken away from him once he subtracts anything that may or may not be a false image given to him by some “evil spirit” to trap him within his own mind and keep him from causing any trouble. This mediation gave birth to the phrase “I think, therefore I am,” meaning because he has the capacity to think, he must exist. Further, those thoughts must have been placed in his head by something.

Third Mediation

Somehow, in the Third Mediation, Descartes believes he has proven the existence of God. Continuing his concept that a thought must originate somewhere, and that somewhere cannot be himself, he “discovers” that something cannot be made out of nothing and therefore some starting element must have created everything. He further demonstrates his lunacy by claiming that everything must exist for a reason so, clearly, he exists for a reason—this, presumably, being more than the torment of students everywhere. He decides he cannot exist because of himself, as he would have made himself perfect like any self-respecting, self-centered individual. He cannot have always existed because he is a dependent being, and cannot exist because of his parents as this creates infinite regress. Something less than God could not have made him because then there would be no idea of perfection if perfection was not already in existence somewhere, therefore God made him and God is real.

Hmm…

Let us first look at Descartes Second Mediation. I think, therefore I am. If thoughts are the only thing determining the existence of people, what determines the existence of matter and objects? Descartes calls humans “rational animals,” so I rationally disagree with his conclusion. The computer on which I am typing has no capacity for thought outside of that which I or those before me have programmed it. Because it is not capable of thought, and thinking determines existence, I must exist, but this laptop does not. (Reasonably speaking, if the laptop does not exist, neither should this paper; however, I do not believe that is sufficient evidence for my professor to dismiss the assignment.) Further, the chair I am sitting it is composed of matter. Matter cannot think, as far as science can tell, it can only react to its environment—which is an entire argument on its own, how can something react if it cannot think—therefore, the chair on which I am sitting does not exist. This room, this desk, this study lamp, none of it could be real because it cannot think and as Descartes has so boldly pronounced thinking is the only truth. If Descartes is correct in his theorem, humans exist in white space that is filled in by objects built by the imagination of those who exist within it.

Now, for Descartes Third Mediation, I believe the reuse of my previous laptop example is sufficient.Descartes says that everything exists for a reason. The laptop exists to assist me in my projects. I shall now go through the same steps as Descartes to decide where my laptop came from.

* It created itself – The laptop cannot have created itself because it does not have the capacity to think.
* It always existed – The laptop is not self sufficient and is depending on electricity, a battery, and a person to plug in said devices in order to survive.
* It was created by its parents – The laptop does not have any parents.
* Something less than a human made it – Animals did not invent, design, manufacture, or program this laptop.
* God must have created it – This laptop was invented, designed, manufactured, programmed and used by humans, including myself. It exists because we said so, therefore we are God.

Isn’t it awesome to realize you are a god?

As for Descartes’ First Mediation, I have nothing to say. The section deals entirely with doubt and how doubt brings about thought and realization. My cat doubts that it is a cat. It believes that it is the reincarnation of Blackula and attacks my dogs at the neck to draw blood. It has not yet doubted this, however, I will dutifully update on any developments. Lunacy begets lunacy, no?

The Infamous Bertrand Russell

2010-01-14T19:39:00.001-08:00

Bertrand Russell’s speech “Why I am not a Christian” has been assigned to my Atheism class. After reading the transcribed version of the speech I was left with an impression of Christianity as a boastful, vengeful group of Cro-Magnons. In one of his many reasons, Russell explains that Christians believe, due to teachings found in the Bible, any wrong act committed against them, the chosen and favored people of the one and only God, would be duly and harshly punished in an undetermined amount of time. In my opinion, this not only paints an image of a scornful God, but of a generally deemed good cult which prides itself on being better than anyone else and the sole ability to erect supernatural vengeance.

I say “generally deemed good” because many would argue Christians perform Good Samaritan deeds seemingly without forethought and provide an overwhelming feeling of a crusade against evil. I disagree, and I believe Russell does as well. The sheer concept of violent revenge, one would think, should be repulsive to any good natured person, let alone a devoted Christian. After all, is it not constantly preached throughout the Bible that one must love all and turn the other cheek when smote? And yet non-believers and blasphemers are faced with the theory that any day, any minute, any where a supreme being will exact revenge on them in some profoundly sociopathic way for “talking trash” or cheating a Christian out of exact change. This leaves me with the impression that a majority of Christians enjoy the thought of harm befalling another.

The Bible preaches that one cannot hold a grudge and enter the kingdom of Heaven, however, these so called Christians are doing just that—against these individuals who have in some way wronged them and expecting punishment to befall them for it. As Christians, should they not forgive and love these sinners past even the worst of offences? I believe most can agree this is not the case. Christians have a large hold on the idea of Hell, a pit of torture, anguish, and unbelievable suffering that a soul, once having entered, can never flee. It almost seems as though they derive pleasure, if not power, from this concept. Could it not then be said Christians are a masochistic bunch? It is baffling to me, as a Pagan, that anyone claiming to be holy and good can enjoy the thought of this kind of aftermath for another individual.

Further, it would not be preposterous for one to assume that a non-believer who is down on their luck and belittled by those from whom they expect support would latch on to a belief that one day they will “get what’s coming to them” after hearing a witnessing professed by a lamb of God. In that instance, the Christian gains a convert and by extension favor in the eyes of God and the newly converted gains hope and an easing of their vengeful rage. This is both good and morally wrong. For a Christian to convert an individual on the basis that wrongs will be righted by a supreme being is not only a bastardization of the original message found within the context of the Bible, but the convert is given further affirmation that he is justified and successful in his quest for revenge. The good, of course, being that hopefully the Christian and newly converted will go on to ease others feelings of distress and anguish, if not in the right and just way.

I cannot condone such behavior as I feel it takes away from the original teachings of Christ and gathers a following of the faith for all the wrong reasons. It is my personal conviction that if one is trying to convert a non-believer to their specific religion all aspects of that religion, good and cringe worthy, should be presented in a non-biased fashion so that the to-be-converted can make an educated choice that is appropriate to his personal convictions and path.

Hitchens' Introduction Argues Morality of Religion

2010-01-14T19:37:00.000-08:00

Christopher Hitchens’ The Portable Atheist is a nearly offensive atheistic argument against the validity and necessity of the world’s major religions. In the introduction, Hitchens employs an overtly snarky, sarcastic tone to criticize nearly all major components of religion. These criticisms, to my surprise, were all boldly stated in a very in-your-face “I’m atheist, and I’m right” fashion. I was both flabbergasted and humbled in reading such an effective introduction to a rather lengthy work of literature. Hitchens makes arguments against the belief of humans being all mighty in relation to “lesser” animals, fears of atheists being immoral and unethical due to a lack of religious background, the use of religion as a tool to condemn other peoples or nations, and religion’s role as an excuse-for-all. Of course, to speak on each argument in length would take a great deal of time and, certainly, become boring for the reader, so I have chosen, what I felt to be, the two strongest arguments in the introduction.

Hitchens first argument explores the Bishop of Carlisle’s allegation of the London/Glasgow bombings being “‘a strong and definite judgment’” of a so-called “‘moral degradation’” through societies allowing of homosexual civil rights (Hitchens XV). Using this example, Hitchens’ accuses religion of essentially being a crutch to be waved violently, and sometimes used viciously, by angry bigots against anyone not conforming to their square-pegged philosophy.

I, too, find religion to be an exclusive go-to aid in explaining away any sort of catastrophe or upsetting occurrence; however, the bombing of Hitchens’ “happytown” is certainly not the only example of this obtuse bastardization of religion for personal gain or argument. I remember riding past a major funeral home as a child which having services for a local solider who had been all but blown to smithereens. The expected military send off was prepared—squad cars and fire engines all decorated with the American flag—and yet huddled in the corner of the parking lot was a group of picketers waving “Thank God For Dead Soldiers” signs and shouting profanities at mourners filtering in and out of the building. Much to the shock of nearly all the locals, the group of protestors belonged to Westboro Baptist Church of Topeka, Kansas, lead by Pastor Fred Phelps. Their reasoning, as can be found on their website http://www.godhatesfags.com, attests that God was punishing the soldiers for defending a nation of sinners. How anyone, Baptist, Methodist, Catholic, or otherwise, can claim that a “loving God” would willfully slaughter young men in vengeance of a few casinos, homosexuals, and teen pregnancy scandals baffles me. Surely, this is what Hitchens professes with his condemnation of such acts.

Hitchens also expresses appall at believer’s confusion as to the origins of a non-believer’s moral and ethic code. He argues that no one had ever told him in order to be a Good Samaritan he must donate blood to a blood bank periodically, and yet he does so willingly (Hitchens XVI). He further presses that most religions condemn this sort of behavior while others expect it, and, as an atheist, he feels such actions are generally good and does not need an omnipresent deity to scare him into doing so.

I have long found religion to be a method of control through fear, a belief further assisted by the fire and brimstone preachings of my grandparent’s church. The idea of Heaven and Hell, to me, is an enhancement of the usual parental “do this right and be rewarded, do this wrong and be harshly punished.” Yet, as most children did, I disobeyed. In my childish mind, the punishment was a distant thought to the fun of right here and now, as I’m sure it is in most adult religious and non-religious minds. I do not mean to give off the impression of me being the bad child who rides off on a boy’s motorcycle at 11:30 at night—believe me, I was a usually well mannered kid—and yet I did not weigh my actions on a scale of profit or loss. Christians, for the most part, seem to be the frightened child who believes their mother, or in this case, father, is all knowing and will gleefully bring out the belt at even the slightest hint of bad behavior. “You’ll go to hell for eternity,” they shout at non-believers. In my opinion, it’s a nonissue. I don’t know if some deity is constantly invading my thoughts and watching my actions, and to live my life in fear of what could possibly happen seems as stupid as being afraid to cook because I might catch the house on fire. In conclusion, morals out of fear are not nearly as meaningful or strongly enacted as morals out of one’s own convitions.

You Don't Even Know

2009-08-23T21:05:00.000-07:00

The music of the evening? The Beatles, John Mellancamp, 3OH!3.

Anyhow, I've decided it's been a while. I've been neglecting this fatherless baby of mine for a while now and with the knowledge that my Freshman year of college will be arriving a mere five days from now clanging around in my head, I've decided to give a little lovin' to this sucker. (Haha, dirty.) There are a few topics I would like to hit on in this massively long post. Though few of them correspond with each other they are here to entertain, explain, and remind.

Firstly, I would like to get this conversation from Mom's van yesterday penned down before it flees my memory.
Me: Billy, can't you turn that damn music off that freakin' DS?
Billy: [growl]
Me: Don't act that way.
Billy: [sigh] SORRY!
Me: Yeah, I'm sure.
Mom: Now, I don't want to listen to you two fightin'. Stop it back there.
Me: We aren't fightin', Mama. Shut your mouth and drive. [Smirk]
Mom: [evil glance]
Billy: Yes we are.
Granny: [Laughs for like...ever.]
Me: I love you, Bubby.
Billy: [growling] I love you, too.
Me: Awww, that doesn't sound like you mean it. Say it like you mean it.
Mom: You're asking for a lot.
Billy: I'M TIRED!

Ohhh I'm going to miss pissing him off. I can't convince him that some day, years from now, he's going to look back at all the times I pissed him off and smile. It makes him madder when I say that. Oh, lurve.

I've noticed lately, mostly through the overplaying of Beethoven's moonlight sonata on my Zune, how inspiring classical music can be. I don't like all classical music, by any means, but some of it is overpowering, flooding the mind with images and stories one may have never considered or seen previously. I've decided to write short stories in my spare time around the images in my head injected by awesome classical songs. I've already started on the moonlight sonata one, next will be a Bach composition.

It has become increasingly disturbing to me how many so called "christians" will read the New Testament and totally ignore the old one. I mean seriously, you can't half read something or half study it and claim to know anything about it or be a good whatever. If I only went to half of medical school, would you let me be your doctor? NO! Ugh. Also, if the Old Testament is as unimportant as you let on it is, quit putting up your damn Ten Commandments signs next to the road.

Also, a kid was flown out yesterday from close to Mom's. Apparently he flipped on his bike trying to do a 360 off his bike and broke his neck. Helmets, kids. Write that down.

More later..

I put the FUN in Funeral

2009-07-10T19:46:00.000-07:00

Okay so maybe I stole that off of a T-Shirt Hell shirt, but whatever.

My grandmother called and woke me up ungodly early this morning wanting me to take her to my cousin(who I've never met in my life)'s funeral. Of course I agreed and drove out to pick her up. Being the elderly lady that she is, she wanted to arrive an hour early. After sitting awkwardly on the benches for an hour wondering what a certain someone was up to and avoiding looking at the dead body, the funeral began. It was your every day, traditional, American funeral. Someone got up, read the eulogy, a few overly depressive songs were sung by paid musicians, then the preacher stood and preached a regular Sunday sermon making such comments as "If she could speak to you now she'd tell you to repent your ways and find God," "I know there is a place for me in Heaven," "God will comfort us all on this night." After the sermon was finished, all attending people were forced to parade past the casket in a ceremonial "final goodbye" and I convinced Grandma not to go to the cemetery.

What the fuck?

When I die, this shit better not happen or I'll haunt all y'all's asses. I officially hereby decree this blog as my tentative funeral desires.

+ Instead of all those disgustingly depressive songs that basically ruin music for anyone close to the dead person, I want some good tunes. Throw in some ACDC, Kiss, The Beatles, or The Eagles. Also, dancing should be totally encouraged.
+ My eulogy should say something more about me as a person rather than my age. Throw in a few George Carlin quotes.
+ CREMATE ME! The entire concept of staring at someone's corpse freaks me out. You never look like you and people always make those awkward comments about how peaceful and good you look. If I'm dead then I'm decaying, shut the hell up.
+ On the notion of cremation, should anyone feel it appropriate to bring weed (like, say, Aubrey), I fully expect you to knock a few ashes into my urn. Puff, puff, pass.
+ If ANY religion enters my funeral I shall smote the offender.
+ Since there will be no religious babble something will have to fill the time. People should get up and tell embarrassing and endearing stories about me, especially including all the stupid shit I say.
+ If at all possible, put me in a KISS urn or casket. They make 'em.
+ At some point the party should get so wild that my urn is knocked over, broken, and everyone dances on my ashes.
+ If, for whatever reason, cremation is no longer legal when I die, I want my own damn mausoleum. Bury me with something valuable and cool so robbers will break in and disturb my grave. This will insure my chances of becoming a ghoul.
+ Two words: GLOW STICKS
+ Everyone should bring a dish of the most fattening, good tasting foods in the world. (Aubrey, you are not allowed to bring those nasty cold shrimp dishes you like so much.)

Also, there is this website: http://news.cnet.com/8301-17938_105-10069765-1.html

Tarot

2009-06-30T23:42:00.000-07:00

Focus: Next cycle of life

Spread: Celtic Cross

Card 1: The Querent: The Star - Herald of a new beginning by an experience that will bring new hope, inspiration for courage and strength to carry on, and horizons will be broadened. Fortified by love of humanity and will experience illumination and clarity of vision.

Card 2: Present Obstacles: Knight of Swords (Change) - Sudden changes that temporarily throw life into chaos (sudden illness, accident, ect). Do something positive.

Card 3: Present Situation: The Lovers, inverse. - Refusing to take responsibility. Indicative of love triangle or inner conflict.

Card 4: Root of the Matter: Page of Discs, inverse. - Selfish, greedy person, potentially related, will cause problems. They are critical, fussy, and meticulous over small details.

Card 5: Past Influences: Ace of Cups (Spirituality) - Spiritual fulfillment and contact with the powers that be.

Card 6: Influences of the Near Future: The Lord, inverse. - Lack self-control, ambition, and tolerance of authority. Lack of self-respect stemming from parental problems.

Card 7: Attitude of the Querent: 8 of Cups (Abandonment) - Indicative of holding on to the past. Encourages letting go and starting new.

Card 8: Views of Others: 8 of Wands, inverse. (Action) - Done something foolish on impulse and will suffer far-reaching consequences.

Card 9: Hopes and Fears: 7 of Wands, inverse. (Rivalry) - Losing opportunities. Fight.

Card 10: The Outcome: King of Discs, inverse. (Earth) - Advises developing all elements within self for balance. Warns of tyrannical person.

Woo hoo!

2009-06-03T09:36:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I got a call from Berea College. The individual who interviewed me for my admission had decided to submit me for review to get an ambassador position for my required labor credits. A student ambassador pretty much just has to walk around campus, giving tour guides, pointing out this building and that and answering questions. It's basically the easiest job there but it's well repsected. It's pretty safe to say I'm very woohoo.

2049 Time Capsule Items

2009-06-02T09:31:00.001-07:00

A Complete Outfit
People of 2049 would need to know what fashion was like back in 2009. Photographs don't do justice.

A Novel
So the people can know what sort of books were popular at the time. Urban Fantasy!

A Zune and An Ipod
I intend to continue the battle between Mac and PC. PC all the way, baby.

A DVD
I'm sure by then DVDs will be outdated and therefore it would be a good idea to leave one behind for the people of 2049 to experience.

A Report Card
Just to show what grading scales were like back in 2009. In America anyway.

A Laptop
To show the technology of the day.

Money
You never know, we might be invaded and taken over by 2049 so the money would be historically valuable.

A Cell Phone
Again, another technology of the day thing. It would need to be pretty up to date with all the gadgets we have right now. GPS, MP3, and whatknot.

A Cyber Suit
Because they're supposed to be tons of fun. Maybe 2049 people will have something better.

A Bit of Modern Art
Modern turns historical. Ha!

Cassette

2009-05-31T09:03:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to post this for a long time. I wrote it for English IV around March. Enjoy.

I’ve been to a lot of public restrooms in my career. Mail carriers have to be out driving the mind numbing roads for countless hours delivering people’s baby announcements, cable bills, and junk mail so there’s hardly any time for a nice relieving moment. For the last 6 years the only phrase that’s really kept me going was “At least you’re not a pizza boy.”
Some of the restrooms were kind of nice, almost giving me a feeling of specialness - simple flowers painting the walls and sometimes the thoughtful addition of an air freshener. Others were dingy and made anyone who visited pray the person before them didn’t use up all the scratchy toilet paper or tinkle-sprinkle on the seats. Every once in a while I’d chance upon a glory hole stall or one with an “If you’re looking for a good time” phone number.

Even with all that I prefer the double toileted restrooms. Sure every once in a while something interesting will be lurking in the cobweb covered corners or someone will leave behind a little sign of their visit, usually in the form of a dislodged man-sized turd floating around in the bowl like a vacationer’s kayak; yet for some reason I make myself wait just a little bit longer so I can drive to the broken down gas stations or restaurants with the side by side stalls. I suppose I just enjoy eavesdropping on my toilet community neighbor – listening in on his worries, aggravations, and, if I’m lucky and one of the local businessmen come in, plans to get that nice little blond secretary who wears the short skirts and blue underwear.

Then again, there was just something special about having that stall all to myself. It’s almost like my concurred territory, my four walls, my porcelain god, my toilet paper. The man next door had his and this was mine and there was not a damn thing he could do about it. It was a little site of peace in a world of chaos and audit notices.

Public restrooms didn’t hold the only source of entertainment as a mail carrier (not that mail carrying had any really entertaining parts), sometimes I’d lose control of my super-sized nosey nose and snoop through the mail. The more ritzy part of town usually received packages from upscale, expensive, pointless stores like The Pedigree where a single doggy biscuit cost more than my shoes. Another frequent item was high-tech cyber suits for things I dared to imagine only in my apartment late at night; and, of course, credit card bills the size of textbooks always accompanied them.

The poor side of town was more interesting – they were my favorite. Their restrooms were the most fun and they received obtuse amounts of odd mail. I honestly never understood how they could stand, much less afford, so much mail. Scattered in the junk mail were always cards. Birthday cards, birthday invites, save-the-date cards, get well soon cards, thank you cards, congratulation cards, graduation cards, graduation invitation cards, political cards, Valentine cards, Christmas cards, even Easter cards, best friends cards, just-because-I-can cards and any other card you can imagine traveled from mailbox to mailbox every day on the poor side of town.
Of course, the junk mail always came in large amounts too – credit card pre-approvals, bank statements, pizza ads, Wal-Mart ads, Dollar Tree ads, lumber company ads, coupons, catalog books, and “have-you-seen-me” post cards. I’m pretty decided that my superiors at the post office send all the junk mail the rich don’t want to the poor so maybe they will feel better about not getting cyber suits.

Then again, that’s not what this is about, is it? Although I do think that in order to understand the real story you need to understand the normalcy of my life. I’m not a bad man.
I think it was a Thursday - that’s when all the real junk mail comes in, you see, and I keep track of my days accordingly. I was right about the edge of the poor side of town and heading toward the more rural areas of the town and realized it had been a fairly long while since I had allowed myself one of those nice relieving moments I told you about earlier. Since I’d visited all the usual stops this month I decided to try something new.

The gas station I ended up choosing was a small dainty place called Cheek Groc. It was a wooden building that seemed to be leaning to the right from all the years of high wind. Much to my deep gratitude I found the restroom to be of the double stall variety. Two at a time, whoo hoo! Since I was the only occupant at the time I lazily checked each sink’s function ability, the soap dispensers’ content levels and smells, and saved the toilets for last.

One stall had the faint aroma of urine mixed with Lysol wipes. Hints of spit stains decorated the stall walls, not to be outdone by a rather descript bashing of the Lutherans written on the stall door. Some sort of liquid had pooled on the floor and I'm not sure which part of the aroma it emitted. The usual few bits of toilet paper littered the floor.

The second one was covered in phone numbers and "I'm taking a dump, signed Billy Bob" notes. A kayak was left behind in the toilet, probably from the latest addition to the dump list. The floor around the toilet had crumbled, probably from a leak somewhere in the plumbing.

By then someone had come in so I jumped into the stall I was already in, flushed the turd, and unzipped. The guy was clearly on the phone and left with the only other stall. I leaned at his stall to listen, what any normal person would do. It sounded like his wife, or at least some chick he called "honey."

"Yeah, that's right. Send the files to Johnny in marketing and make sure to grab my flash drive on your way over." He spouted his words without care, but that was his mistake.

It was almost like my hands moved without my command. I zipped up and went to wait outside his stall door. The sounds of a toilet flushing caught my attention for a second and then it was like I blacked out. My head filled with black and suddenly I was transported to my past.

About seven years ago I woke to find a flash drive hanging above my head. I had been living with my fiancé, you see, and she was rather well known for leaving weird little messages. When I put the flash drive into our computer my whole world crashed. She said there was nothing left for her here, I was a drain on her life and she was never truly happy in my presence. She'd decided to leave me for the metro driver in the city where she worked.

I didn't know what to do. After living together for two years you'd think a person would dump you to your face, not just pick up their things in the middle of the night and sneak out the front door. Maybe I should have seen it coming, I don't know.

So with her gone I decided to do all I knew how to do at that point – jump off the local bridge. I stood there staring at the water and not a single person said a word to me. Then I smelled her perfume. I looked all around but only caught the slightest glimpse of her hair. I tried to go after her, to stop her and force her to come back to me, but she was already gone. All the women around me suddenly started to look like her and I had to bail.

I tried to find her still. I called all her friends and family members but everyone refused to talk to me. I knew I had to find her somehow and so half a month later I applied for a job at the post office.

When I came out of the dream the man was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. The toilet seat was smashed and it looked like his head was too. My hands hurt, the skin on my knuckles had been torn off. I tasted blood on my lip. It was busted. I just sort of assumed someone came in and attacked us so I ran to my car and finished my job.

"Yes, sir, but why did you kill Todd Davidson?" a bulbous man in a suit asked.

"I did, someone else came in there."

"Did you see them?" he asked again. I lowered my head.

"No."

"Sir, your DNA was found all over the crime scene. Your honor I move to place the defendant in a psychiatric ward under the surveillance of a trigger psychosis specialist."

I turned my head and looked at the balding woman in the judge's seat. She must be the lady who orders all the wigs.

"Granted. I just don't see how a flash drive started all this mess."

I stood up, and everything turned black.

I like cats and dogs.

2009-05-04T10:04:00.001-07:00

Okay, I know everyone is supposed to have a preference between cats and dogs, but guess what, I don't. I like both. Infact I have a cat and a dog and horses. Why do people feel like they have to chose between the two? Can't we love everything equally? The world would be such a better place if we just loved everything equally. Sure, you might have cat allergies or hate dog hair but you can't deny how utterly cute they are. I mean, really, baby animals are so much cuter than baby humans. Infact, baby humans are nastier than baby animals. I don't like babies.

Listen up Lindsay Lohan

2009-04-28T13:18:00.001-07:00

Okay, time me. Gain some weight, girl. You look like a meth addict on the bad end of withdraw. Get in some movies again. This laying low thing is killing your career. All we hear of you is restraining orders and jail time. Do something for good press, soon. Stop partying with your mom. It doesn't make you look like the darling daughter, it makes you look like a mother/daughter trash duo. Get some friends to hang out with at the clubs and keep your mom in fancy restaurants on dates. Influence your little sister in the "right" way. Not to be straight, but to be strong and to avoid the pressures of the press. Your a big sister. Act like one!

Earth is in the cat's paws

2009-04-22T14:19:00.001-07:00

Have you ever really spent any time watching a cat? They get inside your head, figure out what it is you want, manipulate you into thinking they're giving you what you want just so you can turn around and do everything they want. It's amazing. They're sneaky little devils, always plotting and planning and getting their way. Sure they're cute and all, but that's exactly how they get you. Humans think they go around uncontrolled but they don't. That nice little kitten over there meowing so pathetically that you're thinking about driving to the local store just to grab some milk for it is controlling you. Face the truth people.

Signs you oughta leave the party...now.

2009-04-19T11:09:00.001-07:00

Everyone is eyeing you like a piece of meat...literally.
Face it, you aren't that attractive. Fact is that pimple protruding form your neck, fat roll hanging below your belt, and odor emanating from your crotch make you very undesirable. So, why all the drooling mouths directed your way? You have walked into a vampire/werewolf party. Congratulations. Little known to your need-to-be-accepted eyeballs those "people" have been picking their teeth with toothpicks and discussing what area on your body is best to bite to get past all the fat mounds. Head for the door immediately.

The fruit punch doesn't taste like any fruit punch you've ever had.
Here are a few explanations:

It tastes coppery - You are at a vampire party. The coppery taste in your mouth is the blood of someone probably much like yourself...in the sense that they are stupid and human. Whether or not this individual has been drained dry and is dead, or is in manacles somewhere in the building is unimportant. Leave, or idiot martinis will be served soon.

There are chunks of raw meat floating in it - You were right in assuming it was for flavoring...for werewolfs. Those oddly nice but hairy guys you've been dancing with all night are just a full moon away from scratching or biting you into werewolf glory. Best to exit safely rather than testing if scratching during sex can change you.

It gives you a sort of drowsy feeling - It's drugged. Now, this could have several meanings, the simplest of which is that you are at a human party with raping fiends. Don't test it. You may just find yourself on the end of a "surprise, we're having sex" punch line...or as a zombie.

Manacles are hanigng from the wall.
Unless you have been invited to a bondage party, and with your appearance it's doubtful, chances are you have stumbled into a very bad situation. You and probably a few other ridiculously dumb humans will soon be chained to those manacles for one of the following: religious sacrifice to some horrible bone crunching, life sucking, apocalyptic demon, blood bank for a host of fang folk, sex toys for nerds and/or werewolfs, or for use of aliens. Way to go.

Oh, for three more hours

2009-04-16T20:18:00.001-07:00

Oh goodness. Well, firstly I think I would take some time to CALM DOWN. I'm packing right now and it is absolute chaos in my room. I am about the worlds worst packer so I have a list I follow. Half the things are squished in there and I'm trying to make room to fit in more. It's really a big mess. After calming down I think I would add on an extra hour of sleep since I'll be getting very little of that tonight. So, that's two hours knocked out of the way. With the third I would probably...use the snooze button on my alarm, honestly.

Controlling Emotions

2009-04-12T16:46:00.000-07:00

I want love so bad I can't think of anything else. What I wouldn't give to feel someone's arms wrapped around me to protect me or keep me warm. To feel hands on mine guiding me through darkness. I need love, but none seems to be available to me.

Suicide Girl.

2009-02-26T18:09:00.000-08:00

I'm reading this book right now, called Th1rteen R3asons Why. It's getting to me a lot more than I expected it to and I don't think it's because it touches such a real topic. I mean as an individual I have experienced, however impersonal, a few suicides in my life. First was in elementary school, when I was first being forced to write in cursive, a girl named--well, her name isn't the point is it? The point is she was young, a year older than me, and she overdosed on her grandmothers pills in an attempt to get attention. In high school I've known two intentional suicides and another accidental.

That's not the point either. This book really made me think, especially as a high school student going into college. No one ever really sits down and thinks about what they say or do and how it affects the people they say or do it to. Be honest with me, have you ever taken the time of day to wonder what that little snicker in history class meant to the geek? Sure there are stories that surface every once in a great while that call attention to it and we consider it for a few moments then get on with work or school or whatever it is that you do. We've all had it happen to us, some little remark or action bothers us for a long time and occasionally we will fit the pieces together and see that it causes a ripple that effects things long after the initial drop of a stone.

In V for Vendetta there is a scene where Evey is imprisoned by the government and receives a note though the rat hole in her cell wall. At the end of the note, written by another inmate who knew she was going to die very soon, was a small like, "I hope that whoever you are, you escape this place. I hope that the worlds turns, and that things get better. But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that, even though I do not know you, and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you, I love you. With all my heart, I love you." It wasn't until Ms. Nantz brought it to my attention that I realized the deeper meaning in it--that the greatest love of all is the love you give without reason, to anyone and everyone. They don't need to ask for it, but they do need it. We all need it. I can testify to that as good as anyone.

So why do we do what we do? Why do we seek to cause pain rather than to soothe it? Why do we never stop to think about how much we hurt the person next to us, or on the other side of a computer screen? We've all done it; I'm as guilty as anyone, pointing the finger at someone else so they don't see the darkness inside of me, but that doesn't make it any less wrong or any more right. I'm going to make a conscious effort to love, and I hope some others will too.

Forget the hurt, and the pain, the person sitting next to you probably doesn't have the slightest clue what is going on in your life, same as you have no idea what is going on in theirs. Today I learned that a girl I greatly dislike is facing losing her home. I felt guilty and nearly cried on the spot. I know I'm not the only one to experience this. So, lets try.

When your child gets into college

2009-02-10T12:51:00.000-08:00

Don't say "oh, well that's good. I'm going to play ball tonight." I got into Berea College. It's one of the best schools there is, and my father won't stay home and spend time with me the day I get my letter. Instead he's going to go play ball like he normally does on Tuesday night. He pushed this college on me so I did everything I could to get in, and he doesn't even care.

And people wonder why I had to be put on pills for depression.

Right.

Erase a phone number and you're a bitch for life.

2009-02-08T15:20:00.000-08:00

I've been put on Beta blockers to help with anxiety and depression. In light of this my father has decided to be an even worse father figure. This means avoiding me at all costs and screaming at me for the slightest things, i.e. deleting a phone number off the caller id after it had been there the entire day. Needless to say this does not help anything.

My ex-boyfriend isn't helping matters either. In his mind everything has to be about him. If I get sick, he's sicker. If I'm depressed, hes more depressed. If I break something, he's dying. Get the picture? It's beyond annoying and it definitely does not help me at all. I just got told I have anxiety/depression problems 3 days ago and rather than someone, anyone, supporting me or telling me things will be ok I have to cater to everyone else. Cheer Mom up, leave Dad alone because I'm too much of a burden, and try to make Seth feel better about himself. Yay.

I really appreciate it guys.

The only good news is I finished Marked and need the next one. Of course when I asked Dad for lunch money today he got pissed --which got worse when I asked if he would buy me a NINE DOLLAR NOVEL. Yeah, I can see where I screwed up -_-. I mean atleast I want money to read books rather than play video games or smoke crack. And did I mention I had to do his taxes for him, instead of him doing them himself, and then got yelled at because I didn't get him a huge return.

I defianitly feel appreciated by people for all the things I do.

Google Stupidity

2009-01-18T09:20:00.000-08:00

So, I figured I'd try this and see what I get.

Type in "[your name] needs" in the Google search.
"Crystal needs a LOT of love."
Isn't that the truth.

Type in "[your name] looks like" in Google search.
"Crystal looks like a chandelier crystal."
Skipping.
"Crystal looks like a diamond."
I wish I was that pretty or desired.

Type in "[your name] says" in Google search.
Pretty much everything is about Billy Crystal.
No fair.

Type in "[your name] wants" in Google search.
"Crystal wants to dress you like a rich iraqi."
Can you say racist?

Type in "[your name] does" in Google search.
"Crystal does the party."
What?

Type in "[your name] hates" in Google search.
"Crystal hates fang." "Crystal hates cats."
Well, don't know fang, and I don't hate cats.

Type in "[your name] asks" in Google search.
"Crystal Asks Google for Takedown for TM Infringement"
Sure?

Type in "[your name] likes " in Google search.
"Crystal likes to shop and garden."
Hell no.

Type in "[your name] eats " in Google search.
"Crystal eats snow."
All the freaking time.

Type in "[your name] wears " in Google search.
"“Crystal” wears an elegant champagne-colored airy gown with intricate embroidered detailing accented with plenty of sparkle."
Wouldn't mind that in the least.

Type in "[your name] was arrested for" in Google Search.
"A 26-year-old mother of four, Crystal McGrath, was arrested yesterday for allegedly having engaged in unlawful sexual conduct with two ..."
Well, that's....interesting.

Type in "[your name] loves" in Google Search.
"Crystal loves progress."
Yes I do. Yay Obama!

Creative Writing Final

2008-12-30T12:45:00.000-08:00

Wannabe

How I long to hobble and stumble,
To lean on a crutch
And hop, hop, hop from A to B,
Because I am a one legger wannabe.

Oh leg, how you torture me so!
I regret to inform you that you must go.
A knife or a bullet, I'll find a way;
Tomorrow morning behind you will stay.

Below or above I have yet to choose.
What need have I to walk normally?
I think one leg be better than two!
Oh what disdain, to be a one legger wannabe!

A disease they claim I have,
But normies just don't understand!
This useless leg I want to halve,
Like the man at the Psychology Today newsstand!

What a beautiful thing tis
To walk with on eleg ere hug with one arm.
Three appendages are more than enough for me
Because I am a one legger wannabe.

Tis peace you keep from me,
Your doctor ideals are full of hypocrisy,
the idea of chopping off one leg is dreamy!
I think it be sexy.

These whiney amputees just do not see,
I care not that my leg be healthy,
Give it to them and shush their mouths!
Have mercy on this one legger wannabe.

If you will not help I'll do it myself!
Dry ice, a bullet, or a tourniquet will do.
I'll keep the remains hidden in my bookshelf.
Oh cursed leg I bid you adieu!

Comment

2008-12-28T09:58:00.000-08:00

I received a rather interesting comment on my PSA post, it has been removed so don't waste the two minutes it takes to read it. This person impressed me. I mean I thought the idiot condescending attitude that the world has had its limits. This person not only went beyond that, but attempted to pretend to know me. Now, it is fairly obvious that the person doesn't know me at all because all those who were informed of the existence of my blog know perfectly well that everything written in that post was almost word for word the argument that someone made against me in a phone call while attempting to apologize for being a dick for the last year. Not to mention they all also know that I would lay down and eat vomit for the rest of my life if it would help those I love. Anyhow, that's not the case, what is the case is what this person called me: a prissy spoiled bad attitude haver. Anyone know knows me any at all would know that I am about the least spoiled person out there. I work for the things I get, wait a long time for them, and appreciate them with everything in me. The person said I had a self-loathing attitude, which is true I'll give them that, however one cannot be both self-loathing and prissy. It's simply impossible to hate yourself and act better than everyone else in the world. I would instead describe myself as easily disappointed. So, Anonymous, whoever you may be, the next time you intend to suffer strangers with your psychobabble bullshit I suggest you get trained in the bullshit of psychology and present your degree to me personally as well as everyone else you try to "help."

Tarot Journal 2

2008-12-08T18:03:00.000-08:00

Sacred Circle Deck

The Zodiac Spread

1: Death 2: Knight of Swords (change) 3: 10 of Cups (Reward) 4: Inverse 3 of Cups (Resolution) 5: The Lord 6: Inverse Page of Swords (Thought) 7: Sacrifice 8: Inverse Ace of Swords (Intellect) 9: Inverse 3 of Discs (Dedication) 10: 4 of Discs (Materialism) 11: Queen of Cups (Intuition) 12: The Web

1: Ares - Personality - End of something. Must let go of old life. Let go of past which is dead and will only cause pain.
2: Taurus - Financial Matters - Sudden changes that throw life into chaos. Sudden illness or accident possible. Take flight on project that always wanted to accomplish.
3: Gemini - Travel and Communication - Reaping rewards of efforts. Great happiness within family and experience joy of true friendships. Achievements will be admired. Receive good news that leads to success when least expected.
4: Cancer - Home Life and Parents - Affairs come to happy conclusion. May mean success of project, love affair, marriage, birth, or recovery from illness. Give thanks.
5: Leo - Pleasures - Time of great energy and activity when engaged in making something manifest in the world. Stand on own two feet.
6: Virgo - Health - Ill health or unforeseen events that will cause changes to plans. Beware of deceitful person who is not what he seems, two-faced and only seeing one side of them. He is motivated by envy and vindictiveness. When given chance, will betray.
7: Libra - Marriage and Relationships - Indicates willing sacrifice will be called for. Will be forced to recognize the necessity of change, letting one go to gain another. Look at attitudes towards control.
8: Scorpio - Endings and Legal Matters - Someone misusing power in attempt to cause pain. May be victim of violence. Upset someone, need to find middle ground.
9: Sagittarius - Philosophy and Religion - Become preoccupied with money and possessions. Missing out on opportunities because of fear to lose what is already there. Take honest look at life and decide what is important.
10: Capricorn - Career - Assigning too much importance to possessions. Barren card.
11: Aquarius - Friends - Time of discovering new qualities and depth within self. Pay attention to feelings and feminine side. Trust abilities that are possessed.
12: Pisces - Restrictions and Secret Fears - Make decision based on own sense of what is right rather than listening to others. Indicates that truth and justice will prevail in a dispute.

Ash to Ash Chapter Three (unfinished)

2008-12-07T17:53:00.001-08:00

Chapter Three
Same
And it was. The school looked the same as any other high school would-plaster ceilings, concrete floors, and bricked walls all droned out in neutral uninspired colors. The attendant at the front desk had the same “I’m-too-good-to-be-here” look on her face when he asked for his new schedule that all front desk attendants have when you ask them to do something. The principal gave the same boring speech every principal gave a new student, a speech about responsibility, acceptance, and peer pressure.
Much to Caleb’s dismay his schedule was made so close to Addy’s that he had all but two classes with her in the six-hour day. She was more than excited about this news. “We’ll get to see each other all day and I can catch you up real fast that way and at lunch we can sit together and I’ll be able to show you who’s who and who you don’t want to talk to and –“
“Breathe, Addy,” he huffed. This wasn’t going to be a good school, a good beginning, or a good time.
“Right, sorry. You need to go to class anyhow. Um, you have Carlson right? For English Lit. Wow, you’re sure in for a surprise there. She gets a little…into the stories.” Addy sprinted down the hall to head to her own class waving mindlessly at him.
“Wait! What does that mean!” he called after her hopelessly, she had already disappeared behind a dull wooden door. He walked in expecting to find an old hag with rosary beads hanging form every corner of the room. If Addy thinks this woman is crazy I’m in for some deep—Standing next to the far wall beside a Beowulf poster was an awkwardly tall woman. Her curly, mousy brown hair fell down her in a mad sea of mess. Though she wore no make-up, her olive skin glowed, paired nicely with pink lips. She dressed in the same boring clothes that most teachers do accompanied by high heeled boots that made her stumble as she laughed gawkily. Thick-rimmed glasses covered her green eyes, which stood out below her over plucked eyebrows.
Caleb took a step forward to turn in his schedule and immediately regretted it. Her green eyes flickered to him and a stern look immediately fell on her face. “Who are you? Give me your paper. Hurry up,” she snapped at him. A few snickers in the back of the class bubbled into the air making Caleb shift his weight nervously. He held out the paper avoiding meeting the teacher’s eyes. “Right. Go find a seat then and get a book,” she barked glancing at it. He rushed to the nearest empty seat sparking snickers from every one, teacher included.
“Alright, people, this is Caleb Drake. Welcome to English IV, I’m Miss Mason and we will be picking up today on page 244, Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen. Now, as you all know I think this is a silly, ridiculous story with your classic fairy tale ending rubbish, but maybe, just maybe, one of you weirdoes will be moved by it. Let’s get this snore train on the road, shall we?” Another burst of snickers filled the room as Ms. Mason began to read. Caleb flipped open his book searching desperately for the page.
“Psst, new kid!” whispered a burly dark haired boy leaning over his desk right into Caleb’s face, “Drake, right? Sounds Russian.”
Caleb composed himself, throwing back his shoulders and tousling his hair to keep the bad boy look. “Yeah. And?”
“Oh, nothing, not at all.” The guy smiled and winked at the boys around him. They nodded in return before turning back to watch Ms. Mason trip on a student’s purse. Caleb slunk down in his desk propping a foot up on the chair in front of him and fixated his eyes on the clock watching time trickle by slower than it did in his car.
“Oh, remember class, literary analysis on Frankenstein is due on Friday! Finish reading this tonight, quiz first thing tomorrow. Caleb, you can turn your paper in two weeks from now. Dismissed!” Mason fell back in her chair and fixated a stare on him. I’ve had enough of this class to last a lifetime, crazy not old bat! He grabbed his bag and shoved his way out of the room and stood waiting next to Addy’s class. This delighted her more than he anticipated.
“Caleb!” she squeaked jumping on him immediately, “Ready for History? Let’s go! You’ll love it. It’s your favorite class right? How was Mason’s? She’s one weird lady, isn’t she?” Addy grabbed his hand and pulled him up the hallway.

PSA

2008-11-25T17:46:00.000-08:00

I am a terrible person. I accept no one and need them to beg their way into my life and impress me constantly. I can't agree with anyone or let them think for themselves. I'm controlling. I'm mean. I'm cold hearted/heartless. I look down my nose at everyone. I will ruin your life and break your heart countless times. I don't care about you. You don't matter, because I view myself as god. I'll hurt you on purpose and take everything the wrong way. I will never, ever treat you well. I will never care about how you feel or what you think.

This seems to be the world's view of me. So tell me, world, if not me, who should I be?

Ash to Ash total post

2008-11-23T10:43:00.000-08:00

Ash to Ash

Written by Crystal Collett

For the very few people who still hold my hand.

NaNoWriMo

Chapter One
New.
Well, there it is, he thought eying the small stone house he was being forced to call home, at least stones can’t burn. He shook the smoky thoughts form his mind and stepped closer. The cobblestone path leading to the strikingly large house crackled under his weight. His awkward, spindly fingers reached ahead of him in anticipation, trying to bridge the distance between him and the old-fashioned cherub doorknob.
The door jerked open revealing a petite redheaded woman with porcelain skin. “Hurry up and come inside, Caleb! You’ve been out here far too long. Don’t you ever stay outdoors this long again!” Her shrill voice broke on his ears like a tidal wave breaks on the sharp rocks.
“I’ve only been out here for a moment, Aunt. The taxi has just driven off.” Caleb sprinted up the last few steps and hugged the slender woman. Though they were both thin his giant body had to bend awkwardly to reach her.
“My poor baby boy,” she cooed, “the hand you were dealt is a nasty one” Soft lips breached his forehead for an instant before shaky hands pulled him through the threshold.
The room he now stood in could only be described with one word: tacky. Neon polka dots covered the living room walls in a mindless pattern that ensured every color was used a minimum of four times. The dizzying spots danced against a striking white background which was not to be out done by the aquamarine carpet and yellow ceiling. Pots of brilliant colored flowers seemed to sprout from every corner, baseboard, and table. No wonder Mom didn’t let us visit much, she must be a loon.
“Oh, dear me. Come, sit, sit. No, no! Not there! That chair’s old, dear boy. Here, sit here. Yes. Very well.” The endless procession of her words dragged on. “You poor child. Oh sister never could keep her nose well enough attached to her own face-always ripping it off and pushing it in places it didn’t belong, governor’s pocket, the church’s secrets-“
“Church’s secrets? What do you mean by that Aunt Trudy? What could a church have that was secret?” he questioned pulling his perfectly groomed eyebrows together.
“Well now, everyone has their secrets don’t they? It’s better if you leave well enough alone, hear me Boy? How about a cookie, would you like a cookie? Of course you do, you’re a growing boy. Let me just get that for you.” Caleb watched her rise from her deep maroon recliner and rush to the kitchen ringing her hands. Queer woman.
When she returned she held a silver platter gingerly between her long fingers. The tray’s luster had clearly worn off as it was a dull nearly translucent black color. On it, placed in a spiral, were gargantuan sized sugar cookies each singularly decorated with M&Ms.
“There now, your mother’s favorite.” She smiled at him as though this reminder should make the hollow pit in his stomach disappear. Instead it grew. He nodded at her, reached for one, and slowly broke it away into crumbs.
She bit her lip. “Caleb-“
“Can you show me to my room now? I have a lot to unpack and I’d like to get on it as soon as I can, please.” Caleb continued to stare at the table, the feeling of her eyes raising goose bumps on his skin.
She gasped loudly causing him to jerk. “Oh, of course! Of course!” she grabbed his arm and began tugging him across the room to the stairs. “Why, I nearly forgot! Caleb, dear boy, I’ve gotten you a surprise! A special gift!” She beamed at him as they came to a sudden halt at the top of the staircase before a deep turquoise door. “I knew this would be a little uncomfortable for you, moving to a new place after your parents…Well anyway, I figured I might not be the easiest to talk to until you get to know me a little better so I got you a her!”
With a quick flick of her wrist she twisted the old brass door knob and swung the door forward. Confused Caleb glanced around the room. The walls were less extreme than those in the previous room. Horizontal navy blue and aged white lined wallpaper glinted in the light. Azul carpet lay at their feet nearly overpowering the large powder blue bed in its center. There, asleep on an excessively fluffy, clearly down pillow, was a small black kitten. In the center of its tiny forehead was a white diamond outlined in gray.
“Thank you, Aunt Trudy. She’s adorable.”
She patted his shoulder. “Of course. I’ll leave you two alone to get acquainted.” With that she was gone.
Caleb took slow steady steps into the room and sat on the corner of his presumably new bed. It was soft, almost like the strange woman had managed to lasso a cloud and enslave it as a bed. He lay down on the bed, careful to avoid the sleeping feline, and focused on the patterns in the baby blue ceiling. An almost out of place looking over sized brown ceiling fan protruded from it with a yellowish gold lighting cover. Around it were countless swirls of dents and protrusions.
This was nothing like his room back home. That thought alone made the hollow place in his stomach grow. His room, his home, his family, all were ashes now. The Metallica poster from his 17th birthday that from the ceiling over his bed, the embarrassing red print underwear his mother got him every year for Christmas, the staircase that marked his growing years in the house his father had built. His mother, as simple and beautiful as the moon, his father, the bread winner and coach, his old tabby cat, everything. In one night his whole grand world passed through a spinneret and left him alone.
He remembered the night as clear as the ceiling fan that swirled above him. He was late. The football game against the rivaling town had ended after 3 long overtimes. As the lead drummer in the band Caleb had to stay until the conclusion of the game just incase the victory song was played in mockery of the other team. When the game was finally lost and the band released from the stadium there was only a few minutes left before the closure of his curfew window. He remembered his speedometer forcing upwards past 80 and the houses flying past him quicker than he realized. He expected the cops to be there, his mother was a paranoid person, he expected everyone to be standing in the yard eager to deal out blame. Instead he found a vacant lot surrounded by squad cars and fire engines. The house that should be standing proud in a beautiful green yard was in ebony ashes.
“Where is everyone? Did they make it out alright?” he had asked so stupidly. For some reason he still could not recall hope burned in his heart.
“No son, I’m sorry, you’re going to have to come with us. There’s been an accident. This lady here is with social services. She’ll be riding with you to the station.” The sheriff had actually smiled at him. For comfort or for amusement Caleb still didn’t know.
Caleb’s eyes flashed open at the sensation of a cool palm on his cheek. The kitten had woken up and came to investigate the intruder in its bed. He sat up and looked at it with scrutiny. This pathetic creature was nothing like his old tabby cat. It could never live up to his old pet. “You can be John Lennon. Maybe you’ll meet the same doom.” he spat at it.
The door pushed open and Trudy’s head popped in. “Hey, what do you think? School or wait another day? I mean I can deal either way but if you want to go then go and if you want to stay then stay we can do something or we can not I mean I’m okay with anything. Well, what do you think?”
“School. I need to just do it.”
“Right, well then, lights out soon. Wouldn’t want to be baggy eyed for your first day. Or do you worry about that? Oh, never mind.” She turned and closed the door behind her.

Chapter Two
Introductions.
When the sun managed to rise the next day Trudy had already prepared a rather large breakfast. Caleb had stumbled down the stairs to find the kitchen overloaded with stacks of pancakes, waffles, and toast. Colonies of maple syrup and every kind of jam had sprung up on the counters. A large tub of margarine sat in the center of the table surrounded by alternating plates of bacon and eggs prepared in every way possible. It reminded him of an odd looking flower.
“What the hell is all this?” a plume of smoke was rising next to the refrigerator. Caleb followed it and found his aunt manning a waffle press covered in batter. “What are you doing?” he pressed.
“Oh, Caleb, don’t sneak up in your poor aunt like that. You’re likely to have shaved a few years off my life! Anyway, I didn’t know what you wanted for breakfast so I just decided to make a little bit of everything. Well, I guess maybe I went a little overboard, but strong growing boys need a bit hearty breakfast, yeah?”
“Couldn’t you have just asked?” he raised an eyebrow and studied the woman before him for the first time. Her fiery red hair surrounded her head like a lion’s mane. Crows feet from years of tension protruded from the corners of her eyes. Deep worry lines were dug into her forehead and amplified by the beads of sweat that had caught in them. She was short and slender, perhaps a bit underweight, certainly nothing like his mother.
“I didn’t know if you would be a grumpy butt and I certainly hate grumpy butts spoiling my morning.” She answered, “Now, fix yourself a plate, eat as much as you like. I’ll let you borrow my car to drive to school this morning. I suppose we can use some of the money…Well, let’s just go car shopping when you get home.”
He nodded silently, grabbed a waffle and headed out the door. Was it really that hard to not bring up the fact that his parents were refrigerated maggot meat? He shivered at the thought. He couldn’t bare the image of his parents lying in the earth decaying.
“Sure, bye Aunt Trudy” he called behind him careful to conceal the break in his voice. He sprinted to the garage, pulled the door open and stopped in his tracks. Horror struck his face hard and swift contorting it to that of a monster. A lime green rusty Ford Pinto sat before his eyes as though the gods themselves had decided to make this new life as miserable as possible. It didn’t take him long to realize it was the 70s model which only comforted him in the knowledge that it was an antique. He shoved his backpack in the passenger seat, flopped down in his own and quickly, without a moments thought, adjusted his hair in the rearview mirror into the perfect blend of messy and combed. The move was so familiar it flooded his mind with memories of driving himself to his old school and his old friends. He shook his head clear and started the engine.
The school wasn’t difficult to find-the main flow of traffic in the town was like a bee line to a hive. Though he knew the town was a rather small one the size of the school still surprised him. The building couldn’t have been more than a third the size of the school he previously attended. He parked his embarrassing ride as close to the entrance as possible, leaned back his seat, and set a few rules for himself:
1) He would not be the “pity-me-my-parents-are-dead” boy.
2) He would not be broody.
3) He would not let anyone see him get in or out of this car.
4) He would be the dashingly handsome mysterious smart athletic guy.
5) If one already existed he would over throw him in a week.
His eyes fixated on his watch. Some time or another he was going to have to get out of the car; the question was when no one would be around. The minutes ticked away slowly making Caleb nervously shift in his seat. Now’s the time, he thought eyes racing over the parking lot, When it reaches the twelve I’ll go. Eyes on the watch he grabbed his backpack, flung it over his shoulder, and shoved the door open.
A piercing scream bombarded his ears followed quickly by a heavy thud. “Ow” a girlish voice groaned. Caleb’s eyes traced the noise to the pavement where a nerdy girl, glasses and all, was sprawled out rubbing her head. Great. Why couldn’t I have bashed the lead cheerleader in the head? Getting out of the car he stood straddling the Hermione Granger impersonator and offered his hand to her. Se grabbed it with the hand that wasn’t on her head. He grimaced at the feel of it and pulled her up. “Thanks,” she said before staring at him, “You don’t look familiar at all. I know everyone in the school and I’ve never seen you before. Who are you? I’m Adelaide Gilmore.” She shook his hand vigorously.
“Caleb Drake. I’m new.” He grimaced at the obviousness of his statement. Of course he was new. That much was beyond clear.
“Awesome! You can call me Addy. Everyone else around here does…Well they usually tack a “never-been-laid” onto it but you really don’t need to. Anyway, they call me Addy cause I’m smart, math’s probably my best subject. What’s yours?”
“Um, history. Listen, I really need to go register so…” He slowly advanced up the walk praying she would take the hint.
“Oh, right. Well I guess I’ll never see you again. Your best bet is to hook up with Daemon; he’s the lead jock around here.” Her voice was small as she said this, clearly streaked with hurt and disappointment. Caleb’s eyes found the ground as he leaned back against the car. Damn, she looks crazy upset. He sighed clenching his teeth. Mom would kill me if she saw me just letting a chick cry. Ugh. Maybe I can play it off my ‘mysterious’ act, the guy who befriends the unbefriended.
“Hey, wait!” he called running after her, “I probably will need some help catching up and I don’t know my way around the school so maybe you could, I don’t know, show me around some.” He ran his fingers through the back of his hair nervously. This wasn’t his usual gig.
“Yeah! Let’s go!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him hurriedly towards the door. He knew this was going to be a long day.

Cut Short

2008-11-07T12:43:00.000-08:00

I hate life.

It's never going to matter how hard I work, how much I care, how much I love, how hard I try, where I get to, what I do, or how much it means to me, I'm always going to be cut short. I could walk on my hands from here all the way across the world without stopping and I would still be cut short.

I'm never going to have things, go places, see things, or even have a boyfriend who cares. I'm never going to keep friends, and the ones I have will never really be there for me. No one's ever going to look at me and go "Hey, good job" without me begging them to. I'm never going to be rewarded for how much I put into things. I'm never going to have the lead role. I'm never going to see my name in lights or printed in anything good. It's never going to matter what I do because I'm invisible. A waste of space.

I've been cut short in friends, in academics, in health, in ability, in love, in life, in trips, in money, in things, in beauty, in height, in family. I've done every thing I can to keep every thing and every one but none of it matters. Guys I like, friends I cherish, things I'm passionate about. Everything. Cut short. I'll never even be second best. I could write for 3 years and it wouldn't amount to something a certain person wrote in 3 minutes. I'll never be as good as anyone, I'll never be rewarded for the shit my life has given to me or pushing through it all.

I just don't see the point anymore. A life alone just doesn't sound like a life. Who can be happy without some living thing giving a damn?

Sure there's a few people who are there some of the time, but even they will fade soon. They always do. Everything does.

Ballad for English

2008-11-06T14:10:00.000-08:00

The Republican’s Shame

Republicans are red
Democrats are blue
Oh, Sarah Palin
The country was frightened by you

From Wasilla, Alaska
You do reign
Where your poor citizens
Believed they were in Hell

You wanted to burn books
And take away women’s rights
Where not even a rape victim
Could get a free ride

It must have been a big surprise
When the Veteran senator asked you to join
As vice-president nominee
Though you’re greatest achievement was a bridge to nowhere

The party did worry
When you opened your mouth
Dumb things were spewed from your expensive lips
That left everyone feeling more dense

When Tina Fey took the stage
In an attempt to imitate you
She made you look prettier
She gave us the truth

And on election day
When the country cast its vote
The Republicans did lose
Because you acted like a flooze

Oh, Sarah Palin
When push comes to shove
We all celebrate the truth
Barack Obama and Tina Fey are both much better than you

If you care..

2008-11-05T14:05:00.001-08:00

..about the world, politics, your friends or family, or even yourself, you are wrong. That's all there is to it. Caring is wrong and bad and you shouldn't do it. Everyone should just not care because that's what the world demands from you. I care too much, I care about everything, especially those I consider close to me, and I keep getting shit for it. My "friends" hate me, boyfriend is gone, everything just sucks. So you know what? I don't care anymore. About anything. At all. Break your leg? Get shot? Sucks to be you, but I don't give a damn. I've been alone my whole life, now isn't any different.

Tarot Journal 1

2008-10-30T19:56:00.000-07:00

Celtic Cross Spread.

1: 4 of Disks. 2: Page of Wands. 3: Inverse 3 of Cups.
4: The Underworld. 5: Inverse Knight of Cups. 6: Inverse 4 of Cups.
7: Inverse 10 of Wands. 8: 6 of Disks. 9: Inverse 9 of Wands.
10: 3 of Swords.

1-The Querent- Assigning far too much importance to possessions. Spiritually barren card, see nothing beyond material.
2-Present Obstacles- Creative potential, practice and experience, worth nurturing.
3-Present Situation- Excessively self-indulgent.
4-Root of the Matter- Asked to look at subconscious motivations. Weakening and emotional cripple.
5-Past Influences- Untrustworthy man in life. Idle, selfish, incapable of telling truth. Dreamer who never peruses.
6-Influences in the Near Future- Hard work in project starting to reap rewards. Resting period but will return soon. Don't rush, pay attention to detail. Demands of relationship will ease off and will become more happy and harmonious. For unattached romance in air.
7-Attitude of the Querent- Playing martyr, doing things to show how burdened you are. Envious of those around you, intent on spoiling pleasure by spreading gossip. Stop or be lonely.
8-Views of Others- Will be beneficiary of someone else's bounty. Be put in more stable financial situation.
9-Hopes and Fears- Show character and admit you are wrong. Depending on surrounding may mean ill health.
10-The Outcome- Reached rock bottom. Arisen because things could not go on forever as they were. Things out in the open now and can only get better. If done magically or spiritually work with others could indicate ending of dead end groups and partnerships.

Interpretation: My creative side needs to be focused on and let go of the material side. Stop worrying about money and material gain. Subconscious ideas or thoughts are holding me back. I need to get rid of the man in my life who is untrustworthy and take a step back to enjoy the fruits of my labor. Hopefully the part about happiness will ring true. I need to stop worrying about keeping people to myself and taking on too much in order to gain pity. Financial benefits could mean scholarship or admission to Berea. Hit the bottom for now but will soon rise to better situations and experiences. I needed to hit the bottom to rebuild to the top in a better way.

Character Sketches

2008-10-27T18:46:00.001-07:00

Trudy Troxtel

When Trudy’s customers think of her the only words that come to mind are “extreme OCD.” The rare few to have ever slept over at her house put emphasis on “extreme.”
Every morning the bright red head frolics to the bathroom in eight steps. There she brushes her unnaturally white teeth in seventy-three strokes and combs her hair no less than 114 passes of the comb. After cleansing herself she bounces down her ghastly orange stairs in a semi grapevine fashion, touching her foot to each step exactly the same as the morning before.
Her flower shop is a random explosion of color. Blues are next to oranges and yellows. No one could make sense of her pattern, but all colors had to remain in their “proper” spot. Controlled Chaos was Trudy’s greatest goal.

Fabritzio Bordeaux

Many referred to Fabritzio as homosexual. It was hard to imagine the extremely feminine man could be anything less. His much-too-shiny black hair was always the perfect blend of wind-blown-mess and nicely combed, and it certainly didn’t help his case that his clothes were always neatly pressed and impossibly clean.
Fabritzio worked as a photographer mostly shooting pictures of exotic scenes that took most girls breath away. Outside of work he spent most of his time at the local clubs where he danced in an awkward fashion that much resembled a birds mating dance. To most girls, and guys, it seemed as though Fabritzio’s long slender body couldn’t move to the beat to save his life.
It wasn’t as though Fabritzio never dated. He had dated some of the finest, most beautiful girls in the city, causing many to refer to him as Prince Fab, after the flamboyant pop icon. The relationships never seemed to last more than a couple of months, but rather than this making him seem like a player, most of the girls were open about the fact that he seemed to be much more interested in their fathers after meeting the family over dinner. There were a few, however, that defended his feminine behavior as being merely a product of his French nationality. To most of the local men, they were the same thing.

Kunben Jablonskij

Kunben had always been an outcast. After moving from Ukraine to the small city of Ashburn, Georgia during his preteen years he lost his sight in a confrontation with a bully. Since that day people just didn’t know how to address him, and frankly, Kunben didn’t know what to say even if they did.
Many things had become a mystery to Kunben since the accident. Radios and televisions always confused him as to what was real and what was an act. It had taken him years to memorize all the small sounds he heard outside of his home and recognize they weren’t a threat. But there were a few things that always stayed intact in his mind. He knew he had his mother’s soft brown curls, and his fathers deep blue eyes. He recognized that his body had developed more closely to that in the memory of his father, and he realized the challenges that came with that. He knew he walked in a shuffling manor, stumbling frequently over his own feet, or at least he thought they were his feet. Kunben still had trouble recognizing the difference between being tripped and tripping himself, especially since laughter erupted from his peers in both instances.

CW Exercise

2008-10-27T18:43:00.001-07:00

His grip on my arm was so strong the tingling sensation was starting to flow into my elbow and chest. I knew he meant well, I would never stand here in this slimy, disgusting, bacteria infested room if he wasn’t standing there anchoring me to the Earth. Movie theaters were always the nastiest places; I couldn’t help but scan the room for possible dangers. A couple in the corner was making out with a little too sensuous of moves and I was sure some drool was dripping on her shirt since bozo wasn’t classy enough to stop the kiss once in a while to swallow. There were more than enough suspicious looking pools of fluid on the floor beneath the seats to make my stomach churn, which was cruelly aided by the scent of hand-sweat covered buttery popcorn.
“So, here we are.” He said it as though we weren’t standing in the center of a pus filled pimple on the face of a boy who washes with fried chicken. The tone of his voice was on the borderline between amusement and annoyance. I tried to take a step but this only caused the numbing grip on my arm to tighten.
“If you say so. I happen to think I’m nearing the stage of three sheets to the wind from all the pressure you’re putting on my arm. If the numbness spreads any further you’ll have to catch me before I hit the vomit covered floor when I pass out.” I snapped back. I hated being here and he knew it. He loosened the grip on my arm and slid his hand down to hook his fingers with mine. With a slight tug he lead us to the seats he had picked out immediately slouching down into his and looking expectantly back at me. I slide my purse off my shoulder down to my elbow and unzipped it quickly. I slipped my hand inside the enclosure and searched until my fingers reached the targets—a handy can of Lysol and a personal sized bag of Wet Wipes. With my mouth set I sprayed the contents of the Lysol can thoroughly on the generic pale red fabric of the seat and drenched the plastic arm rests in the life saving 99% effective liquid. I slid into my seat and smiled at the appealing aroma of disinfectant.
“You always do that” he chuckled once again taking my hand in his own.
“What?” I asked intrigued. I didn’t have any distinct patterns of action or bad habits that I could think of.
“You know” he turned to me with a smile that reached his eyes. This infuriated me.
“Know what?” I growled at him digging my nails into his palm.
“I’m not doing this right now. I’m going to watch this movie and enjoy myself while you sit there simmering in question. I love watching you simmer.” He laughed harder and kissed the back of my hand.
“Suit yourself!” I shrieked ripping my hand from his mouth and slouching down in my seat. With arms crossed and a sour pout on my face I watched the trailers flicker across the molded screen.

Teaching?

2008-10-27T16:57:00.000-07:00

So. According to Dictionary.com a teacher is someone who "teaches or instructs, esp. as a profession; instructor." This does not define some of the "teachers" of NLHS. Who do I have in mind, you ask? Mr. Mays, who now clearly knows of my loathing for him since I wasn't so quiet about it in class today. Honestly they could pay me less than the salary he makes and I would still do a job equivalent to his. Read the book and watch some unrelated movie that no one can for the life of them connect to the teachings in the class. I can read the book on my own time, I don't need to come to school to sit in silence for nearly an hour reading a section that I won't retain anyhow since I don't learn that way.

But enough ranting, the school is starting to observe classes to see if they should fire some of those sonsabitches anyhow so nothing I can do but wait.

Anyhow, I'm single again. Seth and I broke up for hopefully good reasons with intentions to try to grow personally and try to hook back up when/if ready in time.

Music of the now: Pink - So What, Fall Out Boy - I Don't Care

*Ahkane*

Too much? No, never.

2008-10-26T19:13:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I went through my laptop today looking for things to delete from my ever so small hard drive and realized I have THREE stories going right now, one I've lost somewhere that ought to be the fourth. Oh, and I'm reading two books and listening to one. I'm taking on way too much at once but I can't drop any of my BARELY STARTED stories because I love the characters and plot line and ideas so much. Plus I promised Zack and Seth a story, each of their own, and I would never back down on those two. And no, Aubrey, that isn't an invitation to ask for a story. I kick yo ass.

Anyway, I'm going to attempt to keep this up thought I'm not entirely sure what for. No one is really ever going to read it. Though if any of you guys I gave this link to want to start a blog I'll follow and love you forever and ever and ever and ever amen!!!

So, carpel tunnel really kicking in. I'm pretty sure that's it. Or arthritis. Either way it sucks some serious balls. Maybe I'll get it checked out next time I need to go in for something, which honestly can't be that long from now knowing my health.

King Arthur tomorrow in Nantz! Heck yes! Love that class, and Creative Writing. Screw drama, it's awful this year. But Wicked might MIGHT make up a little bit for it. Like 7% or something.

I'm still pretty sure nothing I write will ever go anywhere though since like I say to everyone 2% of people actually get published. And pretty much every one of my friends wants to be a published author. Let's count..1...2...3...4...5...6...and those are just the ones I count as friends! Others I know...7...8...9... Yeah. Get the picture? It's bad.

Screw it. I enjoy it and that's what counts! I'll be proud of anyone who makes it to anything!

*Ahkane*

The Untitled Meanderings of a Broken Marriage (rough)

2008-10-26T11:49:00.000-07:00

She sighed as she hung the faded red button up shirt on its hanger. It had been weeks since they had spoken, and months since anything meaningful was said. The pain in her heart was amplified each day, each hour that passed without contact or comfort. So he had cheated, was she really so cold hearted that she couldn’t forgive his one mistake in the nine years of their marriage?

She placed the hanger on the rack in his closet and traced her fingers over each of his shirts. Memories swirled in her mind of pleasant days past – days at the park cuddled in each other’s arms and late movie nights at the local theater whispering things no one else should hear. Her heart sunk to her knees; these memories were tarnished with his misdeeds, they could never make her heart bubble with joy again. She shook the thoughts from her head and her shining black hair fell into her eyes in soft waves. He would be home soon and she couldn’t afford for him to see her like this.

She rushed to the bathroom and brushed her tangled hair. Perhaps, she thought, if her hair looked decent it would distract from her tear-streaked face. Her makeup brush traced across her face in a desperate attempt to cover the salt lines that ran vertical from her hazel eyes. She slipped on a pale blue sweater-dress and rushed down the stairs to the love seat. She wiggled her bum in the seat for a few moments to ensure it looked as though she had been sitting there for a while. Within a second or two the Bose was on and a book with a well-bent spine was in her hand. She only managed to get through a paragraph of Wuthering Heights before the front door opened shedding a brilliant white light in the house and steps slowly progressed closer to her.

“When are you going back to work, Emily?” his strong English voice filled the room and her head. She bit her tongue, no sympathy.

“Well, Cedric, I suppose when I can face my colleges again. You know them, the people who disapprove of extra-marital affairs.” Her heart sunk further, she knew she was being too cruel. She wanted her words to bite, to bring blood, but she wanted to hold his hand through it as well. He sighed and shook his head slowly.

“Dinner?” he asked as innocently as he could.

“Done in a minute or two. Meet you at the table.”

In half an hour they were sitting at the table across from each other and avoiding making any noises past simple slow breathing. She watched him eat, having lost her own appetite. She watched the fork travel from his plate to his face and enter his supple pink lips. His once compassionate, entrancing hazel eyes now stared hollowly at his plate of food. He slouched over his meal in such a way that his strong slender body appeared frail and nearly lifeless. The muscles in the back of his arms tensed repeatedly like he was about to say something but couldn’t quite find his voice. She couldn’t blame the girl for falling for him it was just too easy. She herself had fallen for him in merely minutes many years ago in their senior year of college.

“Oops, sorry!” he had knocked over her monstrous imitation of the leaning tower of Pisa crafted mainly of her schoolbooks. “Let me get that for you. It wouldn’t be right if a pretty girl had to bend over and show her back side just ‘cause some jerk bumped into her” he chuckled. She had flushes so hard that moment that mercury paled in comparison. “Perhaps jerks should watch where they are running so they can avoid appearing weak and enslaved by the pretty girl who is forcing him to collect her books” she had joked back. From that day on things were perfect, they knew a love that had only ever been witnessed in fairy tales and romantic comedies. They very force for their love was so strong that it remained intact and unfettered for the nine years of their blissful marriage. Well...that was gone now.

She continued to watch him with melancholy memories displaying in her head. The girl must have been beautiful, she thought, so beautiful that she out shined me in under a second. I can’t really blame her, luck befell me kindly the day we met, but... am I so plain that his eyes could be so quickly diverted? What did he ever really see in me? Of course he would cheat, charities only lasted so long before the money dried up.

Pain pulsed through her heart bringing a steam line of stinging tears to her brown eyes. The breath in her lungs hitched and she choked on her oxygen. His eyes shot up to her, his tired face now contorted with a solemn mixture of pain and worry. They held each other’s gaze briefly, searching for the window into the other’s soul. Abruptly she signed and rose from her chair. The only window she could see was the window to his memories of his mistress. In an instant he was at her side hanging his arms loosely around her waist and burrowing his face gently in her shoulder. “Emily...” he breathed pulling her closer. She bit her lip so hard blood seeped into her mouth, her eyes slammed shut and her head shook slowly. No, I can’t. She placed her hands on his shoulders allowing her nails to bite at his flesh. With one sharp thrust she knocked him away from herself and ran.

She cherished the feeling of the wind in her hair as her legs carried her through the house, past the yard and deep into their field. She flung herself roughly to the grass-covered earth and cried until the salty relief no longer proved comforting. When she finally raised her head she wiped her face and noticed Flame, her favorite stallion, had come to stand next to her in her time of need. She reached her hand out and was delighted when the horse craned his neck to touch his soft pink nose to her palm.

Flame was her rock, her biggest fan. The beautiful red stallion seemed to always sense her pain or discomfort and new just what to do to relieve her of it. Flame lay next to her in the grass and pushed his crown against her forehead. Yes, she mentally crooned, you’re just the friend I needed. Silently she traced her fingers down Flame’s shining coat. The horse nickered beneath her touch and shook out his elegantly long mane. She scooted closer to her favored companion not caring if the soft grass stained her dress. Marveling in the feel of Flame’s coat against her cheek as she laid her body against his she trailed her fingers over his nape in mindless patterns.

“I bet she was a blond,” she sighed absentmindedly, she and Flame were the only two in the world right now, “Cedric always had a soft spot for blond girls. Do you think she was beautiful? Can I really be allowed to be so mad at him and hurt when all he did was obey his animalistic instincts that we were all born with? Oh, Flame, why is it that you can sit here so happy to be with me but Cedric can’t seem to look at me? We were so perfect; I don’t know where I went wrong. Mother always said men only cheat on their wives when the wife just isn’t good enough, that’s why Papa never strayed. Mother was so amazing. I could never be as good for Cedric as she was for Papa.”

Flame snorted loudly, nostrils flared. She shook her head semi amused and snuggled closer to her stallion. Whispering through still lips she fussed “You know I’m right, silly, you’re the leader of the heard.” Flame shook his head causing his great mane to fly over her face. She giggled but it was empty, the bubbly laugh seemed to only make it halfway up her throat.

“Emily…” The voice sounded as if it came from angels but she knew angels couldn’t commit such cruel sins. She inhaled as much air as could fit in her small chest and turned to face him. Though he was looking at her ashamedly he was still beautiful. The full moon that she had failed to see rise cast a magical light down on him. Her eyes filled up with tears as the memories of his sin began to filter through her mind. He looked at the ground and took a few steps back from where he stood. “I met this old man today on my smoke break. He was sitting at the corner of the building with a spit cup and honestly Emily, I don’t think the man has cleaned himself in a good month.” His nose wrinkled with disgust as he continued, “He told me that he hadn’t seen his family in ten years, that he had multiple affairs and his wife found out. He told me that he messed up, and that I would appreciate my wife and make sure I stayed faithful because I wouldn’t have married her if she weren’t special to me. He’s right, Emily. I messed up I made a mistake. Please, can you just try to work with me? I don’t want to lose you. I want to grow old with you and have a baby with you. She didn’t mean anything to me, baby, it was all a stupid mistake. I wasn’t thinking.” He fell onto his knees and tears began to flow down his cheeks. “Emily, I want you back.”

She looked at his tears and remembered her own. Love filled her heart swelling her chest. She turned her back to him and walked off.