Confessions of a Neurotic Mind

Hallelujah

2009-04-11T22:45:00.003-07:00

I admit that I've loved the song "Hallelujah" for a damn long time. But I'm listening to it right now, at this exact moment, and I'm realizing again just how much it has gotten me through. I can't say it's the singer, the cords, the lyrics. I can't even say it's the word "hallelujah." What I can say, though, is that there is something genuine about that song. It's something that transcends situations. It can be something sexy... like that very sexy sex scene in Watchmen. It can be a religious uplift. It can be something depressing and melodramatic. It just fits in so many different places.

It's the perpetual cookie cutter of songs. And when I get to the core of it all, I can only say that... really... that's probably why I love it so damned much. It makes me happy, sad, suicidal, sexy and a Jesus-cruiser in just three minutes.

And no, I wasn't trying to be blasphemous on Easter eve. Just sounds it. Whatev.

I've decided to try something out, for a while at least. I want to try something new, every chance I get. I want to start a garden, something that I've never tried before (with any success anyways). I want to try and cook something unique and different. I want to download more and more indie music (I already download enough of it to cover my husband and myself.... but I want to be a bigger part in the indie phase). I want to see a new movie and try to appreciate something more than just "passing the time." I want to draw - and not shitty.

Who knows how long this kick will last? I just know that right now, this very moment, I'm in a mood to see and watch how I grow and mature. I'm ready to be more than I am. I feel like I'm in an "Ashley-rut" - a place where I am static. I'm not evolving or moving past certain things.

This has nothing to do with where I am, who I am married to or any of that sort. This is just a thing I need to do for me.

I think it has to do with the fact that, more and more (at least it feels like it), my mother keeps making me feel ten-years-old. She won't go away, get some balls, and try to live her life without me. I'm tired of her mind games. I'm tired of her family. I'm tired of constantly trying to make a person who doesn't know, or appreciate happiness, happy. I'm just tired.

I want a break from my mom. And I want to cheat on her. And then I want to try and get back together, only to be Ross and Rachel. Except without the constant, "are they or aren't they?"

They weren't on the show. And we won't be in real life.

I think I'm getting ready to grow up. Fuck. Is this part of turning 25? This is, isn't it? FUCK.

As a side note: Yes, I'm turn a quarter of a century old. I'm slightly freaking out about it. I want to do something special... just not with the same people I know. I want to be spontaneous and run off. I want to disappear. I want to NOT do Las Vegas. I want to NOT be in Phx. I want to do something new to kick off the next 25.

I'm constantly thinking of things, but they are all lame and they are all things people could easily take away from me. I am holding it as close to the chest as I can. The closer, the better.

The closer - the more MINE it is. I am going a bit Larfleeze, but that's okay. I want to be greedy, to be just a bit selfish, to be just a bit of a kid that say's "fuck it."

I have absolutely no point, nothing of interest, nothing real to say. I just needed to rant. To rave. To be pointless. To have no drive. To be lost. To stare blankly. To remind myself that I'm still here. To know that even if I feel lost, I'll find myself.

With that said, ciao. I'm ready to stop SAYING I'm going to do it. I'm ready to plunge on in, burn myself by rushing in, and to say that I actually DID something.

2009-02-15T21:22:00.002-07:00

As it never seems to fail, I am one to sit and ponder my life at the most random of times. Seriously - I can sit there and think about the most profound life-shattering philosophical things and it will always be at the most random, often inappropriate times.

Yesterday was Valentine's Day. It's a day that I am notoriously a bitch, for several reasons: a) the over-consumerism of that day makes me so sick, b) people who are single make me want to slit my wrists FOR THEM, and c) it has a lot of memories that are tinged with blood, anger, violence, death, and whatever other bad thing you can think of. There's always going to be a place for me inside in which I hate my life that day, a place that when the calendar comes to be February 14, I want to see the end of the world come at an alarmingly fast pace.

Alarmingly fast - you'd never believe it, but that could happen. I'd gladly accept the apocolypse on that date... something Watchmen-style.

This year was no exception, and in true Valentine's fashion I woke up ready to die. But this year was different. Very different. My husband made a difference. He refused to leave me alone (which usually sparks a fight, and us not speaking for several minutes due to my alone-time being violated and raped in eight different ways), but this time he did it in such a way that finally made me laugh. Finally made me shed my anger. Finally made me accept that it's just another day of the year. And to him I say: good for you. That's a fucking challenge.

So really, what I want to say is: thank you. You've taken eighteen years of bad memories, my grandfather's death, my fight with my uncle, every other consequential thought and memory that has happened on THAT day, and turned it into something tolerable. It still stings, and I'll still probably be a bitch and hate that day until the day I die.... but you made at least one where I didn't want to die. Didn't want to kill. Didn't want the death of humanity.

You win.

Life in the Fast Lane

2009-01-28T21:18:00.002-07:00

It's fast. Very fast. Really obnoxiously fast.

So since my last update... in May of last year (I told you then, my word means SHIT anymore)... I have completed a multitude of things. Many of these things were done with much success and love, others with the scorn of hellfire and brimstone. Go figure. I only seem to know extremes.

PS - They are in no order. Judge me not.

1) Got hitched. Successfully. I looked awesome, so did my husband. I did not trip, slur my words, or otherwise make an ass out of myself.
2) Went on the honeymoon from hell. I had ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY SEVEN HIVES all over my body. Add that with being in Orlando... and you had one angry, bitter, hurt, bastard-like me. I fucking hated that place. I hate humidity. I hate touristy places. I have even thought about going into politics, running for office (if Obama can do it... so can I!), winning the Presidential election in eleven years, AND FUCKING BLOWING ORLANDO OFF OF AMERICA.
3) Started by second year of teaching. Still kick ass. Hate the majority of my kids this year. Their personalities are awesome, but their apathetic desire to learn or accomplish more than simply spelling their name right (I wish that was a joke) is slowly making me hate my job. When we have a nest-egg, I might go into nursing. Or something in which involves needles, blood and pain. I'm good with all three.
4) Gotten along with my bastardy brother for longer than three days. I still need my breaks. But I've learned he CAN exist in the same world/universe as me. And that's with all his limbs, and his head still attached.
5) I like living with my husband. He makes me laugh, gives me space, cramps my style, lets me paint every room in the house a different color (my house is known as: "Welcome to the House that Skittles Built"), and let's me attempt whatever I want in the kitchen. This new found freedom is thrilling and exhausting. I nap constantly. I am becoming more and more like my father. I only fear the back hair that comes with that.
6) Read the Twilight series. I sold out. I read them. I liked them too. Liked them so much that I was obsessed with them. I'm a fucking poser. But whatever, at least now when my kids do book reports on them I can say if they did it or not.
7) Had the best Christmas ever. No one yelled, screamed, stormed off, or anything. AND I had a moment where religion actually meant something more. I've hated religion my whole life. It has made me feel ostracized in school, with friends, and sometimes with family. It has condemned my soul (ironically enough, a pastor has damned me to hell for NOT attending church.... I feel it is his soul that he should worry about). It has made me feel uncomfortable and unwanted. And for the first time ever: I got it. I blame the preacher and the events that happened before it. But, I almost cried. I got why people go, and what faith can possibly offer us. It was surreal. And then it got blasted less than 24 hours later... which is probably why I've been avoiding the topic of church again. (PS- Tom: do NOT think it's a bad thing what your mom did on Christmas. She didn't do it intentionally. Let's just make sure she never sees the calling of leading people in religious settings.)
8) Finally met a girl who is awesome and I can deal with. My cupcake at work is the only female I can stand longer than five days. Jessie can't even do that. Thankfully, Kelly has a personality and a bit of a streak to make me laugh. She's bitter and disenchanted too, which makes her the perfect candidate to be a female-Tom.

I actually can't think of anything else. But as you can see, my list has shown a wide variety of survival. I don't know if I really have much to show for it, but I'm okay with that. For once, I'm actually happy. I haven't relapsed into my manic-depressive state. And if I have, it's been a mere few hours. I'm able to control it a lot easier than before. Maybe it was my family, maybe it was an age thing... maybe it's just me. But life and living are becoming something familiar. It's a cool feeling to actually say that, and really believe it.

If this is life in the fast lane, I think I can keep up.

Iron Man, Plus Some

2008-05-03T15:43:00.002-07:00

I'm going to get better at this damnit. Though, I have said this everytime and have proved that my word means shit. Eh, we all have to learn something new I suppose.

First order of business: GO SEE IRON MAN. Fucking amazing. Granted, I am biased. I think that an alcoholic bastard deserves a shining light in the realm of superheroes. They all have issues: Clark with his big neck, Bruce with his moodiness, Jamie having homework... whatev, you get the point. I want a REAL person, someone that has demons that are more realistic. Not the "I have a secret identity and it kills me to hide it from the world" type, but the kind of "I can't stop drinking or fornicating or buying stupid shit."

It's admirable, in a way. I know, that's weird. But naturally: that's what I do best. :P

Next: Wedding almost done. I sign next FRIDAY! THANK THE LORD THAT IT IS ALMOST DONE AND IN THE BOOKS. For all females who have been proposed to: it blows, deal. Hopefully, it will still turn out the way you want. Just remember: cry and yell at someone who cares, and stand your ground. You can always NOT answer the phone after the wedding gifts are delivered.

Finally: See IRON MAN. I'm obsessed.

60 days...

2008-04-13T21:26:00.003-07:00

I keep trying to get back here, restart this blog.... but the reality is that:
1) I am NOT lazy, I just oddly prioritize my life according to: sleep, diet, work, family, bullshit, blog... by the end of the day, blog just DOES NOT matter.
2) I am planning a wedding. Let me be the first female (you know, aside from the lesbians or trailer park women) that claims that planning a wedding blows donkey shit. There are traditions, rules, people, more people and more bullshit all involved than an entire Broadway production.
3) I am 20-some-odd days away from completing my first year of teaching. I have successfully NOT fucked up. It took me awhile to get here, as I go from thinking I rock to believing I am ruining the world, but I really do think that I have not destroyed the lives of 160+ kids. I am the top newbie at my school, was nominated for a prestigious award and have been told that I am "returning next year." Which is good.... give me that contract yo! I want to see your face in a year when I bail on your asses.
4) There's nothing more to add to this list. So I digress.... a common thing NO MATTER what way you look at it.

The big reason I am here is because I am finding that I need a place to come, a place in which I feel open to discussing what is in my head and what I can say without judgment or reaction. My real life does not suck, not at all. I just need to start my creativity again. I need to be me. And I'm slowly realizing that a huge part of who I am, aside from cleavage baring shirts, a charming smile and an award-winning personality that drops the word "fuck" way too much, is my creativity.

And let's face it: the biggest creativity part of who I am rests in words. Written ones. Not speeches, not acts.... though, really, that's the #1 quality of a good teacher. I really am a jack of all trades, aren't I?

So what is there for me to say? One: I am BEYOND excited for a few things. Maroon 5 is touring again. I am starting to wonder if they are trying to make me broke... but NO MATTER! I WILL GLADLY LOSE MY ADORABLE HOUSE FOR THEM. Well... no, I would lose it. Adam Levine is my only celebrity crush.... and maybe Robert Downey. But his drug relapses suck ass. I just hope he rocks my socks off with Iron Man. I'm sure he will: fabulous actor. Heath Ledger does not count anymore... this is not me making a sick joke. I respect his legacy far too much for that. So yea, left with Adam.

And before you cringe Tommy... just realize that I think you are sexier than him. He just plays in my iTouch Myself more than you do. *evil grin*

PS - I have a house, and it's mutha-fucking adorable! I didn't like it at first. But there are several factors why: I was depressed (beyond) when we saw it, I can't see my own stuff in houses, and I don't get to live there until June.

But Tom does, which is really good for him. He isn't as clingy anymore, which is weird but also really good to see. He is taking care of himself which means that I don't have to worry about doing that all for us completely. Not that I was worried... but you know, it just proves that he can stand on his own two feet and that when I need him most he will stand up and punch your lights out.

Word.

Oh yes! I am also getting married in 60 days. I still have a lot to accomplish: finishing all the small check-offs, making sure I have the favor bags done, the wedding decided, etc. etc. BUT! It's within grasp now. It goes without saying: I am ready to be married. I've been engaged for three years. Seriously: I want to be hitched. I want to be able to live with my husband. I just call him that at work now, btw. There's no reason to say otherwise: he is going to be my husband. And he is the real-deal! He is the only person that I would take such serious vows with, mostly because when he says he will not hurt me: I believe him.

He wipes away my tears, fights for me when I have no strength, reminds me that it will all end soon, makes me dinner when I feel sick, plays with my hair all the time, rubs my shoulders basically everyday because I am a walking knot, and listens to me even when I should really shut up.

If it's corny, you can shove a black dildo up your ass: I am marrying my best friend, my only friend and the only person I trust in this life. And while I am scared shitless, I couldn't be more excited.

Oh, and I am BEYOND excited for him to see my dress. Do you know how hard it is to NOT show your best friend something that pretty? DO YOU? No, you don't. Because you are not my best friend, nor do you have an amazing dress.

Although, at this point, I can tell you that he is reading this smiling, maybe crying and then will make a joke that will cause me to smack him in the head: he's just excited that he gets to take the dress off LEGALLY that night.

Yes, I know you that well... you foul-minded little minx. And trust me: if you hurt the dress, I will break your face.

On How I "Chose" You

2008-01-01T10:15:00.000-07:00

This past holiday season has brought new issues to the surface, new situations to face off with and ultimately, new realities to light. Over the past five months, I have dealt with my first-first year of teaching. It's a year where I am floating in a mindless sea, figuring everything out along the way and hoping to not drown. And so far, I'd like to think I'm holding my own. There are times when I feel overloaded (granted, of course, I did all this while getting my Master's and having no assistants). However, I hit all my goals and achieved great ratings. Something that I fully intend on enjoying through the remainder of the break.

Sidenote: getting my Master's was a B-I-T-C-H. Well worth every cent and ounce of effort, but a bitch nonetheless. I'll get my doctorate soon enough, I need a damn break though. ASU can SUCK IT!

The past month I have suffered a huge bout of depression. This is the first time in a long time that I have felt so low, so helpless, and so out of control. I can tell you from experience that Christmas, albiet my favorite season, is also the most dangerous for my mental health. I hit the lowest of lows and can never find a way out. I hate the feeling of waking up and hating the process of breathing, I hate the feeling that my wants are out of my own capabilities, and I despises the fact that I have to continue living when I would much rather make a ball and cry myself to sleep.

I did that often this time, just balling up and crying. I had moments where I wanted to scream and run. Moments where I was in a room with a million people and felt virtually so alone that I wanted to cry for help. And while a few people noticed, there are problems so much bigger than myself to allow it for real attention. I had to fight it, again, myself. No one, myself included, understood what was wrong. No one wanted to "deal" with it at that exact moment. Which only meant that I had to push myself into a state of paranoid anxiety, a world of "can they tell?" and "why won't someone save me?" would run rampant. And the sad reality is that I always knew that they knew about my state, and that they want to save me but can't.

It hit a point where Tom snapped at me to "deal with it" and to just get "over it." He doesn't know what it feels like. He thinks he does, but he has absolutely no idea what its like to wake up and absolutely hate everything you touch. He says to "deal" with it, but how can you deal with something when you don't know what you are fighting? He pissed me off that day, enough to want to hide from him for a period of time. He isn't patient. He isn't kind when he is annoyed that he is helpless. He isn't going to be the best to help support me when I fall from a place of content.

And that leads him to the ever popular question, one I equally hate as much as Clint Eastwood or facing the reality that I'm by myself in planning a wedding that I never imagined I'd ever have: why in the world would I choose him when he has proven time and time again that he knows just how to cut and bruise me?

As far as the wedding goes, I prepared myself for this. That's why I asked for a quiet Vegas elope-style shotgun wedding. It's easy, it's fast and it has the same legality as a $100,000 wedding. He knew I wanted it small and I have asked for that sort of wedding from the beginning. But I love what we're doing with it now, I just wish he would help. I'm doing his dream wedding without any help, mostly because whenever he starts he has no idea where to begin (as if I really do?) or he's just too busy. I get the busy, I really do. But honestly, what was he doing on the nights I was in class? Or the days when I hung out with my family instead of him? He was playing video games. Not working on the wedding. All I have to show for it is an outline of something that would be. And I know it'll never happen. So that outline is something that's sweet, but his excitement has worn dry and he has tired of helping. He just wants it done. That's one thing we can both agree on.

But it sounds like I resent him, which is far from the truth. I don't resent him at all. But even when he reads this, he won't believe my words. His mind will block out the truth I say, for reasons of trust and fear. He'll think what he wants and it will lead to a fight. Something which makes my mind scream to erase my thoughts. But I'm getting to a point where I'm tired of being repressed, tired of running from my truths and am just ultimately exhausted.

I love Tom, far more than my own life. He is a living reason why I am still here, right here and now. I can't bring myself to hurt him, even when we fight. The jabs I throw at him cut me more because once free, I know that I can't take them back. I know that he didn't deserve the pain I inflicted. Yes, he makes mistakes. I do too. Yes, there are times when I think he is too clingy. I'm more guilty of that than he is, as I need him there as a constant reminder to breathe and that everything will be alright.

It's not a matter of "why" I chose him. It never has been to me. I knew he was it from the beginning, and the only reason I didn't tell him sooner is because I was afraid of being hurt again. Afraid that maybe he would see through me and see me for what I am. To me, simply having him in my life was all I needed. He always asks me why, and I always answer "because."

The truth, quite simply, is that I didn't choose him. I never looked at him as a choice. And maybe that's what I am to him, but whatever. I always took him to be that single person in the world that completes you. He has always and will always be it for me. Tom isn't a choice, and he'll never be a choice to me.

Tom was made to be that person that I put up with, that person I love and that person who I hate in the same breath. He is that person that completes me and is my match in any single shape, way or form you want to look at it by. He's the missing piece to who I am.

I say "because" to him because the answer is simple. I love him, without question or rhyme or reason. I respect him far more than my own body and my own whims. He'll never be viewed as a person I "chose" to marry. He was the person I was destined to find, to meet, and to love.

He's it. And without rhyme or reason, I trust that love blindly. Because that's what you do. You love, unconditionally, and you hope to God that the person you trusted with that faith has the same feelings and beliefs that you do.

Pain or being cast aside or lonely or whatever he thrusts upon me, I willingly accept it. Because to me, a life without him in it, is not worth the pain of living. He's not my choice, he's my absolute.

13 weeks later

2007-11-17T10:57:00.000-07:00

And I'm still alive.

I'm not sure if that's a good thing or if that's a bad thing yet.

It's About Bloody Ass Time

2007-08-18T00:37:00.000-07:00

.... pussy hurricane season lets my dad think he is right about global warming.

WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE KNOW?! Damn Republican thinks-he-knows-it-all bastard! Stick this in your pipe and smoke it!

Hurricane Dean has made it to a Cat-4. My guess, with surface temps the way they looks and it's projected track... it just has the qualities to hit a Cat-5. I'm not sure if it has yet though, verifying 155 mph winds is dangerous! So there are conflicting stories.... some say it's a go for a C5, others say not yet.

I can't wait to see where this goes.

Hey. You like human violence... I did natural violence.

Summer Tally

2007-07-23T08:25:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a good few months since I have even dared to open this website and create a post of any sort. I'll admit that the thought has crossed my mind every now and again, but the reality of what my life has been since May can be defined only as crazy.

To do a quick recap:

my dad's shoulder surgery was a success, albeit he got infected with MRSA and spent about six weeks on medications. Those six weeks were hell for me; every morning and night, my dad would berate me and say the nastiest things he could (all while using the voice that he does while the big purple vein sticks out of his neck and forehead). Needless to say, after I couldn't take it I trained him to do it himself. I figured if he had the strength to call me a NAZI and to scream about how I do things... I'd let him do it. And sure enough, he did do it. Though he got pissed off about that too, so really it was a lose-lose situation for me.
I went to every midnight movie for this summer with the exceptions of The Simpsons and Fantastic Four 2: The Rise of the Silver Surfer. I know the Spider pig movie isn't out at all, but I felt it would be necessary to just add it to my list of things. The top movies of the summer shall be dealt with later. They deserve justice, and a separate blog, as I feel this really was the greatest summer for movies.
I have been to Dallas, Las Vegas, Los Angeles and soon Mexico for summer. I feel that at least I have been places. And it wasn't just Las Vegas OVER AND OVER AGAIN! I've matured!!! And Dallas sucks hardcore. Seriously. Don't go if you can help it.
Summer school has been a curse and torture... but only in the second semester. The first semester, the one with two classes proved to be a wonderful experience. The professors basically gave us grades as long as we showed up. They let out early, and by early I mean we were able to be home by 7 instead of 10 at night. This new guy? He can suck it. I respect him to a degree, but to another it's like: die. burn. and while you are at that... die again.
I'm 23-years-old. My impending quarter-life-crisis is quickly approaching. On a sidenote, this was the last birthday where I did not have a maiden name. Scary shit is in my future. Some seriously scary, heavy shit. While I admit that I'm beyond excited for this new shift in my life, I freely admit that I'm scared. I know it's because of the whole "growing up" thing. I'm only 23, all I keep hearing is how I am so young. What? Like most of the people in the 50s through the 70s didn't get married in their early twenties? Get over yourselves, I'm just trying to get over how easily my life is going and how peacefully the pieces are fitting. It's scary.
I have a job. I am officially a teacher. Holy shit. That's a whole 'nother blog in itself.
Harry Potter has been out for TWO DAYS and I only have TWO CHAPTERS read. I am officially pissed off. I know class will cut into wrestling tonight, I'm reading my ass off. Maybe even a little over the afternoon. I need to get into the meat of it. I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS.

And that about covers the main highlights. I'm sure there is more, but until I get there... enjoy this! Here's hoping I don't go on hiatus for three months again.

Summer has officially kicked off...

2007-05-04T09:03:00.000-07:00

....with the premiere of Spiderman 3 at midnight. I love midnight movies, they're fun and you get all the kooks!

I guess it's the allure of dangerous beach balls flying at your head, people cheering at all the right moments and waiting in line longer for a movie than a Disneyland ride.

People, that's what makes me awesome: my ability to WAIT for a movie.

I'm officially ready for summer. What this loosely translates to is: low-cut shirts and amazing open-toe shoes.

Oh, and swimming. Lots and lots of swimming!!!

PS - If you like Spidey 1 and 2, you'll like 3.

I'm in the wrong biz...

2007-04-22T09:48:00.001-07:00

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/oukoe_uk_pope_shoes

For reals... why him and not me? I know he's the Pope and all, BUT COME ON PEOPLE.

Cutting Through

2007-04-08T13:22:00.000-07:00

This past week has, for lack of a better word, sucked. Everyone, at one point or another, has turned on me. Citing classic reasons like I don't listen, I'm too quick to get angry, I'm alienating people, I'm destroying my relationship with Tom.

It's times like this where I just wonder what's happened to the world. But more importantly, to me.

I got lost in emotions. I wasn't ready to let go. Someone fought my fight and I didn't get the closure I needed.

It's all over though now. Mostly because I got the last of it out, I think. And now, I sit in a pile of exhausted embarassment. I'm too ashamed from what I've done and what I've said.

My ego has been bruised, and I have no one to blame but myself. Though, in retrospect, I could say Tom's dad started it all by using his incredibly shitty way of saying his "jokes."

Regardless if they were meant to be funny, they were not. And while I have my suspiscions, I'm letting go. For everyone's sake.

I'm finally putting my foot on the brake, and listening to the passanger begging to be heard. It's time her voice rang through the hurt. It's time I don't feel this way anymore. I need to cut through the pain and the numbness. I need too.

It's time to let someone take the car keys from me, drive for a while. I need a few weeks to find myself again, to find my way home.

0 to 60

2007-04-07T08:58:00.000-07:00

It's widely known in my family that I have a quick temper. You say one thing and sometimes that's all I need to be set off.

Tom's family didn't know that. Or maybe they didn't care.

Wednesday, a lot of hurtful things were said to me. Things that I interpretted to be cruel and unjustified. Things that really did cut deep.

Tom's dad cut me with his words. He doesn't want to pay for my family because they didn't talk to him at a party. He doesn't want me to design a dress for his wife because it's not on par with something with a label. He doesn't want me to waste my time designing a wedding dress because I'm only wearing it twenty minutes.

Trust me, I went from 0 to 60 in record time.

And I've been in overgear since. In the past few days, I've hated and I've sulked. I've had an anxiety attack. I've cried until my eyes were so damn puffy it hurt to keep them open.

I WAS HURT.

And damnit, I was allowed to be hurt.

Last night, Tom fought for me. He said that I couldn't fight this fight. I'd destroy any relationship I had with his parents. At that time, I didn't care.

Either case, a large part of it is resolved now. I'm the last piece. And I'm simply having a hard time letting go.

I'm being told I misunderstood things. That I got angry at the first thing, and ignored anything afterwards that may have clarified.

Yes, those are faults of mine.

But I didn't misunderstand. I haven't changed my story since Wednesday. How is it yesterday morning, Tom's dad was telling me how the rehearsal dinner was going to go based off of how he will pay to... He was telling me options and I told him how it was going to be?

That doesn't even sound like me: normal me or angry me.

Somewhere down the line, it doesn't match up. It feels like a cover-up to try and make my pain go away. It feels like words thrown around to stop the "middle man" from making it about himself.

And I can't do anything about it. I feel played, and my angry wasn't allowed to escape from my own mouth. I needed to do it, but no one understood that. It wasn't a matter of want to hurt them, it was a matter of NEEDED to get it out for my own good.

I don't know anymore. I'm too emotional, and I can't tell reality from reality right now. So why fight? I can't. I'm letting it go. But my heart isn't ready to forgive. It was ready to unload, but not forgive. I don't know if that makes any sense.

I'm self-destructive. I always have been. I get angry fast, and like boiling water it takes a long time for me to cool off. Even longer to forget.

That's who I am.

Tom says it's a role I like to play. I think he's wrong. It's not a role. It is me. There's a lot of things I regret in my past, mostly because I did them out of sheer pleasure to get out of my mindset. I've cut myself before. I've thought about doing it more than people know and/or realize.

When I self-destructive, I mean it. I destroy myself and my surroundings because I cannot control my anger. Going 60 is dangerous, but getting there that fast is far more dangerous. And when you are me, you have two selves. One self is hell-bent on getting payback because you are owed it. And one self that is praying in the passenger seat: Please don't let me burn-out.

Please don't let me burn-out.

Life is.... Good?

2007-03-11T08:55:00.000-07:00

What? Seriously? I can't bitch?

That's actually not a joke today. And it hasn't been a joke for well over a whole week now. I've been increasingly happy, and excited to be alive much more than usual over the past week or so. I have no clue what's in the water, but let me tell you - I'm in love with it.

But when I look around, I can't help but think... gee, life rocks today!

And you can ask me why, and I'm going to smile and be totally honest with you: *smiles* There's a lot of reasons as to why I'm increasingly happy anymore.

In no particular order, these things make me happy:
1. American Idol is now performing only Tuesdays, which means I can watch drunken-Paula antics without having to tape because I'm in class. And don't tell me she's drunk: "You're a good human being" is NOT valid advice in a singing competition. Hitler should be allowed to go through there if he had a voice.... granted he'd be taken out in the early weeks because of that whole killing a LOT of Jews thing.
2. Speaking of Idol... I get Tiger Ali one more week. If I get him two, I'll scream... but at least I get him and his little shy smile of "I know I can't sing... but you're too caught up in my hair to actually realize this." I want a pyrotechnic malfuction and for his hair to be singed off. Why you ask? His hair LOOKS better than mine. Fuck him.
3. I'm on Spring Break. And fuck yea, it feels good. Want to know why? Because I get a free pass to missing Wednesday nights... *writhes with orgasm* I hate that class, so free passes feel oh-so-good.
4. Tommy and I are doing great. I think we're doing great at least, which is enough for me.
5. I'm exactly half way through my master's program. Seven months, and my ass is done! Sadly though, I don't get to laugh at my nemisis Dilley anymore. The lopsided-boobied dyke-ish creature that she is has actually proved to be a good person (not a good teacher). And while I feel for her and how no one loves her, I still laugh at her.... with just reason, I promise you.

Those are all I got. I wish I had more, enough to show why I'm in actually a good mood. But I cannot find a single reason that adequately shows just how happy.

I just am. *smiles again*

I gotta go right now though, I could spew more rainbows at you BUT I need to work on a Las Vegas scene for my mother's birthday. Go FIFTY!

Petition: Kick Paula off My Show

2007-02-28T21:52:00.000-07:00

I love American Idol. There's just something about half-assed attempts at singing that make it worthy of my time.

But you know what's not worth it? PAULA ABDUL.

Shoot her. Get her off TV. And for the love of God... when she is judging a singing contest and she says "you're a good human being," she should be punched in the cooter.

Seriously. I hate her.

Kill her.

Times Spark Change

2007-02-24T12:06:00.000-07:00

You know, my last post wasn't exactly the most depressing thing I've ever written. I still have it somewhere. It was a note, scribbled in thick dark ink. On it, I had written something beyond morbid: I want to die.

It's not the phrase that was so morbid, it was the actual desire hidden behind it.

I wanted to die.

That was at a time in my life when I couldn't find the willpower to breathe on my own. It wasn't teen angst, although one could argue that my angst didn't help. It was depression. And although I have come a long way from there, I would argue that it's something I fight daily. More accurately, it's something I fight hourly. I push myself to have a good day, and although it's tiring... it's better to go to bed feeling like a human than someone that is something off from it.

I digress from why I even started to write. I always do. The very core of who I am is shrouded in darkness. Much more than I think anyone even realizes. I'm incredibly numb and desensitized to many things, and that is a list that grows every day. I often times feel like I am screaming, but no one hears me. My wants, my dreams... all of it gets put on hold for everyone else's feelings and wants.

That's the one constant that has been in my life for as long as I can remember. Hurt. Pain. Suffocation. That's what I know and have known for years.

When I reflected today about how much my life has changed, it's amazing to see the difference. Five years ago, I was out every night. I drank in excess, I did a variety of drugs. None of them for the sheer reality to say "I did them." At first that was the reason, but slowly I would choose drugs that numbed my senses. If only for a few hours, I felt alive and free. I would feel the way I want. I smoked cigarettes because the alcohol no longer burned my throat. I would dance with strangers simply because they asked. I flirted without regret.

It wasn't a good life, it was the life of an over-indulgent teenager. It's a past I regret. My decisions weren't right. But I live by them as life lessons that reflect who I am today. My biggest regret is that I was too caught up in the scene to see the people around me where not friends, they were monsters. They encouraged the influences that destroy the world. I left that world the day I woke up and didn't know what happened to me or to my body. I still don't, and while that doesn't scare me anymore... it haunts my nightmares. They've long since gone, but there are nights when I'm not strong enough.

I wake up wishing for someone to hold me.

That was me. And since then, I've done a lot of maturing. I don't party anymore. I've learned my lesson. I don't let people too close. I don't let people touch me if I can ever help it. I don't want people to know my true nature, which is why my blog is anonymous for the majority of it. I don't do drugs anymore, I've completely lost my senses and I think at this point I would only be under the influence feeling the same way.

Times have changed, and in many ways I have as well. But the one thing I can always count on is how I feel. I don't look at it as a bad thing anymore. My feelings are a crutch now, one that I need to hold myself up.

These feelings, as dark and painful as they can be, are part of who I am.

I'm still learning who I am, albiet slowly. I learn every day and every week. I know that I'm not the center of the universe. I know that my feelings are overshadowed by the more melodramatic. I know that I'm lovable, and that people tend to crave me in a good way. I know that what I think isn't the most retarded statements on the block. I know that it hurts to touch a hot pan. I know that it stings when your lover wants you to stop asking for what you believe in because he has religion and that takes precedence over what your beliefs are. I know what it's like to hear how you are a disappointment. I know that I like this world, and like being part of it. I like these feelings, good or bad.

I like wanting more. And unlike five years ago, hell even ten when I did attempt suicide... I want more of it.

I'm not ready to go out, regardless of how my emotions feel... I'm just not ready. I want everything. But mostly, I want to live.

And I want Tom to know that I haven't lived yet. I'm ready to though; I'm ready to start though, with him.

The Business of Weddings

2007-02-07T12:54:00.000-07:00

Girls are all the same, no matter what way you look at it. We all want to be loved, to feel safe, to feel wanted, to be told we're pretty, and to someday be the princess that every Disney movie led us to believe.

I stand firm that Disney movies are why the work is so screwed up. By seven, I was told that I would grow up and be beautiful, my prince charming would find me, we'd overcome an evil witch, have this ultimate dream wedding and will live happily ever after.

Disney jerked me around REAL GOOD. That's not life. That's a fairy tale.

But it never changed the reality that, even to this day, I want to buy into. I want to be the beautiful girl who finds a prince and eventually lives happily ever after. I'd even be willing to eat an apple chock full of e.Coli for it.

I grew up though and learned the hard way: that's not life. Life is everything opposite to what dreams and fairy tales are made of. That doesn't change my opinion though. I still want to believe that could happen to me. As cyncial and jaded as I am, this story still makes me swoon.

Fast forward to right now: I found my prince and we are happily planning to get married. But the turmoil and strife that it has caused between us, makes me wonder if we'll ever get to be married at all.

I've read in more than one place that in-laws are there to challenge you, hate you and think you aren't good enough for their child. But mine are different. They seem to like me. They seem to care.

But.

And you knew the but was coming.

But... I get the feeling they don't want me around and they don't accept me for who I truly am.

They never talk to me at their house, instead opting to hide in some room. I admit that there are some days I hide out too. But they have hidden for almost two years now. Am I really that embarassing?

They have the weirdest cues that ring definite for not liking or not approving something. A roll of the shoulders and an "ooooookay" signify that they are not cool with something. I've heard that more than once with our wedding plans.

And it hurts me. I've been super nice to them. Even treating them the way I treat my own family. I see them as often as their schedule allows. And I always try to keep them informed of the wedding.

But when it comes down to it, it's not good enough. For them or for Tom.

Rather than going on about what my problems are, I'll admit right now: it makes me cry when I think about it. And it makes me wish that I was a better person, someone easier to love. Someone, that despite my differences, am okay to welcome into a family. Someone, that despite my wants in a wedding ceremony, is okay to accept the way I am. And someone, that despite what everyone tells me to do, still gets caught up in trying so hard to be loved.

Disney made a lie about everything. Sure, you'll get the man you love. And yes, you'll have this beautiful wedding that everyone will talk about. But how can you live happily ever after when there are forces that are trying so hard to not want you to live at all? No one told me that fairy tale problems equate to having to figure out how to get married.

I thought the business of weddings was to enjoy being in love and to celebrate that love.

I've come to the hard reality that the business of weddings isn't just that: it's about seeing if you can survive the doubt, the whims and whines of others, and that it's about everyone else but the ones getting married.

The business of weddings is enough to break two people up, I just hope to whatever higher power exists (if there truly is one anyway) Tom and I are strong enough to overcome this.

I hope with everything I have. And the sad thing is: hope is all I have left.

You have not lived...

2007-02-03T02:07:00.000-07:00

... until you have gone to an Indian casino and watched a little old lady dancing all sorts of different dances at midnight.

When I say little old lady, I really do mean: LITTLE. OLD. LADY.

She was short, stumpy and wrinkly all over. She was the kind of little old lady that wastes her retirement money at casinos chair tipping and eating rye sandwiches in her little mocassins. And white hair. We mustn't forget that detail. She was definately old.

I have officially lived and can die happy.

Except for the part where I admit that she stayed out later than me. Fuck, getting old sucks.

Happy On the Other Side

2007-01-22T14:29:00.000-07:00

Music has a profound effect on me. Always has, and in many ways I suppose it always will. More than one occassion, I have come here disspelling some of my feelings regarding specific songs and how they apply to my life.

Music, at least to me, is the one common ground that everyone can count on. It makes us feel. And for what it's worth, anything that makes a person come alive (even if it's only for two and a half minutes) is worth the entire world. Sure, we do not always have similar tastes in music. But the one thing we can all sit and agree on is that REGARDLESS the taste of music, we all share a passion. It's about getting lost in a voice, a meaning, a single instrument, a myriad of sounds or just finding a way to escape.

The art of music is simply letting a person we don't know let us feel like we're wanted, like we're in love, like we're angry, like we're oppressed, like we're lost... and so on and so forth. Music is simply art of humanity.

At least, that's what it is to me.

Today, I listened to The Submarine's "Brighter Discontent." It's about making the choices that appear to be the better one: the one that magazines and TV shows tell us is better than the life we lead. We appear happier with all these things, but we are left discontent and unsatisfied. It's a paradox of life - one that ultimately becomes ours when we relinquish control.

We make choices everyday and try very hard to do what is best. We push day by day, and in many cases we are left choosing between what our hearts want and what society deems is best for us.

In my case: I'm 22-years-old and ready to settle for a husband and family. Is this right? Wrong?

Society tells me it's wrong. I'm too young. I don't have experience with these things. I need to live.

But my heart has left me to believe otherwise: this is the right choice for me. Yes, I may be too young. But I've only ever felt alive when I am with Tom. It's not a temporary passing, as it is with a song. It's something real, something deeper. something that I cannot (and in many ways absolutely refuse) explain.

I know that having a nice house, lots of friends and a wonderful car should make me happy. But what happens on the morning that I wake up and realize that I chose society over myself? I'm not the type to simply sit back and try to not look at my surroundings. I'm the type that throws myself in - I'm the type that takes plunges.

My life has been nothing but taking a risk, trying something new, being the wild card, daydreaming of being the oddball, and finally finding my way home.

I've found my way home. And regardless of what I may have given up to get here, I wouldn't change it for the world.

I'm happy with myself, my choices, my future husband. I can look at the world, and I can say this: I chose love over what was expected.

And then maybe, just maybe, the world will realize that I was the one who was right all along: a girl who trusted her heart.

What?

2007-01-17T15:15:00.000-07:00

I just read an article on the proper ettiquette for leaving a voice-mail. Has our society gotten so bad that we need to have a "how-to" on leaving voicemails?

Unless your a family member, you get my name, number and a reason to call me back. If you are the person who gave birth to me or the person who I let do sexually illegal things to me in five states? You get a weird voice, a psuedo-name and a clear explicit reason to have me locked in a nut house.

Lesson for today: LEARN TO LEAVE APPROPRIATE VOICE MAIL MESSAGES.

Stop giving dickheads a reason to write an article on "how to be a better person." Odds are, they have a small penis and are cheating on their wife with a male assistant.

Even Clint Eastwood is a better role model than that. And that is saying a lot... coming from me.

Okay, not Clint. I'll give you Oprah though, and she's on just about the same level of evil.

... and don't any of you DARE to ask me why I read it. You get bored waiting for school to start and then you see a thing on "how to leave an effective voicemail" and your reaction will be the same as mine: SWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET! A way to kill 34 seconds of my life!

WOOT!

2007-01-15T23:20:00.000-07:00

Clint Eastwood, the muthafucking overachievers OF ALL THE OVERACHIEVERS EVERYWHERE (yes, even you)....

LOST both his chances of Best Director to Martin!!! HE FINALLY LOST!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!

As if it wasn't apparent enough, I hate Clint Eastwood. I think he is a kiss-ass and makes shitty movies that are solely made to win awards, all released at the end of the year so that he gets the most attention to win said awards.

I think he sucks goat balls. And I truly am the leader of the "I HATE CLINT EASTWOOD" fan club. I write him yearly reminding him that he sucks said goat balls. It keeps him somewhat humble.

Not really. But whatever... GOOD NEWS!

AND FOR ONCE, HE GOT SERVED HIS GOAT BALLS!

And he probably didn't like it.

Here's hoping for a GREAT Oscar night... one where he LOSES EVERYTHING and goes home to his empty house that is only adorned with trophies that he undeservedly won from better candidates.

Let the Madness Envelop You

2007-01-08T16:08:00.001-07:00

You want a reason to go mad?

Get married.

'Nuff said.

The Surface Seems So Far Away, Part 1

2007-01-07T10:22:00.000-07:00

On New Years Day, I sat at the dinner table with my family slightly drunk. I'm not one to say that, when drunk, I am suddenly a genius. Hell, I'm not even remotely profound.

I'm boisterous. Sometimes fun, but really just a big mess that everyone feels the need to help me walk.

If they only knew the amount of times I've staggered from one place to another, they'd know that two rum and cokes only made me buzzed. And my swagger was not stagger. That's not how they treat it though: I was drunk as far as they were concerned. And that alone took my already delicate kiss-my-ass lifestyle and multiplied it by three (i.e., walk me to the car, make sure I get in the car, make sure the safety belt is buckled). And I let them, because why attempt to prove them wrong? It's all sorts of futile with the alcoholic beverages I chose to enjoy.

That alone lets it seep in: the reality of who I am and what I think when drunk still remain logical. My logic gets louder, that's all.

New Year's came and it went. Without much fuss on my part. The next day though? A storm hit. Tom wasn't there. So it immediately went on the record that I was a lower priority than his family. And so my aunt pressed on with questioning set to prove that record right. This went on for two and a half hours.

Maybe it never ceased. I take fire for him all the time: lost in my own world, uncaring, too busy bending over to make him happy, losing who I am. The list goes on and on. And they are right. I've changed who I am to make him happy. And at the same low point, I've never officially made him happy.

I still get these low-blows about not loving him, not caring. I don't go to his school to clean thirty desks, I hurt his feelings and suddenly deserve this guilt trip of choosing to do nothing over seeing him. I ask anything about the wedding, and I'm the asshole all about money.

I've never been the winner.

Maybe I was never meant to be the winner.

So as I sat there on New Years Day, slightly intoxicated with wine, I stared at my glass of water. I watched how the ice cubes sit slightly on the surface, but rest predominately under the surface. Yes, just like a glacier. Yes, just like your subconscious.

My life, my entire life, is nothing but a ice cube. I'm fused together somehow, frozen in some state of mixed emotions (ranging from the following: joy, excitement, sorrow, guilt, fear, stress). And I'm only letting everyone see the parts that matter. The parts that crave attention. The parts that constantly need to be reminded that I'm not fugly, the parts that need someone to tell me that I'm not fucking up, the parts that only matter to everyone else (... like when I am going to school so they can go on a cruise, or what dress I am wearing, or what computer I'd rather use... trivial things that make up nothing in the grand scheme of things).

Below all that, I'm still fused together. But I'm not important. And that's the part that is screaming for attention, for some love, for some understanding. Maybe just for anything.

The real me lies below the surface. Frozen together, drowning from the weight of it all.

Have you ever been in the pool or the ocean and went underwater? Have you ever stayed under so you can watch what goes on above the water from underneath the surface?

That's my life. I am frozen underneath everything, idly watching as my life passes me by. And I slip farther underneath, for my own self-preservation from guilt and depression caused by my own self-pity and guilt-trips from everyone I love.

The reality that hit me New Years Day? I'm nothing more than a little ice cube: frozen and (un)comfortably numb.

This defintion came to me. Kept me warm for a few minutes. I finally understood myself in a new light. I finally have a way to understand myself, identify with how I feel.

I'm smothered, struggling to reach the surface to gasp for air. But I'm so far below the surface that it's an impossible swim. I'm left to watch, and to wait for someone to save me from me.

So is this bad or good? It's undecided. I needed time to be more eloquent. I can't be eloquent when it comes to me. I'm messy, and unruly. I feel the urge to touch fire and ice at the same time. I push to make sure that I'm the one unselfish person out of everyone I know. And those are all things that I love about myself.

What I needed is what I got: a definition for how I feel.

I am an ice cube: contained in such a small place, suspended, numb... but most of all, I just feel so drowned by everything that the surface seems so far away.

2007

2007-01-01T14:28:00.000-07:00

2007.

Who knew it would come so easily? The funny thing is, it’s just like every year. Actually, it’s just like every other day.

Stop to think about it: all the clocks strike midnight without any real attention every day of the year. Time passes without us acknowledging its movement. The only real difference between this day, and every other day of the year is that you have to add one digit to the year when you write the date now.

And let me tell you what: that’s a royal bitch to remember sometimes.

People love New Years. I’m disillusioned to it. Maybe because I don’t find the need to honor a “holiday” that is about starting fresh when I believe you should be able to do so any of the other 365 days of the year.

Whatev.

I’ll be frank here: I’m half way to drunk. I had a bottle of wine from Christmas that I was drinking and somehow, very inexplicably, it has gone empty. Three glasses later, I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say I’m toasted.

The burn in my chest and the looseness of my legs is confirming this drunkenness. What a way to start this glorious new year.

I’m not getting married this year; let me be a cynic damnit.

Anyway, the reason why I have dragged myself away from the table is because of the revelation I had today while eating the fantastic food my mother made (sidenote: I want to cook as good as her, so I think my resolution will be to learn how to cook better… and for world peace).

I’ll have to share it with you another time. It requires some thought, a photo and some eloquence. But I like it. It made me feel warm inside to have a word to describe what I feel.

Then again, that warmth could have been from too much wine.

Welcome 2007, bring your joys and your sorrows. I'm ready for you. The question is: are you really ready for me?

Ready for a New Year?

2006-12-31T10:06:00.000-07:00

I'm not. I'm still not over 2005. So why should I be expected to put my party dress on, drink the rest of the year away and enjoy 2007.

I'm falling behind.

Despite being ready or not, the next year is upon us. In true Ashley form, I showed up to do a Top 60 of 2006. Do you have any idea how much time that would take?

DO YOU?

If you don't, then let me give you an idea: A LOT.

New Years has always been about drinking, partying, getting rid of one year wasted while intoxicatedly shaking the hand of the new year slurring "hey, what's up year? lets party!"

And then your year sucks. Probably because you drunkenly also slurred, "hey year, wanna show me your tits?"

Year got offended. Good job.

For some, it's also about making resolutions and trying to change: lose the holiday weight, become a better person, stop drinking as much... what have you. The goal is to better yourself.

However, a month (hell, a week for some people) goes by and you realize how stupid you were for making that resolution. So you break it. You stay the same shitty person you once were. Maybe with a few pounds lost.

Point: I'm not doing my usual New Years welcome party on my blog because, well, I'm ready to break that trend. Not because I want to break a resolution, but rather because I'm ready to break the mold.

I'm ready for something different, something that doesn't leave people amazed or disappointed. Just something that is clean, simple... maybe even a little neat.

Big lists never accomplish clean, they are all over the place and entirely too messy. So fuck the big list this year. I had a lot of ups and a lot of downs. I've read my blog over for the whole year - you can watch my emotional roller coaster take it's dips and climbs if you'd like to relive it.

I'm ready for a new year, a new me. My goal isn't to let myself become predictable and boring.

What better way to start than before the bell tolls midnight?

So I say it now, without hope or agenda of changing anything (because really, isn't New Years about broken promises?), Happy New Year.

May your year bring you the same cycle: drunken nights, good and bad memories, abandoned resolutions and a repeat of your favorite show on TV.

It ALWAYS Comes Back To Me

2006-12-22T09:33:00.000-07:00

Christmas has the uncanny effect of reminding you what it was like when you were a child. Our memories rush to the surface, reminding us about that time when we were seven and the whole house smelled like gingerbread. Smells, what your family wears and the like were always embedded in your memory – and this is the time of the year when those memories come flooding back.

Good or bad – they flood. And it often takes a strong stomach to suppress the feelings that rise up.

Yesterday, we picked Uno up from the vet after being castrated. In the office while we waited was a dog with a broken leg. The dog was wobbling around with the bandage that is there healing the broken bone.

And while he was healing, I was breaking inside. My dog was once that dog. The dog that once wobbled like a monkey because her leg was broken.

My dog, Kassie, who has been dead for a little over a year. It hasn’t been an easy year for me. Far from it.

I’ve cried more than I’ve admitted because she has been in a hole for a year, cold and still gone. And yesterday, I fought tears so hard because I can still see her running with that broken leg.

I fought them because the last thing we needed was me being a big mess when it wasn’t about me.

I miss you sweetie, more than you will ever know. I’m still haunted by you, and the lack of what I didn’t do.

Holidays meant rushing, wrapping, cooking and being cute. That hasn’t wholly changed – except “cute” has gone to “hot.” No longer am I expected to wear the cute polka-dot dress with reindeer earrings. I am expected to wear something low-cut and something that says “adult chic.” Maybe I don’t manage that, but at least I managed to fill out that polka dot dress.

Holidays have always been about the attention. When you were little, it was “look how much you’ve grown!” And today, it’s one of my personal favorites: “you’ve grown into such a beautiful young lady.”

I like that I’m called a lady. Being called a woman feels so… so… gross. Ladies are clean and pure. I confess that I may not be the pristine example of what a lady is, but McFuck you!! It’s a great compliment! And it doesn’t sound like I’m old!!!!

Christmas would be the time that my mom freaked out – each room had to be cleaned twice and then inspected three times. It meant my dad doing nothing of real importance. He sat in front of the TV or in front of the computer while my mom danced in the kitchen cooking and then ran from room to room helping to clean. His job was to dress himself nice for the party. TO DRESS HIMSELF, something he does every morning of his life.

How my mom was able to do that when I was seven, but isn’t able to now eludes me. It probably always will.

When I was little, we had a dining room set. The table seat eight people (three on the long side and two at the end of the table) and the chairs were made of dark oak and were high backed. The table was heavy. If you hid under it, the oak smell would just encase you. Whenever I was under there, it wasn’t about hiding from my family. It was about feeling safe. The smell, the darkness, the fact that no one could see you – it all boiled down to safety for me.

Tom’s cologne has the same effect – I feel safe wrapped in the smell.

I look back today and so much has changed. There isn’t a table for me to hide under, and there isn’t a reason to get dolled up to be cute for my family. Rooms are only cleaned out of necessity and now my dad does try to do more than just get dressed.

I wouldn’t trade my memories for all the money or happiness in the world. The smells that I remember and the weird places in my home that I would consider my home are things that I could never afford to give up. I love that every year I have something to throw back on and remember what the holidays were like. And it leaves me with something greater: a hope that one day my kids will be fortunate enough to have memories like mine.

I want something they can go back to and call their own. But most importantly, I want their holiday season (much like I want yours) to be filled with good memories. The kind of memories linked to smell, that leave you feeling so much warmer than the outside weather would permit.

'Tis the Season

2006-12-21T15:14:00.000-07:00

It's been well over a month since my last post, which just goes to show you that when I say I'm lazy - I mean business.

That's why I'm not getting married until June of 2008. I have a good two years to become proactive. I may pitter and patter about what I want and don't want, but I'm not actually looking at wedding dresses and I'm not picking flower arrangements.

Yet.

Enough on that talk. I can honestly say that no one wants to hear about my wedding. Especially you people, 'cause you're not invited. It's not that I don't like you, it's because I know you won't buy me a gift.

Bastards.

I was going to talk about the holiday season and all it's splendor's, but there's something so common about that topic. Everywhere you go, there is the happy music and the busy stores. Everywhere you look is the fantastic red and green decorations. And everything you smell is full of fat and sugar.

'Tis the season, right?

I listened to one of my all-time favorite songs on my way home from Tom's school today: Juff Buckley's "Hallelujah." The song is simple, pure and in many ways more profound than I could even begin to use (you know the kind, the words that when typed or spoken you feel the emotion tinged behind it - I'm the Queen of the words that make you feel like you bent over and had a fist shoved up your ass).

The song is about a person in love, and the song uses every Biblical reference known to man to establish one very clear point: regardless of the high or lows in love, the word "hallelujah" is not always to be taken with a stride of confidence and power; rather, there are times in this world when "hallelujah" escapes your lips to reveal just how broken you are as a person.

The words, the music, everything fits life to a tee - from the minor falls to the major lifts. This song and this season reminds me just how much people have to fight, to wish, to dream, to relax, to hold someone close. At the end of the day, everyone takes a deep breath and whisper's the word "hallelujah" in one form or another.

Hallelujah is a Hebrew word that is used in nearly every religion. It's translated, quite simply to the most beautiful defintion possible, "Glory to the Lord."

While the song uses Biblical imagery, I don't think Buckley was leaving us to remember to love and follow in the ways of the Lord. We don't need that sort of reminder - that's just something you let yourself get swallowed by. We drown ourselves in what makes us feel warm.

But this song isn't about drowning yourself in religion. It's about remembering the word, the countless ways it's used, and how no matter what way it is used - there is equal value. It's not about faith in the Lord, but rather in Life.

When I hear this song, I affirm to my Life with emotion, drive, love and desire. And when I hear that song around Christmastime, I remember how a simple word can leave us feeling broken, hollow, full of hope and good will.

We need a message bigger than "look at Britney Spear's crotch" (though, have you seen that scar??), especially at this time of the year. We need to remember that when we say "hallelujah," happy or sad, it's all about affirming ourselves to push a little stronger and a little harder.

To whomever needs to hear it, for those happy and sad, I say it for you: HALLELUJAH.

Thankful

2006-11-24T11:56:00.000-07:00

The current trend of the season is to reflect and to be thoughtful and deep. Go figure: Society has gone emo. As per usual, I'm ahead of the current trend as I'm fairly often reflective and thoughtful. At least, I like to think I am.

I didn't sit down yet this week or any of time to think of a list of things in which I am thankful for. Maybe I'm taking it all for granted.

I know this isn't the best list. One with a long line of things and materials that I'm so thankful for. Yes, I am thankful for a house. A family. A life I am proud to lead. The troops. The nation. The life I am allowed to lead.

What am I grateful for? The answer, like most, is: A LOT.

The reality is - I am thankful in so many ways. But I am not thankful enough to show just how much those things mean to me. This isn't a list to remind me what I am thankful for, but rather a reminder to be ever-more-thankful in the future. Because honestly... isn't that what the holidays are supposed to do?

I never say "I love you" enough to Tom or to my mother. I'm so thankful to have people that love me enough to protect me from the world... I wish they knew just how much I loved them.

I never stop and enjoy the scenery long enough. I etch images in my mind so quickly any more. Sometimes I take a picture. But I never actually sit and stare, taking deep breaths to remember it all vividly. I want to be thankful to have my senses. To be able to see, hear, taste, feel... just because if I ever lose what I have, I'll be thankful to remember.

I never want to forget. I know so little of where I came from, the people who came before me. I wish I knew my grandfathers, and grandmother. I never want to forget what I know. I never want to forget that my dad's parents would be proud of me. I never want to forget just how much my mom's father would shower me in love. I never, ever want to forget.

I don't know why these things came to me just now. Maybe it's because I'm growing up again. I'm still just cookie dough.

And to be honest, I'm thankful for that too.

Wikipedia Rant Continued

2006-11-14T20:07:00.000-07:00

Tom is the sweetest boy EVER. Last night in school, he forwarded me a weblink to a NEW Wikipedia site. One that belonged to me.

Unfortunately, it was hastily deleted as Wikipedia condemned me to a definition of "not important or special enough."

Fuck you too Wikipedia. You suck on K-FedEx for your "important and special" qualities.

Wikipedia: The Cock Blocker of 2006

2006-11-13T13:51:00.000-07:00

Now before you click the link away because I'm going to rant about elevators being for pussies (Sidenote: I still maintain elevators ARE for pussies.), or about how bad depression is, or even why I hate breeders... let me just say that this is a valid thing to be upset about.

More so valid than that one time I swore I had cancer. Regardless if I was suffering from sleep deprivation, I had the scare of a lifetime considering that for a solid 48 hours I believed I had cancer.

It didn't matter what kind of cancer, it was merely the fact that I had cancer.

And that I was dying from it.

Oh, blow me. If you read WebMd.com too, you'd think you had cancer too if you just compared the symptoms.

Anyway, back to the point of why life isn't fair today: I have a bone to pick with WIKIPEDIA.

I'll be the first to admit that that website has furthered my procrastination skills. It has bios, and factoids, and timelines, and just about everything on there. I *love* that site.

HOWEVER, it is slowly becoming an epidemic. A good one, in many ways. It's only bad (and so incredibly unfair) because my name isn't plastered over the pages of Wikipedia.

Remember when myspace was limited to teenagers and whores? Now everyone is on it, including the sexual predators I see every Friday night on Dateline. Remember when people used to go to the movies and just make-out during the entire thing? Now movies cost so much that a guy will tell you to skip the blow-job because it's more expensive than a cheap hooker on Van Buren.

Wikipedia has now became this year's myspace and cock blocker. Why you ask? Because everyone has a fucking Wikipedia site!

... except me.

Exhibit A: The Incredible Popeman has a Wikipedia site... and I don't even own the damn comic!!!

Exhibit B: K-FedEx has a Wikipedia site.... and it details everything down to the last time he waved his finger in the air screaming that something being "America's most hated." Which was twenty seconds ago.

Exhibit C: My favoritist blogger Heather Armstrong has a Wikipedia. This doesn't bother me, it just proves that I need one.

Now... what the fuck does a girl have to do to get herself a Wikipedia?

Pondering

2006-11-12T22:35:00.000-07:00

I realize that this might be a silly question, but none of you can stop me from asking this question. Why? BECAUSE YOU ARE IN FRONT OF A COMPUTER... far, far away from me. Let the stupid questions pore forth!

Is it just me, or does Sin City bring out the most naughty in people? Seriously.

I admit quite freely that I've been feisty the past few days. Feisty to a point where I'd throw Tommy in the back of a dirty midget home and have my way with him. But that feeling of feisty was heightened about three fold this weekend.

The only difference between Friday and Saturday versus say Monday and Tuesday is that I was in Las Vegas. I'm just wondering if Las Vegas has something in the water the makes me crave sex?

'Cause if it does - that explains why Tom was able to get me out of my clothes so quickly after waking up this morning.

Big News: I'm ENGAGED!

2006-11-09T08:56:00.000-07:00

It's been a long while since I was last here. This blog has become one of things that I push off, not because I don't love you, but rather because it's not a high priority right now. That's crazy of me to say; especially when you consider that two years ago I would spent at least thirty minutes a day working on my blog.

Maybe the need to archive my daily feelings, thoughts, and activities isn't so needed anymore. I can sum up my life in a short series of events. Notice:

7:30am: Wake up and talk to my fiancé. Oh right, in case I didn't mention - I'm totally engaged now. TOTALLY.
8:00am: Finally motivate myself to take a shower.
8:45am: Still trying to motivate myself to dry my hair.
9:00am-3:00pm: E-mail fiancé to make sure his day is good, run errands, finish homework.
5:00pm-10:00pm (Monday and Wednesday only): Class. I also hate every being of my body for existing during this time. It's usually best to just avoid me.
11:00pm: Sleep.

Rinse and repeat.

I know that doesn't look like a lot. But I promise that I'm (usually) never left with an empty moment in my day.

My life is going to open up slowly soon enough though. My internship has just ended, and let me tell you - I miss those little bastards. They were funny, they were cool, they were reason enough to hate every fiber in my being for thirteen Monday and Wednesday nights. They still are. And when I need a pick me up to remind myself if it's worth it, I will totally go to visit them.

Never underestimate fifteen and sixteen-year-olds. I've been jaded for a long time, and disenchanted with life for years. They made me remember what it was like to see something in wonder. It was refreshing.

As far as that whole disenchanted thing? Tom took care of that for me. The fact he is going to marry me and make sure that every day of the rest of my life is filled with love makes my life more enchanting every time I turn around, wake up or go to sleep.

This honestly is the first time in my life where I am the most happy that I have ever been. That says a LOT. I am mildly depressive and I have been under suicide watch numerous times. I have woken up on days where I wonder if there is a reason to drag myself from bed. And then from there, I would spend the rest of my day not wondering if the next breath would hurt more than the next: I already knew it would.

Depression hurts. And it takes a lot of work to not be depressed. For some, work isn't enough. They need medication. People often say that is the "easy way out." They don't realize that if the options are to be dependent on a drug or to live in a world where sorrow and despair reign, then dependency is vital to life. I am proud of myself for being able to be strong enough to fight for my own life, to find a reason to live and to love someone that is a living, breathing reason to continue fighting. It's humbling to know that I have been this lucky.

For me to say that I love Tom more than myself, to say that I am standing on my own (and loving every second of it, to a point where I now crave the feeling of independence more and more), to say that I have a family that is finally adopting what I want without argument... well that's enough for me to say that I have finally reached a point in my life where there is no complaint, no argument and no reason why I shouldn't want to wake up out of bed and to live my life.

And seeing that Tom is the only one that reads this, I'll end it this way: I love you and cannot thank you enough for helping me be strong enough to live. You have no idea how much you light up my life every second of every day. But I promise you that I will spend the rest of my life trying to make sure that you are as happy as I am today, right here and right now. I want you to feel the way I feel. I want you to understand what it means to look forward to your next breath, just because you wonder if it will be better than the one before hand. But more importantly, you have helped me to live in the now. What has happened doesn't matter, what will happen doesn't matter - it's all about today. That doesn't stop me from thinking though...

I think about the future, and only have bright eyes. I think about now, and can't help but smile. And then I think about my past, and can't help by cry because I am so glad I didn't let my depression take my life.

Redemption

2006-10-16T19:44:00.000-07:00

Redemption for attending class today happened. It was swift and it was sweet, but it was totally worth it.

Today, I learned two new words:

blogarrhea.
hillbilly armor.

Use them like wildfire. Have blogarrhea, enjoy it. Wear some hillbilly armor and run wild with the crazy.

Why? Because they are awesome and need to be shared.

P.E.R.F.E.C.T.

2006-10-15T08:37:00.000-07:00

And now, I'm just thinking about Aretha singing "Respect" or Gwen singing to me about bananas. But whateva, I can spell the fucking word just fine.

Guess why my world is suddenly perfect?
........
Yesterday, Tom bought me an engagement ring.

And while I have no seen the ring, I already know that is SO FUCKING PERFECT (I repeat: SO. FUCKING. PERFECT.) that I could just die.

*dies*

Told you.

Scared?

2006-10-13T08:24:00.000-07:00

It's Friday the 13th. You know what that means?

I'm ring shopping today with the boyfriend for engagement rings.

*screams*

And after that, we're watching a scary gore movie for shits and giggles. He doesn't know that yet though. *grins all evil-like*

Yea, boi!

I Honestly Tried Adding to a Good Story

2006-10-12T08:11:00.001-07:00

So yesterday I told you about those kids that were willing to write a paper for me. But I failed to mention Tommy. Not because I didn't want to. Far from it actually. I wanted to give him his own post. Why? Because he deserves to be separated from the little monkies. And for that, the boy deserves his own post.

Don't argue with me. I bite.

Tom has been nothing but supportive these past nine or so weeks with class and my internship. If I did not have my internship, I would not in any way keep going to those classes. There's a good reason: they are all idiots. They are busy telling us to change the kids, busy telling us that every kid is a problem, and the do it all when they are wasting my life about ten hours a week. The homework is not a problem. It's THEM.

THEY are the reason why 15 people have dropped out. THEY have either had unrealistic expectations of US or have scared people out of a often-times* meaningful occupation.

*I said "often-times" because it depends on the class. My sixth hour is nothing but candy and bubbles. My seventh hour is nothing but pitchforks and poo-flinging. Some kids are just good. Others are "bad" for attention. And there's a small group that are just muthafuckahs. It's a hard lesson, but once you get it - you're totally fine.

Tom is afraid that I'll drop out. Hell no. I like this too much. I like going into my internship - I'm not about to say that the classes are not worth it. They can push me all the want, I've never quit anything. Unless you count that one time I quit my "original" life to be with Tom. I quit that for a reason - I wanted something more, something better.

He is that something more, and he truly is something better than what I had for me.

And I've never looked back. Never will either - he's more important than a night of drunken memories.

I'm not dropping out of the problem. I'm already 1/4 done. I'm not about to say I wasted THAT MUCH of my life and then just QUIT. What's that about? Nope. I'm too infested now. I need to know just how much they suck. I need to get to that point where I graduate and get to do a evaluation. Why? I NEED TO TELL THEM JUST HOW MUCH THEY SUCK.

And even if I only teach for five years, who the fuck cares? I'll probably end up taking a break because MY HUSBAND AND I decided to become breeders.

Tom's fear has no foundation, and it never will. Sure I did bad on a test. Sure I rip that program apart from left to right and every other direction know to mankind. Sure I hate my nights when I have to go there. Sure I think the professors are idiots and ineffective and retarded. Sure I have a lot riding against me - but fuck it all. I love those kids, and they are a huge reason why I am going through with it.

At the same time though, Tommy has been the support and ear that I've needed to get that frustration out. And everytime he reminds me that he went through the same thing. And then I go into his class, and I know everything will be okay. Maybe they aren't preparing me for much, BUT if he came out on the other side A-OKAY... then I will be too. I'm not too drastically worried.

Right now, sure I'm allowed to be worried. The AEPA lingers over me. Regardless if I'm good, that test can make or break me. Fuck them - I have a secret weapon that is going to train me to pass. It's not a about the score, it's pass or fail. I can do that shit. I just have to remember that. And I have to have someone help me with all the things that happen in my life.

That someone is Tom. He keeps me grounded during this process. He keeps helping me back up everytime I fail, fall or sit down and say "DIE MUTHAFUCKAHS!" Between school, homework, stories from my internship or just life in general - it's a lot of my plate. Just like there is on his plate, although there is considerably MUCH MORE on his than mine.

I'm dealing with balancing FAMILIES (not only mine, his matters a lot to me too). I'm dealing with figuring out how to do this thing called TEACHING (you'd be surprised how simple it can be... if you let it be). And I'm dealing with the impending stress of being engaged. What's the most politically correct way to do it and to tell people without upsetting anyone? Is there a way to pull that off? (and here's to Tom, the part that tells you my irrationality of the whole situation we talked about last night - we are in a lose-lose situation when it should be the happiest of our life THUS FAR).

The truth of the matter is - it matters more to his parents than mine. It's not about talking about the wedding, the plans that go into it, what kind of ring he bought or how he popped the question. It's always been about the most simple, most important thing: we're happy and we're in love. That's all that matters. For his parents (and in now way is this a jab, meant to upset anyone or anything - it's just the truth), it's about all the other things: the plans, the wedding, the ring, the story. They're romantics. That's what they do. Is it wrong? Hell no. I have two extremes. I have a calm side that is going to say CONGRATULATIONS, hug us both and then look at the ring. I have hyperactive side that is going to say OH MY GOD CONGRATULATIONS, WHAT KIND OF DRESS ARE YOU WEARING? WHEN SHOULD WE PLAN THE WEDDING? WHAT SHOULD WE WEAR? and so on and so forth. Not to be a pain in my ass, but because that is what they live for.

C'est la vie. Something is bound to happen against us. Our families, respectively, are the only cards stacked against us. Two extremes, pulling hard in both directions. It's hard. Especially when you consider just how much we are trying to establish OURSELVES. We're trying so hard to make it work on our terms and we're failing miserably because they just don't get it.

Between overbearing brothers, and psychotic parents... it's a lot to deal with for both of us. I'm not sure how well he is dealing. I'm doing the best juggling that I can do. I talk to them in the morning, I play games when I can. It's the little things I used to do that used to matter - and for the most part it works. And yet, I still balance the roles of sinner and saint in my hands. That's the nature of the beast though.

I've learned through Tom that you can only take it one day at a time, one problem at a time. Right now? I'm dealing STRICTLY with getting some of my homework done, making my families happy, seeing Tommy every chance I possibly get, and loving Tommy as much as I can without imploding.

Am I excited about Halloween this year? Yes. Am I worried about that right here and right now? No. It's not worth being worried. I was worried for a long time, but that's because I wasn't ready for that next step. I'm getting there every single day. Tom's helping me grow up, bit by bit. I can't thank him enough for being patient and calm and supportive.

He's saved me from a life that I couldn't control. He's been the only person whom I've told my darkest secrets to. He's the only one that ever will know the me that I know.

This whole post about being scared and wondering why the cards are against me and us has been for nothing.

I'd change the program at West - but I'd never quit it. They are testing me, and that's all that it is. I'm learning as I go. Heck, failing that test last night only proved to me that I have more to learn about cognitive theories. That's a good thing I recognized that now. Am I mad about it? Yes. But it's not my fault - that was the teacher's fault, and I can't change that.

I'd get engaged to Tom is a minute. And I go through the ups and downs over and over again just because he is worth it. Regardless of how the families will act, he's what I want. And that's never going to change. Am I excited about Halloween? Yes. Am I excited about getting a diamond ring? You better believe it. But I'm not so excited that I've built up a Harry Winston 603-carat yellow diamond in my head. I've shown him what I like, I've made it as easy as I can. He can do it, he just don't know it yet.

For once in my life, I have everything is order and yet everything is in disarray. I'm not worried though. I'm taking it one step at a time. That's all I can do. But there's a thought that makes it all worth it: Tom is not behind me, but rather NEXT to me worried and excited about the same exact things. He's my living proof that I'm going to make it out okay.

A Good Story.

2006-10-11T20:33:00.000-07:00

Life has been swell. Let me correct that - life has been super busy. I really do mean to update this thingy as often as I can, but lately it seems like I just am too busy.

I finally understand what it means to have no life.

I wake up, I go potty, I come to my computer and do homework or try to solve puzzle on AOL's gold rush. Totally into that game. Correction: am into that game hardcore-gangsta-style.

Back to what I was originally saying. Life has been super busy, but good. My mild-depressive self has been in check for the most part. Does it slip? Occassionally. But it has not gotten to the point where I contemplate which gun barrel will feel the most soothing on my forehead. It has, however, gotten to a point where I wonder how many people I have to run over with my car to make my life more meaningful.

Oh wait. That's not my depressive self talking. That's my murderous self talking.

BAD MURDEROUS SELF. BAD. SHAME ON YOU.

... shame on me for thinking murder would make me feel better. But seriously, wouldn't running over a few idiots make your day just a little bit brighter? It would for me. But then again, one can only be so numb to the world.

I still haven't sent those fatties some stickers. Fuck me in the ass. I should have done that HOW LONG AGO? So long ago that I might as well just give them to the kids for Christmas. Hey, it'll save me a couple bucks in the long run.

Like five, but whatever.

This past week has been hell on my body. It's half past exhausted. Between Disneyland and dancing like a monkey for 13-16 year olds... I got nothing left in me. Little bastards are draining.

But I love them. Yesterday I had one of those days, the kind where it's half good and half so unbearable that you'd write the North Koreans asking if you could ride an nuclear weapon during testing phase bad. I love half the kids, the other half can die a slow horrible death. Condemn me if you will - but until you've had 30-someodd bastards pushing every single little button - and I do mean EVERY. SINGLE. LITTLE. BUTTON. - of sanity you have, shut the fuck up.

I told the kids yesterday I wasn't coming in after November 7th. I got a couple "you don't like us anymore" guilt trips. I got a girl to cry. And I had a few "can't you just come in to play anyways?"

I love them, I really and truly do. I wish nothing but sweet nothings for those kids. But I can't keep going in with my life right now. I wish I could. Hell, I would go in to visit just because I wanted to say HI!. Which I probably will. Guilt trips are their specialty and I cave like a little kid being given candy by a stranger.

But the part that got me was when a girl asked why I couldn't. I was honest: "I've done all the hours I need. While I've love to keep coming into play games and whatnots with you guys, I have a huge paper I have to do."

They asked me how long. I told them: "Close to thirty pages."

Not a single one moaned, not a single one called me a pussy about having to write that many papers. They, in turn, shocked the utter fuck out of me.

They offered to write the paper for me. One page per person.

And honest to God, or to Allah, or to whatever diety you call your holy sanctions to - not a single kid went against the idea.

Suffice it to say, they will not be writing my paper. But it's good to know that there are at least thirty kids near me that are willing to do the unthinkable for me.

... They are willing to do my homework.

While I may have effectively pulled off the greatest teaching coup in history, they removed all shadow of a doubt that maybe I sucked. And for that, I can't thank them enough.

PS - I still haven't sent those fatties stickers

2006-09-25T20:06:00.000-07:00

It’s been a while since I’ve written here. Last time I was here, I was Little Miss Bitter. Not to say I’m never bitter, but if you had the classes I have – you would potentially be the most bitter and hateful person alive too.

And no, this isn’t the bitterness in me influencing what I think. It’s the honest to God truth. To become a teacher is to be insane. The kids make it worth it, but if institutions had their way – you would say “fuck it” because they make it so not worth it that you question every second of it.

Unlike my future husband, the classes do not make me question whether or not I will be an effective teacher. I know I will be. I’m not perfect, I’m far from it. I’m still in-training, that’s why you are not official. You are training.

I love that word. It gives you a “get out of jail” free card because you aren’t official. At the same time, I don’t believe there is such a thing as free parking. So really – is there even such a thing as “get out of jail” free?

No. So stop giving me excuses.

Back to my future husband – the people and the teachers effectively taught him to question if he would be a good teacher. I believed in him, and he had close to 200 students who believed in him. But negative thoughts outweigh the good ones – and often times I had to be the strongest woman in the world carrying his giant truck filled with an emotional roller coaster of hell.

But I did it. That’s what you do when you are in love. And you do it without question, without rhyme and without reason.

What these classes did to him, have the exact opposite on me. They give me the ability to believe in myself. I can do this. I know I can. If I can do their extra bullshit that is unnecessary in this life and the next one, then getting a bunch of sixteen-year-olds to do my bidding should take less effort than getting a field mouse in a wheel.

And it does. Just draw a pig. They gobble that shit right up. Then again, they probably gobble up half the world’s population of pot and own a variety of knives and hand grenades.

Kill me, kill me now

2006-09-13T19:24:00.000-07:00

Right now, at this exact moment, I'm sitting in the coldest classroom in the history of classrooms (... with the exception of my seventh grade history room, but that's beside the point). Why?

Because I had to go and become a fucking teacher.

I've done the field experience, and you know what? I'm fine. It's these damned classes that are making it so impossible to give a shit. I give a shit when I'm with those kids - NOT when I'm sitting in the room with a substitute teacher that doesn't have the intellect to deal with the zipper on her jeans, let alone wear a bra that gives her tits.

Actually, I'd rather her wear a bra that doesn't always show me that her right tit is lop-sided from her left tit.

Oh, and I'd really like to CHANGE HER HAIR STYLE. I mean, the woman is such a trailer-trash rat head that I can't deal with it.

When I say rat, I want you to think of the ugliest woman ever... and multiply that by ten thousand. It's not my fault she's got weird boobs, a bad hair cut and a masculine voice.

It is, however, my fault that everyone saw her panties Monday night. I noticed early on - and rather than inform her of her fashion blooper - I let her suffer.

If you saw her, you'd agree. I'm doing the world a favor by letting her be laughed at.

... for the record, I'm in the class I hate most. And I have nothing to say. I'm tired. I'm hungry. My back hurts. And these classes ARE KILLING MY SOUL.

You think I'm being overdramatic? FUCK YOU. You're not the one suffering here with me.

I'm a girl on the edge... so honestly, just kill me. Kill me now.

Son of a BITCH!!!

2006-09-12T16:05:00.000-07:00

My mom got tagged into one of those damned chain letters that you do by mail. For the past two weeks, I've been laughing my ass off at her.

Today, God punished me. In the mail, I get a letter from my easily manipulated, fat-as-a-cow, four-year-old cousin Tyler.

In the letter, I got a lovely picture of the baby with scabies AND a letter that said:

Dear Ashley Rocks:

Please send one package of stickers to the two four year olds listed below. I think you are the coolest person ever (that's because I am damnit!!), I sent you this great game where you get nothing but to spend six bucks on two packs of stickers to send to me and one of my equally fat and unloved friends.

PS - Postage is not included. Go to the post office and deal with it.

PPS - You have eight days. That's one more day than they give you in the Ring.

Love,

Tyler

What the fuck is this? WHAT THE FUCK? I don't want to do this. But coincidentally enough, a smart ass mother (fucker) put in there that if you don't want to do it just realize a four-year-old will cry because you didn't play the game right.

What if I want to make the little fatties cry? Huh? What if I don't have the time, let alone will, to go to the nearest WalMart to buy some kids stickers?

But the sad thing is: I'll do it. I don't want to make a baby cry, especially a fat one with a brother who has the endearing nickname of "baby with scabies."

SON OF A BITCH!!!!

Five years....

2006-09-11T20:38:00.000-07:00

Five years ago, I can remember very distinctly the exact thing I was doing when I was told what was happening. I know exactly what I was wearing, the feelings that I had, the confusion and fear of trying to comprehend what was going on.

I learned exactly one year later that what happened to me (as well as everyone else in the world) was something called “autobiographical memory.” We, as humans, have the ability to remember smells, events, images, and more when our surroundings are so distraught and shaken. I didn’t know that. But when I learned that, my mom didn’t seem so weird for remember exactly what she was doing the moment that she learned JFK died.

But like everyone else, I have September 11, 2001 etched permanently in my mind. It’s a day that did change our future. September 11 reminded people how to speak the pledge of allegiance, how to remove their hats during the national anthem; it reminded us what it was like to root for your country and to be united we stand. Those defining characteristics of what made us individual and unique went out the window – it didn’t matter, all that mattered was that you were American.

It gave me reason to define what it was to be an American.

By no means am I going to go patriot on your ass, because everyone’s patriotism is different. In many ways, I do not support the War on Terror. In more ways, I’ve found Baby Bush to be an inadequate president.

BUT… there’s always a “but” in these cases (and the butt is not Baby Bush)… but we have forgotten our roots and our lessons from that day. Maybe the War on Terror is not ideal. But five years ago… we all were united we stood. Today? Not so much. Is that wrong? No. Our reasons have changed. Maybe that’s why we’ve forgotten what happened five years ago.

Five years ago, we all witnessed something horrific. We all watched live or taped versions, of a giant airplane flying straight into a giant skyscraper. We all watched as the first tower collapsed under its own weight. And while the smoke of the first tower flew up in the sky, we watched as fire jetted out of the second tower. Then, when we think the “terror” is over… we all watched as the second tower fell to the floor.

Then we hear about how the Pentagon was hit, but no photos were shown immediately. While we waited for that to air, we saw United Flight 93 on the ground in Pennsylvania. Those people were heroes without question, without rhyme or reason.

By day’s end, so many images were scared into our brains: burning buildings, people jumping to their deaths, the Pentagon missing one side, dust and debris all over the street.

To make matters worse, the next day: TERROR was the headlines. We were given the photographic images that were caught. The fleeing people, the crying families, the missing people and the names of those that were confirmed dead.

What have we learned? A lot. A little. Maybe nothing. We did for a while. We remembered what it was like to have faith in an ideal, to think that we could stand for something more than just corporate greed.

I haven’t lost that faith, though many could question that statement.

I haven’t forgotten what I learned. Sure I could forget, I could act like it was nothing but a blip in the radar. It was more than that though.

I was changed that day. I remember it all. And five years later, I still haven’t forgotten.

I hope you haven’t forgotten what happened that day. But I hope that you haven’t forgotten what we gained from that day: united we stand. Why? Because for once in the history of this nation, regardless of race or greed or sexuality, we really were united.

Happy Birthday Blog!

2006-09-03T10:50:00.000-07:00

So much has been happening over the last few days that I have completely forgotten to celebrate the birth of my blog. Last year, I moved from my original home of Xanga to here. For no other reason than I wanted to grow up and mature. Xanga didn't give me those options. I wanted them. Fuck 'em - I got what I want now.

I can use italics now. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?!!

That means I go nuts with the italics, and the underlining of things, and the bolding of things. And I can put pictures in here. That's flipping amazing! And don't remind me that I barely do any of those features. I know I don't. It's the prinicple that I have the ability to do it.

... HA, I worked in an italics. You lose.

So now I say it: Happy Birthday Blog. You don't go anywhere with age, and for that I love you so very, very much.

Terrifying Realization

2006-08-28T07:59:00.000-07:00

Last night, I finally got off my chest what I've been wanting to for a while. I'm not sure why I just couldn't tell Tom, or why I felt like I would be damaging our relationship.

Maybe it's because he wants to get married right away and start our life together. Maybe it's because he's so ready and prepared and so not nervous.

Truth be told, I am ready on several levels. I'm ready to start my own life. I'm ready to have Tom there so much that I have to beg him to go away for twenty minutes so I can shit. I'm ready to go to sleep with him and to wake up with him and to do the whole married thing. I'm ready for the ideas of what come with marriage.

I'm just not ready for marriage. I'm scared of it. I'm only 22. I need time to settle down, to breathe and to catch my breath.

Do you have any idea what kind of terrifying realization that is?

Do you have idea how much I was afraid that if I said any of this to Tom, he would collapse?

For a long time, I tried not saying it. Thinking that if I never said it aloud, maybe the feeling would go away. Maybe I could just do it and deal with my feelings privately.

Last night though, when I got to his house, Tom's parents got so excited and they just kept talking about it all. And for the 45 minutes that they just kept going, I felt sick.

Was I excited that someone else was excited? Yes.

Worse yet, they knew the exact date we talked about tying the knot. Not even my parents have an idea of when, let alone an exact date we are thinking. But when they said, "it's so close, we have to start planning"... I literally put my head on the bed and wanted to cry and to get sick.

I did eventually cry to Tom.

He hasn't even proposed to me. I don't have the one thing that gives me the right to worry about this shit.

The worse thing is: I am already engaged. He did it last year, and by all accounts that is as real as I need it to be. He did it exactly the way it should be done, and the way that I like to remember. It was Halloween and we were headed out to trick-or-treat with my brother. He just did it, just like that... I still know the moment, the time, the exact everything - because there are no other details that I have to etch in my mind.

Do I want a story? Yes. But for me, that's a story. It's original in its own way, and that's what makes it so damned perfect for us. But in terms of it all, I want him to decide when and how and all the other decisions of the "real deal."

Where am I going with this? I'm excited now because I've been engaged for almost a year. I want to get to the planning, the cool shit that comes with it. I want to plan a wedding and a life that is all our own. One that makes me and you soooo estastic that we pee on ourselves. Yes, pee.

I'm excited now, because I've been engaged a whole year. And I haven't been able to tell anyone. I haven't been able to do a damn thing about it. I WANT TO DO A DAMN THING ABOUT IT.

I want the wedding to be perfect, because we're only splurging on this one time. I want it right. I want it small and in a pretty location and I want us to look fantastic and everyone to think how there was nothing that really could have been changed.

And I want an extra year to prepare myself and that dream wedding. So here now, I say it for the entire Internet world: On or before June of 2008, I will marry my boyfriend/secret fiance. And I will take his last name. And I will be the happiest, muthafucking person, you will ever meet.

Now you tell me, isn't that a terrifying realization for you?

Going Bridal

2006-08-27T11:54:00.000-07:00

I’m going bridal.

And that’s quite possibly the most dangerous, most deadly thing a girl can ever do. Why? WHY? Because while I take pride in the fact that I am (usually) not selfish and I don’t expect to make things about myself, I’m already planning and making it to where it’s all about me.

When I say all about me, I mean: ALL. ABOUT. ME.

Could this really be that bad when you consider that it’s my wedding?

… only if you consider the fact that I already have a punished reserved for any asshole who dare out-dress me, tell me what I should or should not do, or has the audacity to say it wasn’t a great experience.

I’m just going to stab them in the eye with a hot French fry… or just not invite them to the wedding. And if they dare out-dress me, my momma is going to spill red-wine down that pretty dress of yours.

We're not trailer trash. We just don't tolerate your shit. We roll gangsta-style. Fuck off.

Granted the most shit I have to deal with is going to come mostly from people that are either getting married or those that have been married. And while I appreciate any form of sounding board, what I don’t want to appreciate is to have it all done for me based on the mistakes or the like and dislikes of any one person.

Unless that person is Tom. He is the only person I will cater to.

And if you don’t believe me on that, listen to this: When I was fifteen I told my mom that I wanted to be married in Vegas with an Elvis impersonator. I’ve had a love affair with Elvis for a very, very, very long time. Britney thinks she did it first? Bitch doesn’t know that I had that plan back in ’98.

I’ve mentioned my love for Elvis and how that what I’d like for our wedding. He, on the other hand (and the other hand is not a bad hand… it’s just more conservative that myself), wants a more traditional wedding. He wants the guy that wasn’t ordained over the Internet, but more so the real-deal.

… I haven’t mentioned that I thought it would be two-levels of awesome if John got ordained and dressed like Elvis for our wedding. I know that would push him.

... But seriously? That's two-levels of awesome that I would kill for. KILL. That's how cool that shit is.

I’ve given up on having Elvis there for the real-deal. I’m glad he is at least giving me Las Vegas. Why? Because I found someone who can deal with my semi-constipation, who can deal with my fear of E. Coli and who knows and understands what is important to me. And for that, I know and understand how important it is to him to not have Elvis there.

But fuck it all to hell if I don't get Elvis someday. One day, I'ma get me some Elvis. And if I'm real lucky (which I am), it'll be a John-Elvis.

... JOHN-ELVIS!! AHAHAHAHAHA!

Revelations on Terrorists and How WebMD.com is Bad For Me

2006-08-22T13:55:00.000-07:00

First off, I cannot say that I condone the War on Terror. There are a lot of innocent lives (on both sides) that are being ended without so much as a headline of death tolls. There's also the fact that there has been little progress (at least, in my opinion, very little) as to when or how this war will end and what it will take to make both parties able to co-exist in this world.

To say the least, this war will either end up like the Vietnam War where we pulled out of it because of it's pointlessness OR this war will continue until the religious fanatics concede and stop blowing shit up. (Notice how I left Bush out of it. Whomever takes over in 2008 can elect to stay in war or withdraw. Either way, it's a lose-lose situation.)

Like that's going to happen. You spend your life worshiping an idea that is not agreeable to another country, so what do you do? You kill yourself (and countless others) in the name of YOUR GOD.

Let it be known now: I have no beef with religions. I find comfort that somewhere, somehow, someone (or thing) gives people the faith to continue living their everyday lives. What I do have a problem with though is that every religion (and I mean this quite literally: EVERY RELIGION) has a mention to not killing. Be it vague or quite explicit, the rules state that "thou shalt not kill." And yet, every religion (and I mean this quite literally: EVERY RELIGION) has killed.

Worse: EVERY RELIGION has killed in the name of their God.

Here's where it gets interesting (to me at least): how can one person, let alone an entire community, follow a religion that lies and does not follow their own scripture? You're not supposed to kill or harm - that's the rule. Just because you do it in the name of God, or Allah or Buddah, does not make it acceptable or righteous in any manner.

This world we live in, it's fucked up - to say the least. Religion is a tough spot to get into. I stay away from it for the most part. I have my own system, and as long as it works for me and doesn't hurt you... why upset the balance of nature?

Difference and segregation WILL be the downfall of humankind. That, or we will all die from Global Warming. You fuckers need to chill out and get a grip... or at least a new hobby. May I suggest parchesie?

I don't care if that is spelled right. It's merely a suggestion, take it or leave it.

Back to point: I cannot wholly say I condemn or support the War on Terror. However, it has been brought to my attention that I can no longer fly with Anti-Bacterial Lotion.

DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THIS MEANS? DO YOU!?!

It means that my OCD is going to go nuts. Completely and horrifically nuts. I use that shit five times a day, at least. How am I supposed to function normally out of town when I know that E. Coli is going to infect me at night? HOW THE FUCK DO I DO THAT?!

*grasps for air* ... those bastards have finally gone too far.

I was okay with the additional screenings. And I'm okay with being told to check certain items as opposed to carry-on. It's for my, as well as yours, safety. However, when you fuck with my OCD you've gone to far. I want my Anti-Bacterial. *cries*

This means war you fuckers. May you all burn in hell. I have to go buy WIPES now. WIPES!!!! Sure, wipes have the same function and ability to kill 99% of the germs... but they are so big and they just screen "old lady."

OH. MY. GOD.

The terrorists have turned me into an old lady at 22. I hate them all.

... I'm done with that now. Moving on to something more important, and one that is equally related: WebMD.com.

I woke up, officially, sick today. And as such, I wanted to verify that I do not have West Nile. I don't, as I do not exhibit more than 2 of the symptoms. I'm not allowed to go to WebMd.com. I was banned last year because I may (...or may not have, it is not scientifically proven WRONG) that I had cancer. Sure, it could have been sleep deprivation. But whose to know for sure? WHO!?

... not me. Since no one would let me go to the doctor for a full screening.

They all want me to die, I'm sure of it.

Anywho, I went there today for just a few minutes. I promised myself it was just for West Nile info. But I say this link on the front page. And I couldn't help myself. I just couldn't.

All this article did for me was to instill the fact that I need to go out and buy more disinfectant.

... maybe they were all right about this site. Maybe it's bad for me. But without this information, I could have died from E.Coli. Or worse... salmanilla.

Damned Cliche Posts

2006-08-21T14:46:00.000-07:00

In many respects, I can call this the first day of me taking initiative. I'd rather save that title for something more prestigious... you know, for like when Tom knocks me up or when I graduate again. Something more important than going back to school.

Although, that's not to say that today is something new and something different for me. Today is the day I start my Masters. That's huge. That's massive.

That's definately bigger than me.

I'm not scared. I'm not worried. I'm not even really indifferent to it all. I'm numb to any idea of school starting again - and I blame this on the fact that I've spent far, far too long in a school setting. Let's see... preschool all the way through four years of college? I'm allowed to say that! You bitches in third grade need to shut the fuck up.

What I will say, in all honesty, is that this is a huge deal for me because this is the first thing (in all 22-years of my life) that I am doing for myself that adversely affects my future.

Huge? I'll take "Asteroids bigger than the Gulf of Mexico" for $200.

Today is big. For me, at least. I'm not making this about anyone but myself. It's the way it should be. Because for once, this "journey" (I tried avoiding this world for countless reasons... the leading reason becasue it's so damned cliche) isn't for anyone else but myself.

On the outside and for what it's worth - yeah, it's for everyone. Anyone can throw their two cents out there to be heard, or to have it known that they have experience. And it's not like this is a job where I get to sit at my computer all day long and write (though that day will come... someday I will be a published writer).

But this is for me. As scary and as unsettling as that sounds, it's really just for me. It's my life and just like this blog, I'm okay sharing that part of me with anyone and everyone. I'm doing this to make me happy, and for once I think I may have finally followed what my compass was telling me all along (... I honestly have to go find that post on my xanga site).

So really, today is huge for me because I'm letting it be huge for me. But really, today is no different to me than my blog. It's here for everyone, but really - it's just for me.

Further Reflection

2006-08-17T23:57:00.000-07:00

... There are five songs on Paris's new CD that I can deal with. "Stars Are Blind" is one of them - but that's mostly because when I heard it I was actually headed to the Bahamas.

Truth be told, that reggae sound was exactly what I was looking for.

I'm the first to admit that I hate, hate... hate Paris Hilton. I laugh at every (and any) action she takes. Mostly because, that bitch makes money fucking on screen. That's just not fair. I have sex and it's nothing. I tape it, and it's nothing. That bitch does it and there's a total profit from it!!!

At the same time though, I reserve my hating of artists. It's the music that counts. That's why I let Britney Spears slide. When she purrs into the radio, and I get into it - I feel sexy. And honestly, that's the one thing I love about music. It gives me the boost and confidence I need when I can't find it on my own.

So even though I hate, hate... hate Paris Hilton - I will give her just credit. She's not half bad. I don't say good - but definately catchy.

Download her "Turn It Up." I can promise, that if nothing else, Paris gives you a good reason to strip down to your bra and panties and dance about your house while cleaning.

... oh, admit it. You're guilty of that too.

Tid Bits of Crazy

2006-08-16T19:46:00.000-07:00

I’m not sure what I feel like writing. I know, I know. I said I would work on this more and more. Truth be told – I want to. I’m merely not sure what I want to say. I don’t want to talk about my current school status, even though at this particular moments it’s starting to take up a lot of my vocabulary. And I don’t want to talk about Tom’s current job status because I’m trying to break him of the habit of making work his life.

I'm not about to make my future about it all right now. Right now, it's all about my bangs and getting back-rubs. Maybe the occassional make-out session.

I think I’m going to do one of my classic rants. Better yet, seeing that I’m not exactly sure what I would rant about – I think I’ll just stick with the random tidbits in my brain. I use the word random because, well, anything else would be highly inappropriate.

Gordon Ramsey: My Hero

It’s a known fact that I love Britain and anything that comes from there. Harry Potter? Check. Spice Girls? A little too much flare, but I admit I have a soft spot for them. That soccer dude David that doesn’t deserve a last name? Totally – he can kick a ball SO FAR that’s SO COOL. Cillian Murphy? Have you seen his blue eyes? If not, you are missing out.

It just makes sense for Master Chef Ramsey to steal my heart. I can’t help but admire a loud, obnoxious, cursing man that calls idiots DONKEY. If you didn’t watch Hell’s Kitchen, then I have just a few words for you: SHAME ON YOU AND YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY OF SHAMERS. That was an awesome show. Amazing… the show was so cool that I would give my left tit to be on there next year. What’s my signature dish? Cucumber sandwiches! Why? Just to be called a donkey!

Jessica Simpson and Paris Hilton’s Craptastic Approach to Music Making

Not that a lot needs to be said here. Simpson should have just let her money dwindle down until she was forced to do a Playboy shoot. Why? Mostly because she sucked on that MTV show, and she was a bad choice for Daisy Duke (then again, that was a bad movie in the first place!!). And that one time she was twenty feet away from me at the Billboard Awards made me want to rip my arm off so that I would have something to throw at her also is tagged into that mess of why I hate her.

Oh, and because I’m petty.

That “song” of hers makes me sad. It’s a rip-off of Madonna! And, she has the audacity to do a roller-skate video. The skanky bitch.

And as far as Paris Hilton goes… anyone who uses the hooks from the Bee Gee’s “Grease” song should be burned alive. Or at the very least stabbed with a hot French fry.

I’ll accept both forms of punishment.

Maybe someone should punish me – because I’ll inevitably one of the few that like that CD. Except for that “Grease” knock-off. Fuck, I hate me and my inability to control my body when a good hook is produced on the stereo.

Lack of Hurricanes

Granted Mother Nature is starting to pick-up, it’d be nice to get some of that ass-kicking weather that’s bombarding China and Japan over on our side of the world. I’m tired of reading that the government thinks that Global Warming is a funny joke told by us environmentalists to get money.

We’re not making this shit up. Read the scientific journals.

And whatever you do, don’t come to me crying that this world is topsy-turvy. I’m not the one who fucked it up. I’m the one that tried saving it. I admit it freely: aside from my car-driving ways and my occasional extra shower, I’m a total environmentalist. DO SOMETHING NICE FOR MOTHER NATURE YOU MOTHER FUCKERS!

Elevators Are Still For Pussies

Walk you all! WALK! Lazy motha fuckahs… get that ass a-moving! Then again, this is coming from me who wants to lose about ten pounds before Christmas. I have no motivation other than the fact that I feel fat and icky.

It’s because of that humidity outside right? Nope. Just the fat that lingers on my ass.

With that said, I think we’ve all figured out that I ran out of something to talk about.

Shadows Are Lifted

2006-08-14T09:26:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time a-coming (or would that be a-cumming?... fuck spelling, you get the idea). But it's finally time that I make a few decisions for me. A long time ago, I figured out that writing was my ultimate catharsis. Sure, I can read and make a temporary escape. Sure, I can coerce Tom into having sex for another temporary escape. Ultimately though, the only thing that I can do for a real escape is to write.

And when I say write, I don't mean in this blog. This is just my for funsies that usually displays me as a neurotic, angry girl who has lots and lots of problems.

Although, let's face it. In my most raw form - that's exactly what I am.

It's about time I got back to my roots... to what makes me, me. And that would be writing. I'm going to either work on this blog more, or the book that I've been working on and off for the past year and a half. Either way, I'm going to do something productive with my days besides sit around and play with my dogs. Although, I would argue whole-heartedly that a day doing that is a day that was not wasted.

I've already pissed my dad off enough going into teaching, and I've gotten my mom so for it that I just don't give a flying rat's ass anymore. It's my life and I'm doing with it what I will. Speaking of which, I've been dreaming again.

Not day-dreaming you ass. Dreaming, as in the deja-vu shit that makes me change what I'm supposed to do with my life dreams.

This one has been going on for some time. I haven't remembered these dreams in the morning, but this morning I was able to wake up and remember it and write it down. On a sidenote, I think I need to invest the quarter to get a notebook by my bedside. Some of my dreams are fun. That is, of course, after I clean my entire bedside drawers out. Maybe I'll do that today while I print pictures.

Back to the dream! Perhaps only Tom will appreciate this, perhaps not. But the doubts and shadows of why I'm scared or have been scared have been revealed - leaving me content.

This is the first time that I've ever woken up and appreciated having the ability to foresee what could happen. This is also the first time in my life when there are no doubts or anxious feelings towards my actions.

I went to get an English degree because I knew I would meet Tom there. He wasn't just some guy that would change my life, but ultimately a guy that would be in it forever. A guy that would change me, my career, my everything - because he was the other half to my yang that needed a yin. Long story short: I was terrified of getting my English degree. Not because I wasn't good at it. But because I was afraid of my future.

Making the decision to go into teaching wasn't done lightly. And since deciding to do it, I'm held myself in the utmost manner of "holy shit" that I can. Only a few can see the stress in me. Others have heard about it with the tales of "I shit five times today!!!" (... trust me, when you only shit maybe five times a month if you're lucky, five times in one day certainly means something much more. Was I excited? A little. Was I in pain? The absolute most pain you could have ever thought of. I wanted my bowels ripped out of my body and to hang a poor, innocent sheep from them.) And ultimately, few can see the stress I'm under because I have the uncanny ability to hide it. My mom knows, Tom doesn't know the full stress.

A large part of that is because I don't want him to see me right now. I'm a mess - a mess he doesn't need right now. But now that the first day is over, and he can stop the breakdowns, I'm on all-mess weekend alert. Fuck you man, it's my turn to go crazy.

CRAZY!

You ever notice how easily I get distracted? Point: the last few nights have cleared it all up. I know what's going to happen. I'm not worried and in no way do I feel like I'm making a mistake. In no way do I feel like I'm over my head. I'm not scared.

Quite the opposite really: I'm anxious for it all to begin.

I'm ready to get engaged and to get married. I'm ready to live my life and to do the things that are best for me. I'm ready to graduate (again). And I'm ready for the next chapter.

The past year of my life has proven to be a series of ups, downs and everything in betweens. This upcoming year holds nothing different. The difference is, I'm ready for it all.

A Cycle Repeats

2006-08-08T08:16:00.000-07:00

It seems that, for right now at least, my blog has served me only one function: catharsis. No longer do I rant about elevators and the pussies that use them. I haven't mentioned dirty kids in school. All I go on and on about (when I do decide to go on and on about something) is what is eating at my brain.

Needless to say, today is no different.

Tom is starting work today. For the next week, he's in a bunch of meetings. And starting next Monday, a bunch of hellions are going to plague his mind. All this loosely translates to: his time is going to be jam-packed.

And here I sit, a paradox in his world.

I am the one person who keeps his sanity, and yet right now - I'm the reason why it's gone so frequently.

Last night, I was reminded how I got jealous of his time. I wouldn't say the appropriate word was "jealous." I'd settle with "annoyed." All of a sudden, unless it had to do with work - it didn't matter.

I didn't matter. Work mattered.

It's impossible for me to say that I'm okay with that. However, I do understand work and the need to vent. The problem wasn't that Tom worked, or that I was jealous of his time. I wasn't okay with how Tom was changing.

He was becoming a person consumed with work - to a point where any moment talking to him was about his work. Even weekends. During my breaks, during his breaks, on the phone, face-to-face... it just didn't matter.

I dealt with it for almost a month. That's when I broke down.

It was never about not being in your life twenty-four hours a day. It was never about not talking to you for long periods of time. It had everything to do with the fact that you were becoming the one person I vowed to never become: my father.

The same man who you condemn for his choice to put work before the family. As much as you shake your head in disagreement, you were doing the same thing.

The rest of the semester was spent playing a constant juggling act. You trying to appease me - to talk to me longer than five minutes (especially when those five minutes were spent on how work was going). You trying to see me every afternoon.

That semester was hell for me - as well as for you - and yet we learned nothing.

This semester, from everything I've been told and forewarned by your teaching family, is going to be harder. Even you are telling me that things aren't going to be the same.

I'm not oblivious to reality. I know it's going to be different.

I sit here, every night, trying to replenish the confidence that you seem to lose after only 24 hours. I promise that I'll make every attempt to be there for you. I've even offered to help with grading. I'm changing my Disney trip so that not only can you be there, but you can be there without a day off or causing conflict with your parents.

What do I get in return? Just a "thank you." A "you are helping me." A "I'm going to watch wrestling despite being an ass to you before."

Hell, even my TV show caused a conflict. Nevermind the fact that I have only one obsession - and it's Nip/Tuck. Nevermind the fact that I'm not seeing RAW this semester.

What's this telling you? You are already going back to your old habits.

I'm in no way saying you are selfish, or that you don't give me enough recognition. I'm not even asking for more. I don't know what I'm asking anymore. I'm just tired of every day being absolutely terrifed of what I'm getting into. I'm tired of everything not telling you that I'm scared because I'm too afraid that if I overload you - you'll burn out.

And I'm most terrified to tell you that everything you tell me is bullshit. Your job, the precious occupation that you put above everyone's head like it's the biggest thing in the world, is nothing more than the next person.

Everyone has responsibilities. Everyone can fuck up someone else's life. Example A: The President.

You are merely putting yourself on this soapbox. The only experience you have is with your parents, who know nothing else but teaching. They've created you to think you are better than people, to think you are above others, to actually place yourself in a world where money and power make the world go round.

Helllllloooo - all you do is give some insight and teach a bunch of kids. Is it important? Yes. Hell yes. Is it the end of the world? NO. It's not life, nor is it death.

Are you going to be busy? Yes. I get that. Stop reminding me.

Am I going to settle with second best? Fuck no.

For the last fucking time: stop thinking I will run, stop assuming your job is the be-all-end-all occupation, and for the love all that is holy: have a little faith in yourself. I do - and that says a whole hell of a lot.

So just remember: while you will be busy - I will be too. Going into totally dark territory without any idea of what to expect in school (aside from "be bored" - lest we forget, my parents didn't teach me shit about teaching), proving you wrong, and trying to maintain a stable lifestyle of my beliefs.

A belief which might help you out a lot: breathe - there's more to life.

"Me Again't The World"

2006-07-26T16:02:00.000-07:00

My life, in approximately two weeks, is going to be flipped upside down. And when I say upside down, I keep getting this image of a sinking ship.

But the good kind of sinking ship. As weird as it is, I am looking at this sinking ship as the newest, my exciting chapter in my life. A chapter that will have it’s very first: it will be written for me, by me.

As I’ve said in this blog countless times, I live my life for others. I bend over in my ways than humanly possible. If my body was as flexible as my heart and my mind, I would be the leading expert on how-to-become-a pretzel.

No, seriously. I curve that much on a single day.

This morning, I was driving my car in my typical manner: loud, obnoxious and (in a rare occasion this summer) carefree. It was the first time, in a very long time, that I let it loose. I let the stereo blare, I danced and I sang without abandonment. Most importantly, I have finally gathered up enough courage to sink the boat that needs to go down.

Recently, I commented how songs connect when you finally experience something. Love songs make sense when you are in love. Other songs, however, offer other feelings: empowerment, courage, belief, sorrow, or even happiness.

I’ve always honestly believed that music is what sets the soul free. Maybe religion does it for you, but for me… it’s always been when a singer croons the same exact feelings over notes. It’s called melding. It’s meditation. It’s what centers my chi.

Fuck yoga, go buy a CD.

Going back to point: you do things better with experience. You can’t write what you don’t know, you can’t sing what you don’t feel and you can’t live without experience.

As I sit here today, I know I have no experience for what is about to happen to me. I’ve never had to act as a teacher. I’ve never had to be a role model (unless you count Travis, and if you do – I’m a total failure). I’ve never had so much scrutiny on me at one time. I’ve never dealt with so many people expecting me to fail.

And yet, for the first time – I just don’t care. One of my favorite groups, Simple Plan, has a song that is not widely known: Me Against The World.

The chorus of the song proclaims:

I’ve got no place to go
I’ve got nowhere to run
They’d love to watch me fall
They think they know it all

As if those words could not be more deadly or more accurate. I know this was written five years ago, but somehow the words pierce my current situation with astounding truth.

I really have no place to go, let alone run. And for the record, I have already said that people are expecting me to fail. The major claim is that they think they know me – I’m not meant for that life.

Bullshit. If you knew me, then you’d know that this is what I want. This is what I think I’ll be good at. Most importantly, THIS is what will make me happy.

Oh, and I’ve never been the type to run from anything. I’m abrasive and have never let the word “no” stand in my way. I’m learning to stand on my own two feet. Last summer, I was the wild card. I was the girl with a degree that made no sense, with a personality that stood out and a drive that is hard to match. In less then 12 weeks, I proved to the most stuffy, most arrogant people every that I was nothing to underestimate.

I’m still not.

The song continues:

I’m a nightmare, a disaster
That’s what they’ve always said
I’m a lost cause, not a hero
But I’ll make it on my own
I’ve gotta prove them wrong
Me against the world.

Right here, right now: I’m against the world. I have deviated from the expected plan in order to find myself, to find a sort of happiness, to find a bit of solitude.

Life isn’t about the money or the friends you keep. It’s about you and finding what makes you tick in a good way.

From the beginning, I knew what I was up against. I’m going at it full force and I will prove everyone wrong.

This year, I plan to prove everyone wrong…. Every. Single. One.

To my family: this is what I was meant to do.

To Tom: I’ll be there, whether you want me to be there or not.

To Tom’s family: Obviously, you all haven’t learned that we need to see each other at least once a day to recharge our battery. We’ll see more of each other than we do now… top that.

But mostly, this is for me. I need to prove myself wrong. I need to plunge head first into the unknown, to something that is for me without any reservation. I need to numb the feeling of protection… it’s time for me to feel.

It’s my turn. And even though I have everyone against me, I’m ready for a fight. I may not be a hero and more of a misfit – but every time I’ve listen to my gut it’s paid off in the end. I’m sticking with my gut (and my guy) on this one: I’ll be a-okay.

There’s no one else I know with a significant other that makes them feel alive. There’s no one else in this world with my luck. There’s no one else in this world that looks for happiness the way I do. And there’s no one else in this world that can sum up what I feel aside from Simple Plan:

You can spit all your insults
But nothing you say’s gonna change us
You can sit there and judge me
Say what you want to
We’ll never let you win.

And because it’s finally all about me – you won’t win.

Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Okay?

2006-07-16T13:53:00.000-07:00

A year ago, exactly today, I said one tiny word that changed two lives forever. It wasn't a spectacular word, and by no means was is something original. I was asked a question, and I finally answered: "Okay."

One year ago, today, Tom and I officially became a couple. He asked me out, I said okay. When he asks me to marry him, I’ll do the same thing. Except this time… I’ll try to smile and jump around and be all sorts of giddy. Not that THAT will be hard.

Since last July 16, I’ve slowly come to a realization that few people enjoy: I’m truly in love.

Like many, I never truly knew what love felt like. Sure, I had those sappy love songs and watched those boring chick flicks. But love is something that you can only watch and wonder. There’s no understanding or comprehension when it comes to something such as love. You merely walk towards it blindly; you wait for the darkness to envelop you and that at the end of that burning process it pays off.

Thankfully, for me… it did.

I finally understand what it means to be in love. It’s simple and yet horribly complicated like a math problem. It’s demanding and yet so tender you worry you can snap it in two. It’s… exactly like they say it in love songs.

And I have Tom to thank for that.

Tom’s changed my life in so many ways. I can’t go more than twenty seconds without thinking of him. I think of ways to make him smile. I wonder what he is thinking. I dream about the future. I want nothing more than to make him happy.

And I want nothing in return except to be in his life, in any form.

Tom is the man I love. And I have every intention of proving to him that I will never get bored, never get to a point where I can live without him, and never ever think that I will just fade away. I won’t let it. He’s shown me so much love and determination to make us work that I want to show him that I have the same amount of love and determination to prove everyone wrong… including him. I’ll be there, when he wants me there or even if he doesn’t.

For my birthday, he made me a CD of songs that when he hears he thinks of me. It’s nothing but love songs. Songs like “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” or “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” fill my ear buds now when I listen to music. Not because it’s a genuine gift, but because it’s something that I get. When they sing about missing a person, or wanting to be there, or making another person happy… I get it.

These love song lyrics are no longer hollow and meaningless. They are true. The beautiful thing about these songs is they don’t just talk about love, or that they define our relationship.

It’s that they make love simple. The way our love is. It’s effortless, it’s simple – it’s the way we live our lives and how it will always be.

So here’s to one year baby… it’s been the best year of my life. Thank you for being you, for everything, for anything I never thanked you for. I love you more than myself, than anything I know. And during the next year, when you worry… just think of our song, it has all the answers you’ll ever need.

I love you. Happy Anniversary.

Say Goodbye to 21

2006-07-12T16:41:00.000-07:00

It goes without saying... the rush to get me to 21 was a painful, tedious process that seemingly lasted approximately 21 years. For my family, for my friends, and more directly... for myself... getting to 21 couldn't happen fast enough.

When it finally happened, there was no longer this pressure of growing up looming on my shoulders. Twenty-one came and passed, and while there have been several clouded moments in the past year (... I'm a one-drink wonder...) this truly has been one of the greatest years of my life.

For the first time ever, I'm able to count all my depressive moments on my fingers and my toes. Usually, I need all the entire family to line up with all their fingers and toes. Sure this is a silly accomplishment, but for me... that's huge. Not elephant huge, but enough to get a gold star.

Give me my gold star damnit!

I successfully have managed a long-term relationship without any abuse, drugs, alcohol or any other psychological problem. Sure we have our moments, and we struggle here and there. It's the most normal, most rewarding time I've ever shared with any person. This upcoming Monday when we celebrate one year of duking it out like little bitches about every. single. little. thing... I can safely say that I'm looking forward to my lifetime of battles.

I have graduated college and tentatively figured out what I am going to do with myself. It's not the most impressive, it's not the easiest and it's probably the most stupid thing I've ever done... but it's something for me. In 21 years, I've always done what would make everyone else happy. This is finally for me, and while it's not impressive to many... it's enough to make me giddy. Giddy enough to pee on myself. While the "rest of my life" should scare me, I'm so ready for it.

Has there been 21 things I've learned this year? Probably. Am I going to share them? Nope.

The biggest lesson I've learned is to sit back and enjoy the ride. Sure I'm getting anxious as I get another year closer to my impending quarter-life crisis. At the same time, I'm starting to really enjoy the unpredictability of life. For once, it's not just the same routine. It's something more. Something more meaningful.

As I get ready to turn 22, I'm finally settling with my life, who I am, those that are around me and reality in general. Maybe I'm growing up, maybe I'm just becoming more lazy and am procrastinating hating things in general... but for the first time ever: I'm content.

So here's my goodbye to 21: 21, you were good to me. So good, in fact, that I will drink a toast in your honor. Thank you 21 for being you and for making this the best year ever. Goodbye.

And to 22 I say: you've got some big shoes to fill.

Screw the Circus

2006-07-06T09:19:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't been here lately. I'm slacking. And for good reason: my family from Ohio is out. And amidst the constant bickering of four children, a moody teenager and five adults that want to die a slow and painful death... I just haven't found the time to come here!

I'm sure I could find something to write about if I wanted to. I haven't written in a long time. I'm afraid I've forgotten how to write with emotion.

I'm not afraid to write this: I. HATE. THE. CIRCUS.

I'm terrified of clowns, to a point where I hyperventilate because of them. Yes, I realize it is a irrational fear. However, it is a REAL fear where I am not content to be within a five mile radius of a clown. And even then, it's STILL TOO CLOSE.

Today, we are going to the circus. Mostly because my mom has wanted to go for the past fifteen years and because NOW she has another six people that will beg and plead to go.

Why I have to go is completely unknown to me. When I asked to NOT go, I got a shit-fit thrown and I just caved because that is much easier to deal with. At the same time, my gut is telling me that this is going to make me scream and cry and want to die a little bit.

Clowns are evil and most be stopped. For further reasons why you can hate clowns, go to: http://ihateclowns.com.

It's a real site. With real reasons to hate clowns.

Fucking clowns.

Oh and go see Pirates of the Caribbean 2... you know it'll be fucking awesome.

Home

2006-06-25T02:28:00.000-07:00

I'm home from Hawaii. Had a lot of fun.

Biggest, most important discovery of them everything I did this week: I want to get married.

Like now.

To Tom.

Any shark sightings?

2006-06-16T09:23:00.000-07:00

My ass is going to Hawaii tomorrow for a week.

See you bitches LATER!

Full-On Catharis

2006-06-14T17:25:00.000-07:00

The prodigal child returns from the Bahamas with plenty of stories… and a very good tan. Like any of you care to hear, I’ll keep it short and just tell the most exciting one: I feel off a jet-ski. That shit hurt.

Other than that, I did my usual: sit around, swim around, drink rum and get a small burn.

The past week has been increasingly annoying. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m more hormonal than usual or if this is just a sore spot because of how it was all handled, in either case… I’m in a piss poor mood today and it is the collective fault of Tom and me.

I didn’t want him to go today. Apparently that wasn’t enough. I was just reminded how much of an asshole I was: “you just don’t want me to see my brother.”

Whatever, fuck off.

I love the contradictions of my lover. I love how I am first, and yet at the same time I am nothing to be considered. I love how the world can be running so fast and yet he will slow down to make someone else happy. More impressive just how careless he really is.

There’s a lot of reasons why I am mad. None of my reasons are valid to Tom, mostly because in this scenario I have been the villain. I’m the bad guy who wants nothing to do with his family. I’m the asshole.

Amazingly, I’ve never realized that when I’m an asshole – I’m an asshole who needs to be punished. When he is an asshole – we have to pretend like he had a bad day, didn’t get enough sleep or that it was just a moment where he couldn’t control himself.

I say amazing, because so I try so hard to not be an asshole… and yet when I am, it’s so drilled into my head that I have to punish myself until I have nothing left in me. It’s just like my blog, I write and write and write until I have nothing left. It’s my catharsis… take it for what it is.

Two days ago, it was “you might get your wish.” He might not go. Why? He might get a job! Possibly the biggest event in his life this year, and he is going to be in Casa FUCKING Grande. Guess what? HE GOT IT! While I’m all sorts of proud and so happy for him… I can’t help but think “you mother fucker!” It’s for my own reasons… specifically, this is the second time something huge for him has happened and I have been somewhere else to not enjoy the moment. I get a nice phone call, am expected to dance and sing like a fucking ape and then go about my merry way.

Let me be fair – he didn’t know he would get the call today. However, there’s a small question that plague’s me every morning: “did you dream?” It’s not fair to use my déjà vu for your advantage. It’s not fair to rely on what I see to get your advantages.

Here’s your reality check: YES, I knew. I have known. I didn’t want to kill the happy buzz you would get from finding out of the first time from the REAL source rather than from me.

Would it mean as much to him if I had told him he would have gotten the job? Would it matter if he knew that this whole time I’ve been calm it’s because I knew? Would it piss him off?

What he wanted was never going to happen, and I knew that. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that. I wanted to continually push and encourage him, hopefully giving him the push he needed to keep trying rather than resting on his laurels. And yet, in return he thinks I am pushing him for one school and would be horribly disappointed if he didn’t get it. I’m again, the lovely the villain that plagues him.

But here’s where it gets better…..

We go on a great vacation to come home to a spoiled, pretentious asshole that cries and threatens silence to get his way. I kiss ass to make others happy, even going as far as to do things I’m not proud of. But you know what? I’ve never catered to someone that… childish.

Never. Ever. And you know what? I’m NOT going to. I let him have his baby brother for the day. And you know what they did? They sat around, played video games and maybe saw X-Men. Tom says that is “bonding.” You know what I call that? Trevor’s personal entertainment bitch. One person flakes on him, he can fall back on baby brother.

Here’s the final tick: Tom forced me to lose. He claims I didn’t want him to see his brother (probably the one statement that has me so pissed off right now, that I actually DO NOT want to see him… let alone go on this next vacation and sleep in the same room with him). It happens every time he goes there: he waits for an excuse. He starts this, “I don’t want to go” crap and then slowly heads to his car. Why? HE WANTS ME TO SAY I DON’T WANT HIM TO GO. So in any scenario, I would be the asshole that says don’t hang out with your family. The funny thing is, I’m not alone in this belief. My family saw you do it today. You can’t leave me because you are not strong enough to do it… I, however, AM. You are right – I will get tired of this bullshit. Maybe I won’t leave you, but I don’t have to play with kid gloves. You know how I love my family, and yet hate them at the same time. I can do that with you too. It’s the ones we love that hurt us the most – you hurt me more than any other person – it’s about time I hurt you.

I may be your priority, but only when I ask for it. I had to ASK YOU to stay home with me. I had to FIGHT AND BEG you to not go today. Did I get it? Nope. And the worst part is, you went because you felt guilty. This had absolutely nothing to do with visiting him. Say it all you want, but I know you inside and out. Last night you were waiting for me to say “stay, please, stay.” Today you did it again.

You lost your credibility today. You went, and I knew you didn’t want to. You fight for me. And I appreciate that. When the fuck are you going to fight for yourself? Your family?

He has no respect. He is oblivious and none of you dare mention that “the stuff you do, upsets all of us.” And because of such fact – you let him win. You are afraid of him going away – yet none of you realize that he doesn’t have the balls to leave. He needs his audience. He needs someone to give a shit, and let’s face it – only family cares THAT MUCH to listen to someone THAT LONG.

As I sit here, I realize how childish I am. How insanely ridiculous I have made this. I’m pulling a Trevor. And I hate myself for that… HATE myself. This isn’t about you. This isn’t about me. This isn’t even about us. I need to stop thinking so much.

I will play nice, to a point, with Trevor. I’ll smile and do what he wants, because I love you and that’s what you want. But I know that he doesn’t want me there because he loses you to me. And for that reason alone, regardless if we are married or engaged or whatever, I will try my hardest to never go to his house.

It’s nice to think Tom believes Trevor will “accept” us. Bullshit, he doesn’t now. Why would he in a year? I’m not wanted there. And because of such, I don’t want to be there.

Reflecting, the thing I am most mad about is that Tom doesn’t realize that he really didn’t fight for me. He ”rearranged.” He argued to not go Saturday, he just went Wednesday. He fails to mention that he hates leaving me, that I hate him leaving me. He fails to mention to Trevor the importance of me. And for that, he established that in some cases – I really don’t matter to him.

It’s a hard lesson for me to swallow. My insecurity has gotten the best of me. But you know what? That’s what it came down to, and as you finished reading this – you finally understand why I’m upset. And the worst thing is: you realize that it was easy to construe the situation the way I did, the damage is irreparable and that the lesson you’re swallowing burns.

Hurts doesn’t it?

Leaving on a jet plane...

2006-05-31T01:23:00.000-07:00

In two days time, I will be boarding a lovely plane that is destined for the Bahamas. I've never fully explained why I love the Bahamas so much. Yes, it's beautiful. Yes, it's a lot of fun. And there is no denying the fact that rum there is so much better than here.

There is a real reason. One that triumphs over not having to wear suntan lotion because on somedays, it's not even that intense. FUCK ME, THAT'S AWESOME.

You know why I love it there? Because, for me, it is a vacation from myself. It's a vacation from this reality I'm stuck in.

I'm constantly acting as a perfectionist (in the sense that I am trying too hard to make too many people happy... one day I will just poison people with arsenic and tell them to fuck off). I'm always a balancing act to make life work. It's a lot of stress, heartache, wanting to kill others, hurt myself, puke or just flat out die. At the very least, it's probably the root cause of my constant constipation.

Every year I go to the Bahamas, I consider it a week off. Not from work, not from school... although those do cross my mind... I consider it a week off from myself. There I have no access to local news, world news, there is no myspace, or blogs or television shows that weigh down my soul. Vacations like these are a complete reversal and abandonment of my reality. I get a week off and get to enjoy my time on the beach, playing in the ocean, wearing no panties and drinking rum all day long.

One would think I'm a pirate with all the rum I am capable of drinking. I may be a lightweight in drinking... but you know what? I love me some rum, and I will outdrink you until my liver dies. GO RUM!

Back on track! When I say I need this vacation: I really do mean it. I need this vacation.

Highlights of this year's trip: seeing Tony and Collin (a first in OVER a year and a half!!!!) and getting a fantastic visit from John and Amy are always perks.

But you know what the one thing I am ab-so-fucking-lutely looking forward to? Sleeping in the same bed with Tom. I sleep so much better with him then when I do when I cuddle up next to my dog.

Ultimately, this vacation has all that I could ever ask for: a sleep fest with my fiance, fun in the sun, rum AND a vacation from myself.

Consider myself putting in for my vacation now: I won't return home until June 9... that is, of course, if I make it back from the Bermuda Triangle.

Excuses, excuses...

2006-05-22T08:38:00.000-07:00

In case I haven't told the people here... life has been busy for me. I walked into the situation knowing it was going to be hectic, I just didn't realize how long the hectic was going to last.

It's lasted long enough... and sadly, it's really not over. But it's cool, hectic will be replaced with a beach. Read on, find out my joy.

As you all know, I have graduated college. That whole graduation thing took well over a week to gear up for and to execute. A WEEK OF MY LIFE WAS WASTED TRYING TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF COLLEGE.

It's cool though, that's over. This past week, I had to go to Mexico for my scuba open water certification. I'll be honest: diving it fun. I had a blast once the demonstration dives were over and I just got to play. It was amazing, seeing what it was like under water and how life really is. I've been to Sea World, but it has no comparison to being 47 feet below and seeing how big and how open and how dangerous it really is. It's scary, but a good kind of scary.

I dove with a fucking sea lion. HOW COOL IS THAT? I felt like I was working at Sea World instead of being the fat ass that eats the churros and watches everything pass me by. Except you know, with a very cute ass. Don't blame my ass for the fantasticness that is churros... that shit is too good to pass up.

I have also learned that I hate long drives. Anything after an hour is boring, my ass falls asleep and THERE IS NOTHING TO DO EXCEPT PLOT YOUR DEATH. Fucking Mexico had to be soooo far away.

Speaking of Mexico, I have no issues. Yes, it is not a safe place. Yes, it is a dirty place. BUT in Mexico, they support clean windshields!! And let me tell you, I love a clean windshield. Nothing makes me happier in life than a clean windshield. Mexico got points for that.

Mexico, however, does not get points for Don Julio tequila. Shots are bad. And you can't drink water to rehydrate yourself after you get drunk. Clean your water Mexico and they we will talk!!!

Oh, and stop killing women.

Yesterday I went to my first WWE event. That WWE does stand for World Wrestling Entertainment... fuck off if you don't like it. I cannot describe how much fun I had! I got to scream, hollar, and occassionally scream BULLSHIT very loudly. I probably should have warned Tom that my voice does okay at loud events. It gets weak, yes - but I've never lost it. Then again, I don't scream-scream. I do the girly "WOOOOOO" with lots of enthusiam.

And in case you were wondering, some of those guys are really short. They aren't as stocky as they look on TV. And the ring is totally smaller than you'd guess. Oh.. and the Great Kahli should burn in hell.

We sat next to Superstar Billy Graham, Rey Rey's wife and we're literally six feet from the ring. FUCKING COOL.

No, really. FUCKING COOL.

I'd totally do it again. TOTALLY.

This week isn't too bad, from a standpoint of busy. However, I am finally in the week before I leave town to go to my homelands. I leave for the Bahamas June 1, and let me just say FUCK YES! This week, I'm out shopping for clothes and getting geared up for the long ass flight (PS - Long ass flights suck as much as long ass drives!!!), micking Kyle, and for my week on the beach.

I can officially say at this point, I need a vacation.

Ashley in Awe

2006-05-14T15:48:00.000-07:00

I've wanted me whole life for validation from my parents. It's not that I've never had it, it's just that I have always wanted to hear it.

In the past two days, I have heard it so much. Before I left the house Friday afternoon, I was told that they couldn't believe I was graduating and that they were incredibly proud of me.

Last night, my father toasted me. While the surface of a toast seems so shallow, I cannot describe the sincerity my father showed. I can't describe the smile my mom had on her face. I can't even begin to detail how incredibly shitty I feel for ever thinking otherwise.

People congratulated me left and right (literally, I never got to enjoy walking in a straight line). I only got to use the "THIS" line once.... which bites because it was a great answer. I was told I was a great kid, and to expect big things out of me. And when several of them found out I was becoming a teacher... they endorsed it. Since I made the decision to go into teaching, I've been waiting for anyone to tell me it was the right choice. Tom and my family don't count, I needed it from people I don't care about.

I got it, I'm good. I'm ready for the next step.

But the one thing that has lingered with me all throughout today is what my mom informed me this morning. We have a surrogate family that has known my dad since BEFORE he was born. Eleanor informed my mom that my grandmother and my grandfather would be so proud of my dad and what he has accomplished. They would be proud of me.

I've worked so hard to make the people I live with to be proud of me, that I forgot all about those like my grandparents.

I wanted to cry (... again) when I was told this. Not because I forgot, but because someone who knew them very well admitted that I was something worthy of praise. I'd like to think I made more than just the few people in my life happy and to experience more than just pride... I'd like to think it extends to the ones that weren't able to be there for me.

I hope I did.

Congrats to the Grad!

2006-05-12T15:30:00.000-07:00

In approximately two hours and thirty minutes, I will be graduating from Arizona State University West.

GO ME!

SCORE!

2006-05-11T17:35:00.000-07:00

WE HAVE SIGHT! I REPEAT... WE HAVE SIGHT.

Katie's surgery went smoothly. She has vision now in both eyes and will until she dies sometime in the not-so-near future (*knocks on wood*).

With my luck lately, that was probably for the best!

For Katie

2006-05-11T06:48:00.000-07:00

I’ve kept this from everyone for a while now: approximately one month ago, Katie went blind overnight. It was a tough fall to take, one that indicated we were losing the battle to her diabetes. Her blood sugar level wasn’t stable for over two months. And we were told that if we didn’t get her blood stabilized soon, we were going to be heading into nasty waters.

It’s been a downward spiral since March. We were at 5 units of insulin two times a day, and her blood level consistently stayed at a level of 500. It was supposed to be around 200-250. We moved the level of insulin up one unit every week for six weeks. Nothing changed, until we got to ten units of insulin. Suddenly, she wasn’t always hungry or drinking a gallon of water a day. Things started to even out.

Her test results showed that she dramatically dropped, from 340 to 270. One week later, Katie was stabilized. It took us 8 weeks to do it, but we are resting at 239 points.

I'm not sure where I stand on the topic of miracles. I'm starting to believe in them, because what happened to Katie was nothing short of a miracle. She has been jabbed by needles every which way, kept at the vet's office for hours on end, left in the emergency clinic overnight and so on and so forth. People say this is too extreme for a dog. Fuck that, she's more than just a dog to me. She's my baby, she's part of my family. And you know what? If you are willing to help that little bastard of a brother for any reason, then I see no reason why I can't help my fucking dog.

I'd rather help her. She, at least, likes me.

Suffice it to say, that miracle of getting her stabilized came too late. We were warned at diagnosis that Katie could go blind overnight, worse yet she could go paralyzed in an extreme situation. Consider that enough information to make me what to baby proof my house for the little girl. About a month ago, Katie went blind. She lost 90% of her vision overnight due to a cataract development.

At that time, Katie's remaining 10% of vision was blurry and only when there was light to reflect through the lens. After two different tests, Katie became a candidate for cataract surgery.

She's gone through countless eye drops, medications and everything possible to make sure that she could get this surgery. We've had to deal with fat built up in her eyes as well as a major infection that was inflaming her eyes. It was never an option of should we do this operation, it was a matter of we can get her vision back... why don't we do it now?

This past Wednesday the doctor informed us that Katie’s left eye will unquestionably be worked on. Her right eye, due to diabetes, is questionable. The nerves may have been severed due to inflammation and therefore might be inoperable.

This may be an expensive procedure, but as for as I'm concerned it worth it. Like I said, she's more than just my dog. She's my kid, and she's part of this family. It's what you do in a family, you help out as much as you can. I can give her the gift of vision permanently for the rest of her life. She's only 7, she's got a lot of life left in her. One eye is better than no eye.

For those who say it's not worth it, take into consideration this: she has fallen into the trampoline pit, down a flight of stars, rammed into a door and other hazards. We've lost a part of her that we are fighting to get back. I'm tired of listening to her cry when I leave the house. I can't do it much longer. And I won't.

Today is the surgery. For the past week, my stomach has been in knots for this day. I wake up every morning with her cradled near me and I pray that she will be alright. I pray. That's huge.

The last time I asked for anything, someone I loved died. I’m putting my faith in something bigger than me. I dont' know if I'm trusting Fate again, or if I want so desperately to feel protected that I'm willing to give into the unknown. I don't know. I just know that I want everything to be okay again, and I'm going to make it happen by myself. Prayer isn't enough right now, I need science and insulin and eye drops and medications out the ass.

Okay, maybe I'm not trusting Fate just yet. I'm giving it a second chance.

I'm leaving now to take her to the clinic. I will know by 2pm what the results are.

My dog is my life, my child… and I’ve proven time and time again that I will do anything to make her life better. Today is a tough day, and I’m hoping everything goes well. I want her to see me again, to know her surroundings with color once more. I’m not asking for the world, I’m fighting the world one step at a time. I'm not going to stop fighting, I'm merely asking for a break. Give me her sight, I'll deal with the rest.

My life has been made better with her around; I can only wish to do the same for her. And I'm starting today.

Update of the Happy Kind

2006-05-05T10:17:00.000-07:00

I'd update and say something profound, but I'm still in yesterday's mindframe. Life is perfect right now. I'm feeling much more like myself, my blind dog has a chance of getting her vision back, and I have a new car that's color makes me profoundly happy (orange is the new black). I can't find a single complaint. Well, with the exception that the pool is not pool-tacular. It's getting there though!!

I'm still in awe as to how much my family cares about this silly graduation, and I'm almost always near crying because they spew love for me everywhere. You would think I'd want to vomit with all the love, but I just want to cry. I'm just a big over-emotional mess that cleans all the time.

Don't worry, I'm not pregnant. I'm just a girl. We cry, that's what we do. At least we make up for it with head.

"This."

2006-05-04T15:15:00.000-07:00

School has officially ended. In many ways, this is a terrifying part of my life. I mean, I just spent four years of my life trying to figure out who I was. In the end, I can't say I totally figured myself out.

In the spare time: I experimented with drugs, I was in several very bad relationships, I grew out of my shy shell, I learned the value of a low-cut top, I lost a lot of weight, I fine-tuned my writing skills, I've been the drunk girl that had to be carried out of a place, I flirted with a guy who I thought was in a relationship (who in turn wasn't, and is now getting married to me!!), I slept in the library of ASU West, I have put a pillow in my car so that I could sleep between classes, hung out at the school for over 12 hours because I didn't want to waste the gas money, I crashed several meetings for cookies, stolen countless pens from the adminstrative offices and rang the bell of doom in the front courtyard.

Did I accomplish everything? Hell to the no! I still have to walk through the big fountain thingy in front of the library. And I will to! This Saturday, Tom and I will stop by West and WALK THROUGH THE FOUNTAINS!

Why? A slew of reasons why: I have two legs, I like water, I want to say I did it (after actually having done it)... but mostly BECAUSE WE CAN! That's why!

The weird thing is, I'm not terrified of the "rest of my life" anymore. I know I should be worried. But the thing is, I'm not.

I'm not afraid anymore. I'm excited. This is the first time in which I have been verbally told how proud everyone is of me. Any person can get through high school, I guess. This is something huge to my family. Huge enough that I can't say I fully comprehend just how proud they really are of me.

In the past week, I've learned that accomplishing something as big as a four-year degree is amazing. My dad has admitted (not to me, but almost everyone else) that he is so proud of me. He's also said he is afraid that he thinks I don't realize just how proud of me he really is. He hugged me the other day... HE HUGGED ME. It's not to say that I don't know he is proud of me, it's that he SAID it in front of all his bad-ass friends with bikes that don't understand parental pride. Jim , a family friend is trying to rearrange his schedule because he was at my kindergarden graduation, my junior high graduation and my high school graduation - he's not planning on "missing this for the world." He's not really family, and he doesn't have to change anything - but it's that important to him too.

If people are trying to make me cry... then they have successfully done it.

I've learned from the people I love most that THIS is what life is all about. I have people to fall back on and that support me endlessly. Maybe my choices are their choices, but that's half the fun of individuality. Life isn't about education, making the other person happy or achieving milestones in your life. Those are merely additional perks.

Life is about the little things in life. Right now, for me, life is all about the fact that the sun is out everyday of the week, my family is so proud of me and how I turned out, and that I am healthy and not a failure.

THAT is what it's all about. And right now, THAT is THIS. This is who I am now. And honestly, I wouldn't change it for the world.

I may not know what I want to do with the rest of my life, or how I want to go out when I die. But I do know that next Saturday when my family holds their graduation party for me (and Tom!!!), I fully anticipate people to ask me what I am going to do now that I've graduated.

My answer is simply going to be this. Because honestly, "this" is what I want to do for the rest of my life.

Final Thoughts

2006-05-02T07:17:00.000-07:00

It's 45 minutes before my first final exam. As of 6:15 tonight, I will be done with my undergraduate degree.

My final thought: hurry the fuck up already.

Short and Sweet... not me, the post

2006-04-26T12:55:00.000-07:00

Life seems to be moving at break-neck speeds anymore. It's becoming more and more of a realization that I will be graduating college in just over two weeks. Granted that I am returning to finish my Masters degree next fall, it's still daunting to think that this is it.

All I have left is two finals on May 2, a presentation May 2 and a paper due May 2. I've slowly been working on all of it, and in the midst of everything I realized that I haven't returned to my internet home of mindless ranting and raving in a while. So, in an attempt to NOT think about graduation or the fact that my undergraduate career is in the toliet about to be flushed, I decided to come say hi.

HI!

I hope you have missed me. I haven't really missed you. The computer is something that has proven to be a pain in the ass anymore. When I sit in front of it, it's because I have something else to finish. And that something to finish is a project that stands between me and graduation.

I haven't admitted it yet, though I think people have picked up on it. This last big paper that I'm writing? I love it. But when I wrote my first draft, it took every ounce of energy to even find the words. I was stumbling.

And I was stumbling because I didn't want to find the words. I'm not ready to call it quits in college. I'm soooo not ready for it. A few months ago, all I wanted was out. And now... well, now I'm like... BITCHES ARE TRYING TO DUMP ME!

All I have to say to that is: You can't dump me. I'm the crack cocaine you are addicted to.

Things I Have Learned From Movies

2006-04-11T12:42:00.000-07:00

It's hard for me to sit here and think that some of my annoying nuances (Tom calls them endearing, but what does he know?) can in part be blamed by today's media. It's too simple to say that I am easily affected. Show me a dead baby in a tree and I'll either crack the dead baby joke or I'll start protesting for the rights of dead babies to have velcro ropes to hang from.

Why velco? It's baby friendly. Duh.

Here's a good case when I demonstrate how easily I am affected. It might take a huge cause, or a ghastly image, or a swift kick to the ass... but once it's there, it's totally there. I could make the obvious joke of Tom being a cock tease asking if I want him deep in me, but I'll refrain.

Television, movies, random experiences with penguin men pissing on my door in San Fran... you name it, and I let it get to me. I am the marketing whore people sell for. I don't always buy in, but you can catch my attention. I like to think of myself as a high-maintenance marketing whore. At least I feel like they have to work to get my cash.

Today's media has provided me outlets on things to run from, things to avoid in general, and how to appropriately scream in terror. And for that, I must bow down to the greatness that is pop culture.

So let's see, what have I really learned from movies that I can impart with millions of strangers I don't know?

Simple! A LOT.

1. Aliens are never here for peace.
2. When they say they are here for peace, it's usually to ray gun you to death. Send someone you hate to die for you.
3. Aliens make clicky-clicky sounds, you will have no idea what the fuck they want anyways.
4. Alien ships are more fun than human ships, I would root for them anyday of the week for the WEEEEE sounds they make.
5. The aliens will win because they invented a protective barrier with their advanced technology. Have sex with one of them to give them the AIDS virus and realize that AIDS really is your only hope. And then thank Africa.
6. When there is a killer outside your house, never answer the door.
7. When there is a killer outside your house, never answer the phone.
8. When you are home alone, sit in a dark corner and cover yourself with a blanket. You'll at least die in paranoid peace.
9. When there is a killer in your house, never run up the stairs.
10. When there is a killer in your house, never run into the basement.
11. When there is a killer in your house, never run into the garage.
12. When there is a killer in the house, realize that you are more than likely to die and make peace with your impending doom.
13. There can always be more than one killer. Always check within the family first, start with mom.
14. Sharks see mechanical planes and think “yummy!"
15. Banana boats are never fun for those in the last seat.
16. Dinosaurs travel in packs.
17. Dinosaurs have teeth. Teeth can kill.
18. When you think you’re going to be attacked in front of you, the raptor comes at you from behind or another blind spot.
19. If it can breathe, it can kill – get the fuck out of the way.
20. Doors should always be locked, otherwise, “it” can get in. "It" being the killer, the alien, the two-headed dog, the large snake, the man with skin fungi, the soon-to-be other victim or just mom. Still, LOCK THE DAMN DOOR.
21. "It" can also be a dinosaur. Clowns are always prone to open doors too, be wary.
22. Sharks are not dumb.
23. Sharks can jump, swim backwards, push you where they want.
24. They can smell your skin, not your blood like scientists want you to think.
25. Sharks think they can ram boats.
26. Orca's are just as bad.
27. Any marine animal can be considered vengeful and dangerous.
28. Huge octopus are no exception to this rule.
29. Small dolls are generally more evil, this includes Mass-Murderer Barbie... your child's next play toy.
30. If you don't believe in things that go bump in the night, you will.... but you'll also be dead.

There's only some of the things I've learned from movies. You can laugh at me all you want... but when your ass dies and I'm still alive and warning people of the dangers of watching Oprah, just know I will be DANCING ON YOUR GRAVE MOTHER FUCKER.

Oh and yes, I am a paranoid girl with one too many phobias. At least those phobias have taught me to survive. Oh, and to never eat before swimming.

$35,000 Winner

2006-04-10T12:32:00.000-07:00

PS - I forgot the most important thing.

I won $35,000 this past weekend. AND airfare, hotel, transportation AND tickets to... THE PRICE IS RIGHT.

The Aladdin had a slot tourament where that was the grand prize. For a while, I was doing pretty crap-tastic. I wasn't getting high scores and I was merely entertaining myself to see if I could maybe score $100 at the end.

Because of my low scores, I took my anger out on the Jade Monkey. I was able to get that bitch to fork over $350, and then reported to duty for the tournament.

At one point, I text Tom saying that I was done being the Aladdin's butt monkey (read the post below to get this joke) and was going to stick it to the man.

I had no intention of ACTUALLY winning the grand prize. I just wanted to stick it to the man.

No only did I stick it, but I rammed that stick up the man's ass and punctured a vital organ.

Manic Monday

2006-04-10T11:56:00.000-07:00

My life has been a whirlwind for the past week, week and a half. There hasn't been a moment when I have really been able to sit down, breathe, relax and just numb out to reality (why you call it meditation, I have no clue).

Last weekend, there was the whole WRESTLEMANIA thing. It's Tom's only day of the year to feel complete and whole and excited. As if hanging out with me for the rest of his natural life isn't that exciting. Don't worry, it is.... but WrestleMania is... well.... WrestleMania. I wasn't excited for it. I was at the start of the show. And I was excited for several of the matches. Not bad, not bad. But Triple H tapped to Cena, and that was bullshit. That really killed it for me. Not to mention Rey-Rey won the belt from Kurt... and Benoit lost his belt to the shit-talking, fat-assed, poor Latino-heat impersonating JBL. Fucking cowboy ruined my night. Or at least he killed my enthusiasm. I even lost the bet for bragging rights on predictions for wins that night. I tied everyone else, except the brother to the boy I'm marrying. He got 2 more right than I did... and he doesn't ever watch! The son of a bitch! I hope a shark snips his piggy toe in Hawaii!

This past week, I've been dealing with a new personal barrier. It's hard to imagine that who I am today is not who I was 365 days ago. A year is a long time, and in the course of a year a lot can change: looks, catch phrases, classes, the fact that you are graduating or not. In my case, I changed me. I wasn't aiming for a full-personality makeover, that was never my intention. I merely wanted to make Tom and his family happy. I wanted to make my family happy. I wanted it all.

It's hard finding out that everything you want can't be possible. It's even more shitty to find out that you are pushing yourself for no reason at all. Last year, I was more prone to do silly things. I would go out and party more. I'd kiss random people. I'd get drunk and not think a thing about it. And then I met Tom. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn't change meeting him for the world. However, meeting him and selectively taking myself of the dating market changed me quite profoundly.

I stopped wanting to leave town, mostly because I knew he doesn’t like it when I leave. I pushed myself to go to his house more and more, even though I really didn’t have the time to even hang out with Tom. I’ve pushed off a paper that I was going to have done over a month ago to now. And now I’m pushing myself to finish that. I’ve killed aspects of my personality for the approval of him and his family.

I was, in essence, killing myself.

I’ve said it over and over. I’ve changed. But I’ve never said if I did or did not regret anything I have chosen. I don’t regret it. It’s a life lesson that was needed and is helping to mold me in the way I am aiming to end up as: a generally fucked-up girl with a uncanny view of reality. I’m doing pretty well, don’t fuck with my system.

While I don’t regret my actions, I do regret the outcome. I wish I was myself more, I wish I wasn’t afraid of Tom thinking that I am insane and not worth his time of day, I wish I wasn’t terrified that his parents were judging me. I haven’t truly been myself in so long, and for that I am terrified that I don’t remember who Ashley really was.

When I was confronted about this, I was confused. I thought I was doing so well. The problem is: my acting skills are only so good and people can see through my charade. Tom doesn’t always, but he is pretty good. Just like my parents. I didn’t concede and I didn’t argue.

For once, I decided to actually not internalize and to implement a new change of things.

I’m done being everyone’s butt monkey. I’m more than willing to help, go to your house to play nice-nice, to stay in town to make sure you don’t go insane (for some reason, the “you” in this sentence is directed at several different people). But I’m not willing to give up ME for YOU.

I have demonstrated it many times, here and here and here and here and here and here ... and plenty more from my original blog... I have my ups and my downs. I take out my anger and my frustration on my keyboard and question myself to the very core wondering if I really belong in this world.

I don't know if I do. As Sartre once theorized: it is our options in life that make us really question what we do or do not want to know. Existentialism is a bitch. And no Tom, just because I like Huckabees does not mean I am saying it for the sake of it. I am an existentialist, without question. I rely on consciousness and it is the options at my disposal that shape my existence. While I fall back on my deja-vu dreams, I still consciously make the effort to decide my fate. This, of course, can be linked to the fact that I have officially rebeled from the idea of pre-destination or coincidence.

Back to point! It was unarguable to say I have not changed. In fact, it would have been futile to even think I haven't changed. My priorities have, and my lifestyle most certainly has. I was blind to the fact that I had changed.

I came to a decision (resounding in itself as I make no choices in regards to my own life if at all possibile): I'm done being everyone's butt monkey. I spend the majority of my time making sure Tom, my family, his family is happy. I spend the rest of time working on school. What little time I have left over is for me. Before Tom, I had my life all worked out. I was balanced, so to speak. Now, I'm juggling more committments than ever before. And because I'd rather make sure everyone is happy... I'm losing myself in the process.

So by choosing to not be anyone's butt monkey BUT MY OWN, I am taking the first liberating step to falling back into a place where I am comfortable and I fit. I am Ashley, and that's really all I know. I merely suppressed myself, out of fear and worry of acceptance. Which is odd, because I never did it before. In-laws, apparently, have that affect.

Am I happy? You betcha. I'm feeling a lot more adequate lately. I have no problem telling Tom that I can't come over now because he has to give me space to finish what I need to finish. I have no problem leaving town because I know everything will still be here when I get home. And I have no problem telling my family that I don't have the time to go to the hospital when I need to finish a paper. They UNDERSTAND. And now, I don't have a problem telling Tom's family that I can't come over. They are not my priority, but I will make every honest attempt to make them know they are pretty damn important.

I thought this was a fair deal. So what did I do to reward myself? I let me out of the bag. The coolest thing, people still like me.

In further news, since this blog is becoming really long and really drawn out... Dirty Nails and Dumb Boy from my class have been expelled from my group. I could not be any more estastic because NOW I don't have to worry about sexual harassment guy for his work (I have two NEW people to boss around). More importantly, I don't have to worry about contracting some disease that will take off my finger because I was remotely NEAR Dirty Nails.

Life, my friends, is good. And honestly, I couldn't be happier.

Hell Hath Frozen

2006-04-05T22:01:00.000-07:00

Attention Arizona drivers:
My brother just got his drivers permit.

The only good news about this? Arizonans will get a little more heathly because it is suddenly going to be walking everywhere.

Hell hath certainly frozen over.

The Geek In Me

2006-03-31T15:46:00.000-07:00

Now, like most of you, Tom can always turn around a title like that and ask "Do you want a some geek in you?" It's cute, flattering even. What girl doesn't admire a guy that is willing to turn simple questions into sexual innuendo that will most likely end up in actual naughty positions? Okay, maybe several girls don't. But I sure as hell ain't one of them!

Side note, this post has absolutely nothing to do with Tom's penis. Or sex. I just couldn't help but start it that way. It got you to keep reading, didn't it? Don't hate the player, hate the game.

Anywho! Most of you must know that the game of all games have officially been released! And I, for one, cannot be more excited or uber-geeky in terms that I am absolute adoration of this fucking game!

I cannot tell you how awesome Kingdom Hearts II is. I just can't. It's a bit of a slow start. Considering that you do a form of tutorial with a new character named Roxas that last well over three hours, you start to get antsy for the title of the game to come on. Trust me, that totally kicks the ass of Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater's ASS when it comes to lengthy introductions. Although, Snake Eater's intro and music is absolutely fantastic.

Kingdom Hearts II intro is cute. We have new characters, and many returning ones! New worlds! Johnny Depp is in the damn game! And nothing tops the fact that while Sora's voice is more "manly," he still runs like a girl.

That last reason alone was worth the fifty bucks for the time I'm going to continually invest in this game.

Oh and one final shameless plug for the game: the soundtrack is awesome.

You know, I have only played parts of Final Fantasy X (thanks Josh) and wasn't too woot-woot about it. I'm not sure why. Maybe because it was halfway through the game, and I actually wasn't supposed to play it. Josh went to the bathroom and I took advantage of the situation.

Let that be a lesson to all you medicated gamers: I will unpause your games and ruin your fantastic no-hit streak. Take that you fuckers!!!!

I know, I play more video games than any single girl should. But I can't help it! I love games with guns, and violence. I don't need to steal shit, or bang a stripper and then run her ass over for my money back. I like RPGs. And I totally am in love with puzzle-like games. I'm not sure why. Never have been. It could be that I have a younger brother and to keep him from blowing up mailboxes at the age of 5, I kept him slightly more entertained than gun powder. It could be that I just have an easy-to-entertain status about me.

It could be all that, but it really comes down to one simple thing: I'm a geek and I gave it up to my geek-ness a long time ago. I came out of the closet years ago, and it was such a huge release for me, like a burden has finally been lifted. I was myself for all to see. I strongly consider all you closet geeks to come out!

Give in to your geek! Go buy a PS2! Get Kingdom Hearts and then Kingdom Hearts II! Put your heart into those games! Sell your soul to defeat Ansem! And lose 100 hours of your life to the wonderful people at Square Enix. They'll love you for it.

If not, go about your daily life. That always works too. Just don't try to use the line "Want some geek in you?" to girls like me. That's reserved for those out of the closet.

$20 Grand... Down the Drain

2006-03-30T23:38:00.000-07:00

My new life plan is to open a college. Don't laugh, it's an ingenius plan! It's a money-making scheme! It's something you'll kick your own ass for not thinking of it first.

I go to Arizona State University at the West Campus. I have to pay $2,200 in tuition, plus the usual $200 for books. Then I have to pay $18 for GRADUATION. Then I have to pay an additional $26 for a fucking cap and gown. Then I have to pay $130 for 50 announcements to send out to people who will have to pay me back for my college education lest I will kill them. Then I willingly shell over $130 for a frame to hold said expensive piece of paper that says "I graduated."

Let's do the math, shall we?

That's nearly $20,000 from start to finish for a college education. Now you tell me... would you like to be my partner in opening up a half-assed college environment? I condone pot smoking, underage drinking, unprotected sex and never attending class. I'm going to hell for just enticing every 18-year-old shopping for a college campus that meets their everyday needs.

Was that $20,000 worth it? Most likely. I've met some incredible people from the start of my college career. I've met the love of my life. I've found my political stance. And I've learned how to ditch a class for more than three weeks and still maintain a passing grade. I've mastered the art of bullshit. I've partied and done things you only read about in Rolling Stone. I've had more grandmothers die than I care to admit (only 16 little old ladies had to die). I've had more uncles come down with rare, flesh-eating diseases than probably exist (only 12 different uncles). And I've written more papers than a single human should dare to think is normal. I'd count, but that'd depress me.

Was that $20,000 worth it? You bet your candy ass it was.

You can also bet your candy ass that my child will forever hear that "my college education cost more than bringing you into this world." You can also assume that said child will endure that phrase everytime I want their room cleaned.

Hey, it's either that or "BECAUSE I INVENTED YOU."

Best. Summer. Ever.

2006-03-26T23:22:00.000-07:00

This summer, I'm going on two huge trips. From June 1-9, I will be with my entire family (plus my uncle and his pack of brats) in the Bahamas. And then from June 17-24, I will be with Tom's family in Hawaii.

I don't know if I can say in words how fucking excited I am. I truly am. I've even made my myspace.com page (btw, I sold out... I can't believe I sold out... go on, say it: Ashley, you sold out) a beach in honor of my two impending vacations of love.

This will be my sixth trip to the Bahamas. I admit that every year, I try to find something new and unique to do... something other than get drunk on the beach (although let's face it, getting drunk on the beach is the most relaxing thing to do in this world). I want to explore. I want to check out the culture. I want to do something so fucking awesome that it makes for the number one story of the year. And while I've been to the Bahamas more times than I shit in a single week, I still feel compelled to treat this vacation like it's my last.

I am treating this trip like its the last time I'll ever go. Maybe it's because it could be, or maybe it's the 21-year-old in me screaming to just enjoy every second of my life. Honestly, I think it boils down to the fact that I'm not going to look back in my life and wish I did something different. I don't want to wake up at 80 thinking that I wish I did that one thing while I was vacation that one time.

I admit that I am nervous about Hawaii. Not for any other reason than I don't want to overstep my boundaries and be like OH MY GOD HAWAII... MUST GO DO THIS and then find out that no one else wanted to do it. I guess my fear is that I have to treat this vacation under the radar and guise of "good girl" of touring and shopping. That's not a problem, but because this is my first time of going I want to go out with a bang. That, and my brain keeps telling me it could be my last time. I'll cross that bridge when I get there. I should be fine, and I'm sure no one will penalize me for going absolutely nuts while there.

They can, however, penalize me for screaming "SH-SH-SHARK!" and for running in the water while everyone else runs out. That I'm totally cool with.... I'm just fearful I'll have to moderate my vacation hyper-ness. Like I said, I'll cross that bridge when I get there. If I have to wake up early after a late night to go explore something, I'll do it. It's HAWAII.... you think I won't?!

If any of you have been there, or have any suggestions of what to do there - please send them my way! Right now, I'm aiming on rainforest exploring and checking out some waterfalls. There's a waterfall that drops 2,000 feet into the ocean! There's vocanic caves to scuba through (although I won't scuba during that trip). There's vocanoes!!! There's dancing girls and little guitars!!!! There's sharks!!!!

In any case... this will be the best. summer. ever. And if it's not, I will go buy me some sparklers and enjoy the Fourth of July by screaming something about corrupt government. Or at the very least while fishing.

V Is My Favorite Letter

2006-03-25T09:26:00.000-07:00

Among all the ruckus for Brokeback Mountain, there has come a new contender for ruckus: V for Vendetta. If you have not seen V, then I strongly suggest three things. One: GO SEE IT... bitches. Two: Don't read this blog, there's probably going to be spoilers. Three: After you've seen it, you can come here and either love it or hate it with me.

You should stop reading now. Go see the damn movie. GO! NOW! ... bitches.

I didn't think I'd love it. I'm not sure why. I got caught up in the "it's a pro-terrorist movie" propoganda and I wanted to see how pro-terrorist it really got. That, and I really wanted to see Natalie Portman's shaved head.

She looks better with hair. But I'll be honest, if my head was as symmetrical as hers I would have no fear of pulling a Sinead O'Conner. You know, if I was drunk and someone made me a bet with lots and lots of money.

I walked in without really knowing the story of the movie (I don't know why I'm willing to shell out $7 to something I don't know what it is about... I'm cool like that). I had absolutely no idea how anyone could make, let alone have a huge movie, on how terrorism might actually be a good thing. V has officially made me want to get all political on yours ass (don't worry, I won't). V has given me some sort of hope that we can have an idea that can work. V has become a top ten favorite movie (something I have to revamp now that Tom has given me the joys of movies better than the ones I loved originally), and I will see it again in theatres. It's that fucking good.... go. see. it. now. FUCKERS!

The whole movie is based on Guy Fawkes, and how he dreamed of blowing up the British Parliment but failed. And how some dude in a mask threatens to complete Fawkes dream to end the Fascist regime of the "new" Britain. His goal? WE give them the power that they abuse, we have the right to take it away. Buildings mean nothing, ideas and morals are so much more.

Without going into too much detail, because I know some of you idiots HAVEN'T seen the movie and are still reading... he does succeed. Natalie's character, Evey, catches on and helps (although I will admit her character slightly pissed me off... she's why the Fascist regimes work!!). It only takes a set-up and a real-life story for her to realize that the society she is living in is nothing but one created out of fear and where the ones that don't belong are tortured and killed.

They addressed topics such as political activists, homosexuality, laughing at the one in charge.... these are all things that were condemned (mostly to death) in this movie. You read those history books on the Nazi regime, and then you watch this movie and its like WHAT THE FUCK!?! It's Hitler's Germany ALL OVER AGAIN... but in Britain!!!!

Not only did they have a army that fell in line totally, but they had the rules and standards that coincided with the Nazi's... special mention to the leader of the pack, who not only did speeches and marches similar to Hitler - but had a small similarity in appearance as well. Nazi bastards!

We never see the terrorist. A part of me wanted to see the man behind a mask and fill the paradox (as he says in the movie: hint, hint... SEE IT!) about knowing whats behind the mask when it is there for a reason. The more I think about this, the more I think... we really shouldn't have. Evey said it best in the movie: he was each one of us. And to make sure the stupid people get it, everyone takes off the mask and watches as Parliment goes up in flames. It's the idea that is important... not the person.

The past four years, we've heard nothing except "terrorists are bad" and "they must be stopped." What if... just what if... terrorism WAS used to stop the bad guys? What is the ones we listen to are the bad guys?

I'm not saying that is the situation in the US War on Terror, far be it.

However, I am saying that maybe terrorism is not all that bad. Maybe some situations of violence are called for. Maybe the bad guys are good guys. This movie leaves you rooting for the terrorist, not because you want to see something blow the fuck up.... but because the Fascist government and the Nazi-like regime are so disgusting that you'd like nothing more than to see it BLOW THE FUCK UP.

You root for the masked man to kill the people in command. You want them to know fear, the way they have instilled it on the people who gives them power. You want to know the man behind the mask, but his convictions are all you need to know. You want to be part of the crowd, not because it looks like a damn good party but because you believe his ideas.

Okay, I left this movie all excited. It gave me a form of hope that ideas aren't dead, and that ideas don't die. Someone, somewhere down the line will carry on this idea because all it takes is an idea, and some convictions... and shit happens. I don't know if this movie hit home because I'm in desperate need of a political film that addresses something bigger, or if it hits me because of the case I'm working on. I honestly don't know why... but it did. It makes me want to be more political... although God knows politics scare me.

Maybe we're all a little bit of a terrorist inside... it just takes someone to point it out for us to realize it. We have our own ideas, our own convictions, our own beliefs. There's always a good side and a bad side... its just a matter of, where do your beliefs fall?

After you see this movie, you'll know why I want to celebrate November 5 (Guy Fawkes Day... you bastards). Don't worry, I won't blow shit up. I'll just enjoy sparklers.

Feel So Small

2006-03-22T10:39:00.000-07:00

There are moments in your life when a new, more real, reality set in. Those things you hold to be important are nothing when held in a light of comparison. Everyday things like finishing that task at work or writing that paper, become trivial. And suddenly, everything you knew or held to be the most. important. thing. ever. dulls and you think to yourself how good you have it.

I've discussed human rights violations before. It's not a new subject to me. I've read the stories, watched the documentaries - and everytime I heave a sigh of relief that it's not me in that world. Female genital mutilation (FGM), torture, judicial killings, crimes against humanity and genocide still happen. They are, in many ways, widespread. Don't believe me? Do a google search. News casts today suck. We go from "this is our shit weather guess" to "someone was shot and raped today" to sports to nothing of real value. The news casts keep it national. Step outside our nation though, and there is civil unrest everywhere.

Step outside your own world for five seconds, and it all hits you.

I have to argue a case in the next few weeks. A case that falls into the realm of human rights. There is a small country in Africa next to Ethiopia called Eritrea. They were going to be the dimplomatic model of democracy nearly 30 years ago. Instead, a president came to power who was ruthless and worse than the people you read about in history books. A president who makes George W. Bush seem like the best president we've ever had.

This president has suppressed the right to assemble, free speech and press. Nearly 85% of the women there are continually beat, rape and forced to undergo FGM. If you speak out against the government, even if it is a peaceful "we don't agree with this government," you are arrested and never seen again. If you so much as don't report for army duty, they will either arrest or torture or kill your family.

You hear all this, and you think to yourself that nothing in your life can be as bad as it is for those people. The situation is so much bigger than myself, than you, than the majority of things we hold to be important.

Last night I walked out of that class and breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe I'm busy, stressed even, but at least I can walk down a sidewalk without fear. That's more than I can say about other parts of the world.

More importantly though, last night I got a real reality check. There is a world outside of my world that matters. One with REAL pain and REAL sorrow. My trivial problems are nothing in comparison. I left that class feeling so small and so selfish. Here I've always thought I was important, and now? Now, I know better.

This is Total Overshare

2006-03-16T12:40:00.000-07:00

I admit this now: I am constipated all the time. Whenever I do get to poop, it's like a party in the bathroom. There's a reason why I don't let people go to the bathroom with me. For starters, it really is the only place my family won't come find me. I've made it my sanctuary. More than once I have just taken a pillow in there and chilled. All you have to say is you don't feel good, and they are gone. IT'S GENIUS.

The other half of the time I'm in the bathroom, it's either because I had to pee 800 times (that's not an exaggeration by the way, I have the smallest bladder in humanity) or because I am praying that my bowels empty. You've never sat awake counting the days or hours of not pooping. Sometimes it does hurt because I'm so backed up, and many times I want to be left alone in the bathroom so that I can try to relax my colon. It rarely happens, poop is one of those natural things you have to wait for. But the point is: DO NOT FUCK WITH ME IN THE BATHROOM. Unless you are Tom, and I am overly horny. Then I demand you do it right away. Otherwise, remember that I'm sitting there praying for my colon to die and I need some peace. Whenever you get to be constipated, you can talk to me about not pooping and I'll feel some pain for you.

You can understand why for the past five days, I have been shocked. I have pooped not once, not twice... BUT FIVE times in a row. Once every day! I feel like I'm cheating! Especially when you consider that I didn't poop for five days last week.

If this is what all you normal people feel like all the time, I envy you. No wonder you people are all like, WATCH ME PEE!

Needless to say, I'm still a one-person-only for bathroom time. I don't care how "regular" you consider this, when you count all the hours of my life I've spent praying for my colon to empty and for the pain to stop - you don't get to try to share the bathroom with me. You just don't.

A Pregnant Man, A Comb-Over and a AIDS-Infested Bunny

2006-03-13T14:09:00.000-07:00

As a female, I consider the mall to be a safe space. The mall definately ranks up there with bathrooms and closets - no one, but a girl, can understand the safety of a certain place. Ever since the mall nearest my house lost the CD store, I have had less of an inclination to call that a safe space. Who the hell has heard of a mall without a CD store?! Sure, I may not buy a lot of CD's... but I like having the ability to kill half an hour just browsing the little jeweled cases.

Then the mall lost it's book store. Let's face it - this mall sucks donkey shit except for the fact that they finally brought my sole mate in: ALDO.

In either case, it's the closet place for retail therapy. And nowadays, getting me out of the house (front and back yards DO NOT count) is a bit of a tedious task. Between dad's surgery, Squirt being spayed and my dog having a diabetic coma on the line... I've been a bit of a recluse. I'm quite content sitting at home in my own world. A world that revovles around what I am going to wear, what is going to keep me busy and when the last time I pooped was.

Today I went to the mall, and there was soooo many different things that brought on a little bit of enjoyment! From a $7 sippy cup with a hippo to a the worlds worst comb-over, I can consider Day One of Spring Break! to be a success!!

The highlights? The worlds worst comb-over! This man, who had to be in his early 50s, was strolling around the store. He fit the profile for a serial murderer: sweater vest and loafers. This poor man was BALD, except for the stray three pieces of hair that were ten inches long. And those ten inch long pieces of hair were combed to the other side of his head. HOLY CRAP! I died giggling. We are truly thankful I didn't fall on the floor laughing, as I have done before.

Then I saw the world's ugliest pregnant man. I know men cannot get pregnant, but there is no way this prego woman was a woman. She was fugly. In fact, she looked like this. Except her hair was stringy, her big green shirt was pathetic looking and the chin was larger.

IT WAS A MAN. And because of this random sighting, Tom is now giving birth to our eventual offspring.

And for the grand finale? The trip on the way home. The song "How Do I Live" from LeAnn Rimes was playing. And of course, I make the connection back to one of the most fantastic movies ever (prisoners! explosions! Steve Buscemi!): ConAir.

You all know the end? When Nic Cage sees his daughter for the first time and he is all sweaty and covered in blood and blessed with the worst hair ever... and coincidentally, the worst Southern accent EVER? Yea? Well, you remember the bunny he gave her?

You know the bunny! It's not the bunny sidekick from The Tick. I'm talking the little stuffed bunny that was missing an ear, covered in blood, sewer water and other random disgusting thingies. Well, in my most worst Southern accent: "Here daughter I've never seen, have a bunny that is most likely infested with AIDS."

And the man sitting next to me, the man who helped spawn me, the same man on Percocet goes: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

For some reason, the response "an AIDS-infested bunny" didn't go over as well as I had hoped.

Quickie

2006-03-12T11:35:00.000-07:00

Katie is home. She might not be completely out of the wood works, but we have her stabilized enough to have her at home. We'll find out more Monday, but for right now I'm just glad to have her home.

This has been one of the hardest weekends of my life. And while I admit it was just my dog, this was one of those weekends where I was the mess and clinged onto anyone that would hug me. It's a rare occassion that I don't have the strength to get by on my own, but it happens.

I'd be lying if I didn't say that my whole family (Tom: that includes you and yours) are amazing. It may be something silly, but they understood how much that would affect me. And for that, I'm incredibly thankful.

And now, if you don't mind... I'm going to go sit on the sofa with my doggie. We're going to watch movies and generally do absolutely nothing all day long.

I'd have it no other way.

Worst. Day. Ever.

2006-03-10T13:54:00.000-07:00

Today is, without question, the worst day of 2006.

My aunt might have breast cancer. I have to wait until Tuesday for any sort of medical opinion.
My dog might be dying. I have to wait overnight to get any definitive results.
And all I've managed to do is cry, cry and cry some more. I certainly don't have the strength to deal with this. I'm pretending - and for once, my family saw right through me.

Today definately is the worst day of 2006.

What sucks even more, today is the first day of my spring break.

What Life's All About RIGHT NOW

2006-03-08T19:23:00.000-07:00

At the ripe old age of 21, I have very few things to look forward except for marriage, a kid, graduating college and getting a discount on my insurance. But there are moments of clarity for me when I seem so philosophical and in-tune with the world that it makes you want to puke.

Today is totally one of those days.

Tom has gotten a great opportunity with work coming up, and he is taking it. From when we can talk on the phone to when we can hang out to how much more work we are going to have to put into this relationship is going to change from here out.

And I'm not going to lie, that sort of sucks. But you know what? There are moments in life when we pick it all up and push aside our other problems to make sure that the one thing in our life works out.

Life isn't about studying or writing papers (even though, right now that's all I seem to ever do). And life isn't about observation or clocking hours at the job (even though, right now that's all you seem to ever do). Life isn't about trying to make everyone else happy or trying to work harder (even though, right now that's all we seem to do).

Life is about a vast array of things. Big things, little things, and things that don't necessarily make any sense. What has happened to Tom may not make sense, and it may be unprecedented. But it probably couldn't come at a better time, because if he can do this (which he can) then next fall he can walk in and own the school faster than I could write a dissertation on the gothic revival.

Life is about making it all work out, and finding the things that create smiles. It's about finding a balance, or just suffering the imbalance and enjoying the time when life is better than you could have ever imagined.

Honestly, it's never gets that bad. There's always somewhere there to catch you when you fall. There's always a phase of getting by. And for right now, that's where Tom and my life lies: in the realm of just trying to get by. We have more fights to fight, more changes to adapt to, and more just proving to the world that we're not separating no matter what turns you got for us.

Right here, right now, for me and for Tom, our lives are all about just making it work for us. It's not bad, it doesn't suck and it sure as hell isn't going down the drain. Life is all about getting by, and baby... we're going to get by just fine.

Just When I THOUGHT It Could Get No Worse

2006-03-07T08:44:00.000-07:00

I have a tendency to single out the most annoying, the most disgusting and the most retarded people in my class. Not only do I single them out, but I write about it on my blog. It's the cool new way of making yourself a bigger and better person.

Other people make you feel it on a small, miniscule level. I take it global. FEEL MY WRATH YOU PAINS IN MY ASS.

In my Law and Political Order class, we have to work as a group. Sadly, I'm still in the same group I was in before. The very one in which I despise four out of the five people. Let's racap, shall we? It's not for your enjoyment, it's for me to get to once again go I HATE THESE PEOPLE without imploding.

There's the Bastard Who Won't Die, the sexually deviant and yet confused man who is always trying to get into my pants. The same man who I have coincidentally figured out that he may be gay, but is one of those gays in the closet. I love gay men. Regardless of age or how flamboyant they are, gay men are always so much better than a middle-aged divorcee who teaches dance lessons and does yoga and pilates and has absolutely no clue when to stop trying to get into your pants. The sad reality is, I am sexually harassed two nights a week. I put up with it solely because of the rest of the group.

There's Smelly. The boy has absolutely no hygiene and smells SO MUCH that he actually has made someone comment AT THE BACK OF THE CLASS. If it's that bad at the back, and we are all in the front row with our cheeks smashed in the whiteboard, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK WE ARE THINKING?

Next we have The Most Retarded Person on Earth. I don't think there is anything I can say about The Most Retarded Person on Earth at this point (so not true, I can rant for hours if I wanted). The Most Retarded Person on Earth lacks a brain. I'm fairly certain he does not know what the word MORALS mean because he gave me such a dumbfounded look about it. And the worst thing? HE DOES NOT KNOW HIS OWN MAJOR. I don't know about the rest of the world, but I believe that once you are in college and paying for a specific education... YOU SHOULD AT LEAST KNOW THE PROGRAMS NAME. We are working on our next case, and just to see if he is retarded I again asked: What degree are you getting? His response: I'm getting a B.A. I smile and just kindly say, "I totally forgot! And what program?" If you guessed it, he did say B.A. again. Sometimes I just like poking the bear. Do you want to know the saddest thing about this hapless retard? When I asked him if he is a political science or criminal justice major, he told me yes. There is only three programs that ask this class as a requirement: pre-law minor, criminal justice major or poli science major. He is an Applied Science major within the NEW College of Interdisciplinary Studies of Arts and Sciences. There is no reason for him to be there other than to drive me batty every Tuesday and Thursday. The kicker? He is getting a B.A.S.

Finally, there's Dirty Nails. Oh Dirty Nails, how I can't stand thee. Not only do you have a shitty personality, you are the laziest piece of shit ever. Sure you find some quotes. But you have the most disgusting hair and nails that I have ever seen. Every time you talk to me, or ask me a question, I want to physically vomit and then run far, far, far away because of the creepy crawlies your fingers cause. CUT YOUR NAILS. WASH YOUR BODY. THEN BURN ANYTHING YOU EVER TOUCHED. ... Only then can I maybe talk to you without freaking out. And there's a slim possibility I cannot. Oh disgusting. I'm working on getting a photograph, it's only right to share this filth with the world. I'll see what I can do. But HE is the reason why I am writing today. And it's not because he walked past me causing a epileptic seizure of sorts. His dirty fingernails touched a keyboard that sent something to me. He can't spell the word JUDGEMENT, let alone use proper grammar. This is an excerpt from my e-mail. He is quoting Sandra Day O'Connor in the Raich Supreme Court case a few years ago.

she also writes this about her findings, it "enable usto evaluate the legisative judgmet that the activityin question substantially affect[s] interstatecommerce"

Okay, would it kill you to capitalize your damn sentence? How about say "enable[s]" instead of "enable." A part of me is afraid that in a 470 class, you don't know these basic tricks to sound intelligent. The part where you don't separate the words "us" and "to," there's no such word as "usto"... jackass. Oh! And the same goes for "activityin" and "interstatecommerce." Add the fucking SPACE between the words. Finally, you are in a LAW class. The word "judgement" comes up, oh, every five seconds? Learn to SPELL it correctly.

Just when I thought it could get no worse, I get e-mails from these jackasses further pushing what little sanity I have down the drain. I have to share a grade with them, and now... I have to plot a way for each of them to suffer a slow and painful death. The only thing I have planned is to get sterilization gloves and to cut Dirty Nails nails. At least then I could focus on something other than is he going to rap my shoulder with e.coli?

I Hate Carnies

2006-03-06T13:11:00.000-07:00

Call me biased all you want, but anything carnival-related should die and burn in Hell. True, I hate clowns with a passion.

When I say hate, I define my relationship with clowns as the kind where I want to physically relocate them to an island that is far, far away from civilization. An island where no one can locate it on radar, thus leaving the clown fiends to fend for themselves. Thus leaving the clowns in a state of anxiety. THAT WAY THEY CAN ALWAYS FEEL THE WAY I FEEL WHEN THE WALK ANYWHERE WITHIN A 60 MILE RADIUS OF MY BODY. And then, I want them to enjoy a series of cannibalism. Nothing is more fun than cannibalism. Nothing, except if you are on the show Lost.

If you're on Lost, then there's no such thing as cannibalism. There's polar bears, dinosaurs and people getting sucked into jet engines. BUT NO CANNIBALISM. If you haven't gotten the distinct impression I watch for cannibalism, here's me telling you very distinctly: I watch for cannibalism. I am livid every week too, because they always tease me with such thoughts and then TAKE IT AWAY. Fuckers.

Back to my hatred of clowns. I want the clowns to eat each other, starting with the largest, happiest clown there is on the island. No reason why, the food will last longer. That, and he is happy. You are not supposed to be happy on islands where people are left to die. You are supposed to be sad. SEE THE PROBLEM WITH FACE PAINT... mother fuckers.

After the cannibalism, I want one of the top governments of the world to decidedly try nuclear testing near that island. With luck, one of the bombs will land on the island obliterating the corpses of clowns and any remaining clown bastards.

That's how much I hate clowns. I want them all destroyed.

And if for any second you think I haven't already thought of a alternate plan for any surviving nuclear clowns from Hell, you think again. After the government agency tests the bombs, I want them to drop a second bomb - for good measure.

My greatest fear from this plan? That a clown will mutate into a giant clown and be able to breathe fire. You must be thinking, what do we do then?

We run like hell my friends, we RUN. LIKE. HELL. There's no stopping a giant clown that breathes fire. When a giant clown happens, it's pie cream on buildings and water in the face of Godzilla. Life, as we know it, will cease to exist.

By the way, this whole post was brought to you thanks to the EIGHT carnie trucks I saw on the freeway today. Who the hell said carnies were allowed to use our freeways? Who the hell gave them the right to give me an anxiety attack that one of the big trucks next to me has every clown in the entire world just watching, and waiting, to surprise attack me with balloon animals?

There were rides being carted places, cotton candy machines galore and everything carnival-related all on a fifty-mile drive. It was hell. It was not cool. And for once in my life, I decided that anything carnival-related should be banned from all public places... including the freeway.

If I'm not safe on a freeway, a place where I can drive recklessly and exceedingly fast with a 60% chance of severely injuring myself, I'm safe no where from those bastards with flowers that spit. Fucking clowns. Fucking carnivals. Fucking Bob Barker for taking $40 from me.

Reflecting

2006-03-04T09:34:00.000-07:00

It's probably not a good thing that during a dodge ball tournament, countless teenagers threw the balls over their oponents heads, several times during one match. That idea that teenagers can't handle their balls comes to mind. There's also the slight possibility that maybe these kids just didn't understand the idea of "aim low."

A part of me wanted to stand up and say: "If you are going to dodge, dip, duck, dive and dodge - do it right." And then I wanted to chuck a ball at some of their heads.

But that was probably because I was having fun watching kids throw balls at other kids (and often times, teachers) heads.

It's also probably not good when a rambucious 16-year-old boy asks when the baby is due, and less than two hours later my knees are touching my ears.

I guess the appropriate joke here is: in honor of dodge ball, Tom wanted to go balls deep.

I Got Laid

2006-03-02T20:11:00.000-07:00

Not the tropical kind of laid, I'm talking a good old fashioned boink fest. Did I seriously just say "boink fest?" That's the equivalent of saying something like "bitchin'." Don't tell me you people from the 80s never did that. I know you did. And I know you wear your sunglasses at night.

It's okay. Corey Hart did that too.

Anyways, the point: I got laid. You ever wonder why some people sit in class, all quiet and in their own world? Simple. It's because less than an hour ago, they were mid-fuck. A mid-fuck, mind you, that was two weeks in the making. A mid-fuck that was about rolling in the sheets, getting sweaty, hitting every spot and managing every ounce of effort to not scream?

Celebate people: how the hell do you manage?

Chihuahua of Evil

2006-02-28T12:24:00.000-07:00

I used to have a shoe problem. And when I say shoe problem, I mean a HUGE FUCKING MESS. I could go to the mall weekly just so I could browse the shoe section, and more often then not I would find me some shoes. I got to a point where I know my size in certain brands, and I can honestly tell you that Steve Madden's shoes went straight to hell the second he went to jail.

Hello? He made eskimo boots that were colored off-pink with little furry balls attached to them.

You only wear those shoes when you lose a bet. Or when your boyfriend wants to get really, really kinky during your next sexual escapade. And for us, that's a weekly event. Don't worry, it'll become a daily escapade sooner or later. And sooner or later, this blog is just going to get more and more X-rated because I'm starting to lose boundaries.

Boundaries, smoundaries. You want it rough, and I like it rough. We're a blog match-made-in-heaven. Or hell. Your choice. I'm not sure where rough sex comes into play with the realms of heaven and hell.

Although, I can at least say rough sex comes gives people endorphins. Exercise gives you endorphins, as well as extreme pain. So by logic, rough sex causes a huge rush of endorphins. Kinda makes you all want to go out and by some chains and garter belts right? I know I'm not alone on that one.

Has anyone noticed that I have just deviated completely from shoes? It's that easy when you are neurotic. It's like Homer on donuts, it just happens naturally.

Anyways, BACK TO POINT! I was so bad with shoes that last year I went 365 days without purchasing a pair of shoes. That was my new year's resolution. And let me be the first to tell you this: there were several pairs of shoes that God really wanted me to have.

I went against God's will. I'll be punished accordingly. I'm hoping with a whip.

About two weeks ago, I finally broke down and bought by first pair of legal shoes in nearly 15 months. I spent a whopping $27. They were marked down from $65, so either I have lost my sanity and shop smart OR I just got lucky. I will go with lucky, although it's entirely possible that God is punishing me by giving me shopping sense.

I don't know which is worse.

Today when I woke up, the family pet that we love to hate and hate to love had a surprise in her mouth: one of my new shoes. The little bitch! I'm starting to really wonder if she has ADD, or worse: ADHD. The little heathen got the second shoe later on. Thankfully, she just pulled the shoe strings out.

It's the principle though. This dog is truly and unquestionably evil. I had wondered. I mean, she bites nipples and she sticks her ass in my dogs face. Squirt has carried rugs down the hall, and managed to sneak into the pool area to eat cat food. She has even stealth snuck into a closet to eat a damn slipper.

But she has officially tried eating one of my shoes. She's like a Krusty the Klown doll with the good and evil programming switch. Would it be so wrong to try to cut a little opening in my Chihuahua to see if she is really programmed to evil?

It Wasn't You

2006-02-28T09:53:00.000-07:00

Life is full of what-ifs. We can't deny that there are those moments when you question everything down to the core of who you are and what you do. Life, at least for me, is one big what if.

For instance: what if I never took British Novel and never met Tom? What if I was more stable and less prone to get angry over something so silly? What if world peace could be establish through the art of making turkey sandwiches for country leaders? What if that next storm on the radar really is as bad as you think it is? What if you were to do be the one that actually made a mistake and caused a nuclear meltdown?

What if's go all over, and can encompass everything. The "What if" game isn't new and it isn't particular to who gets to play; it's the universal game of "what the fuck did I just do?"

Last night, I was upset with Tom. Correction: I was upset with his parents. I was upset that he didn't come to my rescue. What did I do? I did the chick thing: I harbored resentment and then I fired off like some insane hormonally charged chick. It's like Godzilla, but not as cool. Mostly because I'm only 5'5", I can't destroy a Japanese city. Although, THAT would be cool. I'm supposed to be the calm one, the one that is content for whatever happens, the one that is easy to turn on so that you can fuck me just one time before you go to work. I wasn't that person last night. I don't know who I was, but I do know that I was angry.

And no, I wasn't angry because I haven't gotten laid in almost a week. I was angry because of the lack of consideration. (But trust me, if I get all weird again before the weekend I will TOTALLY blame it on the lack of sex).

A part of me is still upset. But not with Tom, or his parents. I'm upset with myself. I know what I'm getting into. Tom's family is not like mine. I'm not asking them to be either. I don't need another family that would like to bake alien cakes and just have times where you watch a shitty movie to poke fun at a man who honestly believes we landed on the moon. We didn't, you know we didn't. If we did, then there would be an endless supply of cheese.

What I am asking for, however, is an apology. I am merely apologizing for what I said, but I am not changing my stance on what happened. I've thought about it some more, and I've kept myself reserved until now. A whopping 12 hours later, I know, but it still counts.

I am sorry for what I said. I try my hardest to not say things in anger, mostly because I say things I regret. I am sorry I did not come over to prove that I love you.

I am not sorry, however, of my decision to stay put. I was angry, and I could have easily have done something stupid... ranging from crashing my car into something or drinking the water at your house and getting lead poisoning. And furthermore, I didn't feel the need to rush to you to apologize for being the one shot down. Finally, in regards to what I said about the consideration afforded to me from you and your family, I am half-sorry.

I shouldn't have said the things I said. They were malicious. However, what I said last night was said with truth. I was given a thank you for being the messenger, and not once was I thought of as PART of the family. They may like me more than Shay, and they may invite me to church and to lunch afterwards... but they do not want me to be a part of your family. I am not about church, luncheons, or even buying gifts to get a hug. I am, however, into those events that define our lives. By now, I would have hoped that your parents would have realized that. I would have hoped that you would have realized it.

Let me say this very clearly, because this is my only form of catharsis while you work: I am not a Butler. And I never will be, legally at least, until someone on your side of the family realizes that I don't want their gifts or their last minute considerations. All I want, QUITE SIMPLY, is for them to make me feel like they want me there.

I'm not asking them to get all arts and crafts on my ass, or to throw a party in my name. Simple actions are what count. Asking me over for church is sweet, but does not constitute an "action" that fits with something that we BOTH want. What would have? A simple, "maybe Ashley should be here too." Why? Because I am the one that helped you study, I told you over and over and over again that you will be fine, I told you that if something happened I would help you through it, and I was the one that gave you the good news. I was all you had for a while, and in return I was given the same thing that your parents do to you everytime they ask for something: nothing.

In no way have you hurt my trust. I know this was monumental to you, and I know it's a load of stress off your back. I know your parents are very proud of you. But I was too. I may be the girl that loves you, the girl they prayed for to come and make your life just a little better... but I'm also the girl they only love when it doesn't take away from their attention.

I'm not asking for your family to be like my family. I'm merely asking that they let me FEEL like I am part of theirs, more than on holidays or birthdays or Sundays. You can give them the second chance all you want, but I'm not going to be as nice. I do that enough for my family. And that's fine, blood is thick and family ties run deep. But as far as I go with your family, THEY are the ones that have something to prove to me.

They are the ones that have hurt my trust. And they are the ones that will repair it over time. Not through you either, I want them to earn my trust the way everyone else does, through hard work and proving to me that I was wrong. I don't want to be like Shayla, where she only comes by every now and then. I want a better relationship than that. But if I continually get the consideration of "thank you, you're such a doll for being the messenger" and then dropped like a sack of potatoes, consider that relationship established.

I get that consideration from everyone else in my life. I don't want it in my next family.

This wasn't about you, but it was. I used you for my punching bag, and that wasn't right. This was about casting me aside, and me letting it happen. I'm done with that. If they ever ask why I was upset and didn't come by, I will tell them. And I will be sure to point out one VERY important fact: I'm not going anywhere. It will be ME you come home to with good news. It will be ME that you celebrate with. THEY will become the after-thought, the same as my family will become it. They can have this, but after June 16, 2007: I'll come first.

Put a Little Chi in Your Step

2006-02-27T20:12:00.000-07:00

I’m all wet. Not the good kind of wet where you end up in a position where you think to yourself: Gee, I wonder if my parents conceived me with the plan of me doing something this naughty on all fours. And then I write about it on the Internet. I’m actually POSITIVE my parents didn’t conceive me with those intentions. C’est la vie, right?

That’s not the point; I actually just wanted to say WET somewhere and see where people go. But I am actually wet. I gave Katie a bath and it always ends up where I’m all wet and she’s all wet, and we’re all wet together. If I were a lesbian that whole “two chicks being wet” would be a fantasy come true. Hey, I got time to develop bi tendencies. I doubt it, I’m too lazy.

Today was a bit of a bore. I literally got out of bed to go see blood stains on the floor from my dog (she’s cool now, but it wasn’t a great “wake-up” scenario). I called an insurance lady seven times to get my claim active. And wouldn’t you know it? My car is getting fixed by the end of the week with no cost to me. I’m a happy little kitten, albeit one with the biggest knots in her back the size of a brain tumor on a abnormally sized human head. I’m talking a head the size of an elephant. That happens you know. I got Tom’s scores for the AEPA (aka: silly test that teacher’s have to take to get certified… last I checked, I was certified… no wait, that’s certifiable). He passed, so that was a huge load of his chest. I’m glad for him. I then went to Biology where I basically bullshitted the lab, mostly because I don’t give a flying rat’s ass. Talked to Tom, found out he is wanted at home.

Honestly, I’m not bothered by that. That’s all fine and dandy with me. I’m actually a wee-bit upset about the fact that it really sounded like I’m not welcome there. Call me crazy, but the way Tom worded it was “you here, keep your filthy whore on the outside.” Sure, I’m a filthy whore. But I, at least, am nice to you. I was going to stop by after class, but I just got the feeling like it wasn’t the smartest idea. Not from Tom, but from the vibe I got from him which he got from his ‘rents. Hell, he didn’t even ask me to come by. Guess it wasn’t that important. So what’d I do? I went and got medicine for the old man and came on home to my dog with a shaved cooter and to post on my blog that my night was spent rubbing ointment on my dog’s vagina. Why? She has an infection that has caused her diabetes to get all screwy. I need a little Chi in my life.

Which leads me to this… FENG SHUI!

I used to be really into feng shui. A calendar I had one year was “how to become feng shui” and I was totally into it. That is, of course, until I had to move my fucking furniture because it would keep the stability in my love life. I moved a fucking bed, and what happened? I got my ass beat up by my boyfriend. Feng shui? More like feng shit.

That doesn’t mean I don’t dig the feng still. There’s still a little mystery to it that makes me excited and giddy. Maybe it’s because no one can ban me from Chinese traditions. Webmd? Sure. Chinese tradition? I’ll call you a racist.

… RACIST!

Anyways, I found a great list on how to put some feng shui into your life for some organization and calming of the soul. I once heard that masturbation calms your soul. I don’t know what Chinese theorists would say about that, but hey… whatever works for you. I know the Japanese are all into orgasms. There was even a song about it, so don’t tell me I’m wrong.

To this list! For Feng Shui, you should:
1. Clear your entryway, enter through the front door, keep things in good repair, light the corners, make your bed every morning, leave the bathroom tidy, straighten your desk, don’t overlook your computer, carry a special wallet or envelope while traveling abroad, surround yourself with blue, put a bubbling fountain in the North, and KEEP THE CENTER OPEN.

Alright. I’m totally fucked. TOTALLY. And I didn’t even get dinner.

I always go through the garage door, there’s $1700 worth of damage to my car, I never make my bed because it just gets unmade 15 hours later, I have clothes all over the bathroom floor, my desk is in total disarray, I hardly go out of the country and my bubbling fountain died three years ago.

The only thing I got going for me is that blue thing. My bedroom walls are blue. Thank the God of Chi for that!

Anyways, the case in point? I’m going to get some Chi in my life. And for once I’m not doing it with crab puffs and egg rolls. I’m going to straighten up my life, fix my car and get a bubbling fountain with lights and smoke.

What? I figure if I’m going to get all Chi-like, I might as well do it Vegas style. Get the bling bling.

Lohan? No. It's NOhan.

2006-02-23T10:32:00.000-07:00

My fifteen-year-old brother never ceases to amaze me. From his random "I'm retarded" moments to those cataclysmic crushes on girls that he'll never get because she is testing the waters of being a tease, it's always something new with him.

This past week, during one of my epic "I'm going to die" moments, Travis came to my rescue and said the absolute, without question, most funny thing I have heard since... well, does that really matter?

We were flipping channels on the television to get my mind off the fact that I am only 21, and that I'm not going to die anytime soon (that is, unless I get LEAD POISONING FROM TOM'S WATER AT HIS HOUSE!). We flipped to ABC Family The Parent Trap was on. You know, the one with Lindsey Lohan before she got all hot with tits and everything. Yea, I'm talking 11-year-old Lindsey Lohan. By the way, for any of you wondering: I'm totally on the Lindsey side of the Lindsey vs. Hillary Duff fight. Not sure why. I think I harbor bad feelings toward her because I saw one of her movies right after I saw The Notebook. Any movie following that shitfest was doomed.

Anyways, back to Lindsey. Travis and I were stopped clicking the button clicker and were like, "wow, she's a baby there!" And then my mom was like "Is that Lindsey Lohan?"

And Travis gave her the best answer I have ever heard a 15-year-old deliver: "Lindsey Lohan? That's Lindsey NOhan."

I got to make fun of him for approximately 5 minutes, because then I made the biggest language slip ever. Instead of saying "wilderness" I said "wildness."

Trust me, if you ever try to play off like you are cool and are creating new words to spread like wildfire with a 15-year-old... you will quickly learn this: it's totally not happening.

The Thrills of Massage

2006-02-22T21:25:00.000-07:00

If there's one thing I won't argue with, it's a good massage. And to be frank, the only good thing that has come from my car accident is the fact that my chiropracter (who is a dick that has caused MORE pain than the actual accident, I am currently seeking to never go to him again) makes me go to a massage therapist. And when I say "makes me," I should clarify. He's not making me do anything. Asking me to go to a massage therapist is like Tom teasing me with his cock and asking me if I want it.

Hello? I'm naked, I'm horny and I demanded you get the condom on faster than any human can feasibly manage that. DO YOU THINK I WANT IT?

And he wonders why I do certain things to make him a walking hard-on? Simple: you are a cock tease. I feel that I should equal the playing field and be one as well.

Back to point: massage. I've had to go to the massage therapist twice now. Both times I was more than willing to go, and more than willing to strip down to my panties and just lie on a table and get greased up by some woman I hardly know.

Today, as I was there I had some randomly fun thoughts that I feel compelled to share.

For starters, do you think that massage therapists feel violated if a client shows up wearing no panties? I mean, there are just those days when underwear is not an option.

Granted, I don't have those days often anymore. This goes back to the whole "walking hard-on" comment and being stuck to once again answer: Do you want it? But seriously. What if today I just felt like NOT wearing panties? Do you think they feel anything? What?

I mention this because at one point the therapist took her elbow and jammed it into my ass. I understand you are to relive muscles, but thrusting your elbow up my ass without buying me dinner (or at least a drink) is a little presumptuous.

Secondly, is it wrong that the whole time I tried to use ESP to talk to the little Asian lady rubbing my body? And is it more weird that she responded to what I was saying?

Don't get me wrong, I think that's totally cool. But I have my reservations. Can she read minds? If so, is she related to the dealers in Vegas? And if so, IS THAT WHY I CAN NEVER WIN ON A TABLE WITH AN ASIAN DEALER? I'm not racist in anyway, hell I don't even know the terms you call people when you are racist. But I have noticed that under no circumstance can I win with an Asian dealer. Even if I give them a $10 tip. Nothing. Cold-hearted bastards.

Correction: greedy cold-hearted bastards.

I'd also liket o add that at no time did the Asian lady and I play "college experimentation" while I was in my panties and she was rubbing my naked body. Although, trust me, I did ask her that through ESP.

Rex and Fefe

2006-02-21T22:50:00.000-07:00

I have been told that I have not praised Tom's penis lately. Nor have I mentioned how great he is in bed.

Consider this problem (e)rectified.

That is (e) was brought to you by Tom's penis. His name is Rex. Yes, Rex.

Don't get me started, he should have named his goodies after a French whore like I did.

What? Fefe has class.

Let the Neurosis Begin

2006-02-19T16:28:00.000-07:00

Hello and welcome all to my personal hell! Actually, life is going pretty good. Except for the chiropratic sessions. NO ONE bothered to tell me that popping your back in such extreme measures would hurt more than the actual car accident. Note to all you bastards that have had car accidents with popping sessions: YOU ALL SUCK. That is all.

So what's new in the world of Ashley? A whole hell of a lot of nothing. Actually, quite a bit. I go to the doctor pretty often and then I come home and I cry and then I lie around like a old lady. Except I have no cats. That depresses me. I need a cat to balance my insanity.

Actually I don't. The freeloading pussies in my backyard are more than enough, I'll stick with the hellion Squirt. She's cat-like. That counts for something. And she's a big pussy for when the door bell rings.

You know that the Olympics have started? I'm totally down with the Olympics for ONE REASON AND ONE REASON ONLY: curling. That shit rocks my socks. It's like the only Olympic game in both seasons that I could totally kick ass at if I attempted. It's the fat, lazy and just general don't give a shit sport. You throw a 25-lb. rock at someone and scream at the broomers and play shuffleboard... ON ICE. It's riveting. I love it.

The only drawback to the Olympics is that they took away Scrubs. It's like NBC just wants me to write hate mail. The State of the Union is not important, nor is the Olympics. I mean, just reschedule the event. Put it on ABC, I don't care. Just give me my one show that I love endlessly and without question.

Oh and by the way: we suck this year. We're tied with the Germans for gold medals. And no one has died yet, though those skiing accidents were terrifying. Makes me think of the days when I learned to ski, DAMN IT WAS SCARY. Now I'm like: WHOOSH, fear me bitches! Except I'm not WHOOSH. I still am conservative on some hills, but that's because there are trees. I'm not about to pull a Sonny and die on a fucking hill. With snow. I want to die in some freak accident so that I get my fifteen minutes of fame, but it will NOT be on a hill. With snow. I'm not down with that.

So in one of my classes this week, I may have stumbled across the stupidest human being alive ever. EVER.

No really, EVER.

In my politics class, there are six people in my group. One is me, and you should worship me because I said so. The other girl is Lauren (a fabulous girl whom I do in fact enjoy the company of, and have the absolute respect for being she argued our case Thursday night on percocet - I WORSHIP HER). The rest of our group consists of: Robert, Eric, Bart and Erwin.

In this order they are: Skeezy, Smelly, E. Coli Nails, and STUPIDEST HUMAN EVER.

Skeezy has hit on me EVERY time he has seen me. He is 35ish, does Pilates and yoga and is more gay than my gay best friend. And he has gone to a gay club, without realizing that he revealed that to a fag hag. Retard. We are everywhere. The problem is, I think he is bi because he has done everything to get into my pants just short of taking them off himself. I have actually used the line: "You are not getting up in this vagina, so DIE."

Smelly does work. Slowly, but at least he works. He smells. He has actually come to class with sweat stains. I've actually invited Lauren into our mess up front so she is not next to the Great One that Smells.

E. Coli Nails is the reason why I can't stop FREAKING OUT in class. The professor was talking to us the other day and I completely zoned him out because this guy's nails were longer than any woman I know and they were black. Not from paint either, I know black nail paint well - it was on me for well over a year. THAT WAS DIRT. Oh dear God. It's so digusting. And after that class, Bill (the professor) talked to me and we had a in-depth OH MY GOD moment of THAT WAS DISGUSTING. He is getting the best eval ever. EVER. He hardly works, but that's okay. I don't want to touch anything he has to offer. Not to mention he taps his fingers on the desk like a chick. I can't stand it. And I'm terrified he is knocking the germs off his nails and pushing them to me which will cause some sort of E.Coli plague upon my soul. I can't sleep at night when I think of his nails. They are THAT BAD.

And finally, STUPID. We had to come up with a statement that explains why we were doing the homework assignment (other than "we had to, it's for a grade... dumbass"). So I decide to use our education for my advantage. I get these responses: "I'm a prelaw minor" from Lauren and Robert. That's my excuse for the class too. CHECK! I turn to Smelly: "Poli-Science." WORD. I turn to E.Coli: "I just signed on to a Leadership and something major." I think about this: "You mean, Leadership and Global Business?" I get told YEA, THATS IT. Note to E. Coli: know your fucking major. That's right, the man didn't even know the name of his program. BUT OH WAIT. Stupid has to answer.

Stupid tells me that he is getting a B.A. In what I ask? He repeats: B.A.! This goes on for a good ten seconds of me asking what his school focus is in and he just replying B.A. Finally I go: "Okay, you're not a prelaw minor. So you have to be doing this for a degree otherwise you retarded. Poli-Sci or Criminal Justice?"

He looks at me, dead-eyed, and said "Yes."

I shit you not. He just said YES.

At that point, my brain ceased to function and I lost all interest in the class. Between the stupidest man on the planet and the dirtest nails in my zip code, I about passed out from lack of oxygen to my brain.

And now with all that said, I'm going over to Tom's house to watch wrestling. Where I will sit around and watch large, burly men in tights wrestle each other. It's my special treat to doing homework all day and then actually updating my blog after such a long hiatus away.

Oh and PS - Happy Belated Valentines Days! I know I don't care about the holiday, but if you do there's my love for you. Don't tell me I didn't splurge on the candy hearts, you don't want my candy hearts. I lick the message off and write hateful messages of hate.

Lesson

2006-02-11T09:14:00.000-07:00

People who are making illegal left-hand turns in their vehicles SUCK.

Last night, I was heading over to Tom's house because they all wanted to do dinner with Trevor who had come down from Casa Grande. It's Grande (that means big), just like a Casa (that means house). House big, how weird.

Anywho, I get off the fantastic two-lane mountain when I get to the first stop light. Light turns yellow and I have the right of way to go through, when all of a sudden the stupid white truck heading north decides to turn left. That is LEFT IN FRONT OF ME. I step on the brakes, but still graze the rear part of her truck. Airbag did not deploy and no one was hurt.

Either case, the cops were called. He showed up, got both sides and was like: "Cool, matching stories. I'll go get this done and you all can go home." I'm a little nerve-wrecked, but all-and-all I'm holding strong because the lady was hyperventilating. One of us had to say cool, might as well be me. The officer came back, and gave us a copy of the report and then gave someone a citation. HER, NOT ME!

She made an illegal left turn, you don't turn until you are sure it is clear to... and that bitch certainly did not do that. Upon reflecting, I think she was on a cell phone too. USE SPEAKERPHONE BITCHES, IT WORKS WONDERS.

Anyways, I'm a-okay. My back was pretty tender last night, and actually has gotten since worse. I'm not really worried though, I think it's just finally hitting me. Hopefully by Monday it's gone, otherwise I have to go to a doctor. Meh.

At least she covers my insurance and everything, we're guessing about $3-4,000 in damages. It'd be cool if the damage is worth more than the car (totally the bitch). Mostly because then I could get a new car. I love Rick, I really do... but nothing makes me smile more than to get rid of the little fucker. Rick has done everything possible: dead battery, flat tire, registration problems, air conditioner problems, lock my keys inside of it... you name it, Rick's done it.

Anywho, the lesson of the day is: people who make illegal left hand turns SUCK.

Oh, and this is the first year in about five years where the Grammy's did not suck. The lineup did, but the awards did not. LONG LIVE THE GRAMMY'S WHICH DIDN'T LET MARIAH OR KANYE TAKE IT ALL HOME!

Now if you excuse me, I'm going to go lie down and wimper in pain.

The Grammy's Scam-Me

2006-02-08T08:32:00.000-07:00

Tonight is the 48th Annual Grammy Awards. I used to really enjoy the Grammy's, now I really could care less. I still, however, feel very strongly about the Top 4. I guess when it comes down to it, I want the artist who actually made a difference in the past year to iwin. Lately though, things have run differently. If you are nominated in any of the Top 4, you are automatically in the Top 5 running because you get nominated in your specific music genre category.

And whomever wins the first award, suddenly wins the rest of them. Oh, and if you play a piano... you are a shoe-in (Alicia Keys did it in 2001, and Norah Jones followed suit 2002). I admit now that I'm biased. I hate Kanye West and Mariah Carey. Both have huge egos and like doing freaky shit on national television. I can't stand either of them... I repeat: I cannot stand Mariah Carey or Kanye West (I'd throw Norah Jones in here, but we all know I hate her the most). West was nominated for seven Grammy's last year and won six of them. The one he lost? It was Best New Artist, and it went to Maroon 5.

He bitched. HE BITCHED. Apparently, six Grammy's is not seven Grammy's. He wanted to be the next artist after Santana, Norah, and Alicia. Maroon 5 deserved that one award. I know I love them, and I will support them until they make a song more awesome than "Tangled" and one song more overplayed then "This Love" and one song that is more annoying than "Sunday Morning."

I could even go so far as to bitch about the people that were unjustly nominated. Starting with Kanye, he's up for (I think) eight awards. Gag me. His sophomore album was very good, and I do give him credit for his producing talent. But I'm not going to bend over backwards and say it was the best album of the entire year! I heard better! Kelly Clarkson had one of the top selling album of 2005 and she is up for TWO minor awards. That's bullshit. I didn't snub her first album. The original American Idol definately held my interest to see if America was on dope for the entire summer of 2002. They weren't, the CD was just rushed and they didn't give Kelly room to show her voice off. Kelly's sophomore album blew me away: great vocals, catchy hooks and tracks that have emotional diversity.

Either case, regardless of my feelings toward artists or how screwed up the Grammy's are, I still like to make qualified predictions on who should win the Top 4. It's like guessing only the big ones for the Oscars, you don't care on the little things. It's the big ones you give a shit about.

Oh and by the way, you guys don't need to tune into the 3.5 hour show. For starters, who the hell cares about 108 other awards to give out? Secondly, it's up against Lost. I'd sooner get me some cannibal action than wrongly-given out awards. Oh.. and did I mention the only part of their line-up worth my attention is the tribute to Sly and the Family Stone's and to the victims of Hurricane Katrina? Maroon 5, Joss Stone and John Legend are teaming up, and I'm hoping that Sly Stone will come out of hiding to join them.

Reflecting now, I do think the Grammy's are a scam. And yes, I'm definately bitter about the Grammy's. But oh well, I'm bitter about a lot of things! Here's my guesses for tonight, I'll check tomorrow morning to see if my brillance paid off!

Record of The Year

"We Belong Together" - Mariah Carey, from The Emancipation of Mimi

"Feel Good Inc." - Gorillaz feat. De La Soul, from

"Boulevard Of Broken Dreams" - Green Day, from American Idiot

"Hollaback Girl" - Gwen Stefani, from Love. Angel. Music. Baby.

"Gold Digger" - Kanye West, from Late Registration

Who will win? Probably Mariah. Let's face it, Glitter was shitty. The fact that she tried to make a comeback was shocking enough. The fact that she nailed it? It's achievement enough for an award.
Who do I want to win? Tie between Green Day or Gwen Stefani. The boys of Green Day took a nice haitus from record making, only to return with their controverisal American Idiot. "Boulevard" was one of the post politically charged songs they have recorded, and was equally matched with the video. I couldn't ask for me, and neither could you. And as much as I hate to say that the shit is bananas, b-a-n-a-n-a-s, Gwen hooked me just like you guys. The difference is, she hooked me last year after Christmas. That bitch waited till summer to get the rest of the world. She deserves something for catching us all of guards with a hook about bananas... but she should still return to No Doubt. After having her baby, of course.

Album Of The Year

The Emancipation Of Mimi - Mariah Carey

Chaos And Creation In The Backyard - Paul McCartney

Love. Angel. Music. Baby. - Gwen Stefani

How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb - U2

Late Registration - Kanye West

Who will win? Kanye West. As much as I hate him, he still did make a good album. He produced the entire thing with help from Jon Brion, and every track he dropped was as good as gold. And he would know. He has at least FIVE GOLD TRACKS from that one CD. Bastard.
Who I want to win? U2. The album was very, very good. I don't care if Bono digs through trash in Ireland or is helping foster AIDS awareness in Africa. The environmentally-friendly group still warms my heart and deserves the win. And it's futile to say: HOW COOL IS IT THAT ON "VERTIGO" BONO SAID 1, 2, 3, 14?" Oh, and they made it into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Give them the high note.

Song Of The Year

"Bless The Broken Road" - Bobby Boyd, Jeff Hanna & Marcus Hummon; Rascall Flatts

"Devils & Dust" - Bruce Springsteen

"Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own" - U2

"We Belong Together" - Mariah Carey

Who will win? Mariah Carey. Sadly, everyone and everyone's grandma knows that song because it was played NON-STOP on every airline north of the equator.
Who should win? U2. The song about his father hit home and showed Bono as a raw vocalist. I loved it, and it should win. So let it win.

Best New Artist

Ciara

Fall Out Boy

Keane

John Legend

SugarLand

Who will win? John Legend. The boy has talent. I'll give you that. And he has staying power as possibly for a few years.
Who should win? Fall Out Boy. Granted this is their junior album, and I love them, Fall Out Boy made a splash in the alternative genre of music. "Dance Dance" anyone? Why, I think I might!

So there you have it. Those are my guesses, and we all know that I have a hidden desire to see the underdogs win. But when they are going against some heavy hitters (namely Little-Miss-Comeback Carey and My-Shit-Don't-Stink West), they might not win. And THAT ladies and gentlemen, just blows.

Before I leave I want to add this: Tom's dog Uno tried humping me over and over and over again on Monday night. It was much unappreciated. A 5-lb. horndog with little hairy balls of doom is my newest nemisis.

The Answer to Your Questions

2006-02-07T13:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I came out of the closet: I am going to be a high school teacher.

I know, I know. If I said I was into twat, I’d getting a stronger reaction. Mostly because, well let’s face it, girl-on-girl action sells better than teachers. It’s time I took the time out to explain what pushed me to do this and for what ungodly reason I have officially taken myself off the route to big checks in the corporate world.

Simple: two little dreams.

You all know about the dream I had a few weeks ago, the very one that showed what was going to happen to me in three or four years. But there was a second dream, and it was one I had in a phase I call “once upon a time.”

Once upon a time, I dreamed of being happy and nothing more. When I was a kid, I wanted to work at Sea World (that dream went straight in the fire pits of hell when I actually touched a dolphin) or to be a teacher. I got older, and a little wiser. And I got brow-beat into something that just was not me.

My father bashed the teaching community. Not because he thinks it is stupid, but because he has had such shitty times with teachers. He thinks they have their head so far up their ass that they have bigger God-complexes than doctors. Obviously, my dad hasn’t met himself. He pushed me to think BIGGER. He wanted me to think of a pay check and to think of taking care of myself.

That’s what parents do. They make us dream bigger than we are capable of. The thing is my dad’s dreams… they aren’t bigger than me. I’m fully capable of his dreams. I have the potential to exceed his biggest dreams, twice fold. I don’t mean to brag, but the reality is – I am that damn good. I have the intelligence and the quick wits to pick up any subject, any problem or any goal and make it my own. I have a strong personality mixed with desire. I would quote Kurt Angle, but only one of you would get that (let alone even know who that is).

My dad’s dreams slowly became mine, but without realizing it: I lost a part of myself in the process. I changed what I could. I cannot express how many nights I have had where I could not sleep because I knew what I was becoming was the ultimate betrayal against me. I have had nervous breakdowns before; they are the absolute worst feeling.

I’ve thought about killing myself more than once, but nervous breakdowns are beyond worse. The next morning you feel a sense of shame and guilt when you wake up the next morning and realize that you are still breathing. You think you are a pussy. And as they days and weeks progress, you realize that you are still living for a reason. I am alive today because I am better than a rope.

Nervous breakdowns leave you shaken, to the very core. You can’t calm your breathing down. You toss and turn. You are over-emotional. You are, for lack of a better word, absolute raw chaos. That, my friends, is a feeling that is so overwhelming. Hearing my heart pound in my ears was a comfort. It means you are still alive, and that’s the only comfort you get. I hate that feeling, and for the start of January I felt like I was spirally downward in that direction again. In many ways, I still do – but it’s because I’m afraid of myself.

That’s where I have been for so long. I stopped living for myself, and started doing things for everyone else. The only thing I have ever done for myself was get an English major, and that’s one of the few things in this world that make me absolutely happy. There is no question, literature is my life. It has been. I will make sure there is always a part of me that falls under the category of literature. Lest I will go insane, and let’s face it – my crazy ass don’t need any more insanity.

My new year’s resolution was to finally make myself happy. I’m the type to fall into depressions and keep myself there because the misery tastes so sweet. But I’m also the type that wants to smile, to be free, and just a regular person. Tom works so hard to make me happy; he probably puts more effort into this relationship than me. Sometimes I let him down and not let him in. I think we still have to learn that for us, there will always be two lessons we need to learn: one, sometimes we cannot help the one we love and must sit back and watch them fight it out for themselves; two, sometimes we need to learn to let the one we love help us regardless if it will kill them or not.

As I say this, it’s important for me to say that Tom does make me happy. Tom is a rare person in my life that not only cares about making me happy, he does it with ease. When he is around, all of you can just rot in hell – my world becomes his world. I’m learning to deal with my newfound “stage-five-clinger” status, but I think he is digging it as much as I do.

I ask Tom now how to be happy, from school to my future. There are several reasons why. I make him happy without ever really putting any effort into it, from when I met him Tom is a completely different person. There are times when he reverts back to his not-so-confident, self-conscious, loser-thinking self. I spend my time and all my effort to remind him that he has me and whether or not he likes it, he is not a loser and he is totally and completely hot. Girls like me don’t fall for just any boy; we fall for the ones that are worth all the pain and the joy (welcome to my philosophy of yin and yang… one without the other, lest we have an imbalance).

Back to point: Tom is happy. I want to be happy like him, and not just when he is around. I want to really be happy. I want to smile and be carefree and think that this world isn’t such a shitty place, and I want to do it even when he is not around. I can play the part of that person, but I’m done acting. I want to be that person.

And after having that little dream and a hell of a lot of support from Tom, I’m finally doing what might make me happy. It’s so far from what anyone would imagine. I was always the one “destined” for greatness, with wealth and fame coming hand in hand. But I was always the one that no one listened to. I didn’t want wealth, fame, or anything that comes with that territory. I wanted to be happy, first and foremost.

Aristotle once said that virtue is something to be determined based on the events of one’s life. If you were a rich man with success are you happy? If you are a poor man with failed attempts at success are you happy? The answer of what determines “happy,” lies within the realm of “virtue.” The poor man may not have wealth, fame, or even success – but the poor man is humble. The rich man takes his life for granted. And while the rich man may have success, it is important to question who he hurt in the process of finding his happiness.

Virtue is a silly thing. Here, the heart wants to emulate the poor man. It is, however, our greed that defines where we stand. I’m not going to let greed push me into a life that isn’t mine. And I’m not going to pretend there should be a life of mine to lead outside of what I want. I’m taking the road less traveled, and pushing my greed to the side. I want to be happy, and I want just a little bit of virtue in my life before I die.

I want to live the way I want. I want to make my own shots, and not feel so entrapped by what I think. I want to smile when I wake up and think that I belong in this world. My whole life has been a series of let downs and beatings.

That feeling of nervous breakdown is no stranger to me. I hate that feeling, and I’ve lived in a state of mild nervousness for so long now. When I made the decision to continue school and to go and become a teacher, for the first time in… as long as I can remember actually… I took a breath.

I’m finally living and breathing for myself. And while I feel constrained right now, and even a little fearful… it’s because this is something so new to me. Not the material I will now be going over, it’s the fact that I’m finally moving into a phase in my life where I do what I want.

I’ve spoiled the world, and pushed myself down so far. It’s my turn to be selfish, to do something so insane and to do something that makes me happy. It may not make sense. It may not make my family happy. And hell, there will be people saying I don’t belong here. And all of that doesn’t matter to me anymore. There’s a simple reason and it only takes three words.

This decision, while it affects Tom and has Tom wrapped around it, does not have anything to do with him at all. This decision is not my final way of kicking my father in the balls. This has nothing to do with my fear of the corporate world.

This decision has everything to do with me. I’m being selfish and I’m finally living for myself. I want to get to know myself better, and learn who I really am. I’m not grown up and I’m not even close, but I want to see how I’ll turn out. I’m afraid of losing every aspect of me I have fought so hard to keep alive. I want the happily ever after, and the reality of living a dream that I wanted as a kid.

You want the answer as to why? It’s simple.

I want it.

Coming Out of the Closet with an Oreck

2006-02-06T10:43:00.001-07:00

My daily life is always an unexpected array of things. From doing the Footloose dance in my bathroom with my mom to just walking around the house screaming FOOOOOOTBAAAAAALLLLL until someone goes nuts, there is always something new with me. Am I bragging? You bet your candy ass I'm bragging. At least I know I'm fun, what the fuck do you have to offer me?

Right. Anger issues? Just a bit. Bite me.

So today I went into my "testing" for a possible part-time job. Which, by the way, is the most fantastic story... ever... no, really... ever. And while I waited to go back to take this "test," I got to watch CNN. Let me tell you, that is the best channel ever. No weather, boring people with no personalities talking, recapping the same stories over and over and over again.

Yes, sign me up for the eight tiers of CNN. And yes, I am being OVERLY sarcastic there.

You guys might think I'm crazy for wanting to be a teacher, but in comparison to what my options were before or even after... you might want to reconsider that train of thought. Oh wait, I haven't mentioned that part yet. This whole blog entry is going to baffle the fuck out of you.

Niiiiiice.

I'll get to it all, don't worry. Back to the Oreck rant! I'm watching the CNN program when they do one of those Oreck vaccuum commercials. You know the ones. It's got the old frog-like man, who has the incredibly light (8 pounds!!!) vaccuum with the suction power of a category two hurricane.

Don't argue with me on the specs. I saw the commercial FIVE TIMES in the course of ten minutes. I could sell you one of those bitches. You know why? Because he pays the shipping and handling price. And if you aren't fully satisfied with his awesome sucker, he will pay for the shipment back.

Tell me that's not a great deal. The housewife in me just got a little excited.

I must be too smart (.... talk about foreshadowing there...) for my own good because I found the flaws in the Oreck man's commercial. Yes, I find it very cool that a gallon of milk weighs more than a vaccuum. It does almost entice me to do that because our vaccuum weighs more than half the population of Mexico.

But you know what is WRONG with Oreck man's commercial. He is selling his product with bad information. I am fairly certain I could get him for false advertising. I have to read my business law book again to verify, but I might be able to. If not, I can at least get on TV as the wacko going against the Oreck man. He says his vaccuum has the same strength as a Category 2 Hurricane.

Ahem. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A CATEGORY 2 HURRICANE. That's 101-124 mph. That, my friends, is a tropical storm or tropical depression. Hurricanes are not hurricanes unless they reach a sustained wind speed of 125 mph.

Lying sacks of shit.

Oh anyways... the place I got tested at came back with some very interesting results: everything looks good, you have no disabilitating diseases, and you are too smart for the position you applied for.

And then they politely asked me to leave.

Best. Five. Minutes. EVER.

So I left, and mom and I have talked about it and we are both dying of laughter. It's like... MORONS! In retrospect, we both said that if I need the insurance (the real reason why I am talking about working) that I should just work at the mall or Target. I get the insurance and some extra cash.

I'll figure that out after this week. Let me get to the part of "COMING OUT OF THE CLOSET."

A few weeks ago, I revealed one of my dreams in enough detail to you all. Essentially, it came down to - I hate my life in about three years and I end up being a teacher. Well, here's the truth that I have avoided for so long.

I have always thought about being a teacher. Not because of summers off (although, let's face it - that's a nice bonus), but because I really like the idea of being able to try to impart some of my useless knowledge on people. English is something I love, always has been too. I want to try to get someone... anyone... to love it as much as I do.

Tom and I talked about it. And we're skipping the three years of torture, the years of travelling and hating our life. We're taking a different approach to it. We're doing it now, and making the most of what we have at our disposal.

This is loosely translated to: I'll be a high school teacher.

So now that my grand plan is out of the closet, stay tuned for tomorrow when I reveal WHY I am suddenly going off the deep end and doing what I want. Who knows? Maybe I'll even decide to become republican.

Taxes Suck

2006-02-02T13:18:00.000-07:00

Okay, last night I did my federal taxes. For those of you who don't know: taxes can blow it out their ass. Why?, you ask. BECAUSE THEY SUCK, THAT'S WHY.

You have twelve questions. All twelve are equally important because if you should answer anything wrong, you're ass lands in jail like that naked dude from Survivor. And half the questions need the answers from the previous question.

You want to know why they suck? For starters, there is all that math. Find this number, and add it to that number. Yank a number out your ass (okay, it's not random - it's 5000 if you are single and 8200 if you are filing as a married bastard) and add it to that number. Then go find these charts that don't exist (well, they do - but only on the Internet) and find a number to add to that other number. And when you are done, if that number is smaller than that other number - you get money back! Otherwise, you get to pay lots and lots of money to a cause you don't give a flying rats ass about.

The only question I knew the answer to was: would you like to add $3 to this refund to support the Presidential Election?

The answer is NO. That fucker cost me Scrubs. I will not endorse any political actions that cost me a TV show.

So yes, I hate taxes. And the brilliant thing is, I still have to file my state taxes. DAMN IT ALL TO HELL. Fuck taxes I say, FUCK 'EM.

On a brighter note though, I get about $650 back. I just love refunds.

The Many Adventures of Moo

2006-02-01T22:42:00.000-07:00

WARNING: I'M EXTREMELY RANDOM TODAY. BEAR WITH ME. If not, please rot in hell with a smile on your face.... bastard. What? You're the one that won't work with me.

Firstly, I would like to take the time to introduce a very important person in my life. His name is Moo. He is a stuffed koala that Tom bought me for when I am feeling lonely. I carry Moo with me everywhere, which really shows how lonely I feel the majority of the day and night. Moo and I are madly in love. At first, he was a timid little fellow. But now, he is starting to get awfully tyranical: "Don't let the dog eat me," "Buy me a tree to climb woman," and my personal favorite, "Bitch, I'm the cute and cuddly one."

That last one is a no brainer. His left ear is smaller than his right one, which I find absolutely endearing. And I can carry him by the paws everywhere because they fit so perfectly in my hand. And his just sits like a little Buddha. HOW CAN YOU NOT LOVE MOOSKI?! Simple. You can't. He's too fucking adorable. I don't share him though, I love him and he loves me. Mooski says you shall love him, but keep your filthy paws off him. I cuddle him enough. There's enough love here to make you wonder if I am actually a super brilliant moron or just a clutchy 21-year-old girl with abandonment issues. It actually might be both.

Anyways, I've decided to start a new thing. I'm going to take Moo with me everywhere. Mostly because I always feel lonely. But also because I have this new camera, which allows me to take fantastic new pictures. This means I can take fantastic pictures of Moo in random places. Observe:
Moo at the movie theatre. He saw Underworld: Evolutions. He really liked it. He sat on my lap the whole time.
Moo driving on the freeway. He was going about 65, just the right speed limit. He also had his tag sticking out of his butt.

And finally, Moo at the comic book store. His favorite is Spiderman. See... SPIDERMAN. Not Green Lantern. Although, it's fair to say Moo was digging "The Exterminators" comic book. I'm not sure why, and he wouldn't tell me. Secretive little bitch.

So over the next few months, don't be surprised if there are Adventures of Moo chapters. This little sucker is getting the most out of the $1.07 Tom spent on him.

Yesterday, the Oscar's list was released. Now, a month ago I was all sorts of excited to watch the Oscars JUST BECAUSE Jon Stewart was the host. That man is the only reason why I ever turn to comedy central. And that takes a feat from a higher being, because I watch less than 10 hours of TV a week and most of it on NBC. Movies do not count in this sum, nor do music videos. You count them and you might have a shoe up your ass. At the very least, you'll experience KOALA WRATH. Koala's have wrath you know. They really and truly do.

Anyways, I read the list yesterday to see what the nominees were and I am (ahem, for lack of a better word) disappointed. I had such hopes for this year. I saw lots of great movies. Sure, they may not be Academy Award-worthy. But let's face it... Batman was awesome.

So yea, let's recap: Jon Stewart, excited Ashley... list is released... disappointed Ashley. It dawned on me yesterday that Clint Eastwood, for the first time in two fucking years, did nothing. And I know why. Johnny Depp wasn't nominated, so Clint didn't feel the need to write, produce, direct, cast, score, and wipe the ass of some "talented" actor. Next year when Johnny goes back up for an award, Clint will be back with a vengence. I swear, that man needs to be shot. Him and Oprah.

Those two are the most evil bastards on this planet. They give away cars, they take awards from Johnny Depp... I mean, do they have no heart? No, no they do not. They have no soul. Not like Moo, at least. Moo has a soul... albiet, it might be a bit demented.

Back to point, I'm not really interested in the Oscar's this year. I'll tune in for the pretty/ugly clothes. And I'll watch the first ten minutes for Jon Stewart laughs. But otherwise, I do not care and I will not watch. At least last year I could obsess about Clint stealing awards from Martin for Aviator, that one dude from Ray and from Johnny. Which he successfully did... the bastard.

Speaking of bastards, last night was the State of the Union address. I don't care much for politics. I sometimes hate the fact that I am so politically correct, I have the words "I WILL NOT OFFEND YOU" tattooed on my ass. Did that one offend you? Probably. It's like the word "fuck." That pisses everyone off... fuckity fuck fuck. SAY IT LOUD AND SAY IT PROUD. Why? Because "fuck" is one of those words that fits your everyday needs.

So yea, like I was saying.. State of the Union. I got really upset with George W. Bush. Not because of what he was saying, or because the war was inevitably mentioned, just like those weapons of mass destruction. I got upset with him because he gave the speech on a Tuesday night.

DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS? Sit back down Tom, you already know this answer.

THAT MEANS SCRUBS WAS PUSHED OFF SO THAT BUSH COULD TALK FOR TWO HOURS ABOUT SHIT I DON'T CARE ABOUT.

There's somethings that need to change. This is one of them. Firstly, this is a speech that could easily be done in under twenty minutes. Those bastards attending the speech have to stand up and cheer very loudly for at least thirty seconds. He said "hello" and those bastards were off their feet cheering.

Ugh. I could have at least had half an hour of Scrubs, BUT OH NO, those bastards have to have standing ovations every 3.2 seconds. That might be a record, becuase I think the record was once 4.5 seconds. I look into these things. I get very bored. Leave me alone.

Did I fail to mention that the Constitution says NOTHING about making the State of the Union publicized. Bush could have written it out and submitted it into the Internet world. Now, realistically, I find this to be a much better option.

For starters, those poor bastards (they get very little empathy from me) don't have to tire their feet and clap off the outer layer of the skin on their hands. Secondly, no one would criticize Bush for how he talks. Thirdly, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, Scrubs would still be on TV.

I'm telling you all now... I'm a genius-in-training. I could probably solve world hunger if I tried hard enough.

Ooooh, now isn't that an interesting plan. I solve world hunger and you all bow down to me and my stuffed koala of doom Moo. You bitches haven't seen nuthin' yet.

Okay, Moo-ski says it is bedtime. And by bedtime, he means I get to go lay down in bed and cuddle him while I wait to see if Tom wakes up to say good night to me. I doubt it. He might have to be on the lookout. Moo will hug his adorable face up with his freaky koala paws of doom.

The $10,000 Winner

2006-01-29T08:11:00.000-07:00

I didn't mention that I went to Vegas this past week. I was going to hang out with John and Amy who came in straight from O-HI-O. That's not important. And neither is mentioning that Tom took his certification test.

You know what is worth mentioning?

I WON $10,000!

The Bastard of Juice Drinkage

2006-01-24T12:28:00.000-07:00

I like drinking juice, is that a crime? Hell no, it's not a crime. I'll tell you what a crime is... drinking my juice that was bought for me!!!! Now THAT's a crime.

I don't ask for much in this house in terms of groceries. Everyone knows the following is all I want in my house: bread, peanut butter, seedless strawberry jam, cherry poptarts, a few varieties of cereal, occassionally some chips, milk and juice.

I've been on a Sunny D kick for the past two weeks. I think it's just because for orange juice, it's not as acidic as the rest. It doesn't make me go "meh" afterwards either, which is a plus in itself. Yesterday I stocked up on my Sunny D before I went to class.

When I left, there was a whole bottle and about a quarter of another bottle remaining. When I got home, two hours later (which is a story in itself: I'm the oldest person in my biology class. And apparently AGE means I have to be nice. Don't worry, I informed them all that with age comes bitterness) only about three-quarters of the SECOND bottle remained.

I was okay about this. I'm cool with the sharing of the juice. BUT WHOMEVER IT IS NEEDS TO STOP THE MADNESS.

It IS my juice. I don't want to have to go back to the days when I marked what was mine in the refridgerator or the pantry (I've done it with juice and cookies before... I'm not above such petty behavior). I would merely like to make sure that when I wake up in the morning, I can have a glass of juice. And you know what? I'd like to make sure I have some juice at any other time during the day.

That's not a lot to ask for. Now if I asked for juice with a side of cavier, sure I'd be inclined to say "fuck you" too. But I'm not. So really, the only really important question is this:

Who do I have to kill to ensure the juice supply in this house?