Hockey Night

Well, that was fun!

Seriously, very, very fun. However there are things I'd like to share. My view of certain things hockey I'd like to see, or not see, during a game. Also, there was a fight 4 seconds into the game. I was giddy.

1. There is never a good time to play YMCA over the loud speaker. Because: A) Apparently not everyone knows how to do it right and end up spelling god knows what with their arms and B) It will get stuck in my head and I will involuntarily tap my foot to it.

2. It gets really cold in the coliseum, and somehow, the mention of anything Twilight makes certain people warm up and find it amusing... :|

3. There's a lotta pushing and banging and smacking around in hockey. I like it. Of course, it's perfectly okay to let the guys duke it out if they feel like fighting. However, it is NOT okay to beat each other with the hockey sticks.

4. Glass shatters when a puck goes through it. And it's awesome.

5. Clappers. Where do I begin? I have one now. And it, too, is awesome. Maybe I'll using during staff meetings...

6. There's a lot of random pauses during a hockey game. Also random? The music they play during said intervals. Someone's Ipod Shuffle must be reviewed next time he's in charge of music. It is NOT okay to play the Macarena right after Dropkick Murphys.

7. I swallow gum when I try to talk with it in my mouth.

8. Just because you can have long hair, it doesn't mean you don't look like Weird Al/Ben Franklin with a straightener and a jersey on.

9. The referees at hockey games are brave souls...or they get paid really good. I don't think its the latter. I was informed hockey personnel gets paid in cheeseburgers.

10. Hockey "super fans" and stalkers are oddly the same thing. I still say they were stalkers.

11. Is there really any reason to wear a suit to a hockey game? Yes, if you're the radio sports dude. I don't know why either, don't worry.

12. Only in Texas will they show a clip from the Blue Collar Comedy standup routine in between breaks...

13. I need to go to a hockey game again. Asap.

Half of me would like to explore more in depth the dynamics of such a night. But all shall remain in this above and certain things just for me. I'm happy.

P.S. Santa came early:

The Humanization Of A Lurker

“Little boxes on the hillside…”, echoed dimly against the darkness of her bedroom. Malvina Reynolds sounded so melancholic with the wind howling outside the window on this eerie night. She frowned at the source of the music, her cell phone, and reminded the brain once more to never use songs she really liked as ring tones. It always seemed like a good idea to use her current favorite tune, until days like these hit. It was rather cute until the 35th time the phone rang in the last 20 minutes.

Sliding wearily from under the covers, her fingers searched the floor for the wretched thing. She blinks rapidly at the bright screen, stinging eyes trying to discern the name on the caller ID. Of course it was him, who else? This wasn’t the first round she’d fought against that person, so she knew what to expect and how long it would last. She had survived it almost 7 times, this being the final straw. This time it felt different. So, sticking to her guns, she ignored the call again and turned the settings on her phone to “SILENT”. She flipped the phone with the screen side on the floor to block the glowing coming from it as it rang incessantly, angrily despite her declining behavior towards it.

Her stomach felt sick, almost like it was turning itself inside-out and climbing steadily up her chest. The heartbeat thudded heavily in her head and throat, making her panic and uneasy despite knowing he couldn’t do anything to her. Nor would he, given the chance to be within a few steps from her, ever so much as raise his hand at her. He’d hold on to her for dear life and thank God she existed. She tried not to think about that, about how this man had managed to slide himself into every crevice of her head. How co-dependant their relationship had been from the beginning, full of emotional abuse and spiritual bonding. Ha! Those two concepts together in one same sentence. Was it really any surprise that they had almost killed each other? She grew even more impatient and almost wavered in her final stance as memories of how they met and what they had been through flooded the clouded thoughts floating over her head.

She had been in that chatroom before and knew some of the screenames as “old-schoolers”, or people that through the years had managed to survive the onslaught public chats often had on someone’s soul. The place was riddled with underground currents of drama and secret cliques or alliances that often destroyed newcomers within days. There were the usual leg-hump guys that were in there with the sole purpose of making lonely, desperate women feel like they had found someone to trust and confide in. There were the older ladies, maybe retired or rather successful businesswomen, who had no other hobbies than to feed off the gossip streams going on in chat and made the new ones think they’d found in them someone to trust and confide in. There were the young, depressed crowd who wanted to make everyone else down with them or high with them at times, and felt powerful when the ‘newbies’ would befriend them and spill their little hearts thinking they had found someone to trust and…well you get it. Nobody was what they seemed. Nobody in there was mentally or emotionally stable. Nobody was normal. Not even she was, or why would she live in there for 19 hrs of the day?

Some people in the room proclaimed he was crazy. Others professed love for his poetic soul. Some called him a ‘legend’, someone who had been there for more than a decade and despite the tides coming in and out of that snake pit…he always prevailed. He was always there. When all the other crazies call you crazy, you know its bad. So she maintained her distance. She saw him in the room, seemingly unmoved and unperturbed by the others’ taunts or greetings. He would be there for hours at end, idly posting long poems, even if everyone blocked him. She liked poetry, she liked that he hadn’t sent her an instant message trying to gain her trust or hump her ‘e-leg’, she was drawn by his mysterious silence…was he even real? So one night, at 3 a.m. she signed into her usual hangout room and there were a handful of screenames logged on. A few spoke of food, others of insomnia, the bots flirted poorly and the cheese stood alone. The cheese being him. He was posting poetry, never-changing as he was, to a room that probably had him in the ‘iggy-bin’ for the past 10 yrs. She read it, line by line, and found it soothing at that late hour of night when nothing comforted her. His 11 pt., italic Old Book Antiqua font in a pale lavender shade just scrolled endlessly in prose and romance up a screen, sliding in between bot greetings and crude immature one liners. How could anyone ignore it?

She had sent him a few private messages, not very personal ones, after some of his poetry. Most said “thank you, that was beautiful”, to which there were never replies. She’d go in the room at lunch time, or odd hours during work to find him there perpetually posting his poems. In one occasion she logged on and had an ‘offliner’ message waiting for her, in the pale font, simply saying “heh. You’re welcome”. It made her smile, it made her curious and it made her sad. Did he ever talk to anyone? How could someone that provided the room with something as beautiful as poetry be crazy? You could choose to read it or not…so why the hate? She was determined to spend more time reading his poems, something about his presence in the room soothed and slowed her mind down. It brought out a forgotten side of her she had neglected to feed for years. Every night, instead of reading books or poetry, she was going into a room full of strangers and predators looking for acceptance. Every night she drank until the emptiness inside her faded and she became the entertainer in the cyber world. He made her want to be sober enough to not miss the beauty found in words, the peace found in rhyme.

Here comes the moment she made up her mind, and set the catastrophe in motion. It happened a Tuesday in January, at 3:00 a.m. It started so peaceful, that thinking back on it now makes it almost seem like it was destined in both their lives to be there that exact second. A day before, a day after, the dynamics of it all wouldn’t have clicked. She logged into the chat room, somewhat drunk or mostly asleep, and saw the place was deserted with the exception of a few regulars from the other side of the world, who were in the middle of their working day and the omnipresent poet. There. In all his stagnant glory. She sank back in her couch and immediately relaxed once she started reading the poem he was posting. It seems he had favored this specific poem for the past 3 days, “Bianca Amongst the Nightingales” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and was idly posting it over and over; unaware and uncaring of what was going on in the room. She had read this poem once before when she was a young child, and thought it evoked loneliness and a feeling of despair, hopelessness. This was it, the moment she was waiting for all along. She started interjecting quirky little one-liners into his poetry, mostly when the he posted the “The nightingales, the nightingales” sentence…she’d reply a quick ‘the goddamn nightingales, sheesh!’. Suddenly, the most extraordinary thing happened. She made him break in between his poem to put an ‘lol’. Small, non-meaningful event to everyone else; but to her she saw that she had broken the barrier he held tight around him and made him seem more human.

So it began. Or maybe the end was what started that precise time in their history. A few days later the private messages started. Again, unlike the rest of the guys in the room who wasted no time making their intentions known (even the “older, serious chatters” ha!), their first conversation started with him asking her if she was an INFJ. She had no idea what he was talking about, and soon he explained about it being a psychological profile indication the type of personality one had. She read the traits of an INFJ character and didn’t pay much attention to what it meant, even though a clearer warning could not have rang. The conversation flowed easily into spirituality, invisible warfare being fought in other realms; and even though he seemed a little ‘off’, she couldn’t help but be drawn at such a calm deep thinking person. After a week or two, she was withdrawing herself from her usual online friends more and more, avoiding phone calls. She was spending almost every second of her free time in empty chat rooms where they both would post endless poetry while he alternated playing their favorite songs through the speakers. Soon there after she would play guitar in the chat just for him, and stumbled upon staying up until 4 a.m. just doing trivia between the both of them. It was safe and comforting, and habitual. He was much older, his deep warm voice and rich laughter would almost lull her to sleep every night.

Then the phone calls began, and they found they really had no reason to be online or in the chat rooms anymore. It was consuming, spending so much time together talking about nothing. About absolutely, nothing. Sometimes it was complete silence, listening to each other’s t.v. sets blaring and oddly enough, it was a sense of not being alone. Things continue in perfect bliss until she started also spending time with her other friends she had neglected. She’d tell him she was going to spend a few hours with them playing music or planning her trip to visit them in a few months, and he would get quiet and snippy. Other times he’d fly off the handle cussing her out and threatening to harm her if she ever stopped talking to him, serious threats. She knew he was bipolar, had known for a long time, but still it took her by surprise and often scared her to tears. She didn’t know if he really meant it or if it was just his bipolar and it would all blow over when his mood was over. Eventually, she couldn’t handle his threats and abusive words, she couldn’t handle what he turned her into. When they fought it was violent, she’d throw low blows she didn’t even know she was capable of, she’d aim to kill, she’d scream and get hysterical when he’d refuse to let her get a word in edge-wise. They weren’t even a couple! Were they? And just like that, it dawned on her. He saw her as more than a friend. Fuck.

She had a talk with him and explained that they could not be anything, that she didn’t see him that way but she did love him dearly as a friend. She tried to bring it up softly, to no avail. He really went off the handle then. “How dare you say you love me and reject me?” She stopped for a second and realized he was not capable of grasping the type of friendship where you tell your friend you love them. When he said “love you” he meant he LOVED you. Jesus. She had no choice but to say, that all she could offer was the friendship she always had and he would have to deal with her not being IN love with him. This, of course, prompted the catastrophe that was known as the Great Freak out of May. It wasn’t normal, she thought, that he acts in such a childish obsessive way. She now knew why he was declared clinically insane and was on disability. It went beyond being bipolar, and she was now even more terrified that the threats of showing up at her doorstep and creating havoc were materializing at a rapid pace. She offered a final offer of peace, a final offer of friendship, which he blasted over and continued his never ending insulting tirade. She blocked his screename and took him off her list. Then he produced at least 45 different screenames to PM her with every time she blocked one of them. Eventually she ran out of room in her iggy bin and had to change her settings to block every PM coming her way from someone that wasn’t on her buddy list. That stopped the IM’s…but not the emails. Emails threatening to post her info in the chat rooms, her name and address and phone number. Emails stating he would make her friends’ lives miserable. She replied a few to try to calm him down, but it seems that’s all he needed, some sort of affirmation that she was still affected and reading his emails. He continued the threats, to which this time she stopped replying. Until it all stopped. One final call did it. He had called her after a horrible last confrontation that left her shaking and in tears after saying she was through. She was curled up on the couch feeling like someone had died, when the phone rang and it was him. She answered, but said nothing. His voice was shaking and full of tears as well, and he simply said: “You are the one doing this to us, not me. So if this is it, finish IT. Say IT.” She took a deep breath and said: “I’m sorry J. I can’t do this anymore. This is over. Bye”. Just as she said bye, it felt like a brick was thrown on her chest and she was about to pass out from crying. She couldn’t remember when she had ever felt this way, was it normal? He simply cried out quietly: “I don’t believe this…” and hung up.

Months went by, and she didn’t hear from him in any way. The phone stopped ringing, the emails stopped coming after the last one he sent saying: “Because I love you, I’m willing to leave you alone. I never meant to harm you. I guess I didn’t understand what friendship meant to you. Now I know and I’m sorry I couldn’t be a friend back”. That one had been tempting, it almost seemed like he was back to his senses…but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough for the threats, and the words he’d spoken and not apologized for. So time went on, she missed him dearly and often thought of him. She stopped going to the chat rooms, but the nightingales were still in her head. She avoided listening to music, but she knew she was humming “Queen Bee” by Taj Mahal…and that he was listening to it wherever he was. Poetry didn’t mean much anymore, and even during her happy moments and her trip to visit other friends, she’d hear his voice in her head. Well, just his laughter. She had always liked how his eyes got full of mischief when he threw his head back and laughed at something. She doesn't know how, but one day she decided to go to twitter and look him up. Sure enough, he had a page and only one entry. The entry was dated a week after they parted ways and it read: "The nightingales sing through my head! The nightingales, the nightingales." Her heart broke. And that’s how things began a second time. Things that we are supposed to leave in the past, that almost killed us, should not be sought again. Sought she did. This time there was no one to blame but her.

Firing up the Yahoo Messenger one last time, she created a quick random screename and checked to see if any of his main 10 ID’s were online. One was. She sent a PM saying “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what happened. I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I’ll never bother you again.” He didn’t even ask who it was and quickly said: “I’m sorry too, I missed you. I’m sorry you have to go again but I respect that.” She apologized again, profusely. He apologized too, and asked her how she had been and he hoped she was happy. They talked back and forth, she felt her heart swell and burst that they could be friends again. She told him straightaway that she couldn’t go through the same thing again, that she almost died the first time around. He nodded, and said: “me too”. So they embarked on the second round of friendship, this time carefully side stepping anything that could be taken the wrong way. They again spent time on the phone, catching up and listening to music. This time the online interaction was minimal, since she had swore it off altogether. It seemed to be going okay, although she often caught him starting sentences and then saying “nevermind”, in a defeated voice. She’d ask him what was wrong, and the subject would be changed. All seemed well until one day she was telling him that she had started guitar classes. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say.

He said: “I bet he wants to fuck you.”, and giggled. She felt the rage tingling in her fingers and her voice vibrated as she spat back “Not everyone is you, some guys are actually capable of being friends and professionals.” He immediately went on a “this is all your doing, you know how I feel about you, why don’t you give me a chance” rant as she pinched the bridge of her nose. She quietly said she wasn’t doing this again and said good-bye. Deleted the fake screename and ignored the phone calls. This time he emailed almost immediately apologizing over and over for ruining things, for being out of line and not being a friend. He said he would leave her alone, he wasn’t going to torture her and pester her any longer. He kept to his word, and she saw that in fact he had changed. He knew that now his words and actions had consequences. She called him back and cleared up, demanded an apology, which he did right away. He knew she wasn’t the type of person that deserved any sort of lewd remark. This time their talks were strained, and short. She started making excuses to not call him, he didn’t seem to get angry as much as tired and sad. But even that didn’t last long. They were in the middle of a trivia game in an empty room at 4 a.m. when a newcomer came by and asked everyone’s name and location. The guy’s name was Robert and he was from GA, seemed like a nice kid, then again in the beginning they all do. She was weary about saying her information, but before she could say her name, she witness the first time the infamous chatter broke down publicly and said: “Well, thanks to the humanization of the [insert screename] that’s been going on, I am J and I’m from Minnesota.” She couldn’t believe he had actually come out and given anything about him. She quietly said her name, and Texas and spent a time wondering what just happened.

Alas, she would never know what bought it on. After Robert left the room, he started arguing about him being tired and not sleeping due to her. He was done with the abuse, to which she asked what was she doing to abuse him. He went on and on about her just not giving in to what he wanted…sigh. Again. She was tired too this time. She didn’t even wait for it to get her upset. She knew this was the end of him, for good. She said: “Ok, then I wont abuse you anymore. Whatever.” , logged off and turned him off her mind. This time she was not sad, or angry. It was indifference. She had tried.

Which brings us to “Little Boxes” ringing angrily into the night. It was over. He realized she wasn’t going to answer and emailed her: “You stupid bitch.” She felt the anger coming up and quickly pushed it away, he had no control over her. She deleted the email. Two days later, the last communication from him came through. The email’s subject was “Sad”. The body read: “I feel so sick. Can’t you see what you’re doing to me?” Again, she deleted. It’s always a game. It’s always mind control. In the beginning she had felt she did something wrong, by simply being a friend to someone everyone avoided in the chat room. Maybe they had it right. There was a point to people ignoring him…and now, so did she.

This story had to be written, because it needed a way out of me and to be buried into the past. You live, and hopefully, you learn. The nightingales will always be yours, J. I hope you find a way to silence them. I have.

He says to her what moves her most.
He would not name his soul within
Her hearing,—rather pays her cost
With praises to her lips and chin.
Man has but one soul, 'tis ordained,
And each soul but one love, I add;
Yet souls are damned and love's profaned.
These nightingales will sing me mad!
The nightingales, the nightingales.

-Bianca Among The Nightingales
by Elizabeth Barret Browning

Ugly Side

Act 1: Bright, Shiny Object that holds your attention. It's new yet familiar. It's intriguing, mysterious yet gives you a feeling of security. It, too, observes you and holds you in the same view as you do it. It finds you alluring, intriguing but absolutely trustworthy.

Act 2: You walk closer to it, feeling rather daring and not really knowing what's happening. You never act this way, you've been through enough things in your life that have taught you to be cautious. To be a loner. Some call it jaded. You call it experienced. But this new thing is really catching your eye, it seems to be in good condition.

Act 3: Walking up to it, with that wonderful yet dreadful feeling of excited nervousness, you're close enough to see it for what it is. It looks an awful lot like you do, which has to be good right? You decide to go out on a limb and let it get close to you, close enough to see the battle scars and slight imperfections. You feel somewhat exposed, since this is the part one always hates. It's easy to be accepted and belong when it's purely superficial. One can have the right look, the seemingly perfect qualities to draw others to oneself. But eventually the time comes when things have to come out. It's what separates true friends, from acquaintances. The ones that accept the imperfections, that are smart enough to realize we all have skeletons that wish to remain uncovered.

Act 4: It looks at your offering, and your slightly marred spot. It traces its fingers over your wounds and by doing so gets a bit of your history, the unforgiving past we all try desperately to move away from and erase. You become sad, remembering how many times you've opened up like this to something, only to have it laugh or simply scurry away unable to process your ugly side. But this time, it looks up at you and smiles, making you release the breath of air you didn't realize you were holding in. It grabs your hand and hesitates a few seconds before turning slightly to the side, and exposing it's rotten, broken side to you. It only shows you part of the scars, enough to let you know there's more ugliness under there that doesn't need to be exposed just yet...but you should have a knowledge of. It waits for your reaction, at proving itself your equal, in some ways. It too wonders if you will look up and smile, or shudder and walk away...

"Ugly Side"
By: Blue October

I must have sneezed
On knees I freeze
I mean I just choked up
Somehow I slept
I dream, I mean
I dreamt of nothing
Able to breathe
A sweet relief
Now that you're here with me
A northern degree
Dove into me
Now I'm recovering

[Chorus]
I only want you to see
My favorite part of me
And not my ugly side
Not my ugly side

Hook up a C.B. Wave a way
For conversation flow
I'm shoved in your cave, to wage this rage
Don't let me go
A kick and a scream is all that seems
To mean a lot thus far
I won't let you on my stage, my page
You can't know
Yet you have to know

[Chorus]

So calm... and now it's dark
I look for you to light my heart
I'm in between the moon and where you are
I know... I can't be far

Blackest Friday...THE HORROR!

It was midnight last night, and I found myself fidgeting on the couch resisting the urge to get in my car and drive to Toys-R-Us for their Black Friday sale. I really had 3 things in mind. First, I really really want the Monopoly City Edition board game, badly. I'm not sure they had it on sale but I felt like getting it anyways. Secondly, I beg don't laugh at me, but they had the Twilight AND New Moon board games sold as bundles for $16.99, when just one of them runs about $25. Ok, laugh. Lastly, but actually what I want more, the Marvel Minimates Secret Invasion Box Set. My cubicle at work craves them, I must have them all, to keep me company. I also want the Heroes and Villains Box Sets of said Minimates. Anyways, I resisted and decided to head out shopping at 4 a.m. like a sane person. Balanced people shop that early...right?

At 2 a.m. I was still up, making sure I didn't oversleep for my big trip to Best Buy/Target/ToysRus at 4 a.m. I had it all planned out, my mom backed out last minute but I was still going to head out by myself and see what goodies I could pry of some soccer mom's cold dead fingers. I sort of drifted off, woke up scared at 4:16 a.m. and started getting ready, only to sit back down on the couch and think "Do I really wanna be one of THOSE people who acts like Black Friday is the Apocalypse of the year?" Was there really anything I could NOT live without? Not really...except those Minimates. But, I digress. I decided to just sleep a little longer, and head out at 6 a.m. Surely the crowds wouldn't be that bad that early? Heh.

I eventually rolled out of bed at 8 a.m., not really caring if I made it to the good sales or not. The way I saw it, I just prevented major money spenditude on my behalf on things I would almost immediately get buyer's remorse about. I had me some Jack in the Box breakfast, everything seemed calm enough there, aside from the people driving around like...well like people on Black Friday. I stared at Target, and instantly said "Not no, but hell no." No way. Wasn't going there. I opted to start at JC Penney at the mall, since they like chunky monkeys like myself and provide us with decent jeans/pants. I actually found a pair for $20 bucks I liked, whereas I usually find them for $46. Also, found a 1/3 ct princess cut pair of diamond studs (I was going to get them on "sale" for $179.99 at Zales, actually 1/4 ct) for $44.00 on sale and did an internal happy dance that I found a replacement I actually got for a pretty damn good price.

I headed out of there and walked around the mall for a bit, ended up at Journeys where I found a pair of RocketDog shoes that just screamed Yari! They were $25 on sale, so again, I did good and got em. Wanna see? Look:


Yeah, I rock. Anywho! After that I headed over back to the car and met up with Ricky for lunch, stuffed my face with a Pecan Cinnabon which was kick ass. Then headed over to ToysRUs *cue dramatic music*. The place was a freakin' madhouse. Insane. I have no words. Not only did I not find ANYTHING I was looking for, but the lines were snaking around every aisle along with kids screaming like they were being denied toys. Oh, wait, they were. Who the hell takes their little kids Xmas TOY shopping and then gets mad at them for crying when they realize: A) They can't get every toy in the place AND B) The ones they CAN get, they can't open for another month?! Yeah, smart move there mom and pop. So I hightailed it out of there, rather upset about my Minimates (ok and my Monopoly game) and skidaddled over to Best Buy.

Now THAT was awesome. Best Buy had the best deals by far, and not only that, but they were constantly re-stocking all their sales items. There was no panic, no rushing, no rudeness. It was crowded as hell, but even the line moved quickly and I was out of there in no time. However, as I was walking out of the Best Buy, a lady in an SUV just failed to notice people walking across the street to their cars and decided to just drive thru like the fuckin Indy track. She ended up hitting the outside of my right leg, specifically my knee, before I slammed my fist onto her hood leaving a very painful dent (painful for my hand, and knee). She hightailed it outta there, and I limped to my car. It aches.

Lastly, I attempted to go to the Midland Mall...yeah, I lasted about 5 minutes inside JC Penney and said screw it. Drove my happy little butt through traffic back home to tell you all of my lovely tales of shopping. I'll probably spend the rest of my Friday night hanging out at family's place in the west side...should be nice and lovely. *eye twitch* But, I have new shoes. I have nice earrings. And, quite possibly have a good weekend ahead, so I'm a little giddy.

Oh and this is yours truly today, rocking the flannel, cleavage and Boston cap on my shopping expedition:

Goat Love

Maybe it's that I've been cooped up all day, or simply that I'm a sucker for sweet guys with shaggy hair, but I sat down to write and got entirely sidetracked by what was on my screen.

The Chronicles of Narnia was playing on Disney Channel. How I got to that channel in the first place, I may never know. But, in front of me was the ever adorable Mr. Tumnus, walking through the snow wearing a scarf and playing his little flute to little Lucy.

My heart skipped a beat when they did a close up, on said faun, oh gorgeous satyr! The actor who portrays him is James McAvoy and he's not particularly good looking really. However, I couldn't help smiling when looking at him. I mean, the man's half a goat or something. He's fuzzy and has hoofs and, oh he's just lovely. I refuse to believe I'm suddenly attracted to mythical creatures, so I sat down with my sis and went down a tiny list of things I liked about goat boy.

She mentioned his nose, which yeah, it's sorta nice and round and cute. But that wasn't it. His eyes are very, expressive...sorta. But still, that wasn't it. He had a messy hair thing going on, some facial hair I rather enjoyed. He had a soft quiet voice, and a big heart. Besides, I've never been one to care much, if anything at all, about looks. I like sense of humor (sarcasm is a must), and not being expected to wear 'sexy' attire to go out. Jeans, converse, t-shirt kinda girl. Besides, I'm practically an walrus myself, who am I to judge? So hell, if you have a lil extra fur and hoofs, its okay with me!

There, I feel better. Now ya'll know I'm into kinky stuff. Oh, and as far as Mr. Tumnus, the scarf DEFINITELY did it for me. Oh. Yes. The scarf.

Obituary

I drove by the cemetery the other day, right around dusk. My eyes always scan it for the one tomb, automatically, that always makes me think of the day I'll die. The head stone is in shape of a marble guitar, and it always has a crown of fresh flowers around the neck of it. Even though I've, for the most part, decided on being cremated when I pass away, there's a part of me that would love to have a resting place like that one.

My parents, who were in the car with me at the time, asked: "Are you getting that because you like guitars?" I simply said: "No."

It's more than a sign of who I was in life, and I, do not simply like guitars. I feel their tone and vibration inside my chest with every strum. Every guitar is different, and I must have them all. But the point of my thoughts that day was not simply on the fact that it was a guitar shaped tombstone. My mind was running more along the lines of "What will people remember of me, if anything, once I've been gone." Not only in the first few years, but will they even think my name and who I was in life 20 yrs down the road?

I have no dreams of everlasting glory, of my name going down in books and people discussing me over ridiculously overpriced chai tea in some fancy cafe. In that sense, I have no ambition. I simply want to be happy. I want to live long enough to see my goddaughter Hannah graduate high school, and in the same hand, not outlive my loved ones. I would ask to live long enough to be able to relocate to my homeland again, but by then odds are I'll have no legs, be blind and in kidney failure. My remaining family members would be dead by then. So I'll skip that.

What I'd like people to remember of me? The time I wrote a play, selected the cast, directed and was the leading old lady in it when I was in 6th grade. I did it out of fun with my best friends, it ended up with us touring schools and doing it for teachers/students around the island. Do I want them to remember I wrote it by myself? No. I want them to remember that I died my hair gray and wore an inflatable tube under my moomoo, as "Tita" the 80 yr old break dancing grandma...(and break dance I did, slip showing and all).

I want them to remember my sense of humor, and the times I stayed up with them on the phone simply listening and offering the best comfort I could. Also, I want them to remember my mannerisms as I speak, the looks I give when I think no one is watching me, that tiny freckle I have of the corner of my left eye right above my cheekbone. It would be something if they heard certain songs and remember those were my favorites, or simply miss me. I'd like to be missed. Not just in the beginning, but someday when they're old...I want them to miss me. I would've been a good bingo partner, probably smudging the card with sticky chocolate-covered fingers.

It's my hope they don't remember that when I was 12 and found out grandma had cancer, I stopped visiting her for almost 2 weeks. I didn't want to accept she would die, and I really hope no one else remembers the way she looked up from her wheel chair and asked me softly "Why didn't you come see me anymore, because I have no hair?". I am ashamed of myself for that forever. Maybe they won't remember the times I wished my mom dead, whole-heartedly, as a teen...even though she's my life. Hopefully they will forget the times I lied about my feelings, or the times I simply denied them. Love should never be denied, love never need be faked. My many flaws, the words I spoke out of anger, the words I didn't say...those I hope fade out of their memories.

So many fears, wishes triggered by a simple guitar shaped tombstone, that's not so simple at all. Who was that person? Musician is but one label. Father? Daughter? Husband? Friend? I am all. I am none.

At that point in my inner ramblings, my parents interrupted with a very rude: "Why are you stupid and talking about wanting a tombstone anyways? You idiot, talking about death!" That's right, pops. I forgot we don't die. Must've been a glitch in the Matrix.

Will anyone be sad I've left this world too early?

Weak, Powerless, Oh So Willing!

This is a short post. It has ONE purpose.

This picture here is a little secret I'd like to let you in on...

That right there is my favorite part to kiss a guy. 100%, my favorite.

Sure some would go for something more lewd. More suggestive. No, not me. I love that tiny dent guys get on the side of their throat, to either side of their adam's apple.

I'm not talking about a wet, slobbery kiss either. My heart stops just imagining it. My lips, pressing softly anywhere along those trails. My breath softly caressing it, the warmth of the skin brushing my mouth and the vibrations of a groan transferring to my lips. I just gave myself the best chills ever.

We might kiss when we are alone
When nobody's watching
We might take it home
We might make out when nobody's there
It's not that we're scared
It's just that it's delicate.

- Delicate, by Damien Rice

What's the word I'm looking for...?

I have a problem with words. They don't convey enough when my eyes are clearly bursting with feelings. 99% of people I meet say something about my eyes. They're soulful, expressive, like bottomless pits, sad, secretive and more commonly: beautiful. Is it the color? I doubt it, they're so close to black that every attempt I've made at wearing light color contacts ends up in massive failure (why are we never happy with what was given to us as a default?). Is it their shape? I like their shape. Their almond shaped and with dark thick lashes, no need for mascara. It is because of that shape and color I've been labeled arabic, lebanese, greek? Everything except what I am. But what am I, if not simply human. Woman. One with who relies on her eyes, instead of her words.

In my head I come up with witty remarks, actual funny/smartass remarks, with words I want to tell you, my friend, and when I'm faced with you...they scatter and turn into a stuttering mess. Everyone that's met me online/social network, seems to have a different impression of the person I am. They look at the picture and at the words on the screen, and create this bigger than life personna full of anecdotes and talent. I surpass their mental standards, I'm everything they've ever looked for/wanted in a friend. They can spend hours texting me back and forth initially, they open up and offer their friendship to me, their comfort, a place in their world. But the time comes to meet me in person and what happens?

I am not a photo on the screen. I am not the invincible character with unlimited funnies to be supplied no matter how crappy my day was. I am scared. I feel so much, when I meet people initially. I feel even more when we hang out all the time. It's a loving gratitude that cannot be expressed in words. Hence, I end up a bundle of nerves, stumbling over my words while I look you in the eyes as if to say "please, dont listen to my words, look me in the eyes and you'll see I'm just trying to say 'thanks for being my friend, love ya' and not being a weirdo". But people don't understand that. They meet me and are somewhat baffled that I avoid eye contact, and struggle to talk loud. I play with my hands and fingers incessantly and tuck loose curls behind my right ear.

If you guys only KNEW how much I love poetry, ANY kind. Written word, spoken word, and those words you sing. I have so much to say, and all I have is a keyboard that can't do justice to the beautiful things I wish I could let out of my heart. The sad things that constantly have a need to escape from my chest. I write here, empty words, explanations, rants...with a few 'hits' here and there. Seldom do I write something that means anything, and comes out exactly how I wanted it to.

Actually, this just did. Maybe there is a word to describe the lack of them...

Words are deeds. The words we hear
May revolutionize or rear
A mighty state. The words we read
May be a spiritual deed
Excelling any fleshly one,
As much as the celestial sun
Transcends a bonfire, made to throw
A light upon some raree-show.
A simple proverb tagged with rhyme
May colour half the course of time;
The pregnant saying of a sage
May influence every coming age;
A song in its effects may be
More glorious than Thermopylae,
And many a lay that schoolboys scan
A nobler feat than Inkerman.

- WORDS by William C. Wentworth

Push, Pull, FACESPLAT!

I am often faced with the conundrum that are doors.

Yes. Doors.

I remember a time when a business would take the time to put a nice little sign that would instruct you to either "Push" or "Pull" to open said glass door, granting you access into the establishment. Given to the lack of man power to make such signs, or the sheer enjoyment of the employer at seeing people struggle with doors, this aid is no longer available for the poor unsuspecting me.

We all hate it, don't even deny it. It unleashes a secret fury, an overwhelming feeling of general embarrassment when you make the wrong choice (push instead of pull, pull instead of push) and makes you feel like the only human being unable to work a freakin' door. You know what I mean. You walk up to the place, not a break in your stride, feeling confident and in focus as to what you're looking for once you're inside. You walk up to the door and absentmindedly push it to get inside, only to find you made the wrong move buddy! Suddenly the door literally shoves you backwards with approximately 30 G's of force, loudly clanking and rattling as to make others aware that you have arrived in non-style. You feel the anger raise, and frantically look for the sign that's supposed to tell you not to PUSH, but to PULL. Of course, there is none. In some ocassions the stores even have the little bells that ring when you open the door, eventually open the door, or simply pull it with all your might only to have it ring as it refuses you entry. Again, you feel like giving yourself a giant facepalm. Oy.

I have decided to make a concious effort in order to memorize the workings of the doors in every establishment I visit in town and/or neighboring towns. From gas stations to grocery stores (those automatic sliding doors are also bastards that are broken down at times, leaving you standing in front of them like a child who's been locked out of the house... or in it?), from my building doors at work to restaurants. I refuse to be made a fool again. The Dollar General on 42nd and Dixie? You PUSH to get in. N-Tune music store? PULL, and it's tricky when carrying a guitar case and music book. Hastings? Those bastards. They have DOUBLE doors. The first one you push, the second one you pull. See? Double the chances to look like a jackass.

Doors will no longer stop me. I will remember them ALL. I will push when push is needed, pull when pulling is a must and simply stand there when they're automatic sliding doors that WORK. I'll show them all!

Next time I'll tackle people that put doors that swing open the wrong way inside houses, with doorknobs that also turn the opposite way to open said doors included! Case in point? My parents house. It's a goddamn funhouse in here!

New Moon and a Bleu concert

I'm back from my trip, and the time has come for me to follow the masses of screaming teenagers into the movie theater to witness the butchering of a story that meant the world to me (this was my favorite book of the saga), bad acting combined with unnecessary toplessness from werewolves that look like girly calvin klein models and...yeah, pretty good indie soundtrack. Nothing will deter me, for I shall go watch New Moon at 1 p.m. I will attempt to not laugh at the sheer cornyness of it all, I'll soak in whatever small details they remember from the story and had the decency to put in there for those who have them engraved into their head since they read it.

Also, my friends Jack and Marvin are coming down from New Mexico tonight to join Ricky and I to a Bleu Edminston concert in a local bar. Here's a youtube of him, yeah laugh at me because I like his country/alternativy sound. Ya'll can suck it, its not like I'm going to a Larry The Cable Guy/Tim McGraw fandango.

Alas, I shall review both movie and concert tomorrow, to your dismay. Mwahaha. I'll also review Iowa and cornfields. How quaint.

I promise that this will be the last time you’ll see me. I won’t come back. I won’t put you through anything like this again. You can go on with your life without any more interference from me. It will be as if I’d never existed...Don’t worry. You’re human—your memory is no more than a sieeve. Time heals all wounds for your kind.
Edward Cullen, New Moon, Chapter 3, p.71

It Can Always Get Worse...

I am making the most I can out of the 10 minute break I have today. Haven't had a chance to text or chat with my homesycles the past week due to horrible signal on my cell up here in Iowa. The training is going fantastic, the little town is just beautiful beyond words...or maybe I really miss living up north. I ventured to several restaurants and the mall, got lost a few times, cursed and cried - nothing new there. Tomorrow my flight leaves in the afternoon out of a town nearby so I will wake up early and see the little sleeping town and take pictures/get some shopping done.

I normally don't check on www.endi.com that often, which is the site for the major newspaper from back home in Puerto Rico. I decided to see what was up in my little island, since I've heard the political situation is more more aggitated along with the collapse of the working class alltogether. I'm greeted by a hostage situation that lasted almost all day in a supply store, only to have SWAT find the robbers had fled leaving behind no clues. Also, a 19 yr old gay guy was stabbed, decapitated, dismembered and set on fire by a homophobe in a small town. I don't even have words for that except utter disbelief at reading something like that in this day and age. More corruption and economic crisis headlines, countless drug related murders...all the young people wasting their life pointlessly in drug wars. Protests left and right, against homophobia and the current governor with his crazy corrupt antics. Bleh.

Then I stumble upon the news of the moment, and a heart breaking one at that. Apparently 9 kids were headed to school early yesterday morning, when the school bus veered off the road and went off 50 feet down onto the highway below. Some say the driver fell asleep, other signs seem to point to him passing out do to being diabetic, while the kids and many other witnesses say he had a habit of playing 'zig zag' with the bus full of kids while driving. A game. He did it to scare them, and play with them. Whatever happened, ended up with the bus tumbling down and landing on its side...and on the 9 yr old little girl that flew out of one of the open windows. The loss of life, is always heart-breaking for someone. Even if it's your enemy, that enemy had a family or someone that at some point or another they meant the whole world to. As I countinued to read, already saddened that the poor child had such a painful, horrific death on her way to school, I came across the part that just twisted my lungs into knots. I quote:

(Via AP) The father of the girl, Felix Noel Guzman, arrived at the scene at the accident and for several minutes attempted to reach the body of his daughter, but was prevented by the authorities. Her body lay by the school bus, covered by a white blanket. After convincing the authorities, and with the aproval of the detectives on the scene, they led him to the body and uncovered it for identification - at which point he fell on his knees, gathered the body in his arms, and proceeded to kiss it all over amidst his sobs.

For his own safety, he was immediately asked to step away from the scene by the police. "She's my daughter! My life! I want to be with her until they take her away!", the man screamed drowning in his cries as he tried to stop the authorities that were trying to remove him from his daughter Paula Nicole Guzman's side. She was traveling in the bus with her four older siblings, who survived the crash and witnessed everything.

We've all, every single one of us, lost someone in death. Some in tragic manners, a few of us due to long drawn out illnesses. When my grandmother died, of cancer, I kissed her repeatedly all over. I didn't want the funeral home to take her from the house. You never forget their look. You will never forget the cries, screams. Sometimes, it was the silence and finality of it all that broke us beyond repair. He just wanted to cradle his child, kiss her and have her in his arms a few more moments until she would be gone from reach for the rest of his life. The mother couldn't even do that. She was over the side of the road with her other 4 injured children. The family, physically broken, emotionally drained.

Count your blessings, while you have them, no matter how small. It can always be worse. This made me sad. So sad. See you all tomorrow.

Happy Friday The 13th...

Count your blessings...you could be him right about now.

For lack of better wording...PUH!

I don't like when friends I really care for become predictable as soon as they fall in or out of love. Well, actually, it's not that which I really resent. It's when they utterly change who they are and how they treat their friends when they meet/date someone new.

Case in point, I really really really get along with a buddy of mine. He's fun to pick on, has a great big heart, every time I see him I just feel like hugging him...and he totally, absolutely, without a doubt always gets on my last nerve whenever we play jokes on each other. When he can't sleep, sometimes we sorta text back and forth to talk about boobs (yeah, we like em) or just how the day in general was. We both play guitar, so we kinda do that whenever we hang out if we have time. That is unless...

He meets someone new. If/when he reads this blog post, he will rant and rave saying "I have a GF!!! What do you want me to do be around all the time with you assholes and ignore her and not get ass?" No. No no no. By all means, hun, go get you some. Get you plenty. With many if possible (with protection, please). What I mean is that this fellow completely drops off the face of the planet when he finds someone to pull his poi-poi. He doesn't text at random hours like he used to or answer messages you send him. All of the sudden he doesn't listen to the music you used to bond over or jokes around, goes to concerts, etc. It's like he turns into a completely different person that, to be honest, makes me sad.

Do people honestly think you won't notice when they are with someone? You're talking to them and they are not there. I'm not an idiot. Really. You're only fooling yourself by pretending you totally paid attention to what I said. By acting like you didn't abandon you're entire way of being just to be someone you are not. If that's who you are, why does it only come out when you've hooked up? That's crap. But yeah sure, I'll still be here when you're bored. When no one else gives you attention. When everyone else has gone to bed. When they freaking mess up. I'll be here. Because that's who Yari is right? The eternal backup/safety net/back burner bud. :)

On that delightful note, I shall go pack for my business trip. Also, I shall nap, for the last 2 nights have been spent in a lovely waking up every 2 hours with a headache kick. Tomorrow morning? Breakfast, Barnes & Nobles, post office, guitar lesson, baby shower...then afternoon of absolutely, freaking, NOTHING. Maybe writing.

Special shout out to my homies: Twin, Scott, Mollysaurus, sporq and Rob!

(photo shot by lele saveri for Vice Magazine. It's a series called "Stood up", told in 5 shots. check out the rest of her work HERE!)

Frackle Freckle

It was so cute and discreet. Just hanging out there, resting right on the soft rise that indicates where my left breast begins.

I had never noticed this freckle prior to earlier this evening. I came home from work, was undressing in front of the bedroom wall mirror and sneaking a glance at my ever changing body. I fixed my bra strap, and looked up at the mirror again. That was the moment it caught my attention, that changed the course of my life-nay!-completely altered the following 2 minutes of my life.

Leaning closer, I studied how sexy that tiny dark brown speck looked against my pale skin. Why hadn't I seen that before? I spend a good quantity of my days observing my rack...How could I have overlooked it? It made me feel so special and I almost fancied someone falling in love with my teasing freckle. Someone kissing it softly, like a hidden treasure that only a select few had seen...

And then I remembered the cookies I had earlier at work, and rather defeated, I proceeded to remove my freckle from my bosom and lick it off my finger. I really do love chocolate chips...

That Being Said...

Today's number is 287,936,945.087

AAH AAH AAAAAH!!!

Once Upon A Time...

It almost seems like the story should always end in '...and they lived happily ever after.'

It's what we're force fed from infancy in countless times in fairy tale books and happy-go-lucky princesses with perfect lives. We move on to soap operas, teen dramas, romantic comedies and soul-mate epic novels; all coincidentally containing very minimal drama (if any), quickly resolved by some cheesy move from the guy (or gal) that required no serious angst to be gone through.

However, the reality of it is that there is no soul-mate. There is no earth-shattering, mind blowing, let's-kill-each-other-in-the-name-of-our-unique-bond love. This bullshit Hollywood puts out, this crap Jane Austen so beautifully wrote...all this nonsense that makes our heart swell with hopes and dreams, that makes us search endlessly for that one who will fill our void; it's all fantasy. Are we really that dense that we believe a guy, single imperfect human being out there will be the perfect match for us for the rest of our lives? They who are equally confused, also searching for the same things we are, also infatuated with unattainable ideals?

What we all fail to realize is that those books that feed our dreams so much, those movies that make our eyes tear up and our hearts wrinkle like prunes...they are merely a compilation of all the PERFECT ROMANTIC moments a person may experience in a lifetime with several people. How can someone go to so many lengths day in and day out to make their significant other fall in love with them OVER and freaking OVER again, with quirky original cute ideas and oh so sweet little details that sometimes take more than a whim to come up with? Shall I elaborate?

These are a few moments in my life that assured me someone was my soul-mate. Ahem. Alex was my first boyfriend, so he already had that going for him. Heh. I will never forget when we were 13 yrs old and he came down with a serious illness, having to be hospitalized for almost 2 weeks. I'd make my parents drive me up there every afternoon after school, and I'd play poker with him until 7 p.m. (visiting hours were over), sitting across from him indian-style on his bed. One day his mom's friend came to see him and asked him who I was, to which he smoothly replied with a grin on his face "my future wife." He reached over and held my hand, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. Even thinking about it right now makes my heart just, swell...and tear into pieces. I miss that feeling. He was not my soul-mate.

But I grew up, and I also can't seem to shake away the memory of David R. when I was 15. We met by accident, he was a cousin of some guys I used to hang out with from church. One Friday night they invited me to the movies, and he tagged along...and he was a red-head (my weakness). We ended up sitting by each other and I swear I could feel the electricity between our arms that were barely touching over the armrests. We'd lean closer, and make some stupid little remark about that god-awful movie, and he'd just linger there licking his lips. Whew let me fan myself! Eventually, he went for it and I probably had the best kiss of my life. Ever. We pretty much sucked face for the next two weeks, and every time it made me feel beautiful, sexy, breathless. Alas, all things end. Specially at that age. He was not my soul-mate.

Ryan, oh Ryan. He was 25, I was 17. We met in AOL, back when you had local chatrooms. We were both guitarists, and lived about 20 mins from each other. So one day we met at the movies, and became best friends, my own little white boy. He loved that I called him that. He was a musician, had been sober (cocaine) for 2 yrs when we met, covered in tattoos and piercings (my parents' worst nightmare) and had underground death metal shows every night almost. Everywhere we went, he always introduced me as his 'lady bird'. "This here is Yar, my lady bird", followed be a delicate kiss on my jaw. That's what I loved most, how someone so dark and seemingly cold, could treat me like a precious, fragile gift in his life. What I'll never erase from my thoughts? When I finally turned 18, I thought he had forgotten about my birthday or wasn't going to make a big deal about it. I went to his apt to play guitar, as was our usual weekday hangout routine, and while I was tuning my guitar he covered my eyes and pulled me to the kitchen. He had baked a cake and decorated it himself (yikes! erm...it was a sweet gesture), 18 pink candles on a black frosting cake, with the words "Happy 18 years you were born for me, Lady Bird." He was not my soul-mate.

Dave. Hmm. Dave. I'll make it short. I had poems. I had songs. I had letters. He was not my soul-mate.

Do you get what I'm saying? The love of one's life...what exactly is it? I'll take whatever I've had in the past, what I have now and what I'll have in the future and enjoy the good in it. The key is finding the one person you can have several of those moments with, doesn't matter if it's every day, as long as you have them. The key is finding someone who is willing to love you even though you are NOT their soul-mate, or what they expected out of real love either. Find someone who will be by your side when the laughs and good times slow down, who can sit by you quietly and not demand from you what you, yourself, cannot give him/her.

I'm not saying you have to agree with me on this, as this view only works for me at the moment. It saves me heartache. It prevents false hopes. It doesn't let me curl into myself out of maddening loneliness, and refuses to let me spend my life chasing after knights in shining armor that more than likely are assholes who wouldn't know love and happiness if it punched them in the spleen.

Ricky proposed to me on the side of a dirt road, by a trash can...

The Soul's Expression-

With stammering lips and insufficient sound
I strive and struggle to deliver right
That music of my nature, day and night
With dream and thought and feeling interwound
And inly answering all the senses round
With octaves of a mystic depth and height
Which step out grandly to the infinite
From the dark edges of the sensual ground.
This song of soul I struggle to outbear
Through portals of the sense, sublime and whole,
And utter all myself into the air:
But if I did it,--as the thunder-roll
Breaks its own cloud, my flesh would perish there,
Before that dread apocalypse of soul.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Forever

I was watching Jim & Pam's wedding on the show The Office. I guess their wedding party had a little thing planned making it look like the youtube video of the couple who's wedding march was "Forever" by Chris Brown and some weird dancing folk. I had forgotten how sad that youtube clip made me, so when it sprung up on me on The Office, even as a reenactment, it made me all gloom and doom.

This is what the clip I'm referring to:

Have you ever been that happy with ANYONE? Is it too late?

Who cares. They were probably divorced later on and Chris Brown is a chick beater. But yeah, I thought it was a cute song along with the happiest moment for some.

On that note, I'm gonna dance my way to the kitchen and bake cookies. Don't feel like writing today.

Does he drive you wild...or midly free?

What about me?...

Work(s) In Progress

I feel that tonight will be quite productive (also, I just got my new Driver's License with my correct legal name so PHEW! - my business trip is on the 16th and it was booked under my legal name and not the name on my passport and/or old DL). I'm working on a story that has to be told, about a rather odd character that seems to haunt my thoughts when I least expect it. I have a few poems, they won't rhyme, but I need to get it off my chest. I guess they're more like things I see when I close my eyes and they sort of break my heart. Enough of that. I'll share some other stuff. But for now? Dinner. Yes. Dinner. It's friday, and I hope you guys are having a good one. Remember, remember the 6th of November. Ta-ta!

I'm late! I'm late!

I'm late for bed.

Sorry I havent had a chance to update this all week almost. The new job is fantastic, as well as the co-workers. I had the fortune of starting right on when "IT WEEK" kicked off, so between yummy meals and awesome team building, I am taken aback at what a positive work environment really means! I take off to Iowa in a week and some days, will be training there for a week, then come back ready to dive in to the wonderful world of servers and support. The place is so much like an episode of 'The Office' everyday, I spend half my time trying not to grin like an idiot identifying people with certain characters. (I'm not sure if I'm Pam or Meredith yet...)

I miss Cath, Scott, Shane and Rob (altho being in the Army limits his time online). I'm so used to coming home with enough energy to sign on and chit chat away. Lately I just have enough time to eat, do some errands and since I've been working full time (I hadn't done so in a while) I am exhausted by 9 p.m.

Hence, I'm late! Late for bed. I hopped on to read my twin's blog, check my email and leave this quick note for ya'll. ...On a related note, I'm watching 48 Hours on A&E (reality show about homicide detectives who have 2 days to find out as much as they can about murders) and the dead guy's nick name tattooed on his chest was "LUCKY". I didn't wanna laugh, but, oh the iron E. Maybe the tattoo was a jinx?

Right. Me. Bed. Tomorrow's Friday so I can stay up late and blog about a few things sorta weighing in my chest and mind. Hopefully I'll catch up online or via text with ya'll. Yeah. I said ya'll. I reckon I did.

Much love, you're all missed.

Words and Stuff

Came across a pretty cool scripture today. Yeah, me, I know. I guess the reason I liked is because it doesn't matter if you believe in God or not, if you are religious or not - it really does kind of hit home.

James 3:8-10 says, "But no man can tame the tongue. It is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison. With it we bless our God and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in the similitude of God. Out of the same mouth proceed blessing and cursing. My brethren, these things out not to be so."

Our mouth, our voice, our lips - we use to declare love for whatever thing we fancy, and we also use it to destroy it. One little word can shatter others' lives...or our own. I have brought so many people happiness with my words, only to turn around to find them cringing as they hear what slips out of me causing so much damage. I have loved. I have loved some very dearly, and then come to hate them when they have said what I least expected, full of emotion behind it...drilling the point in.

I guess I'm trying to say is, we all need to...I need to measure what comes out of my mouth. I don't want something that's associated with good to be associated with pain. It will be inevitable that I say things without thinking and hurt some of you. I'm rambling.

Anywho...

I'm fair and impartial...

So see, just to make sure you guys get where I'm coming from. I liked the books. I wanna bone the dudes that are cast in the movies and the soundtrack to New Moon is very indie and decent.

But come on, people, really. What the FUCK do you need "New Moon" packing tape for? Bandages. Scarves. Duvets...packing tape. This just blows my mind.

So...yeah. No. I'm a twihard, and I do not approve of this crapfest.

Hi

I have no shame.

20 more days.

That is all.

(oh yeah and thanx to www.twilightguide.com for the pix)