angst Archives
New fabric! 100% poly-no-trust-her
Posted on May 8, 2008 6:01 PM
Trust is a funny thing, you know. Something so irreparable that can be repaired over time. This excludes my mother, of course. It appears there is no gaining that trust back. My sister, Tina, is the perfect display of such actions. When something so small as to going to breakfast by one's self is automatically assumed as a lie. And such situation is elevated into this heap of drama-filled-mess, you just know my mother clenches to grudges for dear life!
I feel bad for my sister, I really do. The fact that she is an adult now, with a clean, lie-less slate makes no difference in my mother's eyes. In fact, I even get doubted at times. I, who's never lied to my mother, I, who's spent years of building such "fabricated" trust, gets doubted. There is no winning with such a woman. With time, you will have learned to tune such nonsense out. Really, there is this little switch inside my head that drowns out my mother's rants into nothing but a distant mumble. Such a wonderful feature that I'd love to acquire to it's fullest potential. I are but a young grasshoppa, Tina is a true master and I admire her.
Clap on! Clap off!
Posted on May 9, 2008 11:59 PM
Seriously considering the fact that there is some sort of switch that get's life started. I've watched other's so carelessly flip that switch and I'm left searching for a needle in a haystack. I think my switch is hiding from me. No for real. Like I've offended it somehow by not taking advantage of the opportunity to flip it when and if it appeared itself. Like it was screaming to be flipped, it was trying it's hardest to be the shiniest, prettiest switch ever and I ignored it like a piece of rancid meat. (How I got the analogy of a bad switch to a piece of rotting meat beats me.) Well excuse me for have mistaken you for my light switch!
You know, it would be more appropriate of you Mister Life-Switch to have a "Clap on, Clap off" quality to you... rather than some switch that can easily be mistaken for a light switch, or a garbage disposal switch. *Clap on* Life has commenced. *Clap off* I'm dead and buried in a coffin. See how easy that was? But no, you make me search and search for you, growing more frustrated and more weary at the same time. I'm no patient person Mister Life-Switch, so it would be wise to make it easier for me or when I do find you, you bet I'll be taking a sledge hammer to your switch rather than a simple flick of the finger. Oh yea, I'm coming with a vengeance!
I shhtill wuve you!
Posted on May 19, 2008 8:05 PM
Surprise, surprise, turns out my step dad wasn't the reason behind my mother's fury, but I was. Since I didn't call her on Saturday to "check in," that must translate in her world as "I can come and go as I please, because I am 22." No really, that's what she said to me.
I was completely incapacitated to even consider checking in. Helllur, I was drunk, doing drunk-bar-hopping in my bare feet because me shoes were eating the very flesh off my feet. The last thing on my mind was picking up my phone, figuring out how to use the damn thing, and calling my mother.
Me: "High-low, musher. I are drinkshing a losht, no I are not! I are in a street right now filled wish buildings and drinks. I are drunk!"
(And eventually getting hit by a car because I am paying more attention to my phone and forming complete sentences than the cars that are driving by as I jay walk across the street.)
I try to stay away from drunk dialing. For such reasons like this:
P.S. Though, I do believe I can come and go as I please because I am 22. I just don't directly do as so, but very subtly for my mother's sake and my own sanity. (See, this is why I need to move out.)
The Sh*t List
Posted on May 23, 2008 4:10 PM
Things I hate:
- Couples, more specifically married couples, who get each other's name tattooed on some part of their extremities. They're just asking for a divorce.
- Those minis and the fact that only full grown men drive them.
- Customers who use our bathroom, don't wash their hands, and then come to my window. Great, not only am I taking their money, but their fecal matter as well. Lucky me.
- Doritos/potato chips whose Nutrition Guide has serving sizes like 5 chips. So you think, "Oh, 120 calories, that's not bad. Ooo 8g of fat, even better." Read on, "Servings per container 200," they're teasing us!
- Same thing with a bag of cookies, the serving size is ONE COOKIE! Who in their right, bloody mind is only going to eat ONE cookie?!
- [Pertaining the last two comments] Let's be realistic here and list the Nutrition Guide for the whole damn bag, 'cause you know we're going to eat it!
- Stupid blondes with their stupid miniature-sized dogs who stuff them in small pink, glittery bags and feel the need to carry them around everywhere they go; to the laundry mat, the post office, to the freakin' outhouse, wherever. You're dog is probably suffocating and/or getting choked by the strap for you own selfish reason to look cute. RIGHT ON!
Paraskavedekatriaphobia
Posted on June 13, 2008 3:19 PM
Friday the 13th, known to 99% of the Earth's population as a day of bad luck. A day of [insert air quotes] "un-coincidental" events that throw people into a spiral of paranoia that prevent them from doing their everyday routine and locking themselves in a padded room. A day where spirits, ghosts, and ghouls roam the Earth so freely, tormenting the living. Did I miss anything? No? Good.
Anywho...
The number thirteen and Friday have both been dubbed bad luck, so putting the two together is naturally, a double whammy. We all know there is an ungodly list of reasons as to why 13 is "unlucky," and Friday has been doomed unlucky because it is said Jesus was crucified on a Friday. The End. In my opinion, Friday the 13th is not a day of bad luck, but a highly glorified superstition. In all actuality (well my reality), Friday the 13th gives people the excuse to be the most neurotic, insanely psychotic, asshole, sons-of-bitches ever.
Hera are just a few, minor examples of the "characters" I've seen today:
1. Those dressed completely in chains and a fishnet body suit. (Managing to cover the wee-wee and the ta-ta's)
2. Those who are obviously obese, thinking they are 100lbs, wearing see-through outfits that show off back-cleavage.
3. Those that honestly believe it is my fault that we ran out of Wave menthol 100 cigarettes and threatened to sue...
4. Those carrying around manikin heads and moving them along to the beat of his stereo that is duct taped around his waist.
I have the right to motion a change for the definition of Friday the 13th. Instead it being a day of bad luck, it should be a day where people's IQ drop at least half of what it normally is.
P.S.
paraskavedekatriaphobia
The fear of Friday the 13th.
Derived from the concatenation of the Greek words Paraskeví (meaning Friday), and dekatreís (meaning thirteen), attached to phobía (meaning fear).
My shades and all it's glory
Posted on June 14, 2008 11:39 PM
I would like to believe that not all men are lacking in the communication department. I would also like to believe that my man doesn't fall into that category. Unfortunately, he does, no denying it. How hard is it to tell me that you just left your house instead of telling me that you're turning down my street now. I'm not dumb, venturing down my street is not a 15 minute journey, sorry.
Anywho, last night; huge communication failure on Dave's part. Instead of just telling me that he already had prior engagements, I was left dangling on a string waiting for him. When all else failed, I gave up on our plans and moved onto Plan B. Staying up a friend's house in preparation for Sand Castle, which was also a huge FAIL!
I place a pox on the rain, but at least I got the coolest pair of sunglasses out of it.
Jealous?
A collection of letters
Posted on July 26, 2008 10:45 PM
Dear liver, I sincerely apologize for ingesting the unnecessary amount of alcohol on Saturday. A week later, I still feel your turmoil.
Dear stomach, I as well apologize for the mass amounts of alcohol ingested last Saturday, but I do no appreciate the acid reflex that I am still suffering from a week later.
Dear self, I do not appreciate your lack of consciousness that could have potentially saved my $300 Coach purse from being vomited into. Do you have no sense? Have I not taught you better?
Dear mind, I strike you for having a greater care for Dave's silk tie being in that exact purse and soaking up most of the vomit. And why did you have to lunge for that bouquet? Thank you for labeling me the ass-who-fell!
Dear employers, I did pass the second grade and I am well aware of how to read Bachelor's degree. My cover letters are not there for decoration. Maybe if you re-entered second grade, you would learn how to read and discover that though I may only have an Associate's degree, my years of experience should be undoubted.
Dear life (in general), your irony should die a horrible slow death. You preach:
"Do your best"
Your best doesn't matter in the real world. It's all about the paperwork. Who cares that you graduated at the top of your class, with 7 years of experience. You graduated with an Associate's Degree and that's not acceptable (I admit to typing "exceptable" with no hesitation). You also preach:
"Be cool, stay in school!"
Who in their right mind can afford a $32,000+ 2 year school. Enrollment is down you say?
Ignorance is bliss, eh.
Life Lesson: There is no manual
Posted on August 13, 2008 11:04 PM
So... this thing called life can be pretty hard. Nobody tells you that in the beginning. No, they wouldn't want to discourage us now would they? It's all peaches and cream, "You can be anything you want to be," and "Nothing in life's that hard," bullshit. There should be a manual for certain things. I know, I'm a little late in the game to be saying such things, but gosh darnit, I'm 23, I want a fucking manual!
Frequently asked questions:
How am I to pay my $450 in school loans every month? (Which by the way takes nothing off the principal, they're just interest payments!)
How does economy factor into school loan consolidation?
How am I to find a freakin' job, without relocating?
How am I to make the decision to go back to school or not?
How am I to resist temptation when I am not in the correct state of mind to begin with? (Ooo, I like that one.)
Maybe I need to look a bit harder for my manual...
Reality's cruel
Posted on August 26, 2008 8:29 PM
I've only heard how "talented" I am from family members and, or close friends. Also from those who think pink text goes well with orange backgrounds and others whom never said anything negative about anyone else’s work. Should this positive feedback really be put into consideration? I'm beginning to doubt so...
Obviously I am not that talented and not that good if employers keep choosing other designers over me. 'Cause really, their opinions are the only ones that matter right now. It's all "We appreciate your interest in our company but unfortunately we've chosen another candidate to join our team," bullshit. Some even personalize it by given me pointers on what to do next time. No thanks!
I wish they'd just say what they're really thinking.
Ummm... no thank you, you suck!
Your advice will get me no where. I am but a poor designer whose only received pity from employers. Nothing I can do will magically poof talent into my system.
I give up world, you have won.
Just stick it up my arse.
Posted on September 20, 2008 11:34 AM
Life sure knows how to kick you when you're down.
I received not one, not two, but three tickets.
1. Illegal left turn [$108]
2. Tinted windows [$108]
3. Expired inspection [$108]
1. I was downtown during rush hour, my main concern was to not hit any pedestrians as they jay-walked as they pleased and not to traffic signs that are posted so high that not even my peripherals can see such pedestrians.
2. Blah, blah, blah. I had knowledge of my illegally tinted windows but had no care because they made my Dragula that much cooler.
3. My car is brand-spanking new; bought it in February with zero miles. Sorry for my assumptions that it was the dealership's responsibility to update stickers.
Thank you life, let's not forget that I just now paid my $240 cell phone bill and that my $420 in school loans are due in seven days (and my bank account reads $9).
My nipple tassels spilled the beans
Posted on November 5, 2008 5:26 PM
Life as i know it has been flooded with "I Voted Today" pins, hats, shirts, avatars, pictures of the "I Voted" pin on themselves or other miscellaneous objects, and hell if I know it, nipple tassels. Like broadcasting that vital information is going to get you a pat on the back or a mental note of acknowledgment. Who care's because I surely do not.
So to jump on the bandwagon I broadcast my very own avatar.
Yes ladies and gents, I did not vote today. The day I turned 18, I had not a fleeting thought of excitement because I am finally of age to vote. I have not a care in the world to vote because I do not believe that my one measly little vote counts. I am well aware of how the system works and it is not MY vote that chooses president's but the electoral votes. Presidents may win the popular vote by a land slide but dare lose the electoral vote to the other guy well... sorry, but better luck next time. My voice will not be heard and neither will yours.
People say to me, "If you do not vote, you have not the right to your opinion." I say, I have no opinion on the world, nor the government nor have I complained. If something doesn't directly affect me, why should I break a sweat for it? Call it selfish, but I have more important things going on in my life to worry about.
Yes, this entry will probably stir up some shit, but I plead the 5th. Lets all focus on the real excitement about Election Day and that being the oh-so-very adorable Google logo:
Vacation! [part five]
Posted on November 13, 2008 2:42 PM
Day 5 started off as a good vacation day because, you know yesterday, I was minding my own business, snuggling on the couch reading a book, and then my mom and step dad, John, came in the door baring gifts for a certain someone’s birthday that's in six days. Since I am the impatient, 'ripping presents to shreds not even minding the beautifully wrapped package' kid that I am, I wanted what was in that Circuit City bag and I wanted it now! Oh the box taunted me, yes I could see the box because the bag was opaque, and I saw a glimpse of green. Could it be? Could it be...
A FUJIFILM - FinePix 10.0MP Digital Camera! I immediately snatched the bag from my step dad’s hands, ripped it to shreds (even though I could have just calmly opened the handles), gnawed my way through the box, and pulled out my new, improved, freakishly small (you've got to hand it to me, I had an old Sony digital camera, that thing was like a brick), sexy, green digital camera that's all mine!
What had started off as a good day drastically went down hill. Today was the day of my step dad's ex-wife's / step sister's and brother's mother's funeral.
Not a mere couple of days ago my step dad, John, received the news that his ex-wife, Bunny, had suffered a brain aneurism but had survived. After the grueling (what I assume to be) 8 hour surgery, it wasn't looking good for Bunny; half of the right side of her brain was completely dead and the whole left side of her brain was damaged. If that wasn't enough for Bunny, she had also suffered not one, but two strokes during surgery. As the days rolled on, the doctors couldn't get the beats-per-minute of her heart to go up, and they ruled it as a heart attack that probably caused such a slow beat.
With such brain damage the doctors said Bunny will never have her motor skills again. That being she will never have the capability of talking, chewing, eating, or swallowing at that fact. Bunny then, eventually slipped into a coma and at that point the whole left side of her brain completely died and that's when my step family made the wise decision to take her off life support. She died Sunday, November 9th, 2008.
I couldn't help but be ripped back to the day my father died, I was flooded with memories of that dreadful day because it was also a Sunday. I had also woken up, came downstairs, and received such horrid news.
My heart went out to my step sisters and step brothers because they were there for me when I lost my parent. I was going to be there for them and their loss because I know how it feels, I know what they are going through, hopefully my support will help them the way their support helped me.
Though... A part of me did not want to go to the funeral home. I did not want to enter that room with that casket and have not a doubt in my heart that, that is my father in there, dead. I could see it all again, I remembered it all like it was yesterday.
That dreadful Sunday where something had abruptly awoken me from my slumber. Something that made me go downstairs just to receive the word that my father had died. The horror and the guilt, the sadness and the pain, it all felt exactly the same as it did that day. I remembered retreating to my room, never to come out. I remember sitting in my chair, staring blankly out the window as my hands wrote a poem. A poem to my father and about my father. A poem that had finally admitted that I loved my father and not hated him the way that I used to scream so. A poem that had released me of all my guilt. A poem of forgiveness. A poem of apologies. A closure.
I remember going to the florist where I broke down in tears because I was picking out the floral arrangements that were to be exhibited in my fathers casket! His fucking casket, because he was fucking dead and I couldn't even tell the florist what name to put of the banner. Dad? Daddy? Father? He was never a dad to me! The anger, the anger just rushed in my veins but then quickly overcome by guilt. I remember all the emotions that always seemed to hit me all at once like a freight train.
I remember going shopping with Dave because I had not an all black ensemble and even if I did, I wasn't going to wear it to my father's funeral. I wanted an outfit that I was never going to wear again. An outfit I can hide away in my closet as the outfit I wore to my father's funeral. A simple task, or I had thought it was. I couldn't do it, I couldn't pick out the clothes that I was going to wear to my father's funeral! It was all so surreal, like a dream, but not that day. That day, reality hit me... hit me so hard that I was on the floor of JC Penny's sobbing my eyes out.
I remember my desperate search for a newspaper to see my father's obituary, to see if it was all true or just some sick nightmare. I was not.
I remember the funeral. I remember how nice of a day it was and how I longed for the rain. I remember hating the sun, and hating God for having such a nice day for my father's funeral. My father just died, the world should not rejoice in the sun but mourn because I had just lost my father. He's dead and it was not raining.
I remember the room at the funeral home. I remember the surreal look of my dad. How doll-like he looked, so fake, like it wasn't real. I remember how boney his shoulder's were, the hair on his head, the mole on the side of his forehead. I remember his hands, those big, strong hands, with that broken thumbnail... they never changed. I remember that sweater he would usually wear for proper events, those black slacks, and his dress shoes that weren't so "dress" anymore because they were covered in scuff marks, dulled out, and torn a bit. I remember remembering those shoes for as long as I could remember. I remember the hat he always wore that laid by his hands. I remember the pictures that were lined up in his casket. I remember the mints we snuck into his casket, that we hid under his blanket, because he loved those mints, they were his favorite. I remember the flag because he was a soldier. I remember the two flowers that laid on his lap; one from Auron, his grandson and one from his passed godchild, Amber. I remember the stone that sat at the edge: "When those we lose someone we love. The become a memory, and that memory becomes a treasure."
I also remember how hard he felt. I remember not believing that that was my father, lying in a casket before me. I remember never leaving his side because it appeared as though everyone was ignoring him. I remember everyone chit-chatting with their backs turned to him, but not I. I stood there, I kept him company. I remember the promise I had made to him and how I have faltered on them already. I remember the forgiveness I begged from him, that I still don't feel it.
I remember going to his apartment that had already been cleaned out by family. I arrived too late due to work. I remember the feeling of having no closure 'cause I did not see the way he lived. I wanted to see how he lived. The couch, the dining room, the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom, I wanted to see it all but everything was gone! All that was left were marks on the carpet of what used to be there.
I remember the Miracle Grow that was under his sink and how Tina told me that he was excited to bring her tomatoes! I remember the canned soup, the vegetables, the appliances. I remember going into his bedroom and his barren closet and picking out a striped, button-down shirt. I remember my father always wearing button-down shirts, I have not a memory were he wasn't in a button-down shirt. I remember picking through his belongings, desperate to grab hold of memories. I remember all the “I want this” and “I want that.”
I remember the rain finally coming. The gray clouds, the emptiness. I remember driving away from his apartment. I remember finally realizing that he's gone. He is gone forever.
Putting all selfishness aside, I went to the funeral home. I grunted and I bared the pain in my family's eyes because I know what they're going through. I hugged every last one of them and whispered softly into their ears, "I know." That's all I could say, nothing I could do or say will make them feel any better. I was not going to ask how they're doing because I know. I wasn't going to ask if they're going to be alright because I know. I do know, all I could do was hold them and comfort them the best I could. All I could do was be there for them.
And that I did.
