Thursday, April 16, 2009

The Lights are Off and Somebody's Home.

I should start by saying that I hate stupid people. With the exception of this morning and my rude awakening, everything has been wonderful today, but this morning is enough to piss anyone off.

I got home late, and went to bed even later. I probably went to bed between midnight and one, but for a weeknight, that is late for me. I am the kind of person that is fully aware of how big of a bitch I am in the morning, so I try to avoid making it worse by trying to go to bed at a decent hour. As I was saying, I went to bed late, and finally fell asleep only to be waken up by my fucking idiot, douche bag neighbor.

I heard a knocking sound. Being that I was in deep sleep, I was unable to distinguish whether this was happening in my dream, or in reality. Once I finally opened my eyes and remained laying in the bed for a few minutes, I heard it again, then again, and again. It must have been going on for AT LEAST 30 minutes at this point. I jumped up, looked at the clock, and saw that it was only 6:00AM and still pitch black outside. I was also only in my underwear. I pulled a blanket around me and walked into the living room to the front door. Once I got to the door, I called out to see who it was (I was not about to open the door when I was half naked, when it is dark outside, when I am not expecting visitors, and when I cannot see without my glasses). The voice from the other side of the door was a female and she said "your neighbor".

I cracked the door and I asked her what she wanted. Then this bitch has the audacity to ask me to watch her car for a while cause she parked in a tow zone. I was furious. I told the girl I was sleeping and she said "oh, I am so sorry". This is bullshit. She knew I was sleeping because of multiple reasons.

tow mater Pictures, Images and Photos

1) After 30 minutes of continuous knocking I finally came to the door.
2) It was dark outside, and I didn't have any lights on in my house.
3) It was 6 in the FUCKING morning.
4) I was naked. (OK, so this COULD mean I just got done showering or I was doing the do, but those are also times you DON'T interrupt people).

I slammed the door in her face and tried to go back to bed.

I don't know what goes through people's head these days. First off, I ONLY went to the door, because after 30 minutes I figured it was an emergency or something. In 30 minutes time, this fucking dumb ass whore could have parked over a mile away and STILL made it back to her apartment prior to being done with knocking on MY door. Not only that, but we are not friends. I said "hi" possibly 3 times max, that doesn't mean "hey buddy, wake me up whenever because I want to be your best friend".

People have been killed for less. She should keep that in mind. Next time the nun chucks and dagger are coming to the door with me...... or should I use my throwing stars? Hmmmmmmm.......

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

If Reading is Your Thing.....

my horizontal life Pictures, Images and Photos

Great book. Read it in less than 2 days. Check it out!!!

Monday, April 13, 2009

Up like a Thong in my Ass, But Less Annoying....

normal Pictures, Images and Photos

Things are making their way on the ups these days. I had a great weekend. Weekend Roomie came over from Austin on Thursday night, leaving us with an extra day to hang out and do crazy shit. Although I am slightly sleep deprived from the series of events that took place this weekend, I had a pretty good time. Weekend Roomie met my handsome high school guy that I have yet to name. We all went for sushi on Friday for lunch, which was nice, and a little shocking. I guess he is trying to make an effort in stepping out of his comfort zone, because he told me a little while ago that he gets quiet and clams up around people he doesn't know. I must say I was very proud of him, because if he was shy or nervous, he did an incredible job of hiding it. With that being said, I really appreciated his willingness to "step out of the box" and try to socialize with people that are in my life.

As far as he and I go, I am very happy. He is amazing. I have found myself staying up way past my usual bedtimes, I wake up in a great mood considering I have had way less sleep, and I smile whenever I think about him. I enjoy having him around. I can't get enough of him. Where a normal person would have gone to sleep or start winding down once Weekend Roomie left, I got my stuff and headed over to his house instead. We had a movie on, but I don't remember all of what happened in the movie..... guess I should have paid better attention.

Weekend Roomie and I had fun. We ate lots of good food, went to Kemah for a car show, and participated in many extracurricular activities. After all was said and done, I was exhausted for having an extra day to fuck around with her..... I am the one that usually passes out first, and I was up WAY past my bedtime each night Thursday on. Man, I could really use a nap right about now.......


Vintage Quotes Pictures, Images and Photos

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Misery

When two miserable people come together, misery is not doubled but halved........ Someone told me that the other day, and I think it holds true. Even a generally unhappy person has great days, and misery enjoys company.

misery business Pictures, Images and Photos

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

I Got More Ups and Downs Than a Wave Pool

shadow Pictures, Images and Photos

I find this somewhat amusing, but I have performed for hundreds and thousands of people, and right now I am nervous. Perhaps I am nervous because I am playing me in life and not someone else. Perhaps it has nothing to do with that at all. Maybe it is because my stage doesn't appear to be a stage at all, but at present, Houston, Texas (or the world, if you will).

I forgot how I get when I really like someone. Even though I tend to be pretty outspoken, when I REALLY like someone, I get shy and nervous. I do love the part right at the beginning when you don't really know what the other is thinking and you are not sure what will be next. All you know is that there is a connection, chemistry, and you go with the flow with anticipation to reveal the next chapters in your love story. This is where I am now.

For the most part, I have never really had to try very hard when it comes to guys. They like you, you like them, done deal. Then I think. I think of if the connection was so intense and mutual, why am I single now? Perhaps there was a chapter I overlooked, or ignored, just skipping to the end. Then, the end is what I have found. End of the excitement, end of the not knowing stage, and as a result, end of the relationship. Only in the past, it took about a year to finish every chapter.

Perhaps this is how it is with books that you just are not that into. When I pick up a book that I REALLY like, I can't put it down, so why wouldn't this be the same with a guy I REALLY like. I think it should.

This book that I am reading, or guy that I am interested in if you rather, is like that book you can't put down. I want to know what happens next, and I refuse to put the book down. This guy, however, has long chapters. Where it may take a day to read a chapter, I am finding is taking me quite longer. Perhaps the long drawn out chapters that isn't necessarily an easy read is just what I need..... but I am still anxious to know the rest of his story.

We met over half my life ago. We went to high school together and were both part of the R.O.T.C. program. Even though I remembered him, I didn't remember details. I didn't remember that he had a crush on me back then, and I wasn't aware that I even wrote something pertaining to his crush on me in his yearbook. He told me that I wrote something along the lines of "next time you like someone, tell them". I followed my own advice 14 years later. He is quite aware that it is now I that is crushing over him.

So, here I am thinking of 14 years ago. Not remembering that particular scene at this time, I must have known his feelings for me at that time. I kind of like the fact that I refused to acknowledge his crush on me since he refused to act upon it. What can I say, I am a balls to the wall type of girl. If I feel something, I go with it, leading to where I am now.

So I wonder if the story starts now, or if it started 14 years ago. Oh what a great story that would be to tell the kiddos, but like I said before..... not skipping any chapters this go round!

When I saw him for the first time in this chapter, it was 12 years later. I am guessing that if the book started back then, the period where we lost touch consisted of chapters of him living his life, and me living mine, only to be reconnected so the book has a point, right?

He had a picture of the two of us back in high school. He showed it to me when I went to his place. It was in a memory drawer. I feel honored to be in his memory drawer, especially since sometimes MY memory is faulty. With slight to no interaction during those 12 years, I still was special enough to be lumped into a drawer of specific memories. As a side note, we REALLY need to take another picture together, because I am not a huge fan of the one he has..... not to mention his eyes are closed and I am (what seems to be) talking!

I think there is a lot to be said about touch. I think touching can be so innocent, but so sensual at the same time. I went over to his apartment on Saturday night. We sat there, inching closer and closer to each other, touching. I ran my fingers across his arm, then his face, and towards the end of our evening together, we were close to one another, holding and touching each other, my face next to him, my breath on his neck. I didn't want to leave, but at 4 something in the morning, I did. I also didn't want him to feel as if I was imposing on him or his personal space, and quite frankly, I refused to invite myself to stay. As I went to leave, we hugged for what seemed like 5 minutes, and then we both turned away and I left.

I am intrigued by him. I know he has some issues from his past that he is holding in, and I feel that he is fighting with himself, but at the same time, I am not in a rush. I want something that can last forever, and that takes time. I like the whole "getting to know you" part and not just "wham bam thank you ma'am". My friend Psycho once asked me a question that I love. He said "when you and your partner are old and gray and are incapable of having sex, would you be able to still fully enjoy their company?" I think with how the majority of relationships go these days, no, but with seeing someone you see about every other day and still haven't kissed, definitely. There has to be something about him for me to want to be around him, want to see him, and want to do everything and nothing with him. So I am fine with the no kissing deal right off the bat, and not jumping in the sack right away. I like that he isn't being pushy, if anyone is..... it is me.

I am having him over for dinner tonight, and I am very excited and nervous. I want to impress him, but not look vulnerable at the same time. Yes, I am lonely, but no, I don't want him to be a filler. I want there to be more to this story, and I want my happy ending!

shadow Pictures, Images and Photos

Monday, April 6, 2009

Unhappily Happy/Happily Unhappy

I am typically not the kind of person that keeps things in, but lately I feel very alone and feel that I don't have anyone to talk that is close. I probably should rephrase that to mean that I have friends that are so consumed with their own issues to have time to ask me about mine, but at the same time, I don't offer the information. I also try to be happy and positive, but on the inside I am really depressed, alone, and questioning if I will EVER find what I am looking for; what I have waited my whole life for. The moments I have with my friends lately are brief, therefore I don't use that time to express the deep depression that I feel. I try to show a vested interest in others, and by that, I push my emotions in the corner to be revisited later, when I am alone. I find myself crying as I walk to my car leaving a friends place. Why am I crying? There probably isn't one reason, but an overwhelming number of reasons that consumes me to breaking points. I don't like people seeing me like that, and as a result, my boss has seen me break down more times than I would like to admit.

Why do people get depressed? I remember having gone through this a long time ago, and being put on medication for it. I don't want to resort to that again, but I can't get out of this funk I am in.

Even if this is NOT the case, this is how I FEEL......

I enjoy living alone, but I hate being alone.

The majority of my friends don't express a vested interest in my life.

The majority of my friends are too worried about their lives to ask about mine.

The majority of my friends are too busy playing house.

I ask about my friends lives. Perhaps this is because I care, because I do so in avoiding to show weakness of that of my own life, or because I don't want to EVER be the reason they feel like I do now, so I go out of my way to make them feel good.

I am great at giving advice, but I am to stubborn to take my own advice.

I go to the same places out of comfort, but know that I won't meet anyone worthwhile or new.

I get in my car and cry just so my friends don't have to be bothered.

Sometimes when I cry, I do not know the reason for it.

This leads me to think that I am unhappily happy. I come to this conclusion because it is obvious that I am not happy that I am unhappy, but want to find happiness and sometimes I do so while being unhappy as a whole.

My life, Unedited and unrevised (2)

To this day, I still don’t know why my stepmother had a problem with me. I think it had something to do with my mother, but before starting on that, a little background. My dad was married to a lady for what only seemed like a month’s time. Coincidentally, this lady was sisters to my Kindergarten teacher. According to dad, shortly after exchanging vows, she decided she didn’t want to work. Guess dad had other plans, and they didn’t work out.

My stepmother had a pattern where she would get pregnant, then get married. She got knocked up when she was sixteen years old and married the man. She held true to her traditions, because this is how she managed to catch my dad. After my parents split up, they remained friends. This is odd to me considering what my mother had been through, but I am not one to judge other people’s actions. They were actually quite close and talked about things. I guess some people just get along better when they aren’t together. I understand that personally, but I will leave that for another chapter in my life. That having been said, my mother and father talked about the Bitch, and when my dad told my mother he was remarrying for the third time and with such short notice, my mom asked if the Bitch was pregnant. Personally, this is not the order I wish to go about things, but then again, them, not me. My dad reassured my mother that wasn’t the case, but turns out it was, and he knew it. My mom just knew something was up with him wanting to get married so soon after the last one, but she bit her tongue.

In English, my mother’s name is translated to something similar to the Bitch's name. With my father being involved with a lady named similar to that of my mom, I suppose a slip of the tongue is possible. I remember him calling her my mom's name once, and I remember her getting pissed about it. I think this is where her problem with me started. I think she had something against me being a product of my mother and father, but mainly because I was linked to my mother. The Bitch seemed to be very jealous of her, and as a result, she was a bitch to me. She made my life very difficult, and as a result, the seven months I spent there were pure Hell.

The Bitch made me call her Ms. Bitch. Personally, I don’t agree with that. You should refer to someone as Ms. or Mr. that you respect, or someone you don’t know, but to someone that I didn’t even like, Ms. was a stretch. My mom and I decided to call her BB instead; Big Bitch.

Living in her house was similar to living as Cinderella, with the exception of the two evil stepsisters. I had a chore list and so did my stepbrother, but if one was to compare the duties, mine was worse. His chores consisted of dusting his room, vacuuming his room, shoveling dog shit, etc. My chores were everything except Step Brother’s room. It was so bad, that I would get yelled at for loading the dishwasher incorrectly. If I put a glass in the top rack, but in the front instead of the back, I got yelled at. I even remembering my stepmother checking my dust jobs with a glide of her finger, and if there was one thing I missed, I would have to go back and do everything all over again. You may think I am kidding, but I shit you not. Living there opened a new can of peas, and the wrong kind of peas; let me explain.

What I ate in that house was limited as well. I did not have access to the TV dinner macaroni and cheese, because that was too expensive; here, I’ll give you your dollar back. I even did wrong by her once by opening the wrong can of peas. She made a potato salad on occasion and the can of peas I opened were the expensive ones she used for that particular recipe, expensive meaning closer to a dollar than fifty cents. Anyway, back to the peas. I remember telling my dad that I was hungry and asked if I could have a can of peas. He said yes, and then I proceeded to ask him if I should microwave them all, or half the can, etc. He said that I could heat up the whole can and whatever I didn’t want, to put in a Tupperware container. BB (the Bitch) walks in the kitchen and throws a fit. She yells at me for opening the wrong can of peas, and then proceeds to yell at my dad for letting me. She then yells at me for heating up the whole thing instead of just a portion, grabs my baby brother from my dad saying “give me my baby”, throws something at him, and leaves the house. After all is said and done, I don’t think I even ate the peas once it caused such a commotion.

I also don’t know if she tried to get me sick on purpose, but every time she cooked, which was not often, I would get sick and throw up. My dad did the majority of the cooking, as well as brushing my hair, and when he cooked, I never got sick. I remember getting sick at least three times from BB’s cooking. I think she put something in my dish. I can’t help but think that just because it was only when she cooked that I would violently up chuck my food. Not only that, but I had to go to school regardless if I was puking or not. I remember having to call my grandmother to get me from school one day because BB would not. BB shouldn’t have sent me there that day to begin with, but then again, that is why she is BB.

In addition to the food restrictions, I also was not allowed to wear shorts until April or May. I can’t remember exactly, but from anyone knows what the weather is like on the Mississippi coast, this is a ridiculous and torturous rule. This was back in the day when colored jeans were in style and I remember coming home every day with my legs the color of my jeans from sweating so profusely. First off, I grew up in Texas, where sometimes the weather allows one to wear shorts in December, so this bitch was just trying to push my buttons. I did what any normal ten or eleven year old would do. I called my mom and tattled on BB. The thing I didn’t understand was that BB would let me wear skirts, but not shorts. Can anyone please explain to me how that makes sense? I am still trying to figure it out nearly eighteen years later. My mom confronted BB about the clothing situation and BB replied by saying that I wore pantyhose when I wore skirts. This is a lie. Either I had enough hair on my legs to pass for pantyhose, or this lady was trying to cover her tracks. After all, who wears pantyhose in ninety plus degree weather, especially someone in the fifth grade?

I am not sure what kind of spell BB had on my dad, but I remember him having to hide giving me money for good grades and stuff like that. I never really had an allowance, but he made sure to sneak money to me here and there without her knowing. Perhaps I should have given it to her for her grocery shopping inconveniences, but I didn’t. An eleven year old could find better things to do with five or ten dollars, like snow cones. Thinking of BB, I probably shouldn’t have been eating snow cones until May, when I could wear shorts, right? But I am not bitter, not at all. Yeah, right.

I can honestly tell you my dislike for her had nothing to do with the fact that she was with my father. I know that growing up in a divorced family takes a little getting used to, but I never felt this way with the second wife, even though that was short lived. I knew that whoever my dad was going to be with would never be my mother, and I was not trying to make her what she wasn’t. I truthfully hated her because of the way she treated me. I would be more understanding if she was an all around bitch, but I was the only one that received this treatment. She would never think to treat her own blood like dirt on the ground. I think she felt inconvenienced for me having to live there for seven months. If only she knew how displeased I was for having to deal with her, maybe she would have been a little more understanding. We both didn’t want me to be there. I can honestly think that is why she treated me the way she did, and maybe in some way she was jealous of what my father and I had before she came along and ruined it. Needless to say, she succeeded in breaking what my dad and I once had; something that we will never have again.

My life, unedited and unrevised in Chapters (1)

I was born a daughter of a military man and a native Spaniard mother. My mother met my father in Spain while he was docking port from the U.S.S. Guam. My father told my mother he would come back for her, and that is exactly what he did. I am sure; however, he made plenty of visits to the “other” females in his life as he made his way back home. The evidence proving these accusations can be found in the collection of love letters he had obtained around the world: letters he still currently has in his possession. If things haven’t changed, they can be found inside the bottom, left hand drawer of his gun case, along with some of my mom’s hair. The hair was a result from a fight my mom had with another woman, pre-PissedOff I believe. Even though my parents have been divorced for nearly twenty years, he still has a part of my mother with him; that Ziploc bag of her hair.

I entered this world in a very violent upbringing. My dad hit my mom, my mom hit my dad, and my dad hit me. I have even been told that my dad hit us both at the same time, while my mother was pregnant with me. I am unable to confirm that information, but I can honestly say that it wouldn’t surprise me one bit. I distinctly remember when I was six years old sitting on my parents bed while he beat the crap out of her. I was writing “I hat dad” on my blue Lisa Frank stationary. I didn’t know how to spell hate, but you get the idea.

At the age of seven, I had become aware that when a parent keeps you from another parent, it is not considered kidnapping. I find this pretty amusing really, because there is no other way to sugarcoat what it was, and it was kidnapping, regardless of what the authorities say. My mom and I left Mississippi and moved to Texas. The courts had established visitation, and I had gone to Mississippi to visit my father for the summer. I remember him asking me if I wanted to stay an extra day, and not knowing the concept of a plane ticket, I accepted. I was familiar with flying, having taken my first flight at two weeks old, but I was unaware that flights had specific times and dates. I was the little girl that thought you buy a ticket, show up, and catch the next available plane. I didn’t realize that wasn’t the case, but a seven year old shouldn’t have been put in that situation to begin with. Aside from pointing out more of my father’s flaws in parenting skills, I should explain the kidnapping. Because of his gracious offer extended to me in staying an extra day, I missed my flight (what a surprise) and my mom was at the airport waiting for me to not get off the plane, which was a shock to her. She called my dad, and he told her if she ever wanted to see me again, she had to come back to him. She did, and as per the norm, and he beat the shit out of her; over and over again. You tell me whether that is kidnapping or not.

I was the only blood my mother had in the United States, and why she didn’t leave him and take me to Spain I will never understand. She said that she didn’t want to take me away from him, and she knew that he would never fork out the cash for me to fly overseas to see him. In the temporary orders establishing visitation, my dad was supposed to pay the entire flight from Houston to New Orleans, and even that wasn’t good enough for the cheapskate. My mom had to shell out half of my measly one hundred dollar tickets for me to even see him, so one could only imagine what an overseas ticket would do to him. My mom didn’t want to be the reason I never saw my dad. She told me, many years later, that she wanted me to make up my own mind about him. She didn’t want to brainwash or manipulate me to think what she thought of him, so she allowed me time to form my own opinion of the man.

I must have blocked this out of my mind for nearly a decade’s time. I remember it hitting me like a bolt of lightning. I was in the theater, in high school, sitting with Miss Black Teen Texas and a few other girls. Miss Black Teen Texas was talking about her St. Lucian father and the things he had done to her mother, and it came rushing back. I was so pissed at myself to have forgotten something like this. I guess I suppressed those feelings due to the trauma I had experienced, but to just forget it was beyond me. How could someone do such hateful things to another person anyway? It was then and there that my opinion of my father started to go downhill. It took me ten years to remember, and another 10 years to put it down on paper. Only this time, I don’t have a Lisa Frank spiral notebook with blue paper in it.

The time of my life when I had forgotten about all the bad things, I was quite the daddy’s girl. When he married for the third time, however, that changed. My mother was on her second husband at the time, which was going nowhere fast. It was going so fast, that she thought it would be in my best interest to live with my father while she “ironed out the kinks of that relationship”. I was in the fifth grade. I left Texas and ended up in Hell for the next seven months of my life. This particular Hell is referred to as Pass Christian, Mississippi.