Friday, May 12, 2006

I'm Trying To Forget That I'm Addicted To You

I admit, I am an addict.

McDonald's fries - People say that these are so soggy with grease and have layers upon layers of salt on them, but I think that they are delicious.

Music - Depending on my mood, I love all kinds of music. It provides the soundtrack to my life. When I get home, I turn on the radio instead of the T.V. It keeps me company.

Raspberry Buttercreams from See's Candy Store - Chocolate. 'Nuff said.

Really Good Books, Sometimes Classics - Some people where I live wouldn't know what kind of experience I was talking about when I described the feeling of climbing into my bed with a book that I get caught up in reading. Oftentimes, those nights end as far into the night as I can manage to stay awake, or early in the morning. My mother is the same way.

Talking On The Phone - This one is kind of inevitable, seeing as I am conducting something similar to a long distance relationship with my boyfriend. Without the phone, we wouldn't survive as a couple as neither one of us drives yet.

Laughing - They say that laughter is the best medicine and that it keeps you healthy. If this is true, then my friends and I have to be the healthiest people on the planet. My laughter is contagious and all one has to do to get me to laugh is say something so random, it's funny.

The Country of France - I am currently in the process of concluding my fourth semester of French at my high school. I love the language and having been to France in the summer of 2005, I want to live there and teach English as a second language. My two grandmothers are afraid that I'll move over there, meet a sexy French man, get married and never return. My mother, on the other hand, is all too excited that she'll have a killer vacation spot when she gets sick of her life in the States.

Moulin Rouge - This movie was not only based in France, but also used some non-fictional characters in the making, including (but not limited to): Toulouse-Lautrec, Nini Legs-In-The-Air, Môme Fromage (The Cheese Kid (I think that's how it's spelled)), and Charles Zidler (known as Harold Zidler in the movie). The elephant that Satine conducted all of her love affairs in also existed, although it served as an opium den as well as a smaller dance floor. Fictional it may be, along with many of it's components, I absolutely adore this film.

Snowboarding - Yes, I accept the fact that this is a winter sport and it is now May. However, I just can't put my snowboard away yet. I'm not ready for summer to come. This explains why I haven't yet taken my two quilts off of my bed yet and instead, sleep with the window open.

And Last But Maybe Not Least:
Blogging - Instead of pouring my heart out in a journal, I keep this blog, remaining fairly close to anonymous, except for those who I gave the URL to. This allows me to vent my frustrations with no chance of my father finding it and knowing who I am.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

A Situation So Much Worse Than Mine

I was reading a blog earlier this evening, and about two paragraphs down, I began to realize that this woman's life is much worse than mine. I might moan and groan about how much I hate my father, and how I'm never going back, just because of all the little trivialities and wrongs that have been done to me. I swear that I don't care what he thinks and I don't care what happens; bring it on. I remember one time, in eighth grade, he got angry with me on the car ride back to Mom's. He couldn't control his anger (somewhat ironic because two years before this occurance, he was strongly convinced that I needed anger management classes). He pulled the car over on the side of the road and started yelling at me that I wasn't paying him the respect he deserved. I don't know what respect he assumed that was because, according to my belief system, respect is earned and he had done nothing to earn the respect he claimed I owed. I remember telling him my belief (not the second part) and then he unbuckled his seat-belt and came storming over to my side of the car. If I had been smarter, I would have locked the door. He wrenched open my door and threw the history book that I was using to do my homework into the back and chucked the soda I had been drinking out into the empty field behind him, threatening to whip me with a belt. When he was back in the car, just sitting there yelling at me, I started thinking that the nearest town wasn't that far away and I could just walk there and call my mom to come pick me up. I told him this and unbuckled my seat belt, reaching for the door handle. He grabbed the metal part of the belt, keeping me in my place as he accelerated, still yelling at me, and driving on the side of the road. He scared me so much that day, and although I've talked about it numerous times with a few different people, I still can't get over it.
When I learned that he had threatened my sister (well, step-sister) with an aluminum baseball bat, telling her that if she and her friends weren't quiet, he would make it as red as her cherry-colored sweatshirt, I freaked out and talked to B.A, his wife and she claimed that it was an analogy that he shouldn't have drawn. I remember yelling at her, telling her that she was stupid and recounting the story that only my mother knew about at the time. She called my father in and made me retell it, mainly focusing on what he said to M.R. I don't think she ever really believed me about what happened in the car that day. I don't think anyone but my mother ever will.
Then there are the days that we get together and have a great time. I hate these days the most because they give me the illusion that my dad isn't a bad guy. He's the man that I always had fun with as a little girl, the one who got me a cat before I developed an allergy. The one who picked me up after-school every other Friday, just to spend the weekend with me. The one who took me to awesome places where we had pictures taken of the two of us, me looking happier than ever. The one that I went on bike rides with who never claimed to not have enough money or time to come see me. If I knew that dad now, I would want to make an effort. But I don't, and hence the funeral of that character.

Thursday, May 04, 2006

Addressing Different Issues

Firstly, I successfully accomplished giving blood for the third time today, something that I have feared doing for the longest time because I can't stand the thought of having needles or any other foreign object inserted into my skin. However, the P.S. Blood Clinic employees made it easy and worthwhile. They always greet you with some kind of joke, or ask you about your life. These are people who have donated before and know how nerve-racking it can be. I found out that my blood type is O positive and knowing that my mother's is O negative, I want to find out what kind of blood my father has, just for biology's sake. Things like blood typing interest me.
So here I sit, typing this post, awaiting the next big event: my birthday, which just happens to be this Saturday. I really don't want to be getting older. I know that it's inevitable, but I just wish I could delay my aging and stay this age for a little while. This year's been fun, and the drama level has gone through a dramatic decreases since the time that I was fifteen. To celebrate, after S.H. gets home from Arizona and I return from K.K.O.S. we'll be going paintballing.
Another thing I must address is the reason why I use my friends' and family members' initials instead of their real names. I know that whatever sense of anonymity that I think I have would go down the drain if I revealed the people I associated with. I also try to respect the privacy of my friends, and I find that the most accurate and least confusing way to do this is through using their initials, because they can't just be left out of my life.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

Too Much, Too Soon... Maybe

I think that I got more than what I bargained for in agreeing to be S.H.'s girlfriend. We have these insane discussions in which we talk about nothing in particular, and yet everything at the same time. Never having had a girlfriend previously, S.H. is rather inexperienced in anything that has to do with the female kind, his knowledge limited to the immature sex jokes that his hormomal teenage guy friends tell him. Ha ha, not that I have much to go on either.
The first time he held a conversation with someone that went over an hour was towards the middle of March, the individual with whom he was speaking being me. I think the only reasons why our conversations last so long are because we ask the other questions or tell each other secrets; it's kind of like a game of truth or dare, the difference being there exists no dare option. Today, the conversation was cut short on account of a babysitting job that I had set yesterday. But all it consisted of was accounting the things that we have never done, and want to do. Some things about him surprise me; some things about me surprise him. Having been screwed over many a time, I try to keep my guard up, a relatively pointless action on my part, mainly because he hasn't given me a reason not to trust him. But try as I might to defend myself, he often takes me by surprise, saying things that you wouldn't expect to hear from a typical teenage guy. These things are really cheesy, but maybe it's the level of corniness that gets past my onion-like layers.
Even though it's a wonderful way to get to know someone else, I often find myself thinking about the one other time that I played this game of Truth with someone else, someone whose answers were more colorful, sweet, and insightful, and as much as I try, I can't forget the nights when I talked until midnight or later. I must give props to S.H. though. I don't think that he knows what he's in for when he meets my extended family, and although he may not be a Marine, I know he's strong enough to face my family, and yet mellow enough to not attempt controlling me.