Happy All Saints Day, mothertruckers!
;-)
Glitter is the SHIT.
Heather's sending me glittery BATS.
Yay for glittery!
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Saturday, October 4, 2008
When I saw that letter in the mailbox today... My heart stopped. She didn't need this, not on her birthday. With trepidation in my heart, I trudged slowly inside, clutching the envelop. She's on the phone with her sister, recieving birthday cheer, when a single eyecatching glance at the mail on the table wipes that from her face. Douglas County Jail is the second line on the return address. The first, of course, is his name. The name that still strikes fear and foreboding into my veins. But we luck out, this time; he's merely sending a hand drawn birthday note to our mother. My brother; so easy, so, so easy, to hate him when he's here... So easy to understand from a distance.
Jacob Andrew Bergeron was the third of four sons. He carried his mother's fair, pale skin and blue-green eyes. Nothing like his father in appearance, and so, that was his doom. Their father was a bastard. Cruel, cold, calculating. The kind of man that would tell his son that because he doesn't favor him in looks, he must be his whore mother's bastard child and not his. The kind of man that would regulate food for his sons when they lived with him. They had to ask his permission to get anything to eat from the kitchen. He sent his third son to bootcamp at thirteen because of a single infraction. A mistake probably propelled by the false accusation his father informed him of that same year. In bootcamp, they tried to rape him. They didn't succeed, but that kind of horror cannot be undone. After that, he didn't go back to his dad's, but inserted himself in my life in between jail stays.
No amount of therapy could fix his psychosis. Jake had always been a little batshit, a little temperamental (when I was seven, he chased Jamie around the house with a butcher knife threatening to kill him, but he probably was just mad), and his experiences living with his father, going to bootcamp, and having our mother (where do you think Jake got his crazy from?) as well, our mother, going in and out of jails, it only made it worse.
By the time he was seventeen he was holding a gun to Jamie's head cracked out on cocaine threatening to murder him. If Jamie hadn't of gotten out, he would probably be dead.
Jake is basically Schizoid Personality with a side order of bipolar manic type I. Try living with someone like that. It's hell. I walked on eggshells for thirteen years. I had a goddamn ULCER because of the stress of it. I don't know how Jamie shared a room with him. Last time... I couldn't handle living in the same HOUSE.
So... As much as I understand Jake, feel for his history... He is the bastard that destroyed my childhood.
So as she looks at his little note with a smile on her face, the chill never quite leaves my bones because I know it's just another manipulation.
A liar knows a liar and a con knows a con.
The only difference is that I'm not crazy, and I'm not evil. But I learned to manipulate and I learned how to lie because I had to survive, and you can't unlearn something that innate. Mostly, I use my gifts for good. Or at least render them harmless.
I don't torture people for sport. Jake did. Animals too.
Jacob Andrew Bergeron was the third of four sons. He carried his mother's fair, pale skin and blue-green eyes. Nothing like his father in appearance, and so, that was his doom. Their father was a bastard. Cruel, cold, calculating. The kind of man that would tell his son that because he doesn't favor him in looks, he must be his whore mother's bastard child and not his. The kind of man that would regulate food for his sons when they lived with him. They had to ask his permission to get anything to eat from the kitchen. He sent his third son to bootcamp at thirteen because of a single infraction. A mistake probably propelled by the false accusation his father informed him of that same year. In bootcamp, they tried to rape him. They didn't succeed, but that kind of horror cannot be undone. After that, he didn't go back to his dad's, but inserted himself in my life in between jail stays.
No amount of therapy could fix his psychosis. Jake had always been a little batshit, a little temperamental (when I was seven, he chased Jamie around the house with a butcher knife threatening to kill him, but he probably was just mad), and his experiences living with his father, going to bootcamp, and having our mother (where do you think Jake got his crazy from?) as well, our mother, going in and out of jails, it only made it worse.
By the time he was seventeen he was holding a gun to Jamie's head cracked out on cocaine threatening to murder him. If Jamie hadn't of gotten out, he would probably be dead.
Jake is basically Schizoid Personality with a side order of bipolar manic type I. Try living with someone like that. It's hell. I walked on eggshells for thirteen years. I had a goddamn ULCER because of the stress of it. I don't know how Jamie shared a room with him. Last time... I couldn't handle living in the same HOUSE.
So... As much as I understand Jake, feel for his history... He is the bastard that destroyed my childhood.
So as she looks at his little note with a smile on her face, the chill never quite leaves my bones because I know it's just another manipulation.
A liar knows a liar and a con knows a con.
The only difference is that I'm not crazy, and I'm not evil. But I learned to manipulate and I learned how to lie because I had to survive, and you can't unlearn something that innate. Mostly, I use my gifts for good. Or at least render them harmless.
I don't torture people for sport. Jake did. Animals too.
Alice Imprisoned
Alice in wonderland lies with
odds and ends collected in
your madhatter heart; im-
prisoned by the cheshire
cat's grin-- a too happy,
teeth gleaming smile that
yearns for the yellow-brick
road. But that's the wrong
story at the right time and
so it must not be;
chase away time with the
white rabbit, and maybe
his notice of passing re-
grets will be of little note,
moments that do not concern.
Pacify the Queen of Hearts,
she will not be bothered with
your pleas or memories; like
you, she feels not, knows not--
didn't you make her that way?
Follow out the caterpillar, a
secret adviser amongst the
condemned. If only you could
catch him, he might set you
on the trial's side of good;
Perhaps you will get Alice back.
odds and ends collected in
your madhatter heart; im-
prisoned by the cheshire
cat's grin-- a too happy,
teeth gleaming smile that
yearns for the yellow-brick
road. But that's the wrong
story at the right time and
so it must not be;
chase away time with the
white rabbit, and maybe
his notice of passing re-
grets will be of little note,
moments that do not concern.
Pacify the Queen of Hearts,
she will not be bothered with
your pleas or memories; like
you, she feels not, knows not--
didn't you make her that way?
Follow out the caterpillar, a
secret adviser amongst the
condemned. If only you could
catch him, he might set you
on the trial's side of good;
Perhaps you will get Alice back.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Cause And Effect
I admit that I love you but
I'd rather choke than show it;
Trust is not something I do,
especially not with someone
someone that's like you.
Who I could fall for, so very
easily, and who already has
my guard down. Yet still I am
on edge. Eyes and empty boxes,
empty boxes mark my escape.
Empty boxes made of cardboard
walls, the walls you trampled on
and tore down before I could blink
or run away; and now I am exposed
and open but you don't know it yet.
You don't know it yet because you
stopped watching; stopped seeing,
you aren't there or here or anywhere
Just everywhere you can't find me, you
couldn't find me so you stopped looking.
Stopped and looked and passed me by,
like a pastlife you can't quite remember,
I am nothing to you without this mask on,
and it's gone and you don't know who I am,
I don't know who I am anymore.
The roadblocks are lifted and I can see the
road out, but I have no one to lead the way,
do I really want to go alone? You made me
laugh my way out of this, and I think I have
to walk away from you on my own.
I'd rather choke than show it;
Trust is not something I do,
especially not with someone
someone that's like you.
Who I could fall for, so very
easily, and who already has
my guard down. Yet still I am
on edge. Eyes and empty boxes,
empty boxes mark my escape.
Empty boxes made of cardboard
walls, the walls you trampled on
and tore down before I could blink
or run away; and now I am exposed
and open but you don't know it yet.
You don't know it yet because you
stopped watching; stopped seeing,
you aren't there or here or anywhere
Just everywhere you can't find me, you
couldn't find me so you stopped looking.
Stopped and looked and passed me by,
like a pastlife you can't quite remember,
I am nothing to you without this mask on,
and it's gone and you don't know who I am,
I don't know who I am anymore.
The roadblocks are lifted and I can see the
road out, but I have no one to lead the way,
do I really want to go alone? You made me
laugh my way out of this, and I think I have
to walk away from you on my own.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
omg WANT
I want these prints like Amy Winehouse wants crack. And I would kill for the talent these guys possess in their pinky finger.
"White Rabbit"
"plastic.is.a.sin"
"If Your Kisses Can't Hold.."
"old friend.."
"White Rabbit"
"plastic.is.a.sin"
"If Your Kisses Can't Hold.."
"old friend.."
Monday, September 22, 2008
I'm tired of being attacked
If I so much as mention doing anything other than schoolwork, at any point in time ever, I'm sick of being attacked. She wants me to be doing it 24 hours a goddamn day. Twice this week she's started in on a litany of my faults out of nowhere, we won't be talking about school work or anything and all the sudden she's gone batshit. Screaming, threatening to cancel it, threatening to kick me out, telling me what a lazy piece of shit I am.
I won't repeat the things I said today. They weren't appropriate; I'm ashamed of having said those things to my mother. But the message was valid and I won't apologise for that. She's being a bitch, and I'm tired of being attacked just because she doesn't see me with schoolbooks every time she walks in. It's like if she doesn't see it, it must not be happening, and therefore, I'm just a worthless lazy bitch. Her words, that last bit.
Oh.. and now she's threatening to blow out her brains because she got a late fee.
Grow the fuck up, mother. I hate that I'm beginning to hate her. But it's the truth.
Oh, wow.
She just went "I wish that goddamn 50 dollars would get here, I could use the gas money." Wow. Um. That's my money, thank you. I love how you entitled yourself to it.
She makes me want to die... But the difference between her and I is that I love her too much to ever tell her that. I will never tell her how I used to cry myself to sleep when she would snap, how I still cry when she's standing outside my door telling me how she wishes she were dead, how I punish myself for that, how I blame myself. She will never know.
I won't repeat the things I said today. They weren't appropriate; I'm ashamed of having said those things to my mother. But the message was valid and I won't apologise for that. She's being a bitch, and I'm tired of being attacked just because she doesn't see me with schoolbooks every time she walks in. It's like if she doesn't see it, it must not be happening, and therefore, I'm just a worthless lazy bitch. Her words, that last bit.
Oh.. and now she's threatening to blow out her brains because she got a late fee.
Grow the fuck up, mother. I hate that I'm beginning to hate her. But it's the truth.
Oh, wow.
She just went "I wish that goddamn 50 dollars would get here, I could use the gas money." Wow. Um. That's my money, thank you. I love how you entitled yourself to it.
She makes me want to die... But the difference between her and I is that I love her too much to ever tell her that. I will never tell her how I used to cry myself to sleep when she would snap, how I still cry when she's standing outside my door telling me how she wishes she were dead, how I punish myself for that, how I blame myself. She will never know.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
you make the prettiest sounds
And you make the prettiest sounds
with your silence. A stuttering melody
of lost words and sounds you've forgotten
to remember. The faces you make and the
tears that I pretend not to see. The noise
in your head is so loud I can hear it; the
static of my thoughts replies in kind.
You are the loudest when you stand around
and your voice is the strongest when you say
nothing at all. The complicated implecations of
your silent movie life make me wary and unsure
of where to speak; I want to ask you things but I
am too afraid of what you may tell me when you
look me in the eyes and show the truth.
with your silence. A stuttering melody
of lost words and sounds you've forgotten
to remember. The faces you make and the
tears that I pretend not to see. The noise
in your head is so loud I can hear it; the
static of my thoughts replies in kind.
You are the loudest when you stand around
and your voice is the strongest when you say
nothing at all. The complicated implecations of
your silent movie life make me wary and unsure
of where to speak; I want to ask you things but I
am too afraid of what you may tell me when you
look me in the eyes and show the truth.
Monday, September 8, 2008
I'm urging so bad right now
And I think I'm going to be sick.
I'm either going to make myself puke or find a razor.
Fuck.
I'm either going to make myself puke or find a razor.
Fuck.
After this weekend
If I get nothing good...
I'm quitting. I'm done. Finito.
I feel like I'm in this relationship with photography and I keep going "Is this good?" and being shot down. Fail. Fail. Fail. Fail.
I can only handle so much rejection from the art before I grow up and let it go.
I refuse to be the photographer with 30 years experience that's got the worst portfolio in the room.
I literally feel sick after a shoot because I know that the model will hate the images.
I'm quitting. I'm done. Finito.
I feel like I'm in this relationship with photography and I keep going "Is this good?" and being shot down. Fail. Fail. Fail. Fail.
I can only handle so much rejection from the art before I grow up and let it go.
I refuse to be the photographer with 30 years experience that's got the worst portfolio in the room.
I literally feel sick after a shoot because I know that the model will hate the images.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
I love my friends
Seriously.
The ones that are awesome... Are really fucking awesome.
They exude win like the rainforest and oxygen.
Also, Seether makes a happy Becks, which is amusing, actually-- Seether is a pretty depressing band. Go figure. I'm a goddamn anomally, after all :P
I'm sick of pizza.
I want that damn bike.
I'm scared to shoot.
The mice are kind of boring.
Oh, did I ever even mention that? Yeah, I got two mice. They were cute, and now... Not so much. They don't like the whole being touched thing... Which, I do. I love snuggling animals. And animals that don't snuggle suck. It's the whole look but don't touch thing. Yeah... Never been particularly good at that. I usually want something... And figure out how to get it.
Or at least how to make sure nobody else does.
The ones that are awesome... Are really fucking awesome.
They exude win like the rainforest and oxygen.
Also, Seether makes a happy Becks, which is amusing, actually-- Seether is a pretty depressing band. Go figure. I'm a goddamn anomally, after all :P
I'm sick of pizza.
I want that damn bike.
I'm scared to shoot.
The mice are kind of boring.
Oh, did I ever even mention that? Yeah, I got two mice. They were cute, and now... Not so much. They don't like the whole being touched thing... Which, I do. I love snuggling animals. And animals that don't snuggle suck. It's the whole look but don't touch thing. Yeah... Never been particularly good at that. I usually want something... And figure out how to get it.
Or at least how to make sure nobody else does.
HAHAHA
Clyde: i'm staunchly in opposition of the tattoo, but it's your body
Becks: lmao
Becks: think of it this way
Becks: i'm basically stomping on him with every step i take!
Clyde:
Clyde: i was thinking..."maybe if she regularly stepped in shit i'd like it more"
Becks: LOL
Clyde: i heart chu
Becks: i heart chu too
Becks: lmao
Becks: think of it this way
Becks: i'm basically stomping on him with every step i take!
Clyde:
Clyde: i was thinking..."maybe if she regularly stepped in shit i'd like it more"
Becks: LOL
Clyde: i heart chu
Becks: i heart chu too
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Truth
Bats, bats, bats
bats those lashes again
and gets her way, pretty
lines and a laugh that
convinces Lucifer himself
to be good.
Run, run, run
run as far from Truth
for as long as you can,
but she'll find you and
you'll tell her things
in whispers.
Straight, straight, straight
straight to hell, she lives
in an abyss of niceties,
a charming lie you've yet
to really see.
They, they, they
they like to pretend, but
control is not a choice,
it's a given, and it was
never given to them, so
take it back.
You, you, you,
you can't have the keys
to every kingdom, or the
locket in every girl's heart;
Just soldier-walk away, don't
look behind you.
bats those lashes again
and gets her way, pretty
lines and a laugh that
convinces Lucifer himself
to be good.
Run, run, run
run as far from Truth
for as long as you can,
but she'll find you and
you'll tell her things
in whispers.
Straight, straight, straight
straight to hell, she lives
in an abyss of niceties,
a charming lie you've yet
to really see.
They, they, they
they like to pretend, but
control is not a choice,
it's a given, and it was
never given to them, so
take it back.
You, you, you,
you can't have the keys
to every kingdom, or the
locket in every girl's heart;
Just soldier-walk away, don't
look behind you.
Update And a Day and the Life
So the day before yesterday, I woke up. Shocking, I know. Who would have guessed? Anyway, I dressed to the beat of Fort Minor's Remember The Name and then brushed out my hair and went downstairs. To abbreviate the boring shit, I ended up at the mall, searching for an id/cigarette case. I ended up with two-- a black cigarette case with a silver peace sign on it, and a business card case with black-and-rainbow-glitter gems embedded on the top. I walked around the mall for a bit and saw the CUTEST shoes known to man. I don't jest! I wanted them like Amy Winehouse wants crack. But I no can has, so I moved on. I ended up talking my mother out of $80 more dollars for an adorable corset and an even cuter pleated shirt dress. And I still need pants; I'm getting these, and this skirt (it matches my corset!), and this tshirt. I figure I can shred the sides and make it awesome.
Anyway, after that, I talked her into advancing me twenty bucks she's supposed to give me soon, so that I could get this book that I totally read by the time we got home (I'm not lying when I say I'm smart, I broke reading level records as a child in elementary school).
Now, it's two days later and I'm listening to Kate Voegle, not Fort Minor. And my Sunday shoot got pushed back one week, which, believe it or not, is an absolutely fantabulous coincidence of fate. I'm crashing at Anna's this Saturday and I was going to have to rush from there Sunday around eleven just to make it to the shoot location on time. Yeah, rushing and I know each other well, so I wasn't that fazed by the thought, but still. Unnecessary instances are best avoided, ne? I digress, however. Another reason it's such a great thing, is that I let the model get the dress-- after showing her about five different dresses to base it off of-- and it's pretty ugly (in my opinion). BUT she was really great and she's been an absolute peach about everything, real willing and just a joy to plan with. She has since offered to order one of those dresses I showed her if I push back the shoot one week. And thus, such a thing was done. That weekend will be hectic, however! I have a shoot that Saturday as well. I'm pretty nervous... -_- Eep!
Oh, and if you don't here from me by next week, my mother killed me this weekend. She knows Anna is in Milledgeville but... she doesn't realise HOW far precisely it is away from here. Try... Two hours and twenty-one minutes, according to Mapquest. That's one way. Over 100 miles. One way.
She's going to flip, but come on! I never ever do anything. She can suck it the fuck up and drive.
Anyway, after that, I talked her into advancing me twenty bucks she's supposed to give me soon, so that I could get this book that I totally read by the time we got home (I'm not lying when I say I'm smart, I broke reading level records as a child in elementary school).
Now, it's two days later and I'm listening to Kate Voegle, not Fort Minor. And my Sunday shoot got pushed back one week, which, believe it or not, is an absolutely fantabulous coincidence of fate. I'm crashing at Anna's this Saturday and I was going to have to rush from there Sunday around eleven just to make it to the shoot location on time. Yeah, rushing and I know each other well, so I wasn't that fazed by the thought, but still. Unnecessary instances are best avoided, ne? I digress, however. Another reason it's such a great thing, is that I let the model get the dress-- after showing her about five different dresses to base it off of-- and it's pretty ugly (in my opinion). BUT she was really great and she's been an absolute peach about everything, real willing and just a joy to plan with. She has since offered to order one of those dresses I showed her if I push back the shoot one week. And thus, such a thing was done. That weekend will be hectic, however! I have a shoot that Saturday as well. I'm pretty nervous... -_- Eep!
Oh, and if you don't here from me by next week, my mother killed me this weekend. She knows Anna is in Milledgeville but... she doesn't realise HOW far precisely it is away from here. Try... Two hours and twenty-one minutes, according to Mapquest. That's one way. Over 100 miles. One way.
She's going to flip, but come on! I never ever do anything. She can suck it the fuck up and drive.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Skin Deep
Flesh is only skin deep,
and he watches you weep even though
It shocks him down to his toes;
A revelation he didn't want to see.
Snapped away rubberbands fall
to the ground and you stall for time,
Thinking of the bloodshot lines
you'll use just to hurt him.
His smile reaches his eyes,
and his tongue doesn't lie with ease;
yet that softly spoken degree
of absolute distrust remains.
Hurting you without intention
seems to be his transgression, his one
unfaltering flaw; why you can't succumb
to his supposed truths.
You love him like your own flesh
and blood, but flesh is only skin deep
and he watches and weeps as you cut
away the ties that bind.
and he watches you weep even though
It shocks him down to his toes;
A revelation he didn't want to see.
Snapped away rubberbands fall
to the ground and you stall for time,
Thinking of the bloodshot lines
you'll use just to hurt him.
His smile reaches his eyes,
and his tongue doesn't lie with ease;
yet that softly spoken degree
of absolute distrust remains.
Hurting you without intention
seems to be his transgression, his one
unfaltering flaw; why you can't succumb
to his supposed truths.
You love him like your own flesh
and blood, but flesh is only skin deep
and he watches and weeps as you cut
away the ties that bind.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Bloody Vaginas and Personal Reflections
Lately I've come to the conclusion that... It's extremely difficult for me to admit when I'm pissed at a friend. I'm too afraid of losing them to explode, so I just take it. I tend to just pretend like I'm not mad at all, but then blurt out snarky little comments instead of just flat out owning up to my emotions. And I know my friends well, because I genuinely care about each of them, but because of that I know exactly what snarky little comment to say at the given moment that will piss them off the most. But I don't realise that I'm doing it until I've already said it.
I opened my first ever bank account today, completely independent from my mother's reach. I convinced the lady at Suntrust to bend company policy and allow me to open an account without a co-applicant (the standard procedure for those under 18). I can now buy whatever the fuck I want online and not have to tell anyone jackrabbity about it.
Also, yay! By the end of next week I will have my debit card and my $50 dollar visa gift card to play with. I was going to buy shoes, but I decided to be obnoxiously responsible and put it towards an MUA or something for a shoot.
My wrist is still fucked up, which is outrageously annoying considering that I have to deal with that in addition to the period cramps from lucifer himself.
What the fuck is the deal with naproxen not working? There's no freaking way I've built an immunity. Acetamenophin and ibuprofen do not work, I will DIE if naproxen starts failing me.
No, seriously, I would quite possibly puke up my intestines from the pain if I didn't have working medication.
Yes, this has been a rather dramatic post from yours truly, [even by my standards] but let's blame the PMS, shall we, and call it a night.
I opened my first ever bank account today, completely independent from my mother's reach. I convinced the lady at Suntrust to bend company policy and allow me to open an account without a co-applicant (the standard procedure for those under 18). I can now buy whatever the fuck I want online and not have to tell anyone jackrabbity about it.
Also, yay! By the end of next week I will have my debit card and my $50 dollar visa gift card to play with. I was going to buy shoes, but I decided to be obnoxiously responsible and put it towards an MUA or something for a shoot.
My wrist is still fucked up, which is outrageously annoying considering that I have to deal with that in addition to the period cramps from lucifer himself.
What the fuck is the deal with naproxen not working? There's no freaking way I've built an immunity. Acetamenophin and ibuprofen do not work, I will DIE if naproxen starts failing me.
No, seriously, I would quite possibly puke up my intestines from the pain if I didn't have working medication.
Yes, this has been a rather dramatic post from yours truly, [even by my standards] but let's blame the PMS, shall we, and call it a night.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
guess who grew balls?
Oh yes, bitches, I did!
I finally PMed models that I'm really into possibly shooting-- usually either a model responds to a casting call or PMs me at random, and they're okay, but not people that I would probably reach out to on my own.
Two replied, but one seems kinda flakey so I dunno. The other one, Lauren, though, actually said more than 3 words, so yay! Here's her port:
She's shot with Jay Bowman!
http://www.modelmayhem.com/pic.php?pid=6538128
--
Sidenote: I just OD'd on KrispyKreme. Nom. Sugar rush, much?
Sidenote #2: My wrist is killing me.
Adendum: Season 4 of The Hills starts on Monday! And next week Gossip Girl starts again. Wh00t.
Yes, I watch a lot of tv. I like stories, fucking sue me.
I finally PMed models that I'm really into possibly shooting-- usually either a model responds to a casting call or PMs me at random, and they're okay, but not people that I would probably reach out to on my own.
Two replied, but one seems kinda flakey so I dunno. The other one, Lauren, though, actually said more than 3 words, so yay! Here's her port:
She's shot with Jay Bowman!
http://www.modelmayhem.com/pic.php?pid=6538128
--
Sidenote: I just OD'd on KrispyKreme. Nom. Sugar rush, much?
Sidenote #2: My wrist is killing me.
Adendum: Season 4 of The Hills starts on Monday! And next week Gossip Girl starts again. Wh00t.
Yes, I watch a lot of tv. I like stories, fucking sue me.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Yay for me!
I am getting this bike, hopefully. Will order soon. Pray that it isn't damaged in shipping and that it's simple enough for me to put together ^_^
http://www.amazon.com/Pacific-Shorewood-Womens-26-Inch-Cruiser/dp/B0013VFFAK/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&s=sporting-goods&qid=1218767488&sr=1-4
It's a modernised cruiser, which I really like. I'm not the biggest fan of the paint job but it's cute enough and I love the style and the fact that it's got 7 speeds. I'm only going to ride it around town but still, paved or not, there are some bitching hills.
I've always, always wanted a bike with the cruiser styled build. Yay for me. *dance*
http://www.amazon.com/Pacific-Shorewood-Womens-26-Inch-Cruiser/dp/B0013VFFAK/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&s=sporting-goods&qid=1218767488&sr=1-4
It's a modernised cruiser, which I really like. I'm not the biggest fan of the paint job but it's cute enough and I love the style and the fact that it's got 7 speeds. I'm only going to ride it around town but still, paved or not, there are some bitching hills.
I've always, always wanted a bike with the cruiser styled build. Yay for me. *dance*
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Survey
[Random 60]
(I snipped out all the boring ones)
[01]. What is the closest photograph to you?:
http://thetragictruth-of-me.deviantart.com/art/A-Distant-Figure-42014576
It's the one and only print I've ever purchased.
[03]. Do you think photographs are important?:
Well, it is kind of what I want to do with my entire life, so yeah, I should hope so.
[05]. What kind of desk is your computer sitting on?:
The bed kind, yay! Snuggleable and multifunctional, what more could you possibly ask for?
[11]. What is the first thing that comes to mind when I say England?:
Pretty bloody accents, aye? Yes, that was a little Canadian at the end, sue me.
[14]. Do you have a lot of furniture in your bedroom?:
Let's see... I have: Bed, antique bedside table, loveseat, bookshelf, tvstand, sheet of plywood, and my seamless paper and stand.
[17]. Are you scared of childbirth?:
Yes. I have been saying my entire life that I will adopt. Pain and I don't do well unless I control it. I would have to seriously love and trust my husband to consider having a baby via pregnancy. Of course, I'm never going to be married, so that's a moot point.
[18]. Do you still talk to the person who has hurt you the most?:
Yes.
[19]. Has anyone ever accused you of something serious that you didn't do?:
Ye...No. I tend to actually be guilty of what I'm accused of ^_^
[23]. Do the people you live with really know who you are as a person?:
Absolutely, definitely not.
[28]. If you were a faerie, what colour wings would you have?:
black with rainbow glitter! Clear-fucking-ly.
[34]. Who was the last person to give you flowers?:
I have never ever received flowers. Wait. No. Once, when I was in fifth grade, for my first theater production, my father sent me flowers. It's the only time he's ever sent me anything without a girlfriend urging him or picking it out for him. He's more of a cash and run kinda guy.
[37]. What was the last song you REALLY sang to?:
Name of the Game. Mamma Mia soundtrack.
[39]. What was the last historical figure you studied or researched?:
Ummm. Is it horrible that I don't recollect anyone but my first grade project on Rosa Parks?
[45]. What makes you envious?:
Talent and skill.
[47]. What is your favourite dog breed?:
Huskies.
[50]. Would you happily make a fool of yourself in public?:
I have done so many times thus far.
[55]. What is the furthest you have ever travelled alone?:
Um. I dunno. Tennessee? Though my favorite experience of being alone was only for a few hours but it's probably my favorite memory to date. We were in Florida this summer on a three day vacation and I got to picnic on the beach at eight o clock at night-- dusk-- all alone. Single most amazing, peaceful experience of my life. I can't explain it, but it's something that will stick with me for my entire life. It's the first time I've ever felt a connection with the ocean.
(I snipped out all the boring ones)
[01]. What is the closest photograph to you?:
http://thetragictruth-of-me.deviantart.com/art/A-Distant-Figure-42014576
It's the one and only print I've ever purchased.
[03]. Do you think photographs are important?:
Well, it is kind of what I want to do with my entire life, so yeah, I should hope so.
[05]. What kind of desk is your computer sitting on?:
The bed kind, yay! Snuggleable and multifunctional, what more could you possibly ask for?
[11]. What is the first thing that comes to mind when I say England?:
Pretty bloody accents, aye? Yes, that was a little Canadian at the end, sue me.
[14]. Do you have a lot of furniture in your bedroom?:
Let's see... I have: Bed, antique bedside table, loveseat, bookshelf, tvstand, sheet of plywood, and my seamless paper and stand.
[17]. Are you scared of childbirth?:
Yes. I have been saying my entire life that I will adopt. Pain and I don't do well unless I control it. I would have to seriously love and trust my husband to consider having a baby via pregnancy. Of course, I'm never going to be married, so that's a moot point.
[18]. Do you still talk to the person who has hurt you the most?:
Yes.
[19]. Has anyone ever accused you of something serious that you didn't do?:
Ye...No. I tend to actually be guilty of what I'm accused of ^_^
[23]. Do the people you live with really know who you are as a person?:
Absolutely, definitely not.
[28]. If you were a faerie, what colour wings would you have?:
black with rainbow glitter! Clear-fucking-ly.
[34]. Who was the last person to give you flowers?:
I have never ever received flowers. Wait. No. Once, when I was in fifth grade, for my first theater production, my father sent me flowers. It's the only time he's ever sent me anything without a girlfriend urging him or picking it out for him. He's more of a cash and run kinda guy.
[37]. What was the last song you REALLY sang to?:
Name of the Game. Mamma Mia soundtrack.
[39]. What was the last historical figure you studied or researched?:
Ummm. Is it horrible that I don't recollect anyone but my first grade project on Rosa Parks?
[45]. What makes you envious?:
Talent and skill.
[47]. What is your favourite dog breed?:
Huskies.
[50]. Would you happily make a fool of yourself in public?:
I have done so many times thus far.
[55]. What is the furthest you have ever travelled alone?:
Um. I dunno. Tennessee? Though my favorite experience of being alone was only for a few hours but it's probably my favorite memory to date. We were in Florida this summer on a three day vacation and I got to picnic on the beach at eight o clock at night-- dusk-- all alone. Single most amazing, peaceful experience of my life. I can't explain it, but it's something that will stick with me for my entire life. It's the first time I've ever felt a connection with the ocean.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Fuck 20 Questions, Here's 20 Facts
I realise that I'm about fifteen times better at gay ass poetry than straight up prose. Which is funny, considering I can't stand most poetry, and I absolutely adore reading actual books. Fiction, of course, because let's face it, real life is entirely overrated.
Another note; I recognise that most everything that I write is morbidly depressing, and I swear I'm honestly not this bad. The most I can figure is that I'm so goddamn playful all the time in my dealings with people of course I must be slightly insane. That, and writing is the only way I dare utter thoughts sometimes. Even then, it's just Becks: The Slightly Less Filtered Version. Tonight, I don't want to play that game, so let's play Twenty Things About Becks She Bets You Don't Know.
I'm secretly a total pushover.
As much as I love animals, I don't want a million of them. Too much work.
Speaking of work, when I don't want to do something, I do it badly, and charm someone into stepping in and finishing for me.
I take I Hate You's better than I Love You's. But I cherish the latter.
The less you let me get away with stuff, the more I want to let you in on my secrets.
I'm not afraid of failing, I'm afraid of trying.
I feel a little sick when I link people to this blog; my filter is mostly off here.
My father molested me until I was three and I sometimes wonder if that's just a lie my mother convinced herself to be true. I don't remember it at all. But the man scares the shit out of me.
I love making people laugh and sometimes it pleases me to be a little mean.
I tasted eggs a total of one time, when I was four, never again, never prior. I don't think they were even that bad.
My youngest older brother and I skipped school together when I was in kindergarten. It's still one of my favorite memories.
I relate the most to my other brother who is a complete psycho, and it scares me that I can identify with him so much. Perhaps that's half the reason I hate him so much.
I can wheedle my way into and out of almost anything, but I don't consider it appropriate. I do it anyway.
I have never smoked pot, and to be honest, I really don't see the appeal. That shit reeks, okay?
My favorite color is black, but it was bright motherfucking neon orange until I was thirteen. I even wore the color.
I really want to give myself barbiedoll bangs. But I'm scared of fucking up, my hair is wavy, and I know I'd have to straighten it everyday, and that's too much freaking effort.
I refused to dissect a frog once. But I went to the lab anyway just to get out of class.
I think it would be neat to have a polkadot ceiling.
Hamsters hate me. The entire species. I'm not even joking.
I make the best sex noises ever.
Another note; I recognise that most everything that I write is morbidly depressing, and I swear I'm honestly not this bad. The most I can figure is that I'm so goddamn playful all the time in my dealings with people of course I must be slightly insane. That, and writing is the only way I dare utter thoughts sometimes. Even then, it's just Becks: The Slightly Less Filtered Version. Tonight, I don't want to play that game, so let's play Twenty Things About Becks She Bets You Don't Know.
I'm secretly a total pushover.
As much as I love animals, I don't want a million of them. Too much work.
Speaking of work, when I don't want to do something, I do it badly, and charm someone into stepping in and finishing for me.
I take I Hate You's better than I Love You's. But I cherish the latter.
The less you let me get away with stuff, the more I want to let you in on my secrets.
I'm not afraid of failing, I'm afraid of trying.
I feel a little sick when I link people to this blog; my filter is mostly off here.
My father molested me until I was three and I sometimes wonder if that's just a lie my mother convinced herself to be true. I don't remember it at all. But the man scares the shit out of me.
I love making people laugh and sometimes it pleases me to be a little mean.
I tasted eggs a total of one time, when I was four, never again, never prior. I don't think they were even that bad.
My youngest older brother and I skipped school together when I was in kindergarten. It's still one of my favorite memories.
I relate the most to my other brother who is a complete psycho, and it scares me that I can identify with him so much. Perhaps that's half the reason I hate him so much.
I can wheedle my way into and out of almost anything, but I don't consider it appropriate. I do it anyway.
I have never smoked pot, and to be honest, I really don't see the appeal. That shit reeks, okay?
My favorite color is black, but it was bright motherfucking neon orange until I was thirteen. I even wore the color.
I really want to give myself barbiedoll bangs. But I'm scared of fucking up, my hair is wavy, and I know I'd have to straighten it everyday, and that's too much freaking effort.
I refused to dissect a frog once. But I went to the lab anyway just to get out of class.
I think it would be neat to have a polkadot ceiling.
Hamsters hate me. The entire species. I'm not even joking.
I make the best sex noises ever.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
I am like a foreign language
With the right Rosetta Stone
You can decode the gods'
words and I am no exception.
You can read me like a book
If you care to count the pages
I will reveal the secrets in this chest
One by one until there are none.
The prettiest crystals have
to be cleaned; smear the dirt and
grime and slowly it will gleam
Don't drop me.
Most mysteries are just un-
explained facts you've yet to discover, and
unlimited hypotheses will get you nowhere
without a few experiments.
Vaults aren't meant to be broken, they
are meant to be opened or elsewise there
would be no lock on the oh-so-supposedly
inpenetrable steel doors.
And so it seems that I may be a little evasive
but I promise you, tap lightly on my walls long
enough, and they will fall down in slow motion or
like the Great Wall of China, my defenses crumble
Even as they stand.
With the right Rosetta Stone
You can decode the gods'
words and I am no exception.
You can read me like a book
If you care to count the pages
I will reveal the secrets in this chest
One by one until there are none.
The prettiest crystals have
to be cleaned; smear the dirt and
grime and slowly it will gleam
Don't drop me.
Most mysteries are just un-
explained facts you've yet to discover, and
unlimited hypotheses will get you nowhere
without a few experiments.
Vaults aren't meant to be broken, they
are meant to be opened or elsewise there
would be no lock on the oh-so-supposedly
inpenetrable steel doors.
And so it seems that I may be a little evasive
but I promise you, tap lightly on my walls long
enough, and they will fall down in slow motion or
like the Great Wall of China, my defenses crumble
Even as they stand.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Far Too Gone
Exhausted are the tunes I had for you
Blithering idiots give a round of shattered
applause; they embrace images of themselves
Reflecting back at them through cracked glass
I wore a secret around my neck of a ribbon
made with blue and an empty locket created
Hollow like the promise of friendship; and
a fleeting facade of memories we never made
So I took it off and put it down and let it
fade away-- It swings gently on the closed
door of my bedroom every time I leave
Like a vague recollection of my existance
Another eyelash fell today upon my cheek
And I wiped it away without blinking; I will
not waste a wish on your unhappiness--
The independent nature of my dependency
would never allow it.
Lovers aren't forever but friends are for
never, and such is the nature of life; better
to be gone than rebel against that and maybe
in truth, I'm far too gone for you.
But for old time's sake let's write this final
verse, sing an old remembered song; and
I will flit away on that last sweet melody,
you always did like that pretty note.
I didn't write this for you.
Blithering idiots give a round of shattered
applause; they embrace images of themselves
Reflecting back at them through cracked glass
I wore a secret around my neck of a ribbon
made with blue and an empty locket created
Hollow like the promise of friendship; and
a fleeting facade of memories we never made
So I took it off and put it down and let it
fade away-- It swings gently on the closed
door of my bedroom every time I leave
Like a vague recollection of my existance
Another eyelash fell today upon my cheek
And I wiped it away without blinking; I will
not waste a wish on your unhappiness--
The independent nature of my dependency
would never allow it.
Lovers aren't forever but friends are for
never, and such is the nature of life; better
to be gone than rebel against that and maybe
in truth, I'm far too gone for you.
But for old time's sake let's write this final
verse, sing an old remembered song; and
I will flit away on that last sweet melody,
you always did like that pretty note.
I didn't write this for you.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Music runs through my veins like a disease from the masses, and I get it. There are certain things in life that I don't look for the explanation in. Music. Theatre. Art. There's an innate knowledge of the why within those things. I wonder, then, how much of ourselves really put into those activities. Are they a core part of our souls, or a mere fragment? Without music, would our eyes still dance? If we did not perform, would we be so determined to pretend? If we failed to create...Would we perish? Or is it all just a lie our hearts give to us?
I am an enigmatic anomally that should have ceased to exist long ago. I feel like I was born off kilter and I never did find my balance.
I try.. So hard to be everyone's rock. But I have no idea what I'm saying most of the time and I just make it up as I go along. I fuck things up worse.
I want someone to be my rock. I don't want to be cheerful all the time or understanding or fun, I want to be stubborn and disagreeable and destructive and have someone say that they care about me anyway. They don't need to love me, if they'd just care, really care... That would be enough.
It's funny, you know, when I think about dying, I know that the people around me would be much better off. I am a poison, and that kills me a little inside every time I realise it.
I try.. So hard to be everyone's rock. But I have no idea what I'm saying most of the time and I just make it up as I go along. I fuck things up worse.
I want someone to be my rock. I don't want to be cheerful all the time or understanding or fun, I want to be stubborn and disagreeable and destructive and have someone say that they care about me anyway. They don't need to love me, if they'd just care, really care... That would be enough.
It's funny, you know, when I think about dying, I know that the people around me would be much better off. I am a poison, and that kills me a little inside every time I realise it.
Friday, August 1, 2008
She's already threatening to kick me out
as soon as I turn 18. I should be thrilled about that birthday when it comes but the reality of it is I'm terrified. Yes, I want a little freedom, but I'm not prepared for total independence. And that's exactly what could very well happen.
The fact is, I'm a total lazy bum. I hate work. Anything that requires any kind of effort with zero interest tends to bore me to the point of tears. Besides, when I did work... I didn't get to save my money. There was no point in continuing; mom was basically making me give her all my earnings one way or another. Bleh. I do realise that I'm spoiled, stubborn, manipulative, and I've never really been punished a day in my life. Seriously. I've never even been grounded. I just get told what a piece of shit I am (in my head I repeat that sentence with a sarcastic little laugh).
So yes. I have no work ethics; hell, I barely even have ethics at all, depending on who you ask.
The thing is, because I'm a year behind in my classes-- having fucked around, I didn't actually fail a year, I just didn't complete enough credits, it's entire my fault and due to my enthralling procrastination skills-- I won't be graduating until I'm nineteen. That leaves an entire year in my mother's house where I will have to succumb to every whim and agree with fervor that I will never succeed at anything. And somehow still manage to cling to the hope that maybe I one day will.
The fact is, I'm a total lazy bum. I hate work. Anything that requires any kind of effort with zero interest tends to bore me to the point of tears. Besides, when I did work... I didn't get to save my money. There was no point in continuing; mom was basically making me give her all my earnings one way or another. Bleh. I do realise that I'm spoiled, stubborn, manipulative, and I've never really been punished a day in my life. Seriously. I've never even been grounded. I just get told what a piece of shit I am (in my head I repeat that sentence with a sarcastic little laugh).
So yes. I have no work ethics; hell, I barely even have ethics at all, depending on who you ask.
The thing is, because I'm a year behind in my classes-- having fucked around, I didn't actually fail a year, I just didn't complete enough credits, it's entire my fault and due to my enthralling procrastination skills-- I won't be graduating until I'm nineteen. That leaves an entire year in my mother's house where I will have to succumb to every whim and agree with fervor that I will never succeed at anything. And somehow still manage to cling to the hope that maybe I one day will.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
I think
Time for a new start. I deleted all of my old posts, mainly because there were so many new things going on in my life that it would've taken far too long to update. Better to start fresh. Then again, do-overs are sort of my specialty. I ought to probably make this blog private, but what the fuck do I care if people read my thoughts? Writing them down has never been my problem. Actually speaking them, however, is a different story and one that I'm not interested in writing right now.
Mmmm speaking of thoughts. I really am a complete bitch. And the thing is, I don't really care. Is that bad? I'm pretty sure it is... But I do a lot of bad things. I am not a good girl. I am not the one to have deep meaningful conversations with, nor am I the type with which you share your innermost thoughts. I'm the one that makes people laugh, that charms my way out of trouble, that knowingly bends rules until they practically melt at my whim. I'm sarcastic, I'm not nice. I'm evasive. I avoid putting myself out there on the line like the plague's a better alternative.
..Someone just called. Finish writing later.
*edit*
Okay. Where was I? Oh well. The fan is blowing on me like the freezing chill of an October night; and I am so cold that my arms are merely raised bumps of flesh trying to escape to a warmer climate. This makes it hard to think. For once, however, my toes are not cold.
Last night, I had my volunteer job at the library. I read to little kids, and try to get them to read to me. It's supposed to foster a "love for reading" but I don't know how well it works... Half of the kids are forced to go and you have to figure out what makes them tick and how well a reader they are at the same time. It's all about capturing their attention and showing them it can be fun; if they can't understand it or they aren't interested in the subject, that's not going to happen. I love doing it though. Yes, it gets tedious sometimes-- a lot of the time-- but when it finally clicks with a kid, and you can tell they're actually enjoying the time, it's awesome, and it's worth it.
I got a dipped cone on the way home and decided I really need a new bike. Mine is practically destroyed.
Mmmm speaking of thoughts. I really am a complete bitch. And the thing is, I don't really care. Is that bad? I'm pretty sure it is... But I do a lot of bad things. I am not a good girl. I am not the one to have deep meaningful conversations with, nor am I the type with which you share your innermost thoughts. I'm the one that makes people laugh, that charms my way out of trouble, that knowingly bends rules until they practically melt at my whim. I'm sarcastic, I'm not nice. I'm evasive. I avoid putting myself out there on the line like the plague's a better alternative.
..Someone just called. Finish writing later.
*edit*
Okay. Where was I? Oh well. The fan is blowing on me like the freezing chill of an October night; and I am so cold that my arms are merely raised bumps of flesh trying to escape to a warmer climate. This makes it hard to think. For once, however, my toes are not cold.
Last night, I had my volunteer job at the library. I read to little kids, and try to get them to read to me. It's supposed to foster a "love for reading" but I don't know how well it works... Half of the kids are forced to go and you have to figure out what makes them tick and how well a reader they are at the same time. It's all about capturing their attention and showing them it can be fun; if they can't understand it or they aren't interested in the subject, that's not going to happen. I love doing it though. Yes, it gets tedious sometimes-- a lot of the time-- but when it finally clicks with a kid, and you can tell they're actually enjoying the time, it's awesome, and it's worth it.
I got a dipped cone on the way home and decided I really need a new bike. Mine is practically destroyed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
