Chronicles of Madness

What is Left Behind

2009-08-11T21:33:00.000-07:00

In relationships, any relationship I suppose. You give parts of yourself away. You say, here is this part of me. Look how shiny and beautiful and special and unique it is. You look at the person you have given this gift and you seek approval. Appreciation. But often you are met with blank stares. And even if you're not, if the day comes when you cease being an 'us' and instead become separate identities you will often wander the rooms of your soul and say, look at all I've lost.

How untrue.

My insides are cluttered with all the things I gave away that are once more mine. Here is my naivete, my smiles, my inside jokes. Here is that silly song I used to sing just for him and the outfit I didn't really like but bought because it made him whistle. Here are my dreams and my expectations and everything, oh every single thing I gave away, given back to me. They're lumped in the middle of the rooms and the walls are laid bare with all the things he gave me taken back.

And this isn't supposed to hurt like this I am sure. This is supposed to smart and then I'm supposed to shake myself off and start over again with someone new, someone better, and one day I will look back and shake my beautiful hair and smile my beautiful smile and I will say, 'Oh him? He was just someone I spent time with. He was fun', and there will be none of this. None of this this this this.

He came back you know. Sitting on my front step with big wide eyes and a confused heart. There's nothing that hurts a heart that is sure of their love than looking at one who is not. Not sure. Open door. Close door. I put on makeup and I practice my smile. I think I will get my hair cut soon.

Who Will I Be At The End of This?

2009-07-25T22:59:00.000-07:00

I'm tired. I'm hopeful. I'm too busy to be introspective, but I'm also taking stock of my life. Mapping out the future.

Dear Nana, I miss you. I miss you I miss you I miss you. I dreamt you were alive and then weren't. Your home was a rocking chair on the front porch of a house that didn't exist surrounded by the largest most beautiful garden I had ever seen. I looked around wondering if it were real and when I looked back you were gone. It felt right that you were gone even though I missed you. I kissed you goodbye before they came to take you away. You weren't the same later so I'm glad I was there to hold your hand. Touch your skin.

The other night I dreamt the sky was clear when the air turned evil and a hazy rain shattered the blue sky, I huddled inside afraid the windows would break. It felt like an omen. I woke knowing you would know what I meant. That my mother would know what I meant because it's you we inherited it from. Will my grandchildren know what I mean?

It's a New Day, It's a New Dawn

2009-07-23T10:58:00.000-07:00

And I'm feeling good...

I feel bad for the person I chatted with tonight. But in a totally selfish way I don't care either. You see, they asked those questions, the ones you're not supposed to ask, i.e, why did you break up? And how's your mother's cancer?

And there were a lot of similar questions I was avoiding asking them, but although I tried to avoid answering them, I knew knowing me, pfft, what's the point?

run on sentence long enough for you?

The point is, years ago I had a conversation with a friend of mine and while he was talking about his ex I suddenly had this epiphany about my whole life. The next day I woke up with a completely different attitude and nothing was ever the same again. In addition I'd like to say that nothing in the universe was ever as bad as it had been again. I've often written here about unclenching your fists, letting go of your anger, and it's because it's something I had to do. Learn to let go.

Recently I've asked myself if I need to learn that lesson again, and I don't think so. What I'm doing is mourning. Mourning the person I loved, the relationship I loved and enjoyed in so many ways, and yes. I'm scared of the future. So tonight I realized something new. Time to stop contemplating the past. Time to look forward without regrets. One thing I know is that no matter what rock life has thrown me, no matter how much it may have hurt at the time, I've always been given something bigger and better.

Always.

Here I am worrying that my hands are going to remain outstretched and never filled again. What a silly worry. What a good day. In so many ways. This recipe's tricky but I'm starting to taste the sweet once more through the bitter.

I can't wait for tomorrow.

Too Young to Feel this Damn Old

2009-07-22T15:24:00.000-07:00

I like the fact that no one's looking here. I get to be me and not worry that I'm whiny, or boring, or too sappy. It's like that abandoned playground my cousin and I found when we were little. Okay. It wasn't abandoned and we had to jump a fence to get in, but it was still awesome.

Today I'm running around my abandoned playground playing with this thought, I don't pray. I mean, I have faith, I am thankful for all of the many blessings I have, but I still don't pray. When my cousin was on life support I prayed that she not be sad that she was leaving us behind. Not that she wouldn't die. And when my mom was diagnosed with cancer, I thanked God for all of the good years we've had. I wasn't accepting that she would die, I just don't feel that there's anything I could ever say or do that would change fate.

Bad people live every day and good people die. Who am I to say that my mother's better or deserves to live more than someone else? In addition, if prayer really does work, I don't think there's a God that would strike my mother down simply because her daughter has questionable self esteem.

That said, I'm tired of living alone. No one in my family lives alone, and after all these years I'm wondering if I was bred to be single and coming back with, "Hell no!". But I can't shake my nonsensical approach to life which tells me people attract a certain aspect into their lives over and over again and whatever comes their way is what they're willing towards them.

I've never been engaged. I've never had an engagement ring purchased for me. I've never been crazy in love with someone that was crazy in love with me. There's all these good things in my life. More good than many people can ever hope for, let alone have. Who am I to think that with my history that things will change, or even that I deserve to have them change? And if I do eventually get married who's to say it will be any different from my past relationships? Except this time with a ring.

I'm not trying to convince myself that my life is destined to stay single because I would guess the odds are against that. But just in case... I'd like to be prepared. At the same time I'm hoping to be proved wrong, every minute of every day, and because of this completely stupid hope, every second that I'm not proved wrong? Just hurts like hell.

The Other Day I was all, "Look at me, my Feelings are all Hurt!"

2009-07-21T22:47:00.000-07:00

But then today I had a beer and feel strangely over it.

There are things that sit up and slap you in the face after a break up. The first is celibacy. Oh how I hate thee let me count the ways. The other ones are, hey, remember when he did that asshole thing? And what the fuck he's already dating again? And talking about marriage? Like seriously, what the fuck is wrong with him? And you say you're going to seek revenge but really you just go home and cry and call friends and complain that you're going to die alone with no one but your landlord noticing, and only then because he's pissed your rent's late.

They protest.

They say, "No, we love you! We would notice if your were moldy and smelly and dead on the ground somewhere!"

But you know they're lying and secretly miming to their spouse that they need to change their phone number. Pronto.

The other things that hit you are, some days? Some days are really bad. Some days are lonely and when you move everything hurts in a place that's undefinable. It makes your eye's feel dry and paper thin and your throat feel tight like a door that's too swollen to open anymore. You move and it hurts and you want to lay down so it stops hurting, except then the hurt just knows where to find you faster and easier. But then you have a beer and you go out with friends and nothing hurts anymore, so what was it you were missing again?

Yeah.

Slap.

Dear Ex-Boyfriend

2009-07-19T21:45:00.000-07:00

If we're going to break up with you telling me everything is pretty much my fault, and me naively and stupidly believing that, then fine. But could you get all the hurtful things out at once? Today I felt just fine until I realized you removed that cute picture of us from facebook.

What the hell? I was a part of your life for years and you just need to throw me out like I never existed? Like I spat on you or ran over your cat? Seriously, what did I ever do that was so horrible you need to continue to annihilate the memory of me? I know that what you did wasn't even that bad. I totally understand it in fact, especially since I long ago deleted all photos of you from my facebook. There's the key though, long ago. It's the waiting to do it that brings up the wound as fresh.

signed,

why oh why have I been so understanding through all of this?

This is What You Say When No One's Listening...

2009-07-18T16:01:00.000-07:00

I will not:

not wear the shoes he bought me. They're cute and that's that.
be sad when I see that dress hanging in the closet. The one I thought he'd like. I will forget the look of 'WHOA' on his face when he first saw it. This dress will cease being a memory and return to serving it's purpose. Clothing me.
be mad at myself for being sad.
pretend to be angry or bitter just to make other people happy.
sleep in late just to avoid waking up. That kind of stuff is for defeatists, and I'm too awesome for that.
forget to be thankful.

Looking Like a True Survivor, Feeling Like a Little Kid

2009-07-13T22:19:00.000-07:00

I lost my words. All the big shiny slippery words that would slide in and out of my head and mouth as easily as one hits the snooze button every morning and then proceeds to roll over and shove their head underneath the pillow.

The other night I woke up and reached for someone but my hand fell into empty space. I should have easily fallen back into a restless slumber but instead I lay there as if splashed with a bucket of water.

For a long time I wondered if I had traded my words in for some kind of stability. The traditional roles of domesticity. And I don't really know if I can answer that with any type of accuracy except to say this, I only missed who I used to be a very tiny bit. I stepped into those new bigger shoes knowing full well that I didn't understand the jargon or what exactly my role was, but okay with the learning curve. I was a traitor to my alter ego, but my alter ego didn't seem to mind.

I'm not the only blogger to have experienced this.

I can't blame it all on the status of relationship of course. There was this job and it was huge and it was draining and their was this crazy gestapo looking lady with bright red lipstick and a slash of a haircut who printed out reports every single week with a report of every site you had visited on the net and she liked to stalk back and forth in front of my cubicle with her clickety clackety heels on the carpet. She was scary and there was more than one morning when I wondered if that job would be the end of me. I went home and melted. I also learned something. People with fancy degrees who went to boarding schools with famous celebrities and own yachts can be just as not nice as all us have nots would lead you to believe.

Last year I had this big feeling inside that this was my year. MY YEAR. I don't know if I had any outlines of what I expected, I just knew it was coming and it was going to be fan fucking tabulous. Since then not much seems to have gone right. Disaster one hit and I said, okay, well surviving this is part of the fantastic part. Disaster two and I tried to ignore it. But this third one? It's not that I believe now that this is a bad year. Not at all. Just a tough one. I'm going to put one foot in front of the other and you know what's going to happen? It will be next year. No biggie.

I once met up with a blogger who told me, 'you know what you do when something doesn't go right? You scream real loud, 'FUCK THOSE GUYS!!', and it makes you feel better'.

I tried it the other day and it still totally works.

I may have lost my words but this can still be a chronicle of madness.

Did I Really Name it THAT??

2007-07-02T13:16:00.000-07:00

Back in December I was forced to sign up for Vox due to mass migration. I was all, hell no, I'm a blogger 'til the bitter end.

But I have to say my friends that I'm rethinking the stance.

These days people can find you so easy on the internet and, let's face it, would you hire me???

Yeah. That's what I thought.

So I'd like a bit more privacy and a bit more freedom at the same time. I think I'm moving to vox. It's got privacy settings and this I like. I think I'll still post some things here... but maybe not. What I post is here is the extreme, venting side of me. It's not a true reflection of who I am and in the wrong hands?? I don't know.

So I have to give you the link in case you would like to see me again and to do this I had to figure out what the hell I had named my vox account all those months ago. Here it is:

http://gahh.vox.com/

what was I thinking?

Yellow Bus Week (AKA Slow)

2007-06-28T13:41:00.000-07:00

I am a victim of Caltrain. Which, for those of you not fortunate enough to live here (you suck) is a commuter train running from the San Jose area all the way up to San Francisco. Kind of nifty. But I don't ride public transportation because it's dirty, costs a lot of money, is never fucking convenient, and filled with people. I hate people. In fact, there is some concern over how angry they make me and how quickly. More on that later.

Anyway, my new employer is all, oh you don't live at work? Oh, you live THAT far away? Let's give you a free Go Pass! AND a free Eco Pass! What's that?

Like I care.

Anyway, it means that I ride pretty much every form of public transportation in the bay area for free. FOR FREE. Dude, I'm cheap. I like that. Plus they've got shuttles and tons of other shit making it way convenient. So second day on Caltrain and I can tell you my anger levels are dropping somewhat dramatically. Missed the shuttle? Another one comes in five minutes. Same deal for the train. In the meantime I think I'll read a book or daydream or pick my ass. It's that exciting. And the train? Fucking clean! What the fuck? I wouldn't eat my food off the floor but it is pretty fucking decent. Also, not that many people. I sit down and no one sits near me, which is how I like it. Plus guys in scrubs ride the train and today one was totally checking me out. So dig this, I get to read, relax, AND get checked out.

Now if only they served liquor.

So what can still make a calm girl like me angry? Amazon.

Or more to the point Amazon reviewers.

I'm researching two new cameras. I need a new DSLR. At first I was just going to replace mine but now I realize that I need two if I want to keep shooting weddings. Plus, I really need just a regular point and shoot digital that I can stick in my purse and doesn't produce pictures with such shitty quality that I gag. Also I suppose I need money for both things. Le sigh.

So there I am on amazon trying to see sample pics, you know, regular pics. I was at a party and took this pic, I was out in the sun playing tag football and took this pic, but what do I see? A bunch of fucking retards thinking that they're being artistic by taking a really ugly, I mean REALLY ugly picture of a vase.

On a fucking table.

Brilliant, call the fucking galleries.

Oh wait, this person was more creative! They took a close up picture of their cat's face! And look, the wonder never ceases, they included a caption!!! It says, 'Look at my cat's face! You can even see the hair around his mouth this camera is soo good!'

Yeah, that's great, the camera actually showed that your cat has hair. What a fucking surprise. What's more surprising is that you're alive and I haven't already tracked down your address and murdered you in a senseless crime that goes on to shock your sleepy stupid suburban neighbors who are also amazed that their cameras can take pictures of things they point them at. Lock your doors citizens! A killer of bad reviewers is LOOSE.

jeezus

Note to Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip

2007-06-25T22:31:00.000-07:00

Your name is too long. TOO FUCKING LONG. Kind of like this title for this post is too long, but it's not my fucking fault it's you faggots that have driven me to it. God fucking damn it.

The only reason I ever watched this god damned fucking show is because once upon a time before he got hooked on pain pills got fat and then slack faced, Matthew Perry was HOT. Fucking HOT. Now, not so much. He looks sloppy, and you know who he has to blame? the drugs. He gives drugs a bad name and has he ever accepted responsibility for that? No. Fuck Matthew Perry for making drugs look bad and fuck him for making me watch this show.

Oh, sure, I still watch it, but it's not my fucking fault!

I blame Amanda Peets story line for this debacle but lately, I don't know. I don't think I can hang anymore.

Because what the fuck is with all the FLASHBACKS! Okay, newsfuckingflash to writers, flashbacks? Okay... sometimes. But not half of every fucking show for the last six fucking episodes. Cut it the fuck out, I'm BORED!!! And okay, I get it, the war started four years ago and we thought it would be over, but it's not and it's never going to be and you hate Bush and he's a fucking moron and my cat is smarter then him and could run the country better and even homeless people are more articulate, but geezus fucking christ man, SOMETIMES I JUST WANT TO WATCH TV.

Fuck you studio 60.

Next Stop Hell

2007-06-15T15:23:00.000-07:00

I'd like to rant. I'd like to fucking rant and kick doors down and just be a motherfucking raging bitch from hell. AND I'd like someone to sit here and fucking take it.

FUCKING TAKE IT MOTHERFUCKER.

But the thing about this rant is I would just reveal too much of the soft underbelly. The pink. And that's not funny, just pathetic.

Currently listening to: Anything by Get Set Go (look them up on iTunes)

Currently Reading: Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand

Oh My Fucking GOD!

2007-05-31T19:36:00.000-07:00

(And other rants and raves from Craigslist)

Okay, I'm single, female, and somewhat attractive. Attractive enough to have guys honk on horns, ask me out in, somewhat, admittedly, dimly lit bars, and sure, that might not exactly be 'proof' that I'm attractive, but for fucks sake, just take my word for it.

And so what if I occasionally surf the personals? I don't think that exactly qualifies me for loser status as I don't do it while surfing online ads to add to my ever growing cat collection. Fine, I'll admit it; mostly I'm on here to see if any of my friends have their picture up. Because I'm THAT kind of friend.

But what has stopped me from ever replying to any of these ads, drives me to want to tear out my hair, kick kittens, and scrape my nails down a chalk board??? What in the FUCK is up with people advertising their fucking stupidity on-line for all to see? For fuck's sake, learn some propriety, get some modesty, look up the phrase 'saving face'!

Got a foot fetish? Fine, I don't give a rats ass, just please, fucking please, spell 'foot' right. It has 2 'o's. TWO. And there's a difference between 'your' and 'you're' A BIG FUCKING DIFFERENCE. They are not, in any way, interchangeable. No matter what you think. Also, note how I didn't spell 'No' 'Know'. Also not interchangeable. I don't care if you typed it while you were wearing your hat backwards and grabbing the crotch of your baggy jeans because, surprisingly enough, I haven't been impressed by that particular brand of machismo since, umm, high school. Yeah. That's pretty much when the fantasy ended.

Also, when you spell 'goda' in place of 'got to' not only is it bad fucking grammar but it suggests to me that while you've heard this particular combination of words before, and have a somewhat hazy understanding of what they might actually mean, you do not in fact have any knowledge of the words that they are actually referring to.

Got
To

See? Two distinctly separate words. TWO.

Run on sentences I can, quite obviously, forgive. However, the BLATANT advertisement that osmosis, at the very least, has failed to teach you proper grammar (for example: I very funny. Cue internal gagging) and/or how to spell owl (not oul) then I give up. I fucking give up. I have to go. I have a harsh word or two to exchange with my biology teacher on the issue of natural selection.

Freaky Thursday

2007-05-24T17:59:00.000-07:00

I haven't been writing much because I haven't been myself lately. No edge. I'm in here somewhere, but I feel a bit fuzzy. I blame it on all the TV watching so I started doing Leslie Sansone's walk tapes everyday. Which helps and is cheaper than red bull.

Come to think of it... I'm still watching TV, so smooth move idiot.

In other news I'm searching for a job that doesn't make me want to drink cyanide everyday and wash it down with some good old anthrax.

I don't know when this happened. I mean, sure, sometimes there's a slight distaste for the work you do (so guilty over here), but it's what you do and it's what you've done for years so like it or not you do it well, you show up and it all goes like clockwork. You don't even have to think. So what's with all this sudden career hatred?

A lot of things really.

Most of it in combinations so there's really no one to blame other than timing. And God. Boy that guy can be a real prick! (ick, catholic self cringing in fear)

Plus the house is still in an uproar. I just moved, for the second time in six months and third time in two years, and okay. The rest of the house is starting to look presentable but I've got 20 fucking boxes stacked in my bedroom of shit I don't have fucking shelf space for or room! And okay, sure you don't want to hear my bullshit, but guess what?? No ONE FUCKING DOES? AND YOU KNOW WHY?

BECAUSE I'M HAVING A FUCKING MID LIFE FUCKING CRISIS AT 27!!!

28 in three months, thank you fucking father time.

That's right! I ditched my boy friend, am trying to change careers, AND just moved! YAY!

Anyway, the bedroom's a disaster. Pluse I want to take the desk from the dining room into the bedroom, the shelf from the living to the dining, the armoire... blah de fucking blah.

I need a truck and a half dozen mexicans to work for five bucks and one burrito. Which when you think about it is total overpayment. Fucking illegal alien leaches.

Oooh look, I just got all racist on you. Well fuck off. I'm an equal opportunity hater. I hate everyone. But mostly their purse dogs.

Lonely

2007-05-21T12:26:00.000-07:00

There comes a point in many relationships when you go to bed alone, wake up alone, and the person sleeping peacefully next to you keeps on sleeping, or at least pretending to, while you lay awake staring at the ceiling. Disconnect.

You take road trips and during your time at the wheel they sleep. They sleep so you can listen to your cd's without their complaints and they sleep through you crying every time a love song comes on because you are overcome with that feeling. That feeling that you are missing out, that there is something else out there, something perhaps a little less dysfunctional? You stare at couples in passing cars because he keeps telling you that you're demanding, that he's perfectly normal, you stare at couples wondering if they are really happy with less, if you're looking for something that really doesn't exist; something that even if you had you would still throw away.

You fight and you fight because you call a handyman to fix the door and he screams until he turns into something ugly over the insult, the absolute incredulity that you would insinuate a handyman is better than him, and you are suppressing your rage because you just want to go to dinner and come home to a door that doesn't fall off the hinges anymore. At dinner he says women who stay home with only one child are lazy and your friend is trash and should give her child up for adoption. Sure. He's looking for a fight. But he's always looking for a fight. And when you say you hate this he says, "for someone who doesn't like to fight you sure like to fight a lot".

Which makes you realize something.

The only way to stop fighting is to take this, be okay with this, or leave.

My days are filled with unpacking boxes in my new place, a place too small for all of these boxes, and I confess; I just don't know what to do. I sold furniture on craigslist. I bought a new sofa at Macy's outlet. I take Izzy for walks and for the most part, I feel good. I think everyone thinks I'll go back because I've gone back before. Except the truth is that this hurts less. Being lonely, when you're actually alone, makes more sense. And now, when I wonder what is else out there, I feel hope.

I'm going on four nights of bad dreams. Stupid dreams that shouldn't sit with me, but do. I dreamt that I had to shave my face each morning and was horrified to discover that I had an Adam's apple. All day I felt slightly disgusted.

My mother tells me to fix myself before I start dating again. She talks to me like I am someone else, someone stupid who wears too much hairspray. I remind her that I was single for years, that if there is any fixing left to do that I am obviously incapable of it. My friend laughs when I tell her, "I don't need to fix anything. I'm PERFECT". Except it's true. There's nothing wrong with me. And I'm not going to jump on the bandwagon of thinking I need to be perfect to be happy.

It didn't work out. Isn't that every one's life story? Oh sure, it's the part they tend to edit out, but trust me, it's there.

A Moment of Silence...

2007-05-11T12:05:00.000-07:00

while we review the lyrics to, 'Damn, Wish I Was Your Lover' (lyrics that particularly make me want to crack my head into the nearest curb are bolded, italicized, one or the other, but mostly making me rip the wings off of beautiful endangered butterflies)

That old dog has chained you up all right
Give you everything you need
To live inside a twisted cage
Sleep beside in empty rage
I had a dream I was your hero

Damn I wish I was your lover
I'd rock you till the daylight comes
Make sure you are smiling and warm
I am everything
Tonight I'll be your mother (sexy RAWR)
I'll do such things to ease your pain
Free your mind and you won't feel ashamed (why? just because we're play fucking my MOTHER?)
Open up gonna come inside
Gonna fill you up
Make you cry
This bloke can't stand to see you black and blue (tee hee)
I give you something sweet each time you
Come inside my jungle book (do you think this is Woody Allen's pick up line?)
It's just too good
Don't say you'll stay
'Cause then you go away
Damn I wish I was your lover
I'll rock you till the daylight comes (the next time I go out I am SO using this line)
Make sure you are smiling and warm
I am everything
Tonight I'll be your mother (again with the crazy incest fantasy YUM)
I'll do such things to ease your pain
Free your mind and you won't feel

blah blah blah. There are obviously more lyrics but by now I'm afraid you're going to electrocute yourself what with all the projectile vomiting going on.

In a completely unrelated story, I'm not wearing panties.

I am so drunk

2007-05-04T00:09:00.000-07:00

that it is not fuking dunny. fkLURK:EJvlacxvfmdrlqtjlhjerl

I fucking hgate typos. fuck typos. Fuck them and their goddamned fug looking moghthers. fuck them.

Anyway. what wasI saying? drunk. Drunk is cool. really... um... cool
l\\\\\\

Except.ll tthat the room is slighty spinning. other than that. Suhweet~

Ok,Y!!! So, today is the first time that I played at a poker night. cool huh? Yeah I thought so too. I cleaned them the FUCK OUT! Beginners luck I know. But even if I hadn't? It would've been worth all of the money I lost. It was that much fun.
l
God I have to pucke.

or not.

I Had a Title for This Post... But Forgot It

2007-04-30T19:52:00.000-07:00

Oh fuck it all anyway.

I think carrot cake is deceiving. They should call it bad for you cake. Because then I wouldn't be tempted to justify eating so damn much of it. Unless it is healthy... and then anyone who says otherwise should shut their fat ugly lying mouths.

On a more personal note you might be wondering, Hey? What's up with the absenteeism? And then I'd be all, oh, you know, AIDS scare.

But it's all right now!

Cindy Lou explained it.

Turns out you CAN'T, CAN NOT, get it from having sex with her. Or cutting your thumbs and becoming blood sisters while drinking Patron. Nope. All a myth. In fact, she even gave me a bucket of her blood to play in. Perfectly safe. And fun.

So how do you get the AIDS then? Abstinence. Boy am I glad she cleared that up.

Happy Valenfuckyou Day

2007-02-14T16:11:00.001-08:00

I took a picture of my butt.

It looked like your mother's face.

What the Fuck Fucking Day Is It Because FUCK WHY IS IT NEVER FRIDAY???

2007-01-31T10:24:00.001-08:00

I love it when my bra creaks. It makes me feel like Rosie from the Jetsons.

Parenting 101

2007-01-28T15:06:00.001-08:00

Sometimes my sister (9 years old) runs past and I think, 'Oh how innocent she is, how young, how...wait a fucking minute,' because it's then I start to remember what I did and did not know when I myself was 9 years old.

Then I stop.

Because I really don't want to think about it. It's just gross.

But of course my stupid parenting side has already kicked in and I start to think about what information should be coming from us. Us. The adults. I'm the same person who took her to her first day of kindergarten, stood outside the cafeteria door with her everyday for two weeks until she built up the courage to walk in, walked through the lunch line with her until she turned to me one day and said, "Terra, I can go by myself."

But she was five! She CAN'T go by HERSELF.

I'm the same person who stood outside the cafeteria for three days watching her navigate the lunch line, making sure she sat at a table with friends, opened her milk carton successfully. And I know, I know she has actual parents that are there everyday, but... they're old. And so not cool. She needs to hear these things from someone who's hip. In 'the know'.

I don't know anyone like that so I fill in occasionally and the other day I had the following conversation with her:

So Alex, what do you think of Britney Spears? (See how cool I am?)

She's cool. I like her. I listen more to (some sister band I can't remember the name of to save my life).

Yeah, I guess she hasn't done much lately since she got married.

Yeah! But she's getting divorced.

And going out without panties!

I heard.

You know, the other day I forgot panties and sat all over your bed.

GROSS TERRA!

Well I guess that's a lesson about panties. I hear they're a 1.99 at walmart.

(laughter)

How stupid is Britney Spears if she can't remember 1.99 panties.

I guess pretty dumb.

What do you think about Paris and Nicole?

They're pretty.

Yep, really pretty.

I like their hair.

Me too... did you hear Nicole got arrested the other day?

Yeah! For driving the wrong way on the freeway!

I think they said she was smoking marijuana.

Yeah.

Boy, that's so cool.

Wha?

Yeah, that's totally cool! Do you know how much cooler and prettier I'd be if I did pot and drove the wrong way on the freeway? When the cop knocked on her window she was on her cell phone!

(laughter)

Seriously. (valley girl voice) Um, like, oh my god, I think this police officer wants me to roll my window down. HOLD ON! I'm like, on the phone. So anyway Buffy, let's go to the MALL after I get out of jail. Ha, like jail is so lame.

(laughter)

(still valley girl voice) Maybe later we can get together do some drugs and drive around K? K! Catch you later skater!

Then we basically talked about how cool it would be to go shopping and do some drugs. There was hair flipping involved, and then some very small talk about how that is NOT cool. Which is basically what I was fishing around for because if I am EVER related to someone that thinks Paris, Nicole and or Britney is cool I would have to kill myself. Or them.

Revelation

2007-01-26T16:20:00.001-08:00

You know you need a drink when you start looking at a wine cooler sideways.

You All My Bitches

2007-01-16T12:28:00.001-08:00

So that's it. I've gone gangsta. I'm not exactly up on all the lingo but so far I've learned that popping a cap in someone's ass is apparently not a friendly gesture.

My bad.

Last weekend the Irishman and I decided to go to a movie, he picked two movies, I picked two movies, we each cancelled out one of the other's choices, we flipped a coin, and then before we even looked at the quarter we decided, fuck it. Let's just go see Dream Girls instead. Life's about compromises, and Beyonce's ass.

But then we missed the movie's start time so what does the Irishman do? What does the fucking bitch ass Irishman do? He turns to me and says

AND SAYS

'Let's go see The Holiday instead'

(My internal response) What the fuck, are you a FAG?? Holiday? Fucking shit ass Holiday? I would kill myself instead! I would kill small children instead! I would bang my head into the cold ass cement instead.

(My external response) hrm. Um. Hrm. I dunno know, why don't we go see Alpha Dog instead? I heard Justin Timberlake's pretty good.

Irishman- Yeah... but I don't have a good feeling about that movie. I think I should take you to a chick flick for once, like a good boyfriend.

(My internal response) CARS IS NOT A CHICK FLICK! STRANGER THAN FICTION IS NOT A CHICK FLICK! TALLAFUCKINGDEGA NIGHTS IS NOT A CHICK FLICK! The Notebook fucking kill me now is a chick flick. Whatever movie with Reese Witherspoon that my mother tried to drag me to, chick flick. Japanese martial arts movies, Will Ferrell movies, Children of Men, NOT CHICK FLICKS. Mental note: Create a graph... possibly involving checklists for him to reference.

(My external response) Uhm. Okay then. The Holiday it is... I guess.

Anyway, the point of this story is that we walked out of The Holiday within five minutes after I had already started figuring out ways to track down and kill the writers, went in to see Alpha Dog and totally loved it. Okay, so Justin Timberlake's Dick in a Box was hilarious, but the guy can seriously act. And the movie was based on a true story, so if I had actually cried at the end it would have been acceptable... especially if I were PMS'ing.

Which I was.

But that doesn't mean I cried.

Only people with hearts cry.... and I sold mine for some drugs. So there.

Pulling the Pink

2007-01-10T14:43:00.001-08:00

I've been sick for two months now. Not full on sick, but sick. It started in November with a constant queasiness and moved on in December to full on motion sickness. It comes and goes in waves and sometimes I even get sick from my own driving. Which may or may not be a reflection of my dubitable skills.

In mid December the Irishman noticed I got car sick within a half block with his driving and he turned to me and demanded to know how many days late I was.

Late?

None.

Shut the fuck up and drive.

Except, I never know if I'm late or not because I never keep track. Also, I have a history of nausea. Stressed? I'm nauseous. Cold? Nauseous. Tuesday? Nauseous. I pay absolutely no attention to it and never have. It's just a constant. Also since my hormones are constantly out of whack I'm sometimes PMS'ing all month prior to my period, and even worse directly after it. The only break I seem to get is when I'm actually on the damn thing which makes me wonder what exactly I did to piss off the universe. So in December I'm PMS'ing all long. Which for me means muscle aches, hot flashes, nausea, constant feelings of fullness, and gaining weight at the drop of the hat.

Still I actually went to a calendar to double check if I was late or not. I wasn't. I marked the day I was to start and when that day came I started. Wow. Look. For once I'm on time.

New Years weekend and I'm so nauseous that no one else can drive me. I've gained ten pounds in... pretty much one week, and I'm throwing up everything in sight. It's beautiful. Then I feel better. Until the next Thursday when I vomit in the morning. And the next day when I vomit all morning. Then mysteriously better. Until Tuesday. I'm so sick even water gives me a heartburn and I got motion sickness from walking and changing directions too fast.

So I make an appointment to see the doctor, tell the Irishman I'll be home late, leave work and sit in the lobby until the doctor can see me and tell me, most likely you're pregnant. She orders all these blood tests (one for pregnancy) and then she sends me over to the lab to get my arm pricked.

And I have to say the most amazing thing happened on that walk to the lab, I got happy. Happy happy.

A baby.

And I thought about all that would mean. Baby baby. Would I have sufficient time at my work to allow for pregnancy leave (assuming I'm two - three months along)? Would my mother want to watch her during the day? How would I get them to each other?

Teething, weaning, soft hands, little shoes, fluffy snow jackets, Easter, and Christmas, and strollers, and cribs.

A baby.

And I'm 27 and I want that baby so much, would love that baby so much, and it never ever occurred to me until right then.

Of course the Irishman's got his three year plan and I don't know what he would say. Mostly I think he would be mad, and I'm afraid he wouldn't want the child. Would always look at it as some small object that came along and ruined all of his plans, his unlived life. You know, the way he sometimes looks at me.

Unbeknownst to me the Irishman's at work being asked by his assistant what's wrong, and he's telling her he thinks I'm pregnant. I've been sick forever, gained a bunch of weight, and now have missed work because of it. She's telling him that realistically there's only so many days a girl can get pregnant during the month (since I've been sick I've been putting out less), and also, how bad would it be? Sure, he can't use the stress a pregnancy would bring, but we make good money, he's 34, I'm 27, I'm the only girl he's ever lived with and declared he intended to marry.

And he's replying, I guess you're right. It wouldn't be the end of the world.

He's getting used to the idea and I'm getting used to the idea and the lab is processing my blood that says I have an infection.

And I'm not pregnant.

Talk Too Much, Write Too Little

2007-01-08T11:26:00.001-08:00

So I'm making up for it, or just using it as an excuse to start rambling.

Thing One: My neck is out. Mainly because I live in a semi-affluent neighborhood and the other night a bunch of teenagers drove by me yelling and hanging out the windows, speeding and smoking cigarettes in a brand new land rover or discovery or some other fucking vehicle that costs twenty times the value of my own car (not kidding, KBB prices my car 1000-2000), and so I then began prancing around, flinging my head from side to side, saying in a posh voice how I couldn't possible go to chem class today, I must, ABSOLUTELY MUST, go get my hair highlighted and then run over to abrocombe.

I may or may not have begun singing, "I'm a model, you know what I mean". And anyway, now my neck is out.

Thing Two: The Irishman has informed me that if Hell exists I am definitely going there. Which I find especially harsh since all I did was vocalize my wish for my grandmother and Shirley Temple to die.

Soon.

Thing Three: Fuck you holidays. Fuck you scale. Fuck you hormones. Fuck you stomach and fuck you genetics.

I rarely, if ever, gain weight during the holidays. Instead I tend to pack on the pounds in the summertime. I know. It defies logic. So for you to understand this rant you'll have to know that piece of info, in addition to the fact that my father's side of the families stomachs are all fucked up. We can't eat certain foods, and we tend to retain food as well. Meaning, if we eat heavy food, it stays with us. For fucking ever. So this holiday, thanks to my hormones, I eat one meal a day and am stuffed for the rest of it.

IT FUCKING SUCKS!!

And you know what else sucks? I ate half of what my family ate and gained four pounds Christmas weekend. My mother was all, NO WAY TERRA, YOU ATE WAY LESS THAN US! And I did. And I was pissed. So the week after I said FUCK NOT EATING, and I ate more. Because that's, you know, a good normal reaction.

End of story, I'm up ten pounds, in two weeks. It's so fucking awesome I'm going to go hang myself.

Thing Four: This new job actually requires me to work. Expect less posts and acts of prostitution. I got out my calculator last night and realized that I bring home (bring home) 1,034 more a month here. That's right. ONE THOUSAND THIRTY FOUR more a month. AND, I get an annual bonus. After I figured this out I crawled into bed with the Irishman to inform him, I used to be poor. I mean, poor. Poor, buy myself a two thousand dollar car and thank Jesus I don't have to ride the bus with the smelly old man who may or may not have pooped his pants, poor. And then we laughed because I am STILL poor. All that extra money has gone straight to my educational loans and credit card debt. I'd like to say that my credit cards were used irresponsibly, that I bought high fashion and appletinis or some crap with them, but mostly I just bought groceries. And gas.

So that sucks.

Thing Five: With all that extra money I'm going to go visit Grace! YAY! Grace is so slutty. I miss her. And her big boobs. But mostly her boobs. I have pictures, but it's just not the same.

You wish you could visit her boobs too. But you can't They're mine bitches. I just let her husband touch them. It's really nice and Christian of me.

Thing Six: I'm trying to work the word bitches into my vocabulary more often and phase out fuck. Partly because the Irishman doesn't seem to like being called a bitch and partly because fuck has become my trademark. Time to shake it up bitches.

Things I Would Like To Know

2006-12-27T23:32:00.000-08:00

Why the Irishman sometimes pees in the toilet and then leaves it for me to find. It's not that I really need the reminder about how good the good old days were. When I lived alone and didn't occasionally fall into toilets filled with pee only to find that once again the motherfucker left me without toilet paper.

Slight Panic

2006-12-20T17:14:00.000-08:00

Do you think it's too late to send out my Christmas cards?

It's too late isn't it?

FUCK

FUCK FUCK

No.

Wait.

Fuck this. I don't give a fucking shit. FINE I DIDN'T SEND YOU A CHRISTMAS CARD GET THE FUCK OVER IT!

but they sent me one.

and oh shit.

here's another one in the mail.

WHY IN THE FUCK DID I GIVE THESE PEOPLE MY ADDRESS??

Oh wait. This one's cute. Look at her baby!

fuck.

Plus I actually like this person. and would like for them to get a card from me in return.

must resist all feelings of kindness. i think i'll go kick the cat. hey. i'm over it. what can i do now? oh yeah. must kill liver.

My Friends Fucking ROCK!

2006-12-20T12:13:00.000-08:00

(This article is about one of my best friends ex boyfriends, who also happens to be my ex boyfriend's best friend. Which just goes to show, I hang out with the BEST PEOPLE EVER)

Psychiatric patient subdued after trying to drive off in S.J. police car

Mercury News

San Jose police subdued a man slated for a psychiatric evaluation who tried to steal an ambulance, succeeded in making off with a car and then tried to drive away in a police patrol car early this morning.

Officers struggled with the 25-year-old before arresting him on Saratoga Avenue near Interstate 280 around 1 a.m. and after he'd already been Tased once, officer Enrique Garcia said.

The incident started when doctors at Kaiser Medical Center in Santa Clara called to have the man transported to another hospital for a psychiatric evaluation at 11:30 p.m., Garcia said. the man became agitated in the ambulance, Garcia said, and threatened to steal it.

The driver pulled over and got out of the ambulance near the intersection of Saratoga and Stevens Creek Boulevard. He took the keys to ambulance with him.

While the driver called 911, the man -- unable to start the emergency vehicle -- ransacked the front of the ambulance and took off on foot, Garcia said.

Santa Clara police dispatchers took the ambulance driver's call and put out a notice to other police departments to be on the look out for the man.

Meanwhile, the man found a pair of stranded motorists near Kiely Boulevard and Saratoga. He stopped to help them and, just as a San Jose police officer approached the group, jumped into the 4-door 1999 Daewoo that just began working again. the man drove it down the street, Garcia said.

The officer gave chase for less than a block. the man pulled over near where Saratoga meets 280. He got out of the car and the officer walked toward him.

The two then struggled and the man tried to grab the officer's gun, Garcia said. The officer was able to hold him off, but then, according to Garcia, the man ran toward the patrol car and jumped into the driver's seat.

The officer jumped at the man and was hanging half outside of the car as the pair struggled for control of the steering wheel, according to Garcia.

As they struggled, the officer called for back-up. He also fired his Taser at the man.

After the man was Tased, Garcia said, he began driving the patrol car in circles on Saratoga near 280. At this point, according to Garcia, backup officers had arrived.

Ultimately, the man drove the patrol car into a fence and rammed it into two other patrol cars. He then got out of the car and, after another struggle, was arrested by police.

the man, the officer who first struggled with him and a sergeant were taken to the hospital for evaluation.

the man was booked into Santa Clara County Jail. He faces charges of auto theft, attempting to take an officer's handgun, attempted auto theft for trying to take the ambulance and carjacking for forcibly taking control of the police car.

Your Exes are Your Exes for a Reason

2006-12-18T07:40:00.000-08:00

Someone asked why my ex and I broke up and I answered that I didn't so much leave him as I left me. He thought I was this big bad evil person that told him what to do all day long when he could be out having fun drinking while I was at home cleaning and basically I hated me. Hated saying something normal and him reacting like it was a call to arms and then he was yelling and I was yelling and then I blacked out and when I came to I was covered in blood, but look, I was ACQUITTED, so why in the fuck are we still talking about this? Sheesh.

Look, I'd go to therapy, but I'm just too busy.

(Clarification: not talking about the Irishman, it's way too soon for that to go to trial.)

'Tis The Season To Buy a Rifle

2006-12-13T15:47:00.000-08:00

I love Christmas.

I love the music, and the ornaments, and the children. Oh how I love the children. With their sticky little faces and their petulant screams, 'MINE MINE MINE'.

Yeah. They're great.

But you know what's even better? Their retarded parents. Parents so numb and broke and sad about their sad little pathetic lives that they wander around, in front of me, and don't realize I'm about to saw their heads off with a rusty blade.

It's like they woke up and decided to go chat with all of their fucking friends and relatives in the middle of fucking target.

'Oh, here's an empty aisle, why don't I set up camp!!'

'Oh look at me, I'm the center of my own fucking universe and since I'm completely self involved I'm going to walk agonizingly slow down the central aisle whiled TEXTING! Because that's how much of a fucktard I am!'

'Hey Jeana, oh my GAWD, can you believe she wore that to the X Mas Party (I'm so cool I abbreviate in real life) what a sluh uh ut! Aw NO! We shouldn't move to the side of the aisle, or I don't know, GO THE FUCK HOME TO HAVE THIS MORONIC CONVERSATION BECAUSE GOD DAMN IT, WE'RE BEAUTIFUL AND PEOPLE LOVE US.'

I want to take all of these peoples children into a beautifully decorated room and show them a movie where Santa dies.

God Fucking Damn You

2006-12-08T17:20:00.000-08:00

So I go up to the Irishman and I'm all, "Hey, listen to this idea for a skit!"

Cause that's what I do when I live with you. Fucking annoy you.

"Okay, it'd be called the racist guy and..." Irishman's eyes glaze over.

"No, listen, it's really funny."

"Terra it's not funny, it's weird."

And here's the thing, of course it's fucking weird! I'M FUCKING WEIRD! And I fucking hate all these goddamn think inside the box cookie cutter people who can't get their heads out of their fucking asses long enough to fucking listen to me and use their goddamn fucking imagination to realize I'M FUNNY!

If I was on SNL or Mad these fucking people would be braying like donkeys, and I'd fucking own them! I could say, get me a glass of water, and these mindless fucks would fall out of their chairs laughing hysterically while I kicked them in the teeth.

Whatever, I'm wierd. Oh yeah, because the concept for Will Ferrell's Elf was so fucking normal.

Funny Memories

2006-12-07T14:12:00.000-08:00

My friend's boyfriend once told her, "Stop talking. How you think doesn't make sense," while waving his hands around and looking disgusted.

And what makes this even funnier, and REALLY brought home the point, was that she STILL didn't get he was calling her stupid and asked me what I thought he meant.

"Umm... geez, I don't know." (dumbass)

What's My Age Again?

2006-12-05T18:29:00.000-08:00

For those of you not in the know, those of you not 'cool' enough, those of you I barely tolerate... wait. Who am I kidding. If I had better hygiene I'm sure I'd have more friends... but I don't. And I'm not willing to buy soap. So I'll settle for the few of you reading this.

Anywho... I'm 27, my sister is 10. Go figure, I was the 'oops' baby. And last weekend I called shotgun, raced my sister to the car, jumped on top of her and refused to move. Even when our mother started the car and started driving down the street. Which reminds me. She's psycho. The fucking door wasn't even closed!

She is so recklessly immature. Pfft.

Living the Ikea Life

2006-11-29T12:11:00.000-08:00

(Or... I hate my house)

I haven't gotten rid of shit with this move. And I'm not going to. EVER.

Just kidding.

None of our mother fucking shit matches together. NONE OF IT! It is fundamentally completely fucking different. He's got stupid little decorative steel globes and old Kurt Vonaican'tspell books that don't even match with my books. And all of his furniture involves granite and honey colored wood. I don't know what kind of wood it is because I don't bother learning the names of things that would make me want to puke if they were in the same house that I have my mail sent to.

And now they are. They just sit around going, Oh look at me Terra in all of my ugliness.

The worst part? They're expensive. Expensive expensive expensive.

My stuff? All looks really nice, but it's from Target... and one of those discount Vietnamese furniture stores, so really it doesn't fucking matter. And I want to get rid of most of my shit anyway.

I don't want the couch my ex picked out, the tables he was supposed to pay me back for but never did, the chair he bought me for my birthday. I don't want this shit.

But I don't want the Irishman's stuff either. And I can't exactly say, HEY, throw out that FUGLY really expensive coffee table... and pictures.... and matching couch.

And then I'm going to get rid of all of the stuff that I bought when I was 18 and moved out AND THEN, we'll have NOTHING! TA FUCKING DA!!

fuck

Can you believe that yesterday the Irishman had a problem with MY vocabulary? He was all, Sheesh, could you at least TRY to be feminine?

All because I said that if I were a guy there was no way I could get it up to fuck some stupid chick we know. Puhleez. That IS feminine talk! It was catty and backstabbing. If I got any more feminine I'd have stabbed her in the back with my high heel.

I'm So Tired

2006-11-17T10:07:00.000-08:00

that last night I spent thirty minutes trying to remember what day it was and then finally gave up. This morning I was sure all my clocks were wrong, by hours not minutes, and so I stared out the window trying to figure out what time it was by how bright it was.

Part of the reason the Irishman and I decided to move in now is that the new job doubles to triples my commute. We already live an hour and a half away from each other. In busy months we'll often go two weeks without seeing each other. And on top of my new job he's started a new project that has him working seven days a week. I looked at our schedules and cried. The weekend I was in New York and my return flights got delayed, causing me to miss out on our Sunday visit and not see him until the following Saturday, I sat in the airport and cried. Er... wait, thought about crying. But instead stabbed an innocent passerby. Twice. While they were on their way to join the peace corp.

I haven't had a conversation longer than five minutes with the Irishman in a week, thanks to our new schedules, and last night I had nightmare after nightmare. I dreamt that he ran over a kid and then ran up to talk to the father about himself... after I made him get out of the car instead of just driving away. Then I dreamt that I met someone who had more time for me and so I pushed the Irishman into a pool, stuck my foot on his head to keep him underwater, and then right before I let him up for air I realized I regretted it. But I also didn't. And so, while he was still underwater, I had a discussion with my friends, do I really want this?

This morning on the way to work I looked at a little girl riding in the backseat of her mommy's car (the Irishman's been freaked out about children for some reason, and I always tell him SHEESH! WE DON'T EVEN LIVE TOGETHER. Cut it out!), and I felt this gut panic reaction.

I don't want children! Not yet! Oh I'm too young, I have my whole life ahead of me! ME ME ME!

Which is ridiculous. We're just moving in together. Oh god. Small panic attack.

Updates

2006-11-15T11:45:00.000-08:00

At The New Job

I worry that I'm not being helpful enough. I stress that I'm typing this. I feel guilty about checking my inbox, I have a coronary when I'm running a second late, I wonder if there are ways to make myself friendlier. Apparently I like my new job?

With The Irishman

I used last night to start fights. Fights. As in plural. Because I didn't get home until 8:30 and had left at 7:10 in the morning. Because I had way too much shit to do at home and no energy or time to do it. Because ever since they switched writers Gilmore Girls sucks. Because we're moving in together and I'm scared shitless. Because I know it's good to move in, but I hate change. Hate it hate it. So I called this morning to say I was sorry and was surprised to find that I meant it. Although possibly I only meant it because the new house is closer to work and my current commute is kicking my ass. An HOUR AND A FUCKING HALF.

Traffic

You know it's going to be a bad day when various people in the cars surrounding you are throwing their hands up and visibly shouting.

Catch that show on HBO, BIG LOVE. Even if you have to tivo it. Even if you have to netflix it. Even if you have to buy it. The first season is out on DVD and at first you might not exactly get what I love about it, but there's an episode where one of the wives loses Mother of the Year because they find out she's a practicing polygamist and when she comes home it's the other two wives that surround her, hug her. She leans into them crying and what you get, really get, is that they're a family.

For me it does for polygamy what Ghia did for lesbianism. Shows it in a way that appears natural. Shows it complexities, challenges, downfalls and benefits. I just... love this show!

Movies

Camp.

Camp is... well, campy. It's a sundance movie about kids that go to Camp Ovation. A camp for kids that want to be actors (warning gay and fag hag issues explored). All of the actors are under 18, and they are just friggin amazing. Watch it. And be forewarned, all of the singing? That's really them, no alternate singers. And the awesome song at the end? The one that's just as good as the performance in the beginning? It's sung by a girl that has trained to be an opera singer for 75% of her life. Not to be missed.

Random Death Threat of the Day

2006-11-13T15:46:00.000-08:00

So it turns out my ex boss is incredibly stupid, because he didn't manage to break my fingers, only bruise them. Which just goes to show, weapons without bullets and/or sharp edges are pointless.

I'd like to say he did it on accident, but he didn't exactly look apologetic. Also, I may have caught him laughing hysterically later while pantomiming slamming a car door.

So now that I'm at the new job, non-mob related, I can't look at blogger sites anymore... or I could. But then I'd be fired. And I'd hate to get fired. Because I love drinking, er, I mean not being homeless. Yeah. That's it. Nothing to do with my never ending plot to kill my liver. Anyway, I'll still be posting, but do to the changed circumstances I might be reading your sites a lot more than commenting.

Because I hate you motherfuckers. You live far away and never send me beer. Death to you all.

last day

2006-11-10T14:22:00.000-08:00

fuck capitalization. not of cities... but words. off subject. today's my last day here at work, they took me out for lunch, and at the end of it my boss slammed three of my fingers in the door.

American Psycho*

2006-11-09T12:06:00.000-08:00

Last night I dreamt about Kate Moss and Pete Doherty in some weird attempt to kill myself while sleeping. I dreamt that Pete dumped Kate and then Kate went around town crying but Pete wouldn't take her back because he's too cool for so god fucking help me because I think I'm going to have to stop reading superficial.com because holy fucking shit what the hell? Kate Moss? Pete Doherty? WHO THE FUCK GIVES A SHIT! The only way that dream could've gotten stranger is if vonage box hit Pete in the head and my mom started screaming, VONAGE, ONE SMART CHOICE AMONG MANY STUPID ONES.

Whatever.

*I hate that book.

Monthly Nice Quota: Met/Exceeded/Shut the Fuck Up Already

2006-11-09T10:30:00.000-08:00

Email to the Irishman, titled: Reminder Fairy

Don't forget to take out cash to pay your landlord.

um.

you probably already did it and now you're throwing shit yelling, 'goddamned fucking puerto rican always telling me what to do!!!'

and that's RIGHT

You yell behind my back because if you ever do that shit to my face I'll cut you

------------------------------------

These days my favorite moments are when I fall asleep and the Irishman's hand is resting on my hip, his other arm under my neck, wrapped up around my shoulders. I wake to go to the bathroom and I have to untangle him from me.

I have this thing about skin on skin and have frequently been told by exes that I'm the most sensual girl they've ever touched, I lean in, I lose focus, I forget to breathe. In the past I've laughed and said I'm a cat. My ex walked by while I was cleaning the kitchen floor and I arched my back into the side of his leg, meowed, purred, pretended to scratch him until he laughed so hard he turned red. I have many fond memories of my exes. Trips we took. Games we played. But the Irishman is different.

I look at him and think, we can go the distance. When he touches me I lose focus because it's his skin, his hands, his arms.

The Irishman often tells me, spontaneously, 'You know. You're not funny. All those people that say you are are either extremely nice or extremely retarded,' cue the deadpan look, 'You're really not funny Terra.' To which I have a tendency to respond with singing loudly and widely off tune while I do an Elaine from Seinfeld inspired dance, 'WHO DO YOU LOVE?'

Do you remember this song? Who do you love? Tell me now!

After I do this he always gives me a funny look and I say, 'Come on, sing it with me!'

'No.'

'You know you love me, now sing it.'

'I'm not singing that stupid song, I've never even heard of it.'

'Really?'

'Really Terra. You know every stupid mundane over played song and I thank God I don't know this one... it's probably by Rob Thomas.'

'I like Rob Thomas.'

'Rob Thomas is gay.'

'WHO DO YOU LOVE?'

So the other night we're lying in bed and I do it again, 'Tell me now, who do you love?' And he sings it back, adding in the rest of the chorus and the actual beginning to the song.

'I thought you didn't know that song?'

'I do know that song, I've just never heard you sing so off key and I was hoping you'd shut up.'

Dude. I totally love him, and normally I'd keep this shit to myself but I just had to write it down, provide proof, show evidence, because there are going to be days I hate his guts, days I wish him dead, and I would just like to remember when that day comes, there was a time when he was everything, and I want to do more than just remember that. I want to keep that in mind.

Don't You Wanna Be My Text Buddy?

2006-11-08T13:09:00.000-08:00

I just got a new cell phone. Words added to my cell phone's text dictionary today:

fucking
cunt
shitbag
dickhead

TerraT: Telling You What To Do Since 1979

2006-11-07T11:01:00.000-08:00

Snippets of Conversation

"People piss me the fuck off. Don't they get it? I don't want to hear their stupid fucking opinions, I want them to shut up and do what I say."

*****

At the movie theater

Irishman: "Can I have a large popcorn?"

Me: "Small is fine."

Irishman: "What about chocolate malts?"

Me: "No."

Irishman: "Hotdog?"

Me: I don't even bother to respond. The look of death should be enough.

Irishman to stranger: "You're lucky, you have goobers. My girlfriend said no."

Stranger: "My girlfriend doesn't get a say."

Me: "No."

*****

Me to Miranda: "Okay, look at this... now, please." She pulls out paperwork obediently. "I like this, you do what I tell you to do, finally!"

Miranda (laughing): "That's the thing about you, you're bossy in a polite way."

Me: "It's so my minions don't revolt."

I Have Something To Say

2006-11-03T15:08:00.000-08:00

I FUCKING HATE YOU

I hate your kiss ass brown nosing bullshit politics. I hate your snide fucking remarks and even the way you part your fucking hair.

I fucking hate you

With something close to a passion. The kind of passion where I might pretend to like you just so I can drug you at a party and then light your clothes on fire. You whiny pretentious fucking bitch.

DIE

****

Oh my god you fucking dirty ass hippie. Was one bumper sticker not enough so you had to go out and buy TEN GOD DAMN FUCKING POLITICAL STATEMENTS AND TATTOO THEM TO THE ASS OF YOUR HYBRID PIECE OF SHIT???

Does ANY of that bullshit apply to all of the fucking hairspray you've put into your hair? Because I am fucking TEMPTED to make up a bunch of statistics and then yell at you about how your destroying the ozone layer. You fucking crazy ass bitch!

FUCK!

What the fuck is the point of buying an SUV hybrid anyway you fucktard?? You could've bought a CAR that got better gas mileage!

And by the way, I LIKE global warming. It's great. It's FANTASTIC! You see this beautiful sunny November day? These kind of days are supporting the swimsuit industry and local amusement park attractions, therefore creating JOBS!

YAY GLOBAL WARMING

Die hippy die

***

What in the fucking hell? Do I have a fucking neon sign on top of my car that says run me the fuck off the road PLEASE?

Because I will take that shit off right now.

How many stupid fucks with expired licenses have to be lined up completely fucking PARALLEL with me and then try to get in my lane?

Hel-fucking-lo?

You see me? In the white car? Flipping you off? Yeah bitch. This lane is MINE.

GAH!!

I Don't Want To Call You Stupid

2006-11-03T11:00:00.000-08:00

But you just keep standing there, looking stupid, and really, you're begging me to smash you.

Alica, I Forget the Day You Died

2006-11-01T14:17:00.000-08:00

I forget the day, the date, and if I get blurry enough, even the month fades into obscurity. Every November I begin the process of shutting down, the emails get hard, the telephone, the face to face. I am one of those, that under pressure, ceases to function.

This year it started early. September. I see them in the grocery store, women with your color of hair, porcelain skin. I see women who bear the most tracest of similarities with you, and paint them into someone they are not. I pretend that I've run into you while running errands. You're buying groceries, pumping gas, mailing packages for your mother. We hug, we embrace, and you are not dead, not buried, you are here. In September I pulled over to the side of the road, held my face in my hands and thought, 'Too soon. Too soon.' But the month did not worry me so much as the realization that maybe I don't miss you.

Maybe I just like missing you.

Maybe I like the beauty and futility that makes up the elements of sadness. Maybe I am nothing more than a drama queen.

So I sat up straighter in that car, wiped my face, squared my shoulders, and drove off. Determined not to make a mockery of the person you were, the life you led. This is what I remember of you, independent of your death.

You took pictures with a scared look on your face, like a deer caught in head lights. Your hair always had a wild look about it, as if you had been caught turning your head quickly. Your smile seemed nervous, your eyes scared, but you were a pretty child. Even beautiful. There are photos that show that, and yet somehow I own none of them, and so I strive to keep that memory, imprint it in my brain.

You had a baby voice, and I hate baby voices. Hate the women that posess them. The funny thing is that they are hardly ever delicate women. You were delicate, sometimes. Always either super skinny or sitting comfortably on the first step of fatness. I was super jealous when you were skinny, with your flawless skin, beautiful auburn hair, big eyes. I would watch men flock to you and pray that you would get fat again. When you were heavy you wore too much eyeliner and picked at your skin. Insecurities seeping to the outside. Baby voice aside, your laugh stays with me. It was a startled laugh, as if not even you had expected it.

But where, oh where, did you get that voice I detested so much?? I can still hear you saying, "fudge packer" in it, followed up by that signature laugh. You didn't have that voice when you were small.

Small small small. You were the youngest of the cousins I played with growing up. Younger than me by four years I can still recall the last time Phillip and I bathed with you. You tried to touch his penis and then pooped in the tub. We were screaming so loud the grownups thought someone had drowned. And that was the end of us bathing with you.

I lost you when I went to High School. You appear on the fringes of my memory, stealing my too big clothes and favorite nail polish. You took my barbies out of storage, broke them, and then denied it. You told me boy crazy stories. I shrugged you off and the sleep overs stopped.

I lost you in College.

You turned 18 and reappeared. Did I go to your birthday party? Your graduation? God. I can't remember. I've always been bad with shit like that. I remember Nicolas Cage was playing in a movie in your livingroom. There was soda, and your mother stood in front of a stainless steel refridgerator, showing off her oversized home and all of it's automated lights. We smiled, pretended you liked your step-father and vica versa.

I found you. For a week I stayed with you while your grandparents were gone. We went to the movies, you told me about boys, I hugged you in a parking lot, and at the end, the very end, you pissed me off. You were so damn competitive with me and it ate at me. The barbs. The asides.

Alica, you had a capacity for forgiveness and acceptance that I have never possessed. You laughed about things that I have raged against. You committed petty crimes with a smile, things that I have always been too rigid and unforgiving to stoop to. More than your beauty, I was jealous of that. Your ability to make mistakes, acknowledge them, regret them, and move on, while I kept a list of all your transgressions.

In so many ways, for so many years, I lost who you were, and now I don't know what I miss. Is it that baby girl with the curling brown ringlets? The girl who walked on top of our grandmother's fence with me, confiding she had stolen a kiss from a fellow kindergartener? The 18 year old I danced with at a club to celebrate officially being legal?

I know I lost you, I just always thought I'd find you once more. Your brother graduated High School this year and when I drove up, parked, it suddenly occurred to me that I was looking for you still. Maybe we all are.

I've Got So Many Problems

2006-10-30T11:09:00.000-08:00

That aren't really problems. I just like to bitch.

So I got a new job... because I was thinking of ways to take the phrase, 'went postal' to new levels.

DrinkJack was here... did I mention that? He's cool. Even though he drank wine... I drank wine too. Did I just admit that? Fuck. I must be drunk... on MOONSHINE. That's how bad ass I am. Cindylou and I talked a lot, so much that I became afraid he was going to get up to go to the bathroom and never come back. I might not have blamed him if that did happen, but it didn't. And so he got to stay long enough for Cindy Lou to tell a racial joke to strangers and completely offend them! HA! They actually left right afterwards and all I can say is thank GOD that part of my memory isn't fuzzy. Because I will cherish that moment until the end of time.

So one of the things I told DrinkJack was how a lot of my posts aren't ranting about what I'm actually pissed about. In general, I become pissed about ONE thing, then I just start cursing humanity. There are days that I'm in the parking lot screaming into my hand, taking my shoes off just to throw them into a bush or the side of my house, nights when I want to kill someone and so I break something I own instead.

I got a new job. Hopefully that will take care of the whole, 'screaming in the parking lot' scenario. Because the janitor's starting to look at me funny.

I hate getting older though, because looking for a job took the LONGEST FUCKING TIME!!

FUCK!!

There were so many GODDAMMED concerns this time round! Like, what's the pay ratio, well that's not what I'm worth. Do I like these people? What kind of industry is this? Does this, or can this fit into future plans? What's the bonus like (bonus? HOLY FUCKING SHIT I'M A GROWN UP)? What's the office like? Because at this point in my life I've become accustomed to certain standards.

That's right bitch.

I have standards.

Not very 'high' standards, but standards none the less.

So now here I am, finally with a job that meets most of my minimum requirements, and I'm told, no, WARNED, not to give notice until my background check comes back.

Cuz I'm all fight club, top secret alter persona, anarchist. That's right bitch. At night I break into womens stores and exchange all the size 0 tags for 4. Take that you skinny rich bitches!!

But I gave my notice anyway. Without the background check results. And I feel wierd and panicked, but I think secretly okay. Because let's say my background check doesn't come back okay, and I lose this super amazing, 40 percent pay raise job (gulp).

It'll be okay.

And I'll be okay.

I'll temp, I'll contract, I'll find another job. And I won't be here. And that'll be just fine.

I Had A Disagreement With The Irishman

2006-10-23T17:40:00.000-07:00

I say disagreement because no one yelled, or threw anything. He says disagreement because no one was stabbed. Apparently, since I'm Puerto Rican, I automatically stab people during fights.

Even if I don't have a knife.

Apparently I run out, find a piece of metal in nature, and instantly weld or whittle it or whatever into a knife. Because I'm Puerto Rican.

Anyway, I don't know what it is but he's slightly annoying me. Do you ever have a great day, an awesome day, and then someone comes into your line of vision and instantly you're pissed as fuck. Then they leave and POOF, happy again?

Fine. Fuck you, I have problems.

Not that this only happens with him, it happens with everyone. Sometimes it's my mother, sometimes it's my best friend, sometimes I'm just sick to death of talking to someone and need a break, a breather, a moment to not be the person that I am with them.

So he calls, all chit chatty, and I ask him if he's done that thing.

That thing he promised to do almost a month ago. Don't fuck with my memory because I can almost always point to an exact date on a calendar you SPECIFICALLY said you were going to do said thing.

I fucking CATALOGUED it in my brain.

So he says, no, he hasn't done the thing, and frankly it's low on the totem pole. No real reason for not doing it except he doesn't want to do it. WHAT?! I didn't ASK you to do it, you volunteered! So then he said maybe he'd do it, if I could just learn to LET GO of shit instead of hammering at it.

I can count how many times I've brought it up. Again, don't fuck with me, this 'THING' has been catalogued, tracked, and filed. When things are important? Yeah, I ALWAYS count how many times I bring it up, because, what if I cross the line? Piss you off? Then I will NEVER GET THE THING.

Whatever.

So I was all, fine, sorry, won't ask for it again.

And I won't. But the resentment will build until he does it. Just like he fucking promised.

Or maybe I WILL ask for it? Because you know what? You fucked up men are alway going around screaming, OH, I'M NOT A FUCKING MIND READER! As if the problem is that WE, as WOMEN, as a GENDER, weren't fucking specific enough when we asked you to put the toilet seat down, pick you shit up off the floor, take out the fucking garbage that we left for you in front of the door, after you ignored our repeated requests, and you STILL bypass it on your way to work.

Oh I'm SORRY! Was I supposed to ask you to not sleep with my best friend Betsy? My fault. I probably should have been more specific.

You know what? I know what you bastards are up to. You know exactly what we want but you pretend to be stupid so we'll just quit asking. It's why you deliberately break dishes, so we won't ask you anymore to clean them. Or 'accidentally' insult our cousins so you don't have to pick them up from the airport, sit next to them at dinner, or even be in the same room as them for the rest of your fucking lives.

You know what women need? Tasers. Fucking big ass tasers. Keep you mother fuckers in line.

K-Fed is Such a Fucking Wigger

2006-10-20T14:08:00.000-07:00

I CANNOT FUCKING BELIEVE THAT THE BLACK RAPPERS HAVEN'T GOTTEN TOGETHER AND BEATEN THE SHIT OUT OF THIS FUCKING JOKE.

What the fuck is WRONG with this country when you can't get 50 Cent to live up to his reputation and pop a cap in someone's ass??

Are the white people going to have to do it?

The fucking Mickey Mouse Club gang planning on holding an intervention?

'Uh, gee whiz Kay Federation, can't you wear a top hat, or a three piece suit perhaps instead? We're trying to bring sexy back but you're just making women grab their vaginas when you pass by in fear of your all powerful sperm impregnating them instead. That's not good PR'

I'd Like To Switch Teams

2006-10-12T15:52:00.000-07:00

I have something against ugly women. It's like, GOD, put on some damn makeup! I think the seal would willingly die if it could see you right now and know that it was dying for such a worthy cause.

Fuck.

Some women are really really hideous. I saw this skank driving a van, smoking a cigarrette with man hands, big ole bushy hair flying around in a frizzy ponytail, and the only reason I could tell she wasn't a man was the fact that her XXL shirt was pink. Her hands and arms were disgusting, and even her face was all pinchy looking. How she managed that when she was way over two hundred pounds I don't have a clue.

Then, while I was sitting there trying to block that out, a woman in a BMW drove by. She was very nicely dressed, hair all frosted and highlighted, with a face that looked like it had just smelled another dog's butt.

My point is, I would be ashamed of what these women do for the rest of us, but I don't think we're even in the same category. Not that I'm super hot, but I'm pretty positive that if I've ever made anyone throw up in their mouth a little bit, it was in a good way.

Or an on purpose, I just put anti freeze in your ice tea, way.

PS

I'm out of here. Between today and Sunday I'm going to be on six different flights. That's right. Six. Kill me now. I'm going to New York. But not the good kind of New York. The kind of New York where people own tractors and make out with their sisters. I'm not even sure if they've ever seen a Puerto Rican out there, so I'm hoping I'm not sold into slavery.

Green acres is the place to be... Farm living is the life for ME

911

2006-10-11T11:59:00.000-07:00

My left ovary is stabbing me from the inside. I don't know how it got a knife, or what the fuck it has against me, but I do know that I feel like I'm going to puke.

Perhaps this is karma for telling Duckie that I was going to put him in a bath of ice, cut out his organs, and leave them within his eyesight but out of reach. Just so he knows I didn't even sell them on the black market... or use them to save my dying mother?

But that can't be right because yesterday I gave a homeless man a quarter and I was sure that would make everything right in the world.

A Play

2006-10-03T10:16:00.000-07:00

(Opening scene is a dark stage. Spotlighted are Terra and her Mother. Her mother wears a floral dress, perhaps a mumu, spectacles, and a straw hat. She appears to be walking around blankly, as if drugged or retarded, from this we know Terra is day dreaming. In real life her mother is sharp as a tact and therefore capable of defending her self.)

Terra's Mother: You know Terra (waves arm in air to signify superiority) I made a mistake in raising you. I went wrong somewhere (adjusts spectacles), somehow.

Terra (suprised): Really? How's that?

Terra's Mother: I made you lazy. Yes. Lazy. I picked up after you too much, and now you don't know how to do anything.

Terra's eyes get very big: How do you figure that? I had to take care of my cousins all the time, I had to help you with the baby, and ever summer I took care of my grandmother, cleaned the house-

Terra's mother interrupts: Well now, let's not get into that. That's besides the point.

(At this point Terra starts stabbing her mother)

THE END

This Is The Pink

2006-10-02T16:33:00.000-07:00

I've been feeling all emotional and melancholy, so I've been blaming it on the birthday, the coming of the late 20's. I feel like Meg Ryan screaming, "I'm going to be thirty!!" and then Harry yells back, "In three years!"

I guess there's two parts of me at war, the one says, Why in the hell aren't we more grown up? More established? It looks around at my house, my car, my paycheck, throws it's hands up in disgust and says, "What the fuck?" And the other is sitting around playing with the PS2, reading a book, fucking around with their hair and saying, "But remember? We were never going to grow up. THAT, my friend, was the pact."

And how can you argue with that? Sure, I didn't plan on life being this chaotic in my late twenties, but the problem is I didn't really ever plan on being here. Anyway, self one is kicking self two in the ass and I'm kind of left alone to pick up the pieces.

Just so you know, I was pissed off at myself for the same exact fucking thing last year. The difference this year is that I'm actually doing something about it. Cue the enrollment into 401k, the actually looking into different savings plans with higher rates, and the planning for GASP the future. Anyway, when reading the below bits understand that you're still reading chronicles of madness, it's just, this is the pink.

*******************************

Hi bottle, sitting up there on the shelf. You're the place I stick all my icky emotions, and lately you've been pissing me off. Leaking all over the place. Sure, I shove things under the rug, pretend it's not happening, but what of it? What the fuck of it? I mean, doesn't everything sort itself all out in the end? No, I don't believe that shit, the squeaky wheel gets the grease. The squeaky wheel gets the bad reputation, then everyone sits around ignoring it. So there. What do you think of that?

I had to go to a training seminar where they talked about communication effectiveness. I've been working on communicating better at work because I'm not always very happy here, so I thought this would be a good place to start. Especially since I'm not the best at communicating my wants and needs even on a good day. For some reason I always piss the shit out of people and have a rep for being way too blunt. God. I wish people would stop being such pansies. Anyway, so I try to keep my mouth shut for the most part. And in the middle of this seminar guess what hits me? A fucking epiphany that's what. Not a field of dreams moment exactly, but a holy shit moment none the less.

I'm angry.

Really fucking angry.

And somewhere in the last three years I became highly passive aggressive, and even that has made me angry. It's why I'm always late, it's why I'm such a flake. And sure, some might think, oh that's just Terra. But it's not. I was never late like this, and part of all of that anger is me being angry at me. Make sense?

It's a vicious circle, and it involves work so I'm not really going to get into it, but suffice it to say, that I am my own worst fucking enemy. I'm mad, so I'm late, I'm mad that I'm late and that makes me late again. Anyway, I haven't been late since this seminar. Here's hoping it sticks.

**************************

I told my mom (who's on a cleaning binge) that she could finally get rid of my dollhouse. It's huge, but I've always thrown a fit whenever she mentioned giving it away or letting my little sister play with it. Which really doesn't make sense, unless you're me.

We didn't have much growing up. I always had about a fifth of the toys my friends had, which kind of made me sad, but not in the way you might think. I never asked for new clothes, mentioned when my shoes were too tight, or asked for many toys because I figured it might make my mom feel bad. And when I did ask for something big it always took me around two years to get it. Do you remember Teddy Ruxpin?? And his friend Groggle or something like that? Anyway, cute ass cartoon when I was little, and they came out with these interactive toys. I wanted one so desperately, but they were like a hundred bucks or so. So I figured I wasn't going to get one, but I kept asking anyway, figuring, maybe. Just maybe. I got him the year I was in third grade, just so you know, a little too old for him. But my mom was so DAMN excited!!

I know she had to wait 'til the price went down, but I can still feel my dissapointment when I opened that big box, and there she was with her eyes so big and excited.

So when she screamed, I screamed. And I played with that damn thing anyway. For two whole years.

Then there was the barbie mansion. Oh my! It was so big, so beautiful! Four hundred bucks I think... and I had never wanted anything that bad. I actually had a poster of it up on my wall. Why in the fuck I thought that I could get that when I didn't even have a barbie car is beyond me, but, eh. I was in the fourth grade, I'm thinking I didn't have very good reasoning skills. Anyway, end story is that my mom bought it for me for Christmas, the year I was in the sixth grade. Yeah. I had already stopped playing with my barbies and now I had this big HUGE FUCKING BARBIE MANSION.

Again, I didn't know what to do. And again I decided to just play with the damn thing. For two whole fucking years. Look, don't let into me about how lame it is for a kid in the eigth grade to be playing with Barbies. I KNOW.

So even knowing that now, at 27, I'm finally giving the dollhouse away I feel a little twinge. It's that twinge of wanting something so bad for so long, and then getting it when it no longer holds the exact same allure. It's something slightly bitter. I still have Teddy Ruxpin though. And he still works. I was the kind of kid that never broke their toys and even all of my barbie mansions features still work.

Sometimes I wonder if this is why I don't have patience with other people. Like maybe I used up all my niceness and understanding when I was a kid. Then I remember that I'm just a bitch.

************************************

"Why do you care so much about what other people think? Fuck them. You should be strong enough to understand that!"

Except I do care. And who doesn't? If you say you don't care what other people think about you than you're a god damn liar. You care. If you say you don't it's to cover up some hurt inside. Don't tear me down in the name of maturity when we both know the shit spewing out of your mouth is an ideal that no one ever quite lives up to.

You're not trying to make me better, you're trying to point out my inadequacies, tear me down, you want to watch me crumble.

And how fair is that? How fair is that to tear me down when I'm at my weakest, when I'm tired from all the trying, just when I feel as if I'll never quite succeed. My mother always told me, let them say what they want, but don't ever insult them back.

And that made me so mad that I wanted to hurt someone. So I asked, "Why? What's the good in that? They're just all happy from being mean, and everyone believes them because you didn't say anything back!"

My mother, apparently big on the 'turn the other cheek' philosophy replied, "Because someday they'll be sorry. They'll miss your friendship, and even if they never say it, inside they'll know they're wrong. But if you say something then you become the bad person. And they will never be sorry, they will never come back. In their head, they'll be justified."

So that's great. No apologies, no nothing, you get treated like shit but in the end you can sleep soundly knowing that you're the better person. What a crock of shit.

This might be where my passive aggressive tendencies pop up. This might be where I write this:

I wish I could peel back your skin, like layers on an onion. Then you would cry, I would cry, and we would look at your heart, laid bare in my hands, and speak the thoughts people only dream. Tell me who you are when I'm not here.

Letter To My Future Children

2006-09-29T14:59:00.000-07:00

I am glad that you are not here to see me grow up, because I tend to make a muck of things. And if I am anything in the future like I am now, you will know that I have a tendency to take something small and insignificant and blow it into proportions no one, not even God, saw coming. This applies to all things good and bad. I imagine the good things will occasionally make it seem like my boundaries are limitless, my dreams better than Disneyland, but the bad could make life hard.

I have a tendency to be cold and unfeeling. I give no quarter. I hold people up to the microscope and I point out their flaws, and when I do it I present it in a manner that expresses my disappointment so clearly, making success seem less than an inch away, and your failure a product of laziness instead of human nature.

I can't imagine under what circumstances I would allow you to read this, but the need to write it came to me today. For the past few weeks I have been making a list of my failures and setting out to right them. And I'm doing it. And I'm proud, but there are hard days. Days I want to kick myself in the teeth for being this disorganized at 27. Unfortunately, I'm not quite as limber as I used to be, and so my teeth remain intact.

And so, what I wanted to tell you is this; know that when you are struggling your worst to become better and I have just laid into you in my calm collected manner that makes you feel like absolute shit, after you left the room? I was filled with doubt. My skin was itchy and I walked towards the door several times to tell you, it's okay. But I was afraid, like I'm always afraid, that if I give an inch someone will take a mile. That you would run out the door, down the street, buy as many syringes, uppers, downers, as you could find and go on the biggest drug binge known to man and then, after waking in the hospital room, your first words would be, "Mom said it was okay! Jesus loves me!" and then proceed to drool on your hospital gown, letting me know that you're now brain damaged and my responsibility forever and ever amen.

Because, as you knows, everyone's just one condoning sentence from mom away from an overdose. Or at least I am.

Love,

Your apparently always screwy mother

Letter To My Future Step-Children

I'm probably not going to like you.

Chapter 2: Where Terra Goes To Live on the Corner of a Circle

2006-09-27T14:02:00.000-07:00

I just learned a lesson in futility. Can you hear the sarcasm?

(my foot's itching to kick someone in the face. bad foot, bad)

It's My Party And I'll Cry If I Want To (Scroll Down For New Posts)

2006-09-26T10:22:00.000-07:00

Because this one is staying up until the end of the contest. I know. You hate me.

This year for my birthday I'm asking for something free, and surprise surprise. It's not a piece of ass. Although some of you still might give that up right? Right? But no, I read a celebrity gossip page religiously, and they're holding a karaoke contest. The person with the most votes wins, wait for it, a Prada bag! Wouldn't that be a great birthday gift for me?

I'm aiming for 200 votes, which sounds like a lot, but with six degrees of separation I know 200 people easy!! I have faith in the power of blogger. Not so much that we should all go out, buy matching rings and fight crime, but you get the point. So please send this to as many friends as possible (I don't have their email addresses) and feel free to bully your significant other into voting for me too (actually, just switch over to their email account and vote for me ;p), and let's see how many votes we can get!

Here's the link to my entry

Vote for me on Bix.com!

voting is easy! All you do is register for a free bix account, and click the little thumbs up under my song. Thanks so much guys!

xoxoxoxox

PS

I think only two accounts per computer is allowed, any more than that and the votes get disqualified. While you're over there... make sure you don't vote for anyone else. I'm not going to go around making threats, but I think it's implied.

PPS

If I win I'll take a dirty pic with the Prada bag and send it to all those that voted! Wink Wink. Um. Unless that's deterrent!

Terra, 60% Evil, 40% Beer

2006-09-25T10:23:00.000-07:00

I think the next pet I'm going to get is a deer. Because I'm pretty sure you can abandon a deer at will, with little to no repercussions.

No one ever drives around, sees a deer running in the middle of the street and says, "Oh my God!!! Someone abandoned that deer!"

National I Hate Everyone Day

2006-09-21T14:34:00.000-07:00

So I’m looking at my pill pack and it occurs to me that I MIGHT just be premenstrual. But you know what else occurs to me? That everyone is so fucking retarded that there aren’t enough yellow buses, velcro shoes, or helmets to go round. Seriously, how in the fuck do most people remember to BREATHE? GAH! I FUCKING HATE EVERYONE.

I hate, hate, HATE those idiots you occasionally have to interact with who can’t understand shit. Really, you could draw them a little fucking diagram with a stick figure holding a sign with their name on it, and they still wouldn't realize that the stick figure, falling out an open window, on flames, with little x’s for eyes, while another stick figure holding a sign with my name on it laughing maniacally, means I’M GOING TO KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER.

Listen shit for brains, why in the fuck do you ask me to do something, talk about the weather, go back to asking me to do something, get distracted by a shiny object, mention a lot of jargon that not even you yourself fully understand, and then walk away without ever giving me the specifics of the project?

Answer, because you're stupid.

Yeah, I get it. I’m supposed to chase after you and ask a bunch of questions which you will answer while over-enunciating every word so that it is made clear that I’M the idiot, you’ll then write me a follow up email re-explaining everything and CC my boss, just so we know, I’M retarded, but guess what? I’m losing the ability to care. When you don’t give me proper instructions I’m filled with a rage that makes it a great time to go to lunch. L-U-N-C-H.

I pronounce things slowly because I can’t process big words, like 'lunch', or 'I quit'.

If I could perhaps I wouldn’t have had to draw so many fucking diagrams for you.

Oh look, I’m venting.

Also, why in the fuck do I have cheese on my burger? I said no cheese. NO. I thought 'no' meant the same thing in about a brazillion other languages but perhaps it doesn’t? Perhaps I was supposed to yell, 'NO FUCKING CHEESE PLEASE'? Because everyone knows when speaking to stupid people you should speak loudly and use curse words.

And why in the fuck is everyone always getting on my case, “You know Terra, I think you really hate people and have some deepseated issues.” ?

Fuck off before I smack you in your fat smug face. So apparently I have ‘deep seated’ issues because I can make accurate observations of what fucking pieces of shit most people are?

OH EXCUSE ME FOR BEING OBSERVANT.

And you know what? When I smack you I’m not going to give you any warning, because people like you piss me the fuck off. Oh look at you acting as if your shit doesn’t stink, cuz it does! Your shit stinks! Your shit stinks worse than mine ever will, because I don’t go through life acting like I’m hopped up on uppers and give money to church every fucking Sunday right before I go visit my grandmother, who I hate, but that's besides the point. The point is, at least I’m honest. I’m honest about my hatred and frustration and I fully admit that I’m not perfect so go fuck yourself.

And that comment I made eight years ago that if someone works at taco bell, has a fucking attitude, and STILL can’t get my order right they should be marched straight into a gas chamber so that I don’t have to pay for their foodstamps and their five illegitimate children from five different (and possibly unidentified) men or women? Yeah. I stand by that still. Because FUCK! IT’S TACO FUCKING BELL! If you can’t get this shit right how in the fuck do you deserve to live?

FUCK YOU!

I take my motherfucking birth control, I go to fucking work, I learned how to read AND tie my shoes but I’m supposed to pick up the slack for people who are unable to work, not because they’re mentally or physically handicapped, but because they have a personality so lazy and repugnant that they refuse to go to a place of work where they can’t scratch themselves and say fuck to the customers?

Someone should stab you. Repeatedly. Not that you’re reading this. You’re probably holding your white baby named Shan-te, wearing green contacts, and waiting for the bus with your home girl, Mo Mo, while you talk about the latest shiat your man pulled.

I hope someone drives their truck into you.

Oh wait, I’m sorry. That wasn’t politically, or even economically, correct. Without you who would work at burger king? Without your man who would I pick up on the street corner to dig a ditch in front of my house?

Oh. I know. Honest hard working people. Listen, I go to Taco Bell and drive past the corner all the time. There are a lot of hardworking people out there struggling to support their family. Cheers to them.

Unfortunately there are also a bunch of attitude-giving-drain-on-society lazy fucks that deserve to die more than they deserve a free bus pass. Girl, you don’t need that bus pass, what you need is to find out why Shan-te be so white when his daddyz name is Gomez. Shiat.

And San Franciscans? Don’t even get me started on that shit. Bunch of uppity motherfuckers so in love with themselves that they’re all gay because they’re all fucking themselves. What the fuck is up with them? Every time they go to another city they always have to point out, 'Oh, well in MY town…'

Listen. I don’t give a fuck what kind of poodles you carry around in your purse in the Castro. I really really don’t. I also don’t give a fuck that you’re too good for fast food joints, major chains, and homes that have more than six inches between them.

Listen carefully, let me enunciate this correctly so you can understand

I

DON’T

GIVE

A

FUCK

How can a city be so fucking self involved that a majority of it’s citizens don’t realize that there are a gang of men roaming the streets with so much gel in their hair they get stuck to passing walls, are over 40, dressed like they’re 20, and still talking about BIG LOVE.

Listen you fucking little boys, no one cares that you can’t find the perfect woman, the perfect woman found a man that didn’t have maturity issues 10 years ago and she’s currently at home feeding their 2.5 children.

Fine you’re never going to grow the fuck up, fine you live in a fucking studio and work at Hollywood Video, could you at least have the dignity to admit you’re a fucking loser?

L-O-S-E-R

And no, I don’t care that your shoes cost more than my entire outfit because I rent my own apartment, have a car, and A REAL JOB, where people don’t constantly end every statement with, “Oh dude, I’m so fucking high”.

You know what the Irishman did for me for our six month anniversary? He went to the ballgame… with his friend. While they were in the stands he turned to his friend and said, “I think my girlfriend is pissed at me…” and you know what his friend said? “Girls are so fucking stupid.”

All this was relayed to me so that I might fully understand my own stupidity at actually thinking I would spend my six month anniversary WITH SOMEONE. You know. Other than my cats. Never mind the fact that his friend has a go nowhere do nothing job, smokes pot constantly, and makes so many midnight trips to AM/PM that he literally worships it. Not kidding. He loves AM/PM food. No way he goes there for gas because, wait for it, HE DOESN’T OWN A CAR.

Geez, I wonder why he’s single? Perhaps it’s because he lives in San Francisco and is constantly surrounded by so many retarded people that it doesn’t occur to him he’s drooling?

Not that I’m bitter. Really, far from it. I’m calm, I’m serene, I’m better than great, I’m well adjusted.

I Miss You WB

2006-09-18T13:57:00.000-07:00

I miss your stupid little frog, and catchy commercials.

(Insert here the picture of the WB frog that stupid blogger won't allow me to upload.)

I miss your laugh, hell, I miss your scent. Listen, when this is all over, you and I are going to get an apartment together!* (blogger takes a moment to stop talking)

Seriously? What in the fuck is happening to the WB?

First they signed off Angel, then Charmed, okay, okay, so they were on the air for over eight years, but still! I liked those shows! Then Reba did some weird send off memory rehash of all of it's years, although officially it's going nowhere, they taunted me that they were finally killing of Seventh Heaven, but then took it back (fuckers), they took off Twins without any notice, and then, THEN, they sold the fucking station!

Okay.

In retrospect perhaps we should have all seen this coming. You want to know what I didn't see coming?

Sunday always had a kick ass line up (if you're a wb whore like I am), they ran What I Like About You, Reba, Charmed, Twins, etc.

Wait, before I go any further I'm going to have to explain something. I'm never home. Never. So I didn't even get to watch this shit. But still, it comforted me to know that if I WERE at home, with nothing else to do on a Sunday night, WB would be there for me. Once I knocked down a small child to get to the Tivo. God help me, I've gone mad without Tivo.

So here's my point. Now that the new stations taken over they've got NOTHING for a sunday night, and guess what new show they're promoting their asses off about?

Can you guess?

It's on Wednesday nights, most likely up against some insanely stupid reality show...

PERRY MASON!!!

That's right folks, Perry Mason is finally back. According to the commercials I've been insanely missing him and am going to be glued to the tv now that he's back.

Oh dear God.

I fear for you Supernatural, I really do. Because you feature some of the hottest guys on TV, and now that you're on a network showcasing Perry Mason? Well. I'll send flowers to your funeral. I'm sure you'll be buried right next to the Smallville cast.

* I may be watching too many Will Ferrell movies.

I Wish People Would Stop Poisoning Me

2006-09-15T13:21:00.000-07:00

But not Alcohol. I love it when Alcohol poisons me. Good times are had by all and I get to 'accidentally' feel up hot EMT's. Although, it's anyone's guess if I'll remember the incident later. And, like I always say, if you blacked it out then it never happened.

Anyway, onwards and upwards.

I've been sick since Wednesday when someone had the audacity to poison me. I know this because I am perfect, my white blood cells are fearless, and I have a ton of enemies. No mere virus has the strength or fortitude to harm me! I'm making a list of all possible suspects... the list is quite long... and includes my parents, so. You know. Probably they'll have to make a movie out of this later since it will go down as one of histories great unsolved mysteries.

More proclamations of being god like later.

I'm Probably Going To Jail

2006-09-13T12:33:00.000-07:00

... one day.

Over the weekend my cousins kid* came over, and after suckering me into buying shit from his school catalogue, he climbed into my dogs crate and pretended to go to sleep. My dog actually looked kind of pissed, and then he looked sad... because it was bedtime. And he wanted to go to sleep. And this kid was in his bed, I thought he was going to fucking cry. Stupid dog.

Anyway, so heres what occurred to me while watching this little kid curl up in the crate... these things are a lot smaller then bedrooms. In fact, my sister is almost as tall as me and she can fit in there too. So... why in the fuck does she have a room of her own?

This is waste people. WASTE!

*It's actually his girlfriend's kid. But I'm too lazy to make the distinction... and also. Who cares? He's teaching the kid to bmx race, blah blah blah, my aunt watches him all the time. That's it. He's ours.

I Hate You

2006-09-12T10:23:00.000-07:00

I'm not exactly sure what laundro-mat etiquette is, but I'm starting to gather that it means, bring all your kids under 5, all your neighbors children, your husband, his drunk friend, your blind grandma, and then all of the clothes you can possibly find. If you don't have enough pick some up from the bum across the street before you head on over because if you can't fill up the whole fucking van so that when you open the doors everyone comes spilling out? You ain't going!

Stupid fucking laundromat.

Stupid fucking people standing around in my fucking way, HOW MANY GOD DAMN PEOPLE DOES IT TAKE TO DO LAUNDRY???

Here's an idea!

Leave your husband that keeps staring at my ass AT HOME! WITH YOUR FIVE UGLY BUCK TOOTHED KIDS THAT KEEP ASKING ME FOR CHANGE!

And your grandma? Just kill the old bitch. If I had to live with you I'd be pretending to be blind too.

Too Soon

2006-09-08T17:26:00.000-07:00

My mother has informed me that after losing her job of fifteen years due to changes in management and a cunt for a new boss, it is, perhaps, too soon to joke about it.

Joke?

I really do need my house cleaned, and if I'm not mistaken, her schedule did just clear up.

Me=O Nature= Like a Brazillion!

2006-09-08T10:35:00.000-07:00

So, here's the thing. No hormonal posts right? Sure, lot's of 'My life's kinda shitty' posts. But nothing hormonal.

So what gives?

I think, that birth control is possibly magic. Or fairy dust. Or something or other that is just fan fuckintabulous... minus seeing trails. BECAUSE I'M ADDICTED!!

Since I've started taking these fucking pills I'm actually able to organize shit!!! OH MY FUCKING GOD! And the weird fucking haze that's always in my brain making me want to kill shit?

GONE BABY GONE

It's so awesome.

So! Since I added some man made hormones to my system, I don't work overtime any longer, I finally cleared up my court shit, ordered an ID for travel purposes, actually went to the DMV, finished writing Tonie's resume, wrote her coverletter, helped my mom find out info for the labor board shit (DRAMA), got rid of all that SHIT in my house I wanted to donate, signed Izzy up for obedience class, got his rabies shot, had him neutured, signed him up for doggy day care, cleaned my carpet, replaced all my mismatched dishes (HORRAY!), called up about my school loan, made an appointment with the bank, AND, AND, well other stuff you don't give a fuck about.

Here's the MOTHERFUCKING POINT!

I'm in a good mood. I'm productive. I've got more accomplished in the last month than I have in six months, and it feels fucking fantastic.

O's response to my good news, "Was there ever a time when you weren't hormonally imbalanced? Hello?"

I Live My Life On Hunches

2006-09-06T10:34:00.000-07:00

Great big do or die hunches. And I guess there is no real easy way to explain this except to say, I am a body of opposites, constantly battling for control, time at the wheel, to steer clear of dangerous waters or charge right through.

I hate emotional turmoil and yet believe nothing truly beautiful is achieved without it. Trust me, life would be easier if I could simply resign myself to mediocrity and post my address as the corner bar. Or the Patron factory…

At any rate, I have often blamed my skewed beliefs on my Native American heritage. So am I Catholic? Hell yes! Right down to my filthy guilt ridden bones! But I also believe that the universe is a mysterious thing, not for us to judge, define, or even partially imagine we can see the fuzzy outlines. I have dreams of the future.

Sometimes they come true within the week, sometimes going through an old journal I’ll realize that I dreamed of something two years in advance, a car accident, chance encounter, a new job opportunity. Every now and then you’ll find me keeping an eye out… five years later, sure none-the-less, that dreams do come true.

I dreamt of my cousins’ death for fifteen years straight before it happened, the morning the call came I was dreaming it again. It was the last time I had that dream. Those are the ones you hope are just dreams… as fictitious as the ones where you can fly, fight with Hollywood starlets, win the lottery.

But while I’m awake I often get hunches, something that tells me, screams at me, ‘DO IT!’

And I do, I don’t research, I don’t look around, I jump. Knowing that even if I fail, this is where I’m supposed to be. Where life intended me to head. So that even when I am broke, over committed, and frustrated as all fuck, I know that I am doing the right thing.

I once listened to my head over my heart. Boy was that a complete fuck up. It took me one short year to lose sight of who I was. How can I explain this? When I make a wrong decision, I feel like I’m walking on air… as if the ground beneath my feet isn’t there. And when something bad is going to happen? But I need to experience it? I feel like my stomach is stapled to the ground on a train heading north. I don’t even bother looking at the scenery in these instances, because what’s the point? And when things are going right? When they are a sure thing? I’m all momentum, sliding down a greased tube with success up ahead.

But lately? Twice my instincts have been held up for ransom. It’s a weird feeling, all that momentum hitting a brick wall. And my dreams don’t help.

I dreamt I was under water, terrified, only to find I could breathe.

I dreamt that a tidal wave hit and I only had time to save my sister. Afterwards I found my mother and held on tight crying, I could only save one, and I chose her. I’m so sorry.

I dreamt of a man on a beach, that looked suspiciously like him, and I was happy. Hap hap happy.

I got an email this morning regarding one of my hunches gone wrong, and I was right. I am back on track, derailed, waylaid, but still bound for the original destination. Something in my soul let out a tightly held breath and I found myself relaxed, confident in the future once more.

But the last? I am uneasy, on edge, I have the feeling that my stomach is stapled to the floor one moment, full of momentum the next. This is never, ever, a recipe for success. And so, I think, for the moment, I will ignore the scenery. Prepare instead.

Der

2006-09-05T15:53:00.000-07:00

I hate it when my mom is worried, because it makes me worried. I hate it when my aunt calls to tell me that she is worried about my mom, and have I heard from her? Because my aunt's been leaving messages all day with no reply. I hate it when I call my dad and my dad's all, "Der, I'm a man. I haven't heard from your mom all day, does this signify the possibility of a problem? Der... I'm a man."

So of course I say, "No, no problem dad. It's just, you know, a big day, and we thought we'd hear from her."

And then I quickly hang up and call back the aunt who let's out a sigh and says, "Well, that's even worse."

No der. My mom's irritated with me and my never ending, how are we going to fix this problem solving attitude that she helped create by continuously berating me for any sort of whining without problem solving activities that I might have been stupid enough to participate in as a youth.

Now she hates that I won't take a lot of shit, even though she will, and even though she wants me to shut the fuck up about everyone respecting everyone's rights while standing up for my own.

Translation: Everyone in the free world can call my mother and ask her how she's doing... but not me. I have to wait for an fyi call from family members that never really bother to keep me in the loop.

And now here I am.

Waiting.

I'm sure she'll call sometime after eight. In the meantime I'm going to take some tylenol. Pfft.

I Can't Write... Enjoy Your Fucking Weekend

2006-09-01T13:40:00.000-07:00

Jen talks a lot, and while she talks she smiles, showing flashes of white teeth, pink tongue, blue gum. “Oh my god, you will never guess what Liz said to me…” Occasionally she throws her head back laughing, and when she does this strands of blonde hair whip Keith in the face. It annoys him but he places his hand on the small of her back and walks her across the street anyway. Once they step up on the curb he scans the street for an appropriate place to eat and tries to figure out what she’s talking about. Probably cats, maybe bunnies, perhaps some story containing a poorly dressed bunny sporting a knock off handbag and backstabbing cat with an addiction to cubic zirconium. Jen talks a lot.

Something to Chew On

2006-08-31T18:08:00.000-07:00

According to several recent conversations, I may have no morals.

Tidbits (current mood: grossed out)

2006-08-31T13:32:00.000-07:00

I accidentally pulled out a couple of my eye lashes. EYE LASHES!

***

My insides fucking hurt. It feels like someone shoved a balloon up me. I've been trying to drink a fucking soda for four hours and I HAVE NO ROOM. Fuck.

***

I don't care that I have no room in there. I'm hungry. Fuck you mother nature.

***

Fuck you fuck you fuck you

***

Does anyone else watch Entourage? I was all, screaming at the TV last night, "NOOOOOOOOOOO" when they fired Ari. Which is stupid and pointless because Ari's the best fucking character on that show, no way in hell they'd fire Ari. God. I'm stupid. Who the fuck cares, it's a TV show!

***

Doggy day care rocks. For twenty bucks I get to abandon my dog for 12-14 hours. I mean, sure they don't recommend leaving them there that long, but fuck them. Take my twenty bucks and shut the fuck up.

***

Note to self: Remember to put tampons back in purse.

***

Note to self: Remember to later take them back out of purse, while not standing at the cash register... in a nice store.

***

I wish there was a show called whore whisperer.

McNothotty

2006-08-30T16:06:00.000-07:00

So I'm at the DMV when this really, really, not hot Police Officer walks by. He's so not hot that it almost makes me gag.

Out loud.

Which prompted me to draft a mental letter of complaint to the Police Department about how low their standards have obviously dropped. I'm sorry, all the ugly ones should be weeded out immediately! When I'm having fantasies about being strip searched I don't want reality to intrude! This guys need to be HOT! And SLUTTY! And partially naked.

Okay, I realize that the last part might be somewhat hazardous for their career, but really, what the fuck do I care? On with the hotness!

Meanwhile that cop just kept walking by, rubbing his ugliness in my face.

Real Conversation (AKA: I Have a Headache)

2006-08-29T12:36:00.000-07:00

"Fucking Dan Little still hasn't come back to work. He won't return my calls, he won't show up, he's completely fucked me!"

"Maybe he's dead." (just so you know, this is me)

"He's not dead. He's a lazy fucking prick who's driving me to bankruptcy."

"Seriously, what if he's dead? Aren't you going to feel bad at his funeral calling him an asshole?"

"No, I'm going to spit on his fucking grave. He better be dead, fucking Dan Little, I'm going to fire his ass."

"Look, you said he's driving cross country in a POS twelve year old hatchback. Maybe he broke down and wolves ate him."

"WOLVES DIDN'T EAT HIM TERRA! Wolves... WOLVES, what kind of made up bullshit is that? Wolves don't even EXIST!"

"Of course they exist! I've seen them on tv... in movies and shit."

"Pfft... tv. That just proves they don't exist. Look, if Dan Little is stupid enough to get attacked by a make believe creature then he fucking deserves to die."

Dogs

2006-08-27T15:51:00.000-07:00

remind you to get out of bed... even when you don't want to. There are walks to be had, shoes to be saved, and a nine am obedience training that they have to get to. Then, when you have dragged your sorry ass every where you didn't want to go, they deign to pose for pictures.

But I keep telling myself, if you're lucky and pray to baby Jesus enough, they bite someone, and that makes it all worth it.

Willing Himself Fatter

2006-08-25T09:51:00.000-07:00

If this cat could get any lazier, or fatter, I'm pretty sure I could sign him up for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and no one would even blink an eye.

FYI: TMI

2006-08-22T17:43:00.000-07:00

Cindy was joking the other day, "isn't it time for your hormonal posts?"

NO YOU FUCKING BITCH I AM NEVER EVER HORMONAL HOW FUCK YOU FUCKING DARE TO SUGGEST SOMETHING SO BASE, SO BENEATH ME, GAH I WILL CUT YOU.

Then I calmed down. Because I'm not hormonal.

Except, this month I'm seriously not. You see, I put my ass on the pill. Because, as it turns out, I am not altogether a big fan of temper tantrums, and sudden abrupt emotional swings. Crying, border line suicidal? Yeah, totally not my gig. I fucking hate crying and if I'm going down fuck if I'm not taking out 20 random mother fuckers with me. This applies to old age. If old age is going to kill me I'm going to take out a bunch of young kids before I go, just to balance out the universe and all.

The good news about the pill? So far I have not attempted to cut anyone this month merely for breathing.

Nice. I would count that as an improvement.

Downside?

Constant nausea, my weight initially went up two pounds, but is back down to normal currently, blah blah X, aka too gross to mention, and... and...

the other day while changing I notice the Irishman is totally targeting my boobs. It's freakishly direct. I move one way, I move the other, it's as if they're a circus act and the ring leader's just inserted his head into the lions mouth. What. The. Fuck?

"Your boobs are bigger."

I count this as a downside because they're super sensitive, I can't tell the difference, and now I have a grown man constantly attached to them.

2006-08-20T17:50:00.000-07:00

Why Is Snapple Always Trying to Educate Me?

2006-08-17T10:48:00.000-07:00

"Real Fact" #126

A pigeon's feathers are heavier
than its bones.

Fuck you snapple. Fuck you dry and hard.

She's Lost That Loving Feeling

2006-08-16T09:24:00.000-07:00

Whatever happened to my love life with Cindy Lou? Lately she's gotten all clench-kneed and frigid on me. Perhaps she's being a tease? Yes, that must be it! I'm sure she just likes it rougher. And here I was being all nice nice. What a whore.

I Hate Everything

2006-08-15T13:01:00.000-07:00

I hate people who talk to me as if I'm stupid, as if we live in some magical fairy tale land where insane people get to talk nonsense, drive around drunk, and eventually be voted president.

Absolutely nothing is right when I don't own a weapon.

When You Are A Girl

2006-08-14T14:45:00.000-07:00

being pissed off is stupid.

I don't have problems with my car. Oh, my tires may need replacing, the oil changed more often than is a good sign, and my brakes tend to wear out right on schedule, but other than that? Zip, zero, nada.

That car is good to go.

And although this sounds gay, I credit it to the fact that I prayed for that car. I needed a good car for cheap because I was so broke that I was subsisting on white rice and ramen. I started dating again just for the occasional free meal! So there I was, car stolen, praying for a good vehicle and then came along the pontiac.

That car NEVER FUCKING BREAKS DOWN ON ME!

I payed two thousand bucks for it three years ago and the thing is an indestructable monster.

Also, as a side note, every car that my parents have ever had a hand in are NIGHTMARES! Absofuckinlute nightmares. They break down all the fucking time! And of course, being a young student as I was for years, I never had the money to fix them. I don't know how many times my mom put 2 grand into a car that was only worth 15oo while I screamed and ranted that the car was a pos, I didn't want her help, even though I might desperately need it.

Prior to this I bought a car off of a lot in order to pay monthly insane payments just to escape the dictatorship that is my mother. Why in the fuck is she bat shit crazy? Who in the fuck MAKES their daughter put two grand into a car that's practically on bricks?

So I bought a car off of a lot and never had a problem. It was so sweet. Then I decided to go back to school and started to save up money to buy a vehicle outright and sell mine. It was in pretty decent shape.

Then someone totalled it.

Cue to the scene where I pull up to my parents house, ask whose car is out front, and they say, "Yours."

And so began the car nightmare AGAIN. Piece of shit toyota broke down all THE FUCKING TIME, overheating, leaving me on the side of the road because a spark plug FLEW out of the engine, seriously, this car was crappy.

But can you really tell your parents, "Thanks for buying me a car, but no thanks. I don't want a pickup, especially one that been driven through bushes a million times, has power nothing, ripped seats, and no stereo."

Where I come from that's called ingrateful and grounds for the guilt trip of a lifetime.

So I kept it. Ugg. Then, thank god, I totalled it! And the lady who helped me total it? I almost punched her in the face and then told her to get back in her car before I did something causing my arrest!

It was really a sweet day.

So cue where my mom has to help me get a loan for a NEW car.

Jesus fucking christ. Why can't that joke about starving students be a mere myth? Whatever.

So now I had a Honda, it was so cute and sweet, AND IT HAD POWER WINDOWS!

I loved it. I was so in love. I was so stupid.

First the brakes went out, then something else I've blacked out, then the battery left me stranded, then something else so it had to be towed to the shop, and then? The grand finale?

IT GOT STOLEN!

It was so great. I owned the car for six months and had put over a grand of work into it and then it got stolen. Can you say, SUH-WEET?

But fuck it. I payed less than what the car was worth so after yelling at my insurance company for 48 hours straight, possibly more, I got the loan money, the grand I put into it, and three thousand on top of it.

They were so pissed, but fuck 'em. Money grubbing bastards. My cousins point out that they must keep my file handy, just so they'll be ready for the next car I murder.

But I bought this car outright, paid off my mother, and never looked back. And so far, so good.

Until my tire blew out forty miles from home while I was visiting my mother. It only seemed logical that she would take it to a tire place next to her while I took her vehicle to work. I guess you could say I made a deadly deadly mistake when I let her touch my vehicle.

Because before you knew it, oh the alignment needed to be done, some belts about to give out, this fan looks old, and oh, by the way, you need a brand fucking new radiator on a car that doesn't leak, and never overheats.

Do you think she called me to verify that this work needed to be done? Oh no. She authorized it. And since Friday my car has leaked, overheated, and left me stranded.

How much did all this shit that I didn't need cost? A thousand bucks. That's right. She authorized a thousand bucks of work to be done on a vehicle that only cost me 1900, is ten years old, and has 160 thousand fucking miles.

Why did she do this? Because she hates me. She hates my guts.

I almost missed an important meeting today, I inconvenienced a ton of people trying to get from point A to point B, and also? Work? What is that? Some sort of pipe dream?

Last night, standing over my engine with the hood up, I contemplated kicking the fucking car, but my shoes are pointy in the front and lack the power a good boot kick would do, so I went to punch the wall, but I remembered it was brick and would really fucking hurt, I contemplated punching the car but didn't want to add to my costs and so finally I did the only thing I could do, I removed all my jewelry and threw it.

Yes, I threw my jewelry, cussed, and then took off my shoes and threw those too.

Not only does being a girl completely suck, I broke my bracelet.

We Now Interrupt Our Usual Programming

2006-08-11T15:50:00.000-07:00

For a bit of calendar madness:

Izzy turns one years old today. In the past year he has chewed up my favorite nine west shoes, demolished my favorite gap sandals... that were five years old, but still, wtf?, eaten the Irishman's brand new H&M sandals (they were cheap, and he didn't care, so I got to laugh at someone else's misery, YES), chewed on my sunglasses and then watched amusedly while the Irishman accused me of munching on plastic (moron), peed on every bush/tree/stray piece of garbage/leaf he can find, and knocked a poodle down in order to grab it by the throat.

What in the world would I do without him?

Oh. I know. Buy less shoes.

(Did I mention that he also has a penchant for iPod headphones? The brat typically has expensive tastes... did those shoes come from Payless? Oh, he's way too good for them then. Pashaw)

Not to be left out, I have to mention that Tom Tom turned 14 in May. I've never known his exact birth date and so I settled for a randomly fair number, May 15th. Not that I celebrate it with a cake or anything. He's a fucking cat for crying out loud!

Have I mentioned before that not only is this cat FAT (14 pounds of solid pumpkin belly, this is no jelly massed Kelly Osbourne Mcfatty Fatty) he has attitude. And he's smart as a whip, always has been. In fact, when one of my friends from high school runs into me they always immediately ask, "Do you still have Tommy? Is he still a bastard?"

Well, duh. Of course.

He's funny.

I'm not quite sure what he thinks of the doggy beyond normal annoyance. Tommy's got this thing, he doesn't like things to move near or around him. It pisses him the fuck off. Frankly he just wants you to lay down and die, and if you do do that, could you please do it somewhere else, because your mere existence is causing his eye to twitch, which means soon your eye will be twitching... and covered with blood.

When Izzy comes into the house he immediately starts chasing Baby, I'm not sure if he's under some wierd sort of delusion where she likes to be chased, but he certainly seems happy doing it. So while Izzy's busy doing laps around the house Tommy always comes out to the hallway and sits up very straight and regal, watching the scene unfold, and then the moment Izzy runs past him Tommy sticks his claw right in his face.

Izzy jumps back and shakes his head, which is when Tommy scratches him right in the ass. Then, Izzy being apparently smart, runs away, except I live in a loft divided by a huge ass shelf, so when Izzy runs away all he really does is run in a circle around the house.

Not only is Tommy smart, but he's also fat and lazy. Does he chase Izzy? No. You want to know what my cat does? While Izzy is running for hell or highwater in a circle through the house my fat cat saunters over to the scratch post, sharpens his claws, and waits for Izzy to circle back.

This is Baby. She is so loveable I don't know how the fuck she ever got into my house. She's a fucking princess. Izzy and Tommy are as healthy as horses. They could get hit by a house and they'd still ride off on broomsticks. This little pampered bitch sits around cleaning herself all fucking day long AND get's sick. All the fucking time. She also never hisses, or scratches, or growls. Ever. Not even if you accidentally close her tail in the door, or step on her, or kick her in the face. It's like she's retarded.

In this picture she's sitting all pristine princess like in our hotel room in Boston. That's right, Boston, the little bitch even flew with us on the plane and went through security with us. Now you might ask, Terra, why in the fuck would you take a cat with you? Are you one of those fucking quacks from California who hugs trees and views their armhair as a sacred gift from God? And I'd have to tell you, No, she was SICK, because she's always SICK, and she was on antibiotics, and steroids, and before you knew it we were paying her cabin fee's and calling the hotel to inquire about their pet policy!

Jesus fucking christ.

Although, for the record, it was kind of nice. At night she cuddled up with me, and cat's are pretty low maintenance. We thought it was going to be a huge pain, but it really wasn't so bad.

Also, I think she is four, or five in some month between June and October. I really don't fucking know. I was going to write down that she was three years old, but then I realized I've been working here for three years, and I've had her longer. So now I can't figure it out. What can I say, I got her during my early 20's (I think) and so I can't really mark her arrival with any clear year. I wasn't in High School... so. Bleh. Fuck it. I'm old.

At the wine festival this old wrinkly bitch turns to me and does a double take and then says, "Excuse me, are you old enough to drink?"

"I'm 27"

"Oh my God! You barely look 18!"

Whatever, she needs to get her eyesight checked. It's August, I'm 27 in September, but I don't feel like being depressed so I'm doing it this month. It's part of my campaign against procrastination. O is three weeks older than I am and she's been telling everyone she's 27 since January. What an overachieving massochist.

In other news the Irishman and I have hit the six month mark. We've decided that if everything goes downhill from here there should be a car bomb somewhere in our near future.

Like tonight.

At seven.

Quote

2006-08-10T10:07:00.000-07:00

I hate flowers. I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move. - Georgia O'Keeffe

This is What My Brain Feels Like

2006-08-09T14:20:00.000-07:00

plus I just ate a whole bunch of chocolate merely because I could.

They were just laying there, all defenseless, and just I realized that a massacre was about to occur I lost the ability to care.

I should take a break. This morning I was looking at a row of silver cars, and I started shaking my fist at my fellow drivers uselessly, while my mind screamed,

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE THAT YOU HAVE TO FOLLOW A TREND SO BLINDLY THAT WHEN YOU PAT YOURSELF ON THE BACK FOR BEING COOL AND ORIGINAL ENOUGH TO OWN A SILVER FUCKING SEDAN YOU DON'T REALIZE, OH FUCK, SO DOES EVERYONE ELSE?!

You rebel you.

Anyway, then I realized that wasn't a good post. It wasn't even a good observation. I had basically given myself the title of Captain Obvious.

Why am I so stupid?

Stupid Terra, stupid stupid stupid!

One Liners

2006-08-08T15:23:00.000-07:00

I like seeing other people's happiness.

It reminds me there are still things to crush.

**************

Why is the Irishman always on the phone but never with me? And then when he get's around to calling me back it's mostly a newsletter updating me about him.

'Wow, life is hectic. I have meeting A, B, and C, I did prospecting all morning long and I'm prepping for...'

Blah blah blah blah. Listen, who in the fuck gives a shit?! Shut up.

**************

You know how I know Duckie is gay? You would think the first tip off would be the hair, or the art, or the job title, or the OCD, or... wait, what was my point?

**************

I totally fucking laughed when I heard about your miscarriage, you fat fucking cow.

**************

When I have an appointment with you at 4:30 and I show up at 4:15, do me the fucking courtesy of coming out before 5:10, and offering me something to drink since your fat little piggy hand is currently wrapped around something, and, oh!, here's a novel idea

APOLOGIZE.

whatever.

I'm not going to get pissed that an uneducated, badly dressed, fat bitch, chose to wield her practically invisible power over me. Listen, I'm really impressed at your impression of someone better than me, next time though try shopping at somewhere other than mervyns, because last time I checked that wasn't listed under "oh so impressive."

You hippo.

2006-08-03T20:50:00.000-07:00

Fuck You Email

2006-08-01T10:14:00.000-07:00

I wish Classmates.com would get a clue and realize I'm not paying ten bucks to read an email, especially when MySpace is free.

I mean, the people who founded this crap site, do you imagine that their sitting in their houses right now pulling out their hair screaming

OH SHIT

I don't know. I guess I just can't imagine this as a scenario where they're laughing all the way to the bank.

Dog Lover

2006-07-31T14:57:00.000-07:00

Any one who advises you to get a dog hates your guts. They look at you, with your nice clean and orderly life, and they hate you.

They hate your clean floors, your carefree life, your shoes sitting there all nice and gleamy sporting no teeth marks living a nice long healthy life, and they think, "How can I fuck that up?"

And for a while you think, 'Oh dogs are nice, dogs are fun!' But then you count up how much the dog costs you, how many shoes it's chewed up, how many times you've had to rent a carpet cleaner, and you think

FUCK

But it's too late. Now you love the stupid dog. The stupid dog that licks your feet, trips you while you're going downstairs, and gives himself blowjobs constantly.

Yes, yes you love that dog who's breath suspiciously smells like cum and it just makes you realize, you have no standards whatsoever.

Mommy Dearest

2006-07-31T05:43:00.000-07:00

Recently I mentioned Joan Crawford in a post, coincidentally enough it was on my own mother's birthday. This led me to remembering bits and pieces of the camp movie, which I don't remember as camp so much as I remember it as slightly scary, so I went to go look up the book and movie on amazon which is when I realized this movie came out when I was three years old.

Now, why was I watching this movie at such a young age? I really couldn't figure it out, so when my mother called I answered the phone:

"Hello Mommy Dearest"

"Hello"

"Do you remember that movie? Mommy Dearest?"

(very droll) "Yes"

"Why was I watching that so young?"

"Because you would always call me that, 'Oh Mommy Dearest, please come here,' I kept telling you to stop but you wouldn't. So I made you watch the movie."

"And?"

"And you still didn't stop. It was so embarrassing"

This part I remember. I remember there being a funny twist to calling her Mommy Dearest and that at some point I found it hilarious to continue on with the title. Five year old with a sick twist of humor? Yep, that was me.

"I wonder where I picked that up?"

"I have no idea."

"Well... she did die in 1977, and I was born two years later..."

(in old person's voice)"Oh Ms. Crawford, is it really you?!"

Although, apparently I was always having trouble with what to call my mother. When I was very little I refused to call her mommy, and instead called her Mayuh. I know this sounds weird, but I had a lisp when I was little and my mother's name is Mary, so not being able to pronounce an r turned her name into Mayuh.

OH MY GOD MY FAMILY HATED THIS!

My uncle once cornered me, sat me up on the counter top, looked me dead in the eyes and said, "CALL HER MOMMY!" I think this was at my third birthday party. I just remember being dreadfully confused. Why was I supposed to call her mommy? My uncles and aunts called her Mary, other women were called mommy, sometimes when I was in a store the only way to get her attention was to call out Mayuh. So I replied very calmly to my uncle, "But that's not her name."

Seemed logical to me.

And by the way, I had older sibs who DID call her mom. I was just weird.

SOS

2006-07-28T13:08:00.000-07:00

My mother, I think, is trying to commit suicide by having me kill her.

PS

I'm so addicted to this site, www.wwtdd.com, that I'm probably going to get fired from work.

Note:

2006-07-28T09:05:00.000-07:00

Do not quote Ann Sexton at your wedding, on your invitation, on your guest book, or in your photo album, just... don't. It will only make you look stupid, and fat.

Do you even know who the fuck Ann Sexton is? Do you know anything about her life? Do you even UNDERSTAND the fucking quote you just read? Because if you did you would realize that she's probably about the last person you would ever want to quote.

Here, if you want a quote from Ann Sexton that illustrates her views on love that you can actually understand without having to think, why don't you use this one?

Watch out for love
(unless it is true,and every part of you says yes including the toes),
it will wrap you up like a mummy,
and your scream won’t be heard
and none of your running will run.

What's next?

Quoting Joan Crawford on the birth announcement of your children?

*unless this is some really ass backwards way of telling us that you plan on being miserable.

Shocker

2006-07-27T10:48:00.000-07:00

So I just heard some SHOCKING news. I'm so shocked that I might later have ptds, which stands for, I was once shocked. I'm looking forward to my syndrome though because I think it will give me freedom to throw things in restaurants, and then people will say,

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH HER?!! IS SHE FUCKING BAT SHIT CRAZY OR WHAT?"

and then other people will say, all hush hush,

"She suffers from Post Traumatic Distress Syndrome"

and of course the people who called me bat shit crazy will feel stupid and ask,

"Oh my god, what happened?"

"Well, it's really quite shocking, she found out Lance Bass, from N'Sync, was gay*, and she's just never been the same."

*Really, who in the fuck cares?

**This was what I named my dog*** in the third grade.

***There was no ** and you probably just went back and scanned the post looking for it, sucker.

I Have Something Very Important To Say

2006-07-26T11:42:00.000-07:00

...

RARR!

the end.

psss

2006-07-25T10:28:00.000-07:00

don't you wish we were at the beach?

you could be standing in the sand, talking on the phone being all important, and I'd flash you

Epiphany

2006-07-24T16:58:00.000-07:00

oh look, I have a blog.

Sweet!

Wait, I have to post shit here? But it's all, hot. And I'm hormonal. And I sort of hate breathing today.

Seriously.

I'm not even responding to emails today.

I yelled at O about something that was completely unrelated to her.

And then when I asked someone their opinion about a problem I find myself in, they were all, "Oh you know, everything works out."

What?

What kind of shit is that?

Why don't you go take your platitudes, build a boat, and sail off on Pacified Lake.

I will drill a hole in the bottom of that boat and name it Lady Submerged.

Asshole.

I Wish I Were A Man, Stupid Femininity

2006-07-20T15:17:00.000-07:00

Here's the thing about hormones, let me just lay out the shit for you, they fuck with you. They fuck with you like a kid that missed it's nap in a toy store. And I'm not talking Toys R Us, wide aisles, toy store, I'm talking KB, tight ass fucking aisles with shit all over the floor and shelves piled up to the ceiling, toy store. The kind where you have to walk around the entire fucking store through a maze of aisles to find the front door and there comes a point where you think you will never see daylight again and seriously consider suicide as an option.

You want to know a fun thing about getting older that no one ever told you? You start having PMS all fucking month long. Oh no, you don't get the joy of having it right before your period, or even during, now God loves you so much you get it AFTER, and then two weeks later when you're ovulating it sneaks up and smacks you in the face with a 2 x 4 littered with rusty nails poking out towards your face.

Don't worry about your face, you're getting old, it's not that nice looking any longer anyway. At least with a few scars you might be able to claim "Colorful character" as a descriptive adjective.*

Luckily my recent hormonal difficulties only add to my naturally charming disposition, and so even more people find themselves flocking towards me, to touch my sleeve, steal a lock of my hair, and just generally bask in my presence. Why, just last night the Irishman turned to me and said, "Dear Terra, you're such a lovely sight to my sore eyes, and joy to my lonely heart, let's fly off to Paris and get married by the glow of the Eiffel Tower's lights!"

What can I say, the Irishman is a bit of a pussy.

But frankly, I've been stressed as all hell for the past week or so. I've had work and side work, long days of unpaid overtime, fretful juggling of the bank account, accompanied with the realization that I hate my apartment, and my rent check's about to bounce.

Well.

Fuck me.

I've never bounced a rent check in my life.

I've made twenty dollars stretch two weeks, cover food and gas (this was back when gas didn't cost the same as your mortgage), and I've NEVER bounced a rent check. I'm 26, I'm fucking miserable, and unbeknownst to me I'm about to ovulate and am about to have the worst three days of mood swings that I have ever experienced and while I am having a complete and total breakdown I will look at my calendar, count how many days since my last period, and I will decide that this CAN'T be hormonal, there is no fucking way, I am, as always, completely rational.

There comes a point during these three days where I gather all my bills, add up my income, take a good long look at my budget, and instead of being able to tell myself, "OH THERE'S THE PROBLEM, MY THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS A MONTH COKE HABIT" I instead realize that I have about negative 50 bucks for spending cash each month. Translation? I don't know how I do it.

I suppose that's when the thought occurred to me, "I really understand why some people just off themselves" I probably should've heard the

ALERT PMS PMS PMS

alarm going off in the building and surrounding villages, but I didn't. And because I was so miserable I lit into the Irishman like there was no tomorrow.

Really, he was asking for it. He was prancing around, "Oh look at me, I make a good income, I don't have to hunt and forage for my food, la dee fucking da." His happiness made me want to smash every childhood dream he ever had. How dare he be happy while I'm miserable? How. Fucking. Dare. He.

Of course, the option of him leaving and being happy somewhere else was NOT an option. Then I would've imagined that he was at a puppy store, laughing and rolling amongst puppies while he used 100 dollar bills to light up cigarettes and flirted with the counter girl.

The counter girl's a whore and I've never trusted her.

So yesterday, after I had done as much damage as possible, calmed down enough to realize, "ooh, my side's hurting, I must be ovulating..." thanked the God of hormones and apologized to the Irishman, I also had time for some serious self evaluation.

I'm in love with the Irishman, and not in the, "Oh I'm a kid and I'm in love with love" kind of way. But real love.

The kind of love you find after you've grown up enough to know yourself, your faults, what you don't want but need, what you do want but don't need, and what you hope for but most likely will never find.

I have spent the last six months finding every fault that I could possibly find in the Irishman and then exploding it into the largest catastrophe man has ever known, and still, there are just not enough of them for me to justify leaving.

He talks too loud but he also listens to my horrible fake accents and only occasionally has been caught wincing or rolling his eyes. He has a horrible temper over the stupidest things but when I yell he listens quietly and let's me burn myself out, which is exactly the best way to deal with me. He's super friendly to random strangers and goes out of his way to talk to them, which if I thought about it too much would annoy the fuck out of me, but he also drives to the store when I don't feel well, gets all of the medicine I need to my exact specifications, and then brings them to me in bed.

And the things I love about him that are of absolutely no benefit to me?

He's made up his own theme song, and it's actually good.

He's been sober for three years even though none of his friends thought he had a problem.

He says he's a bit stupid but knows so many random useless facts (well, history/political/sport shit that's useless to me, anyway) that it can be quite amazing.

And he's always been as much of commitment phobe as I am.

Being with the Irishman has made me forget all of the reasons that I never wanted to get married. Reasons like, becoming invisible, unimportant, and the last person on every one's priority list. Or at least I thought I had forgotten. You see, the Irishman bought me a ring in Boston and before he gave it to me he told me what life would be like with him, what marriage would be like, he promised that it would be difficult but it would also be great and he asked me if I accepted this and I said that I did. I accepted this promise ring, given to me until he can afford an engagement ring which might be this year or next, but given to me with the full intention that I will one day be Mrs. Irishman.

Sometimes while arguing with the Irishman I am not battling just him but every single one of my ex boyfriends and many adults that I was placed in the care of while growing up. Sometimes the Irishman stares mournfully at me and says, "Why did you say that? You didn't need to be so mean," and thus reminds me that this is not a battle ground, that I don't need to go for jugular every single time, that if I enter the room unarmored chances are I will come out unscathed. I wish I had had that self possession the last few days. I wish I had experienced the moments where my mouth opens and closes like a fish because if I'm not on attack I am somewhat lost, looking for a new road, an unpaved but softer road, with less rocks and jagged cliffs. Why did I forget the guidelines I've made up in my head, always touch during a disagreement, say 'I love you' out loud, not to remind him but me, and if you have nothing nice to say then make something up. It's not always easy, this whole, being nice, thing.

That's the last thing I love about the Irishman, not only does he try, but he reminds me to too.

*I forgot how to spell adjective and originally spelled it this way, 'adjetive,' then sat staring at it for five minutes wondering why it looked so funny before it occurred to me to use spell check. Now, how do you spell Moor on?

The World Is On Fire

2006-07-19T13:46:00.000-07:00

So last night I dreamt that I lived in an apartment (bear with me, I know posts about dreams suck ass) where I was conducting secret top secret stuff.

It was... secret.

And one night, while slipping into my jacket, I notice that the apartment directly across from our window is empty.

Empty?

DAMN IT! THE ENEMY MUST HAVE RENTED IT AND IS NOW SPYING ON US!

So I get all, evil eye looky, and stare intently at the vacant rooms.

When that spy comes back to spy I'm going to kick his ass.

After waiting a while I see a maid wander into the room. I scan her body to check for any cameras but don't find any. Hrm. Maybe they have something new and cool and techno geeky.

Then a small child wanders into the room. No. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't send a six year old to spy, that would just be retarded.

Then, FINALLY, a man enters the room. He has to be the spy, never mind that he's not staring into my apartment, equipped with binoculars, or holding a camera, stupid SPY can't fool me.

Oh, he's also Jimmy Fallon.

So I start banging on my window to get his attention, I'm all, "Hey you fucking spy, look up here!"

Finally Jimmy looks at me, now you need to understand that he's standing there completely relaxed looking with his hands in his jean pockets, and when he looks at me I immediately start screaming obscenities.

Then I pantomime choking him.

I point to him, then me, then I make my hand imitate a little guy running away while another little guy chases him. Then when one hand caught the other I pantomimed kicking the shit out of the first guy while pointing at Jimmy Fallon.

Jimmy Fallon's eyes got all big and he looked around like, "Who? Me?!"

And I started screaming, "Yes you, you dirty fucker!"

I woke up laughing my ass off.

I've Since Calmed Down... Sorta

2006-07-17T12:34:00.000-07:00

Apparently today is national fuckwatt day and, yet again, no one has bothered to inform me.

And since it is national fuckwatt day I am assuming that EVERYONE'S brain has been affected and so therefore, someone on this godforsaken planet can explain to me:

One: Why you feel the need to restate everything I say in a super slow monotone voice and then finally conclude with, "Oh, well, can't help you there."

Newsflash, I didn't fucking ask you to diagnose the problem, I told you the problem, told you how to fix it, asked if you were the correct person to be speaking with, and yet you somehow still couldn't understand that the string of consonants and vowels coming out of my mouth were forming words which then went on to make up sentences.

Fucktard.

Two: Why, when you say one thing, such as sugar, do you automatically assume that I know what you actually mean is Equal, when there is a big jar of sugar sitting right in front of us, and then, when I ask for clarification, act as if I'm the stupid one?

I almost, would rather sit on my fat ass collecting unemployment, or welfare, or even WIC, watching Dr. Phil (which I detest), while my fat ass grew fatter, then listen to this bullshit one millisecond longer.

But no, I've decided I'm going to keep going to work, and keep putting up with people that prove natural selection doesn't work, just so I can get into heaven.

Boy, heaven better exist or I'm going to kick Jesus right in the teeth.

My Best New Idea EVAH

2006-07-13T16:41:00.000-07:00

I've decided to hand out refreshing drinks to marathon runners. While pondering what sort of beverage to provide them with, it suddenly occurred to me: VODKA!!!
I can imagine it now:

*pound pound pound* of feet on the sidewalk. sweat dripping down the forehead. a tired citizen wipes their eyes, glances up ahead, and sees my glistening cup of salvation, they extend their hand, perhaps they even give a nod of thanks,

and then,

THEY DRINK IT!

Or better yet,

POUR IT ALL OVER THEIR FACE!

And they're all

'Oh God, my eyes, my eyes, they burn!'

And I'm all, laughing, 'hahaha!' because, you know that shit's gonna be funny.

Life Questions

2006-07-12T15:27:00.000-07:00

Do you think I could stab someone and then blame it on my self diagnosed case of ADD? Because, if not, then I feel completely fucking jipped.

Thinking

2006-07-11T16:46:00.000-07:00

I was over here reading this, and memorizing that, when it came to me

I used to write

I mean, write.

You know, shit that makes you shut the fuck up and think

Paint with words

I used to use combinations of words that made people cry, laugh out loud, contemplate the cosmos

And right now and for the last I don't know how many days, I've got nothing. Just absolute nothing. I'm always getting distracted, struggling with the fact that my brain just wants way too much shit out of life.

Part of me wants to be a criminal. It sounds like fun. But I suppose that would fuck up my day job and perhaps hinder me from having a steady place to live.

See, like where in the fuck did that last sentence come from. Which brings me back to my original stupid pointless point, it has recently been pointed out to me that my mother has the worst fucking case off ADD that they have ever seen.

Whoa.

Like, for reals?

Cuz I saw some shit on CNN that would just fucking blow you away.

For reals.

Shit that has never occurred to me, but after it was pointed out makes complete fucking sense. She is such a fucking spazz. Which reminded me of the time that my college instructor accused me of having ADD and told me to seek treatment. She was such a bitch that I immediately complained to the office.

No, I wasn't the only complaining student. Don't you believe me? I said she was a bitch, translation, complete cunt.

So two years later, hear I am looking up the symptoms, and wouldn't you know it, a lot of the character flaws that I possess and have always struggled with are listed.

Right there, on the page.

All of the shit that I do that pisses off strangers and makes me want to cut people.

I'm not speaking about the obvious shit either, like not being able to finish a book or watch a movie (all things that I regularly do), but the not so obvious signs, like:

not being able to focus even when you want to

being so honestly blunt that you often offend strangers

flash temper

procrastination

often late

over committing your time

difficulty thinking when things are disorganized

really hot and sexy

And then it goes on about how some adults have learned to cope with it and therefore don't realize that they have ADD. What did they list, oh many of the organizational strategies that I often apply so that my life doesn't become a chaotic fucking bag of shit mess. I've blamed it on OCD for years, the fact that things have to be my way or I fucking break down instantaneously, but maybe it's time I blame my bad habits on something new?

Plus, maybe I can get some meds to sell to the high school dropouts.... SWEET.

Intermission

2006-07-11T10:31:00.000-07:00

They say, ‘seeing is believing,’ which has always confused me, because believing has always been based on some sort of faith and people are always urging others to take a leap on ‘blind faith.’

You said you saw me lose my faith.

Which made me stop.

Inhale.

Did you? Did you really? Can you tell me the time, the hour, the day? Can you tell me if it left in a flurry of gray smoke or describe the way my chest rattled from its death cry?

I’m sorry.

So sorry.

Didn’t mean to scare you there. I’ll let go of your shoulders now, smooth the bunches out of your jacket, pick up the packages I scattered in my haste. It’s just; I don’t remember it now. Only the memory. And it haunts me, that feeling of being larger than I was.

Look at me.

All wild hand movements and exaggerated facial gestures. What must you think? A crazy girl gone crazier, that’s what… but, here, take my number, call it if you remember anything. Even if it’s in the dead of night. Don’t worry, I don’t sleep that well any more. I sit up finding monsters in the shadows and wrinkles on my face.
Yes, yes, of course you must go. You have places to be, people to hug, loved ones to check up on. But… call me, whenever, tomorrow, I get off of work at seven.

Jesus is Your Imaginary Friend, and Even He Won't Talk to You

2006-06-30T14:20:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about it, and I'm really pissed at Jesus. Oh sure he died for my sins, yada yada yada, but what has he done for me lately? That's right, not a goddamn thing. Selfish bastard. With all the royalty checks coming in from those bibles and WWJD bracelets you'd think he take a break from his oh so busy day of not saving anyone and kick down a Porsche or two. What an illegitimate cheapskate. Does he really think he's better than me? I mean, c'mon, his mother was a whore.