tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-99077982024-03-07T00:25:26.360-08:00Elsewhere is HereStarted with a teenager's journey through high school, morphed into a young adult's experiences in college. Now college is over (for the most part) and we've turned to other adventures. Join us in the excitement.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.comBlogger208125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-44842192284616058192012-03-27T00:26:00.002-07:002012-03-27T00:27:36.691-07:00Water for Elephants by Sara GruenI'm going to start this post off by covering my other news first, because there will be spoilers later on, and those of you who don't want to know how the book ends will miss the other stuff if you stop reading at the spoiler alert.<br />
Anyway, as for the other news, it is completely badass and completely lame, all at the same time. The badass portion is the bit where I tell you that today was my first managers' meeting ever as a kind of assistant manager (I'm not sure what my position will be called yet). I feel so official, and I feel like I have a lot to contribute. I also feel so young, and that I have no idea what I'm talking about. I guess on your first day, you're supposed to feel that way.<br />
My second piece of news, lame as it is, is that I had forty-five page views on my blog yesterday. Awesome, right? No. Most of them, I am thinking, were me, trying to figure out where most of my prior traffic came from. That's pathetic. Anyway, on to the book, even though I'm sure no one is reading this.<br />
<i>Water for Elephants</i> follows the narrative of an old man and a young man simultaneously. The old man is the ninety-three year old version of the twenty-three year old Jacob Jankowski. The present Jacob is living in a nursing home, attended by nurses who don't really care what he wants, save for one nurse in particular, Rosemary. He is visited every Sunday by some member of his extended family, and the week before the next visitor, a circus sets up within view of the nursing home. This causes a flood of memories for Jacob, memories of his own circus days, working in a traveling circus as a veterinarian. He was in charge of a large menagerie of animals.<br />
I admire the way the book was written, interlacing the past storyline with the present. The author plainly spends more time constructing the more elaborate past, making it the focal point for the majority of the book, but it becomes clear that the present storyline is integral to the book. This is not just a story of the exploits of a young man in the circus, nor is it the empty ramblings of an old man. This a story that explores the fate of those who truly live their lives to the fullest, and perhaps a warning to current society about how we should treat our elderly. <br />
***SPOILER ALERT***<br />
Jacob begins his reminiscing with his parents deaths in a car accident, and his imminent jumping of a train. This train happens to be the Benzini Brothers' Most Amazing Show on Earth. What Jacob comes to learn and reveal, is the seedy underbelly of what circus life was in the old days. Witnessing acts of animal cruelty to a much beloved elephant, redlightings (the removal of staff from the moving train, sometimes over train trestles), the refusal to pay a month's wages to half of the staff when times are tough, and ultimately the beating of a lovely wife and performer.<br />
As Jacob learns the ropes to the circus business, whose toes it's okay to tread on, and whose toes he should stay away from, he falls in love with the very person he should stay away from: the wife of the superintendent of the menagerie, Marlena. Marlena's husband, August, is a very jealous man, who is paranoid schizophrenic, imagines the affair between Jacob and Marlena, resulting in beatings of the circus elephant, as well as his wife. Jacob and Marlena plan to run away together when Jacob's life is threatened by the ringmaster and August. However, when the men who got redlighted over a trestle in place of Jacob and managed to survive catch up with the circus at the next town, all hell breaks loose. They release the animals, causing the stampede that was considered the third biggest circus disaster in circus history. During said stampede, two murders occur: that of August, who is killed by the elephant driving a stake through his head, and that of the horrific ringmaster, who was hung by the men he tried to kill, both murders a sort of revenge. Jacob, witnessing the murder of August, keeps the elephant's secret for years and years. He and Marlena, having an elephant and eleven horses, having nowhere to go after the Benzini Bros. circus falls apart, join up with the Ringling Bros. circus, and eventually settle down, donating the elephant to the zoo where Jacob takes a job as a vet.<br />
In the present, Jacob is disgruntled because no one will listen to his wishes, when it comes to taking his medicine, or even opening the blinds. One single nurse treats him with respect. This principle applies to Jacob's family as well. They come, bearing news of no real importance. Jacob catches important information by eavesdropping, and none of his visitors come often enough for him to remember who they are, save for his children. For them, it is a chore to sit with him, and every family member is eager to leave at the end of visiting time.<br />
On the visit that was supposed to happen during the circus weekend, Jacob's son forgets about visiting him. No one was able to come and visit, and Jacob has been left behind. Not to be deterred by one city block, some wobbly legs, and no one to accompany him, as he's just been told he's being abandoned by the only person that respects him (the nurse, Rosemary, is moving away), Jacob sets off for the circus on his own.<br />
When he arrives at the circus, he is stopped at the gate by a teenage boy because he cannot pay. The director comes out and welcomes Jacob in when Jacob tells him he used to work for the circus. The director is even more delighted when he finds that Jacob was present for the Benzini Bros. circus disaster of 1931, and invites Jacob back to his trailer when the show is finished. Jacob tells all. Even the elephant's secret, that he kept for so many years. And the director listens. Respectfully. The cycle comes full circle when the police show up looking for Jacob. The director lies, telling them that Jacob is his father, and agrees to take him on in the circus as a ticket seller. Jacob has a new family, as the ringmaster of the Benzini Bros. called them, he's back in business doing what he loves, and he has a family member who likes to listen to his stories. Jacob, a man who embodies <i>Carpe Diem</i>, is finally respected and heard.<br />
I loved everything about this book. I love the way the story was told. I loved the dual storylines. I love the way the book ended. I loved the symbolism. I loved it all. Prior to this book, my favorite novels were the Thursday Next series by Jasper Fforde, but I think that this book has blown those novels out of the water and now sits in the slot of my favorite book of all time. Props to Ms. Gruen for writing a brilliant novel.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-41132430063845994102012-03-25T23:45:00.000-07:002012-03-25T23:45:59.369-07:00Lions and Tiger and Bears, Oh My! (Yes, there was just one tiger, and he was sleeping)Alex and I went to the zoo today. I'm sure that we spent way too much money, but we got a good four hours of exercise in in the bright sunshine (Well, it was shining for the first hour anyway, which is about all you can ask for in the Pacific Northwest, especially in March). Luckily, I had the day off so I could enjoy it, another rarity for a <i>sunny</i> Sunday, or any Sunday for that matter. Generally speaking, good sales associates are in high demand on the weekends. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, and saw all sorts of different animal, or "<i>Aminals</i>" as one woman (yes, a grown woman) called them. <i>Way to encourage your child's vocabulary. I bet you say "<b>Libary</b>" too. </i>I don't know that I have a bigger pet peeve than the mispronunciation of words, and I realize that makes me a bit of a hypocrite, because while I will never admit it to AAS, I have a slight problem with the words "salmonella" and "vicinity". But I'm working on it, okay?<br />
Anyway, back to the zoo. Maybe it's that AAS and I never really grew up, but we really enjoy our trips to the zoo. We'll start out at the entrance with the map, giggling excitedly, and animatedly planning our route. Unfortunately, most zoos aren't arranged in a perfect circle, so we often find ourselves doubling back, because <i>WE CAN'T MISS ANYTHING!</i> Seriously. Honestly, there are so many animals that I can't say what my favorite is. I will push parents out of the way to see the different breeds of monkeys, press my little nose against the glass to watch the penguins swim, and trample small children to see the giraffes, elephants, and the big cats.<br />
AAS really likes all the animals with the name dragon tacked on to the end. He's obsessed with dragons. He's got a collections of dragon figurines. If you even breathe the word dragon, he's there. So you can understand his excitement at the komodo dragons, bearded dragons, ect. He has also proclaimed that he loves the sloth bear, and the taiper. Check 'em out folks, they're cool animals.<br />
***SPOILER ALERT*** This is where it starts to get emo, so if you're here for the humor, bugger off.<br />
Towards the end of the day, AAS asked "Doesn't it feel good to take the full day off and not do any chores?" I answered yes, but in my head, I was thinking <i>God, no. </i>You see, when I take a day off to myself to not do anything but relax, hang out, read a good book, my mother, with whom we're currently living with (yeah yeah, I'm 22 years old and living with my mother. Get over it. Our economy sucks so much that I, having just graduated from a prestigious school with a psychology degree, can't get a job in my field, and all the other jobs don't pay enough to pay the bills. So yeah, I'm living with my parents), guilts the shit out of me when she gets home from her four to eight hour a week job for not doing any chores while taking a day off from my thirty-two to forty hour a week job. So any time I take a day to myself, I mentally prepare myself through the second half of the day for receiving the pissy third degree for all the dishes in the sink, and the floor not being vacuumed, essentially nothing done. Mom had even called this morning to tell me that she found ants in our room, that we possibly have rats, and that she hung up Alex's towel "so the door could close to keep the dogs out of our room" (not that they do any damage when they're in our room to begin with). Really, the truth is that she's so neurotic about the door molding. She's actually neurotic about a lot of things, like making sure <u>everything</u>, (and I do mean <i>EVERYTHING</i>, including all the stuff that normal people would leave plugged in, like the TV, and the lamps) is unplugged so there is no chance of fire, and locking both locks on the door, to prevent break-ins, regardless of whether someone is home, or anticipated home within the hour, and about the way the dishes go into the dishwasher, and keeping the shower curtain closed after all showers, ect. And AAS wonders where I get my OCD. Thanks Ma.<br />
On an unrelated note, AAS and I had complimenting dreams a couple nights ago. He dreamed he left me for his two-bit whore, cheating ex-girlfriend, and I dreamed I called him a jerk (for something completely unrelated, but I thought it tied in well together.) Same night. No joke.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-73832381064412664412012-03-22T19:06:00.001-07:002012-03-22T19:06:41.995-07:00I am so sick of not having friends.I don't know that I have social anxiety exactly, but it is extremely hard for me to make friends. I am uncomfortable talking to strangers and making conversation with people I don't know. I work retail, so I have no problem talking to people, but I am uncomfortable coming up with subjects to talk about with people I know nothing about. When AAS and I moved up from Salem, we were optimistic about meeting people, both at work, and at our new hangouts. Problem is, we don't really have a hangout like we did in Salem at the Spur. All the country bars are too far away to drive to, and the one that is near is an older crowd that dances almost none of the dances that we know. As for work, I'm working at the store that I started at years ago, and I am not comfortable inviting people from work out to hang out in a social setting. AAS hasn't found a job yet, but stays home doing various household chores and cooking, so that's out. Anyway, my life has been reduced to reading, blogging, movies, and work. Near to no social life, aside from my mom, AAS, and my step-dad. So if you want to be my friend, leave a comment with your email. I promise to be a hoot. Not as much of a downer as this post makes me seem. :)Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-79029230342377020482012-03-06T21:35:00.000-08:002012-03-06T21:35:00.190-08:00The Sometimes Daughter, by Sherri Wood EmmonsMy first thoughts upon finishing the book:<br />
Good book, but maybe three out of five stars. I thought I might identify with a book called <i>The Sometimes Daughter</i>, and I did for some things. Maybe I didn't care so much for it because the writing was strictly narrative with no underlying meaning, or maybe I just don't care for hippie stories, but this isn't a book I'll be passing on to anyone anytime soon.<br />
***SPOILER ALERT*** (and brief synopsis)<br />
The book follows a young girl named Sweet Judy Blue Eyes, starting at birth, and spanning almost two decades of Judy's life. Judy's mother was a hippie, and didn't always take the best care of Judy. For instance, she would sleep with men other than her husband while Judy was in the next room, unattended and eating marijuana brownies. Cassie, Judy's mother, runs off with her daughter to a hippie commune in Kentucky. When Judy's father finds out that her mother kidnapped her, he goes to get Judy from the commune, and sues for custody. This is when the disruption of Judy's life begins.<br />
Throughout her elementary years, Judy was teased and tormented because of her crazy mother and her ridiculous name, all while resisting more kidnapping attempts. Her mother eventually joined up with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peoples_Temple#Mass_suicide_at_the_Temple.27s_Jonestown_agricultural_commune">Peoples Temple</a> and was nearly involved with the mass suicide that occurred in Guyana. Luckily, Cassie turned up, physically unharmed, but extremely emotionally scarred. When she has healed, she disappears again, and Judy doesn't hear from her for years.<br />
The next time Cassie enters the story, she has met a new man, Navid. She is pregnant, again, and she is engaged to be married. Judy visits her twice, the first time for the wedding and the birth of her half-brother, Kamran, and the second time a year later to visit. The second time Judy visits, she notices her mother repeating the behaviors that she exhibited with her father: cheating and leaving her new family. Cassie ends up in an ashram in India, and has once again disappeared from the novel. By the time she reappears, Judy has been a drug dealer, a cheerleader, been arrested, been broken up with, and had an abortion. The book ends with Judy cleaning up her tumultous life and asking her mother the questions her mother should have answered years and years ago. We also find out that Cassie went through some of the same experiences that Judy went through, like the abortion, and we find out just how screwed up Cassie is, as a result of <i>her</i> mother.<br />
For this review, I think I will pick from some of the reading questions in the back portion of the book:<br />
What responsibility, if any, does Cassie's mother bear for her daughter's choices?<br />
When we find out that Cassie had been raped at a party, and that rape had caused Cassie to become pregnant for the first time, Cassie's mother shamed her and sent her to a home for pregnant teenagers so the baby could be given away when it was born. Cassie's mother had called her a slut when Cassie told her what had happened at the party, instead of validating Cassie and her feelings, calling the crime what it truly was. As a result, Cassie felt rejected, and as Kirk (Judy's dad) argues, Cassie leaves her relationships and her families because she is afraid of being left, and being hurt again. I would argue that Cassie's choices also reflected on Judy, and caused some of the behavioral problems with Judy. Judy, who formed a clear <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Attachment_style#Attachment_patterns">ambivalent attachment</a> to her mother developed less-than-healthy behaviors in her young adult life. Selling drugs to make money, and then having sex with a random stranger after her breakup were poor choices on Judy's part, and while I have to say that she made a choice in those instances, I will also suggest that it was partially the fault of her mother, for indirectly encouraging unstable behavior by not fulfilling her role to Judy as a stable role model.<br />
While I'm on the point about Judy having sex with a random stranger, I would also like to address whether this incident should have been classified as rape. Kirk is understandably angry with the boy Judy had sex with when she tells him that she is pregnant. The critique that I have for Sherri Wood Emmons was the lack of a clear line, defining what he did as rape. I think that she was trying to draw a parallel between Judy's experience and her mother's but it needed to be more clearly defined as rape. What labeled it for me was the fact that the boy who raped Judy gave her alcohol before he started taking off her clothes. She also never really consented, and she was upset, and waited for it to be over. I think that it wasn't clearly identified as rape because of society's misconceptions about what rape is. If someone is taken advantage of while under the influence of alcohol, it is rape. If the victim isn't able to make clear choices about what they are doing, it is rape. I think the young man should have been reported for raping Judy, even though Judy wrote it off as not rape.<br />
On a final note, Cassie's own story about her baby's adoption and her own rape explains her behavior to a certain degree. I think that what effected Cassie the most was her mother's response to Cassie's rape. However, despite the terrible occurrance in Cassie's life, I do not believe that it is any excuse for her to act the way she did toward her children. What she needed to do was see a counselor or a therapist to heal from her childhood issues before trying to become a mother herself. If she had done this, she might have broken the cycle, and not have started her daughter on the same path.<br />
The book ends on a good note with Judy seeking closure from her mother, with the suggestion that with time, everything will be okay.<br />
My father was in my life until just last year, and everything is not okay. Even after I had my closure. I don't think that the ending of this book was realistic, but in a society that sells books and movies by happy endings, it was doable.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-74441489083170168272012-03-06T20:39:00.002-08:002012-03-06T20:39:28.970-08:00Atonement, by Ian McEwan<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Okay, so I don't have time to do a plot synopsis, and it's been awhile since I read the book, but here is a shortcut if you haven't read it yet, but want to, or if you haven't read it, don't want to, but want to know what I think about it. If you don't read the synopsis, it's unlikely that you'll know what I'm talking about. Anyway, here it <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atonement_%28novel%29#Plot_summary">is</a>. Credit to Wikipedia for that.</div>
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Okay, back? Good. My thoughts:</div>
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When I finished the novel, I thought WTF? Seriously?</div>
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<i>Atonement</i> basically sets some conflicting emotions on edge. The first three parts are supposed to be Briony's somewhat fictionalized account of a crime she provided false testimony for as a child. The reader can tell that Robbie was not the perpetrator, even before Briony begins to doubt herself, and what she saw. The parts are written from the perspectives of Briony, the younger sister, Cecilia, the older sister, and Robbie Turner, the alleged criminal. Ultimately, I would rate it three out of five stars. It is a good book to puzzle over, but it's not one I will be recommending five years from now. </div>
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***SPOILER ALERT***</div>
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Throughout the book, the reader is led to believe that several crimes occurred: The rape of the cousin, Lola, and Briony's false testimony to her witnessing Robbie exiting the scene of the crime. For the first part of the book, we are fairly certain that Robbie did not commit the crime, and that the hysteria that overcomes Briony is the fault of her overactive imagination, mixed with images of her sister and Robbie having sex, and Cecilia climbing into the fountain, naked and angry. Briony lacked context for these situations, so she imagined the context to be something that she was familiar with: shame. This opinion is solidified throughout the narration of Robbie during the war, and Briony;s own confessions and guilt in her narration. Years pass and Briony sees her sister and Robbie, and the novel within a novel ends with Briony setting off to make things right by meeting her sister and Robbie's demands (writing a letter to get Robbie excused, explaining the situation to her parents, ect.), and Cecilia and Robbie standing together, united after years of longing.</div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The book ends with </span>Briony<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> discussing the novel she had just written about her own atonement. However, this epilogue, for lack of a better word leaves the reader questioning whether the story was actually true. She discusses her letters from Mr. Nettle, who was represented as a corporal, a friend of Robbie's during the war. These letters are correcting </span>Briony<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> on her accuracy about the various aspects of war that she addressed when writing from Robbie's perspective. She dismisses his corrections with "If I was concerned about facts, I would have written an entirely different novel," yet later she confesses that the account was entirely true, and that it could not be published because of the libelous things she wrote about Lola, and the actual rapist, Paul Marshall, whom Lola married. The whole epilogue is consistent with what she wrote in her novel, however, in the last paragraph, she confesses that she fictionalized the deaths of Robbie and her sister, that the two never reunited, </span>ect<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">. So, even in her journal, she is still living in the whimsical world, nor revealing the truth, and that leaves the reader to question, as was her intention, what actually happened. </span>Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-83035679362448121852012-03-05T22:18:00.003-08:002012-03-05T22:19:42.344-08:00The Hunger Games Trilogy<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Before I graduated college, I never had much time on my hands for pleasure reading. However, for those of you who don't know me, I also happen to have something of a book addiction, and this has been present almost my entire life. Since I've graduated, I have a lot more time on my hands, and when I'm not doing things like interviewing for better retail jobs, apartment hunting, or studying for the GRE, I am catching up on four years of pleasure reading that I have missed out on, and the mountains of books that I have never read that I've acquired in the process. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I just finished the <i>Hunger Games</i> Trilogy, and those books have been on my list for over a year and a half now. They proved to be just as delightful, surprising, suspenseful, and, for lack of a better word, rewarding as I was told they were. I definitely give the series five stars, and I would rate the quality of the writing and the cleverness of the plot up there with the Harry Potter series. However, they were much less predictable than the Harry Potter series. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The Hunger Games welcomes you to a world similar to that of George Orwell's <i>1984</i>, a dictatorship, where the government has the last say in everything; the way the citizens think, move, speak, and otherwise conduct themselves. Each year, the capitol city hosts The Hunger Games, selecting twenty-four children between the ages of twelve and eighteen. These children are made up, paraded around, and eventually send into a large arena of land to kill each other. The players develop strategies, alliances are formed, and the games continue, with only one victor: the last child alive. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">***SPOILER ALERT*** (Go to the second half of the post if you want to hear about The Sometimes Daughter). </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Except this year. Katniss Everdeen, who volunteered to take her sister's place in the games resigned herself to death when she stepped up on the stage. Leaving behind family and friends, she meets up with someone who had saved her life once before; Peeta, her childhood acquaintance. The two present a united front, when in reality, Katniss suspects Peeta of acting. This is stretched even further when Peeta confesses during his interview that he has always been in love with Katniss. With these words, Peeta wins the hearts of the viewers. Katniss, who does not feel the same way, plays along. When the two are thrust into the ring, their bond quickly drops because Peeta joins up with the children who make training for the games their careers, a group Katniss despises. When a new rule that two competitors can win is introduced, Katniss sets out to find the man who confessed his love for her, determined to keep him alive so the two of them can go home. She plays along with his star-crossed lovers ploy. When it was down to the two of them, the gamemakers changed the rule about two competitors being able to win, so one would have to kill the other. What they didn't know was that the two had stored poisoned berries in the event that an enemy would steal and eat them. These berries are the very thing that Katniss proposed eating so that no one would win. The capitol balked at the idea of not being in control, and allowed both children to live. However, the states that make up the country of Panem (the last remaining country on earth) took this to be an act of rebellion towards the capitol, and it caused an uprising. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I don't know that I can say for sure that Katniss's actions at the end of the games are what really caused the rebellion amongst the states. While Katniss was trying to preserve a bit of herself, and die on her own terms, I would argue that her actions were taken partially because she and Peeta had become friends. I would also argue that she loved him, if only a little bit, because of the way she described her feelings, and what she felt during several of his kisses. Also the fact that she drugged him so that she could get the medicine needed to save his life speaks volumes about the depth of her emotion. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The idea that Katniss was trying to play the games on her own terms was illustrated by several parts in the book. The idea was first introduced by Peeta, when on the roof of the training center the night before the games began. He said something along the lines about not wanting to change who he was just to survive. This was a theme that was carried throughout the trilogy. For the most part, she refused to kill anyone unless they had somehow wronged her, or in self defense. She decorated the body of her ally. She refused to kill Peeta. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I would also argue that Peeta's choice of allies was a smart decision. In choosing the career competitors, he ensured his own safety by promising to lead them to Katniss, and he ensured Katniss's safety by helping her to escape. These actions are what allowed the duo to get out of the arena alive, and into the next book. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Catching Fire</i> was a bit of a blur to me. President Snow, the dictator, came to visit Katniss, telling her that she had to convince the rest of the country that she really loved Peeta, because apparently she did not do a good enough job during the games, and her male friend from childhood didn't do much to help that image. So he proposes a wedding on the victory tour. But it is too late. The states have already begun to rebel, and no amount of convincing that Katniss does with get the states to realize that rebelling is a dangerous plan. So the president takes drastic measures. He announces that the seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games participants will be selected from past victors. Because she is the only female victor from her state, and there are only two male victors (both her friends), Katniss and Peeta are guaranteed a second round in the ring. Little do they know, they will be rescued by the people leading the rebellion, and whisked away to the state that no one knows exists. This could have been predicted by some savvy readers, but for me, I was completely surprised. I didn't know what to make of Katniss and Peeta's allies protecting the two of them, one of them essentially committing suicide to save them. What we learn later in the novel is that most of the competitors are aware of this plan. Katniss and Peeta are separated because the rescue team was not able to get Peeta. Most of the others were saved, but Peeta, as well as one other rebel were captured by the capitol. So ends book two. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">There were several twists in this plot that I couldn't help but gasp at. I freaked out when it was announced that the competitors would be chosen from past victors. I was very impressed at the way Suzanne Collins paints with words. Katniss's prep team, and especially her designer were fantastic. Each time Katniss appeared in the costume, I could see it burning, which was the goal of Suzanne Collins. Her imagery was so fantastic that even though the technology does not exist, I could picture the costumes so clearly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">In portraying the costumes the way she did, Ms. Collins set the stage for Katniss to be the leader of the revolution. In the first book, Katniss wears a pin given to her from the descendant of a prior competitor of her state, one who had previously died in the ring. The pin is a metal representation of a mutation of a tool that the capitol came up with to record conversations. It comes to stand for freedom, and the communication tool that was literally used in the ring, and figuratively used outside of the ring (I'm referring to the mockingjays that Rue and Katniss used to communicate, and the bread with the imprint of the mockingjay). The irony is that the people of the capitol also wore various mockingjay paraphernalia after Katniss and Peeta had won. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">On to book three:<i> Mockingjay</i>. As life progresses in the new state, the capitol tortures Peeta, brainwashing him to believe that Katniss isn't the love of his life, that she is dangerous, and that she should be killed by any means. They also used him for a mouthpiece, instructing him to call for a cease-fire. Katniss has seen the front lines. She has seen what the capitol is doing to the people that provide them with everything they need to survive, and she allows herself to become their mascot on the condition that she gets to kill President Snow, and the safety and pardoning of the other participants in the seventy-fifth games. Peeta is eventually rescued, and the moment he sees Katniss for the first time after his stay in the Capitol, he tries to strangle her. The rebellion continues, the rebels taking each state one at a time, ending with the second state. Katniss sees different parts of the war, but enough to keep the rebels going with her passionate words. When the rebels take the second state, Katniss gets shot. Luckily, nothing was harmed except for a few bruised ribs, and Katniss continues on. The rebels were going to take the Capitol last. During the Capitol raid, half of Katniss's team gets taken out by the Capitol's defense systems, including what they call "mutts" (animals that have been altered and crossbred to make killing monsters). When they finally take the Capitol, the President is caught and held captive for the remainder of the book. He had been about to surrender when bombs were dropped on children surrounding his mansion like a shield. When help rushed in, the bombs exploded a second time, recalling Katniss to a conversation she had with her childhood friend, Gale, about traps. She stumbled into the President's holding cell, and he confirmed that the bombs were sent by the rebel's side, and that her sister who was initially called into the games had died as a result. He also planted in her head a seed of doubt about the way the new republican government was going to be run, and suggested that it wouldn't be any different than the government that they had just overthrown. The new president, Coin, had been a competitor for president with Snow, and had just stepped in to his position. So when the time came for Katniss to publicly assassinate President Snow, she instead fixed her arrow on Coin and killed her. Snow also died that day from poisoning himself slowly over the years. Peeta is eventually healed, and Katniss chooses him over her childhood friend Gale, because he is truly kind, whereas Gale's kindness only extends to the people that were kind to him. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I thought that the shooting of President Coin was the largest turning point in the trilogy. What had struck Katniss was Snow's last line to her, stating that he thought they had agreed not to lie to each other. I found it interesting that in the end, Snow was kind of an ally to her. He knew he was going to die, I think, because he died on stage at the same time as Coin. I think that he was resigned to his fate, so he himself was able to commit himself to the cause and bring down the government. I think that he was probably thinking that if he couldn't be dictator anymore, then no one could be, and that the people were too stupid to govern themselves and would probably die out eventually. I think that it was also possible that Snow once competed against Coin for the dictatorship, and won, and that convincing Katniss to kill Coin was his last move, and his way of winning the game and beating Coin once and for all. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">When discussing the book with a co-worker, he asked whether I thought that Gale was responsible for Katniss's sister, Prim's death. While some might argue that because he came up with the idea for the bombs, it was his fault that Prim died, I want to bring up a counter example. The atomic bomb. Just because Albert Einstein created the atomic bomb does not make him responsible for every resulting casualty. I would, however, make the argument that the new government/the rebels were responsible for Prim's death, because they were the ones who put their own people in the Capitol during the bombing, while preying on society's instinct to assist the wounded to inflict more casualties. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Also, while Gale seemed like the right choice for Katniss to end up with, I feel that it was fitting for her to end up with Peeta, the man that she had been through so much with. Just competing in the Hunger Games ruined her relationship with Gale forever, and not just because he had feelings for her and was jealous. She had been through so much trauma that no one could possibly relate to it. I would equate her trauma to that of a war veteran's, or possibly an abused woman. Peeta had experienced some of the same things, and that made the two able to relate to each other, making him the obvious choice. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">All in all, I commend Suzanne Collins for writing such a wonderful, unpredictable, and well-woven storyline. The imagery was amazing, and I really admire how much she took from history to make this book. The thirteen states supposedly represent the thirteen original colonies, you can see some of the World War Two references, even the way people looked, and how body types reflected different styles of living (heftier bodies meant wealth in the twelfth state, whereas skinny bodies represented wealth in the Capitol). It was the use of history and the knowledge that history repeats itself that made this book so realistic, and caused it to seem like a real possibility for what the future may hold. For those that enjoyed Orwell's </span><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1984</i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">, Zamyatin's </span><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We</i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">, and Huxley's </span><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Brave New World</i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">, you will most certainly enjoy this series. It is definitely a mind bender. </span></span>Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-52853038465498390032012-02-10T23:29:00.000-08:002012-02-10T23:29:18.749-08:00A Puzzle That Won't Be FixedThis afternoon, I saw my life crash down around me<br />
In the middle of the fabric section at Walmart.<br />
Funny place to leave sharp shards of a life.<br />
As I leaned down to pick them up,<br />
Toss them into my bag,<br />
I noticed the faces of my college friends in one,<br />
My high school clique in another.<br />
The generic face of someone I've never met,<br />
Topped by strawberry blonde hair.<br />
A glimmer of a bad date,<br />
And another of a good date gone bad.<br />
A mother who can (but won't) support her daughter.<br />
A sliver of school drew blood from my fingertips<br />
And tears from my eyes.<br />
I had worked so hard to pick all those pieces up,<br />
And put them back in the shape of my life,<br />
But they kept slipping though my fingertips,<br />
Slicing the flesh,<br />
Before I could get them over my purse.<br />
I finally realized I wouldn't get them all,<br />
So I left some of the most unimportant pieces behind.<br />
Now I'm sitting here at this desk,<br />
Examining them.<br />
Which ones fit where?<br />
I can't seem to find the school piece,<br />
But I'm sure I grabbed it.<br />
And without that piece,<br />
The piece with my friends evaporates.<br />
The sharpest shard,<br />
The one with my mother's face on it<br />
Leaves no room for the school piece.<br />
Some glass,<br />
Like the large one with the generic face,<br />
Seem to overlap much of the other pieces.<br />
And then I saw the shape of my life:<br />
A compass.<br />
My compass is broken.<br />
I've lost my direction.<br />
I don't know how I've managed to get home;<br />
Or is this my home?<br />
It certainly feels more like a prison,<br />
The screens on the windows acting as bars.<br />
The piece that had been missing since before the break in the store<br />
Now stares up at me,<br />
Laughing as I grasp frantically at the pieces,<br />
Cutting myself even more,<br />
Just looking for that school.<br />
He should be happy about that.<br />
And then I see the needle.<br />
The bent metal that reflects the familiar blonde hair and brown eyes.<br />
The best friend long gone.<br />
She smiles,<br />
Nodding towards the piece that overlaps,<br />
Then looking up toward the heavens,<br />
And I get it...<br />
I think.<br />
<br />
8/4/08Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-35160928639387411832012-02-10T23:19:00.001-08:002012-02-10T23:19:52.999-08:00ShopliftersThere were two of them tonight. Two. And it wasn't even busy. So they screwed up my conversion. And on of them called me a bitch. Signs of shoplifting:<br />
<ol>
<li>Well, I won't tell you all of them, for those of you looking to get ideas. But I will tell you what got my attention tonight. The first girls had large, open bags.</li>
<li>They also looked like they "shopped" at higher end stores, but they were looking in clearance for a gift. </li>
<li>When someone takes a certain number of clothes into the fitting room, then comes out with less than what they went in with.</li>
</ol>
Anyway, the first two exhibited the first two signs as well as others, the last one exhibited the third sign. While I followed the first two around, they noticed that I was watching them, then went to the counter with an item, to do a price check, called me a bitch, and left without buying.<br />
The second lady that came in was visibly upset, but she had some bags on her as well. She took six items into the fitting room, and came out with five, and gave me four. I checked her room for the last item, a pair of black sweatpants that I had set in there when I started the room for her. I asked her about them in a lower voice, like, "Hey, I noticed you didn't leave those pants in the room. Did they work out for you?" She told me she had already put them back, and I told her that I didn't see her come out of the fitting room, but I must have missed it. She still told me she didn't have them, so I stopped asking, and continued following her. When the last customer had left, she pulled them out of her bag, along with the hanger, apologized several times, and gave them back. I told her that it was okay, that it "takes a lot to give things back." "I'll never come back," she said. She quickly exited the store without another word. She continued to look back to see if I was still watching her, and she looked remorseful, so I hope what I said and my trust in her to do the right thing had an effect on her.<br />
The one thing that I wonder when shoplifters come in is do they steal because they need the clothing, or because they need something to pay the bills, or to trade for drugs? It's the same question that we asked at the service project that I went to to serve the homeless.The question was do panhandlers really need the money? So what if they need the drugs? That is what they need at the moment. Maybe they need to clothe their children. Maybe they need new, clean clothes for a job interview. Maybe they need a coat to stay warm.<br />
Then I think about it some more. And there are agencies that help with those things. A person shouldn't have to resort to crime to make their lives work. And resorting to crime, often makes their lives worse, makes it harder to get a job.<br />
Anyway... just my musings. Maybe that's something I can do with my life.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-73252416629212339702012-01-22T22:51:00.000-08:002012-01-22T22:51:27.361-08:00I Feel Like Such a Badass Right Now.I could be silly and say "and the reason is you" (quoting Hoobastank, of course), but I think that's an awful song, and while you are awesome, just for sticking around to read my stuff, or wait, that might be all me setting off the view counter, in which case I am brought back to my original point, that I am a badass.<br />
The real reason is because I caught a shoplifter today. Red-handed. By myself. Okay, my boss helped a little, but mostly by myself. Here is the story about how I caught a thief, and my first ride in a police car:<br />
I was working with my boss, HC, and this lady came in with a big coat and a backpack on. She was wandering around gathering items, and I was watching her to make sure she didnt steal anything, because usually people who take backpacks shopping are shoplifting, and same with heavy coats. As she shopped, she raised several red flags, so HC and I were both trailing her. I started her a fitting room, and she brought back a few more items to try on. She went in, and I checked on her twice, both times bringing back more product. By this point, she has five pairs of jeans, two red sweatshirts, and three
black vests. So I ask her if I could take the stuff that didnt fit,
and she agreed, and handed over two pairs of jeans, two vests and
one of the red sweatshirts. Anyway, I knew she had a sweatshirt, a vest and two pairs of jeans left in the room with her. That's about $150 worth of product. A few minutes later, I heard a zipper close and she came out, looks surprised that I'm standing there, then closes the door behind her and books it out of the fitting room hallway. I immediately looked in her room, and saw she just left one pair of jeans, and she's booking it to the front door.<br /> I told my HC, and she tried to stop her and asked for the stuff back three times, then we called the police. HC watched her cross the parking lot into the parking lot of an adjacent building, and within ten minutes or so, a police officer came into the store to ask us to come identify the suspect. I accompanied him to the car, got in the back seat (which was very uncomfortable, by the way. Don't get arrested.) and we drove to the parking lot. We stop, and the other police officer pulls the woman out of the car, and sure enough, it is the woman who stole. He also brings the black vest from my store to the window and asked me to verify the product, and sure enough, it was our product. Shortly after the incident, the other police officer brought the clothing the woman had taken back to the store, and HC and I received statement sheets that we need to fill out for them to pick up tomorrow. It was a very exciting night. <br /> <br />
<div class="accessible_elem">
<br /></div>Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-50211882924085130502012-01-20T20:18:00.000-08:002012-01-20T20:18:30.287-08:00So I have a few new updates to share. First off, I did not get the Assistant Manager job at EB, as expected/promised. This was due to nepotism. Yes, I am bitter. However, I won't dwell on it. ...Who am I kidding? Yes I will, but only until my life gets better than the life of the person who got the job, because I truly deserved it, and I was the best candidate for the job (according to my boss, who was supposed to make the decision, but was strong armed into choosing the other guy). Anyway, this has led me to a variety of things. I will be going to grad school sooner than planned, I will be trying to find a better job elsewhere (as in screw my current company, they don't deserve me anyway) as an assistant manager, because believe it or not, there are other companies hiring for that position, and I received a traveling red dress. I've also started attending church again. That's a big step for me, since I've spent the last three years or so questioning God's existence and being angry at Him when I did believe in him. Firstly, I guess I should start by saying that I have decided to go to grad school to be an attorney, a mediator, or a clinical psychologist. This means either law school or basic grad school. Woohoo! If I choose to go to law school, I'll probably end up back at WU. They are less expensive than Berkeley, even if I was a California resident. If I go for clinical psychology, it will be at UW, which is kind of ironic, seeing as it's the opposite of WU. lol.<br />
Second and only other piece of information that needs other explanation:
The Red Dress. Think Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, but with a Red
Strapless ball gown. Basically, Jenny the Bloggess at
www.thebloggess.com is a badass, and started this trend of taking
pictures in a red ball gown, simply because she wanted to, and because
it would make her happy. She had to share the dress with other women in
need of confidence, strength, hope, faith, self-esteem, and empowerment.
Needless to say, the dress was worn by many amazing women of different
shapes and sizes, and it started to wear out, so Jenny has purchased two
more red dresses from the proceeds of her store, and she tweeted about
it. This sparked a flood of offers from random strangers to other
strangers, giving their strapless red dresses to women in need. This
happened right about the time that I was denied that job, when my hopes
were crushed. Miraculously, I found a dress on flickr in my size (18 if
you need it). The lady who found the dress at Goodwill was not too far
from where I live, and she just shipped it to me, no payment or shipping
reimbursement requested. It arrived right before I returned from
California, and aside from my chest being too heavy for the boning in
the dress, it fit perfectly! I had no idea what I wanted to do in the
dress. I thought about going snowboarding, but I didn't want to ruin it
for the next girl. Then it snowed. A beautiful bland background to
emphasize the color of the dress. So we drove to the nearest waterfall,
took some pictures, then I played on some trains in a train museum in
the same town. It was a wonderful day, and I had a blast, in part
because of the red dress, but also because I had the two people I love
most in the world, and I was able to let loose and enjoy myself, because
I was a badass for a day. Here are some pictures: <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6whyphenhyphenSo_BRH1HO6srVopM8pg7jFQdWcNM7OP4LekxIRU7b6t_EgAzsVddOQv8UDhyphenhyphenKygcujoQumNT9STv-yguCoGyzoaQ5AQ3BZqQRYCVBDsQMf6vP45vnXGWzSYWRVdkCHOOKbg/s1600/Red+Dress" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6whyphenhyphenSo_BRH1HO6srVopM8pg7jFQdWcNM7OP4LekxIRU7b6t_EgAzsVddOQv8UDhyphenhyphenKygcujoQumNT9STv-yguCoGyzoaQ5AQ3BZqQRYCVBDsQMf6vP45vnXGWzSYWRVdkCHOOKbg/s320/Red+Dress" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Possibly one of my favorites</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdMpEiRuvcxdUTId_QJJnZTJbPb8zs1WPDHWJhsCGtjutQ6QT8iP1iGRS-HxgLaNJd0909JYuodILI3D9aVU5XalL12gHuNumKZo2Knrlzpx_8TnSaSULaOx8pgaCAAzckbRo3EQ/s1600/Red+Dress+2" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdMpEiRuvcxdUTId_QJJnZTJbPb8zs1WPDHWJhsCGtjutQ6QT8iP1iGRS-HxgLaNJd0909JYuodILI3D9aVU5XalL12gHuNumKZo2Knrlzpx_8TnSaSULaOx8pgaCAAzckbRo3EQ/s320/Red+Dress+2" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The uncomfortable-looking guy standing next to me was a Chinese tourist who wasn't sure about having his picture taken with a crazy American girl who decided she liked running around in fancy dress clothes when it's freezing out. But his wife wanted the picture, so whateve. I figure that's what he had to say about it too, only the Chinese equivalent. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPBPm-GbB_U5pfkqWUkVgcVyfMhkzUmLfNhkOxEseH5TvrMfeC1hiHQ077XxCsHMnfSFxm4u5U_9PVkKctCvucG36mfC0i4SH24ErM-wxMV_TWa-5rC7kXK_CWNkkGeMT_p6-7DQ/s1600/Red+Dress+3" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPBPm-GbB_U5pfkqWUkVgcVyfMhkzUmLfNhkOxEseH5TvrMfeC1hiHQ077XxCsHMnfSFxm4u5U_9PVkKctCvucG36mfC0i4SH24ErM-wxMV_TWa-5rC7kXK_CWNkkGeMT_p6-7DQ/s320/Red+Dress+3" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also, we happened to start a trend, because the place we were standing was closed (as in roped off with a sign that said "Closed due to ice. But nobody ever got good pictures without breaking the rules. So we were rebels. And apparently leaders of other rebels. We could have started a cult.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9olOCnmu7g0cO0FwwsMvgbwC7GjZFkJrvCZsYJMm-rkvhWqcbFhsVwrQ5RqXkFGq5BqprqTWRu-VCPZZhGqNGrjACZlKc2ZFg19Zn5YUCglIm_zCofM6gGh3p-3hgSGs4ODjGtA/s1600/Red+Dress+4" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9olOCnmu7g0cO0FwwsMvgbwC7GjZFkJrvCZsYJMm-rkvhWqcbFhsVwrQ5RqXkFGq5BqprqTWRu-VCPZZhGqNGrjACZlKc2ZFg19Zn5YUCglIm_zCofM6gGh3p-3hgSGs4ODjGtA/s320/Red+Dress+4" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally, one of my favorites (this is saying a lot because my mom gets photo happy when she gets to take her camera out and she took 107 pictures that day. So four is a small piece of the pie). I love this picture because it is so daring, and I am wearing something else that makes me furiously happy: My pointy, pink high heels. They're kind of like Cruella deVille's shoes. I always told myself that I would never buy shoes like that because they look so uncomfortable, and I am all about comfort over fashion. However, I found these in a thrift store, and they are hot pink (same color as they are in the picture) and they made me so happy that I HAD to have them. Especially because they were basically free, compared to other shoes that are similar.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So that's my red dress story. If you need this dress, and you are a size 18, please leave a comment with your email and I will get in touch. I promise it will bring you as much joy as it has brought me. Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-54385177638297323882011-12-17T11:02:00.000-08:002011-12-17T11:02:47.013-08:00In Response to Newt Gingrich and His Comment About Poor Kids Having No Work EthicI recently read a fellow blogger's post about Newt Gingrich's speech that included very ignorant and some might say racist comments, some of which included: poor kids "have no habit of showing up on Monday, no habit of staying all day, have no habit of 'I do this, and you give me cash' unless it's illegal." He also commented that kids coming from really poor families have no one around them that works.<br />
<br />
Mr. Gingrich has no fucking idea what he's talking about.<br />
<br />
Seriously.<br />
<br />
First of all, I would very much like to know if what he says comes from experience. Firsthand experience. It's highly doubtful that he actually lived through poverty, and the reason I say this is because it takes a lot of old money to run for president. For some reason, I'm pretty sure he's been at least middle, if not upper class for his entire life.<br />
<br />
Secondly, I would like Mr. Gingrich to know that <i>I</i> grew up in a low-income neighborhood. My parents were divorced when I was three, leaving my mother, who had graduated Summa Cum Laude with a degree in Apparel, Merchandising and Textiles to fight for every job she ever had. She worked her fingers to the bone, metaphorically and physically, trying to provide for our family of two. There was even a time when she had three jobs at one time, working literally 80 hours in a week. Through the years, our little family has grown, and my family has gone from low-income to middle class. The family income runs somewhere around eighty thousand dollars a year.<br />
<br />
Now, Mr. Gingrich, let's look at me: I graduated 11th in my class of 275 in high school, while taking the only three AP classes that my high school offered, a feat that only one other student tried. I maintained straight A's through high school, and passed all three of my AP exams, achieving a top score on one of them. I started working when I was 12 years old, because my mother taught me that if I ever wanted anything in life, I had to work for it. At 16, I took a trip to France that I raised the funds for. When I returned, I began working my first "real" job in retail sales, and I maintained that job while I was attending high school and earning top grades. After high school, I took up two more jobs to help me pay for my first year of college at a prestigious, private, liberal arts school. I attended this school by making the money myself, and on merit scholarships. I achieved a 3.2 GPA and graduated last May with my Bachelor's Degree in Psychology. I spent the last year working for a non-profit organization that helps crime victims through the criminal justice system, while also working a full-time job to support myself and my unemployed fiance (who came from a mid- to upper class family). I think it goes without saying that I held down a job throughout my college years. <br />
<br />
Now let's talk about kids from middle and upper class families, shall we? Many of the students that I went to school with in high school had never done a day of work in their lives. My town is built on the middle class, so over half the people I went to high school with fall into this category. Most of them have settled on staying in our hometown, going to a two year school, getting married and repopulating. Some have decided to go to four-year colleges, but their parents have paid all the bills. I have not seen ANYONE work as hard for what they want as people from low-income families.<br />
<br />
Mr. Gingrich, if you want the popular vote, for God's sake, know your fucking audience. Because most of this country is outraged at the things you've said.<br />
<br />
Thanks for being this year's Sarah Palin. Maybe when you lose, you'll leave politics completely and write a book about how hard it is to be upper class.<br />
<br />
Signed,<br />
A girl from a poor family.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-39864772320345760562011-11-22T01:24:00.000-08:002011-11-22T01:47:03.426-08:00Letter to S.A.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:splitpgbreakandparamark/> <w:dontvertaligncellwithsp/> <w:dontbreakconstrainedforcedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> 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mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-style: italic;">For your information and deciphering purposes, M.R. is my stepsister, B.J.A. is my stepmother, B.A. is my half-sister, and C.A. is my half-brother, and T.L. is my stepfather. The only changes that have been made to this letter since it was sent have been the initializing of names to protect identities.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:12pt;">Dear S.A,<span style=""> </span>January 11<sup>th</sup>, 2011</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:12pt;">Firstly, I would like to address the lies that you sent in your most recent email to me, which I received January 10<sup>th</sup>, 2011. With regards to my address, you have a valid address for me. I am aware of this because earlier in December I received a Christmas card from you and B.J.A. to my school address. Not only that, but you have sent packages to me in the past to that address as well. You also contradicted yourself in your email, saying you didn’t have a phone number for me, then telling me you left a message on my voicemail, knowing that I do not have one. And about the last paragraph: That was very manipulative. I never agreed to send you a copy of my financial aid statement, but to appease you, I have enclosed it with this letter.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:12pt;">I have been meaning to write this letter for the past nine years, but I have never had the courage, strength, or motivation to do so. Throughout the years, I have been screwed over by you time and time again, most recently, the past four years with my tuition payments. Every year, you have dragged your feet with sending the payment, and you even fought me in court before I started college to try and not pay. Every year, you have been late in paying you part to my tuition, causing me stress and guilt-tripping me as well. The way I see it, you feel that by not paying, you cause my mother more financial stress. However, this is not the case. The only person you are harming by not paying is me. You have never treated me right as your daughter, and this is only the first in a long list of problems that I have with you.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:12pt;">I don’t agree with the way you treat B.A. and the kids, another reason I am writing this. While spanking your children with an object is not illegal in Washington (I would know, I tried to report you to DHS: Child Welfare, because I am a mandatory reporter), it is against my moral code, considering you never disciplined your kids before they were three or four. I disagree with this punishment because you have threatened me with the same punishment once, implying that you know how to not get caught by saying “Is isn’t abuse if I don’t leave marks.” For that incident, in eighth grade, where you threw my textbook and my soda, had we lived in Oregon, I could have filed a report and had you charged with Harassment and Menacing, mandatory arrest misdemeanors. As an abuser, you might say that this event didn’t happen but I remember it as clearly as yesterday, and you might say that it wasn’t your fault, that it was my fault because I made you angry by disrespecting you. However, the truth is that you are making excuses for a choice that <i style="">you made</i>. You could have accrued the same charges when you told M.R. that you would make her baseball bat as red as her sweatshirt. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:12pt;"><span style=""> </span>I am upset that there were no consequences for your behavior that day, and I regret that I cannot prevent similar occurrences from happening with C.A. and B.A, and possibly even B.J.A. if nothing has happened to her yet.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:12pt;">I know you will continue to be and act the way you are, and this letter will upset you, but I can see that you haven’t changed any from the time that mom was with you to now. You once told Mom that if she left, she would leave with nothing but the clothes on her back. This is a symptom of domestic violence. You were using me against her, and I will never forgive you for that. Your pattern that you had with Mom continues with B.J.A. I see it in the way she reacts with you, and I see it in your own behavior. I can even see it in your kids, to a certain extent. Did you know that C.A.’s late development is a symptom of your abuse? And B.J.A.’s response to your question, “What are you doing?!” which had undertones of “Are you stupid?” in the restaurant when you came to see me at Willamette in my junior year confirmed this: “What do you <i style="">want</i> me to do?” I recognized that with a simple question, she was deflecting a blowup event, something that is part of the wheel of domestic violence. You were setting her up for emotional abuse out of something that was logical for her to do, and she could feel it, because in the 6 or 7 years that she has spent married to you, she has internalized your pattern of emotional abuse, and can therefore predict when it is coming. I would strongly advise her to leave, however, if she is determined to stay with you, she has devised a great mode of survival, a safe way to deal with you. While I do not support her decision to stay with you, I do support her coping methods, and I sincerely hope that someday, you do something drastic, like the baseball bat incident with M.R., so she has the courage to leave you. Your behavior within your family is unacceptable, which is why I am choosing to remove myself from it. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:12pt;">In the years that I lived there or was visiting, you would walk in on me and M.R. when you knew we were changing or in the bathroom in various stages of undress. You used us to do your chores, and things that you, as a parent were responsible for. You forced me to babysit, but gave me no authority. You forced me to show you my underwear when I was about thirteen, an age that I was fully capable of picking out my own undergarments. You were not a normal father, especially not when you had me sitting on your lap while you were sitting on the toilet.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:12pt;">I am constantly on edge, ready to defend myself against your attacks on my morality, I have when you come visit me or guilt trip me into visiting you, and I hate the time I spend at your house, especially when I cannot accomplish the things I came to do, like <i style=""><u>see my best friend’s grave</u></i>.<span style=""> </span>I hate you so much, and the hatred increases exponentially when you make fun of my fiancé’s last name, heritage, and call him a “sand nigger.” The only reason you think I could do better is because you are racist.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:12pt;">I have known for years that you don’t love me, that you don’t even know the meaning of the word love. You know the meaning of manipulation, and think it’s synonymous with love. Sorry sir, that is not how it works. Throughout my life, you’ve used me as a tool for your manipulation of my mother, and you’ve played my conscience into feeling guilty for actions and choices I have a right to make. I am sick of the manipulation. I am sick of the emotional abuse, and while your wife may stand for it, I will not. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:12pt;">You kicked me out of your house the night you refused to take me to the hospital after I fell off the horse, neglecting your duties as a parent. I could have been seriously injured as a result of that accident, and B.J.A. could have lost her nurse’s license by giving me your prescription of Vicodin like she did, and you could have been charged with Child Neglect for not taking care of my injuries properly. I could have been seriously injured for all you knew, and you didn’t want to get me checked out. Sounds <i style="">REALLY</i> loving to me.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:12pt;">I know that you will continue to place the blame on others, the way you blamed mom for your problems (like, you think B.J.A. has no common sense, and that makes you angry, or the house wasn’t clean, so you have a right to be angry (PS: these are not excuses for the abuse you put her through, even though they might seem like valid excuses to you)) as well as do the other things typical to abusers, and I know that I cannot change you, and I cannot show you you’re wrongdoing when your eyes remain so firmly shut. But I can hope that laws will change for B.J.A, C.A, and B.A.’s sake.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:12pt;">My point: You kicked me out that night, saying you didn’t want me to be there if I didn’t want to be. Well, I didn’t then, and I still don’t. I don’t enjoy visiting you, I don’t enjoy staying at your house, I don’t enjoy when you visit me. You have destroyed our relationship through the years, and that is something that I pity you for, because maybe if you had known, I wouldn’t be writing this, because you might have stopped. For years, I have been sick of going home to my mom, crying because of the latest asinine thing you’ve done. However, as a result of the destruction of our relationship, I am choosing to remove the drama that you create by removing you from my life and discontinuing <b style=""><i style="">all</i></b> correspondence with you. I understand that in so doing, you will spread lies about me to our family, like Grandma and Grandpa, and all my aunts and uncles. I also understand that this is part of your abusive nature, and that you will try and contact me. This is the last letter I will ever send you. I will not be sending another email. I will not be visiting your house any more, nor are you welcome at mine. With this letter, I have enclosed two money orders; the first is to pay my debt of $57.88 to AT&T, and the second is for $140.00 your last means of control over me, and I am requesting that you never contact me again. I will be changing my phone number and address. If you try to find me in the future, please expect this action on your part to result in a restraining or no-contact order. I am doing this as a result of your actions. You may be my father, the person who donated the sperm. We may look alike and have the same last name. You may consider yourself the father of three. However, you lost the privilege of being my dad long ago, and will soon legally lose the privilege of being my father, because T.L. and I are signing adoption papers later this year. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:12pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:12pt;">Have a nice life.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><br /><span style="font-size:12pt;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><br /><span style="font-size:12pt;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Let me also explain some of the psychosexual effects that his abuse had on me and my siblings. C.A. is my younger brother (half). I was thirteen when he was born, and he developed in a similar manner to me. He had problems with development and bedwetting like I did. I began masturbating when I was in the 6th grade, but I was putting things inside me by first grade at the latest. I wet the bed consistently until 6th grade, and then on and off throughout high school. I had accidents when I was out playing with friends. All of these things are very clear signs of sexual abuse. In fact, my mother was concerned for the longest time that one of my uncles was abusing me. She took me to several therapists, waiting for me to disclose, but I never did, because the things my father did to me seemed normal at the time. He would watch me as I slept, he would walk in on my step-sister M.R. and I when we were undressed, or getting dressed, or even when we were in the shower, and for each instance, he made an excuse for the things he did. He forced me to show him my underwear the first time I bought thongs when I was thirteen. He had threatened me, he had threatened my step-sister, and my stepmother, B.J.A. didn't believe us when we told her, or she minimized the severity of the situation, because my father managed to talk her over to his side. He constantly disciplines using an implement of some sort. The list goes on and on.</span><br /><span style="font-size:12pt;"></span></p>Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-75013156105064116512011-11-22T01:09:00.000-08:002011-11-22T01:23:34.981-08:00Update on the StalkingSo, my mother and I were talking in the car the other day, while we were carpooling to work, and she was saying the answer to where S.A. was getting all of his information hit her like a ton of bricks one evening.<br />Let me introduce you to J.C... J.C. married my grandmother C.H. when I was a senior (?) in high school. None of my family members knew much about him when they got married, so we were all okay with it. All we really knew is that all his children were assholes, but he seemed pretty decent. Since the wedding, J.C. has revealed his inner asshole. He yells at my grandma in public, talks to her like she is stupid, underestimates how advanced her Alzheimer's disease is, and doesn't really seem to give a shit about C.H. in general.<br />To give you an example, J.C. accompanied my grandmother to my graduation from college last May, and apparently, he fell asleep during the ceremony, whined the whole time, and then wanted to leave without me "because he was cold." What. A. Fucking. Jerk. During my graduation dinner, the subject of S.A. arose. J.C. sympathized with S.A. for God knows what reason. Said we (my mom and I) were too hard on him. Most of the rest of my family knows that there is some bad blood there, though all of them underestimate how much. At my grandmother's wedding, my uncle D.H. had a beer with him in a bar. S.A. has tried to get information from my uncle M.H. and his wife, D.H., and every other relative that lives on his side of the state. Most of them, for the majority of the time, have said they don't know anything, or have refused to give him any information regarding my mother and I. However, he is getting his information somewhere.<br />Mom thinks it's J.C.<br />J.C. sympathizes with S.A.<br />J.C. is very similar to S.A.<br />J.C. is a giant slimeball.<br />Is more motive needed? Mom tells Grandma stuff about me, J.C. delivers that information to S.A.<br />This is what I was talking about when I was saying that I feel so alienated from my family. Now, because he's prying, and sucking all of my family into his little game, I have to refrain from telling my family members all of my news, my contact information, everything, if I don't want S.A. to get ahold of it. And it's all a way to suck me back in.<br /><br />I promised a couple posts ago that I would post a letter of what I wrote to him, and you can judge for yourself what kind of person he was, whether or not I had the right to excommunicate him, ect.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-5884304025314951412011-11-11T22:53:00.000-08:002011-11-11T23:08:41.090-08:00Safe HavenThe boys are both out of town, Dad at work, AAS at his parents in California, so my mom and I got to spend some quality time together tonight. I expressed my concern that I am controlling and abusive like my SA, and she said she can't see it. I guess I've been successful in my vigilance in being aware of my thoughts and controlling my actions. We ended up talking about how he is finding my information. I went through facebook and blocked anyone that he might have contact with on MR's friends list. I'm hoping that this might solve the problem. I suspect that he is getting a hold of my texts, as I have already discussed. I told Mom that I felt like he was still alienating me from my family, even though I was no longer involved with him. She said that's his little game that he plays. The game that he plays to get you sucked back into his fight. And he's sucked in my aunt. Anyway, she said, "How do you think I feel?" She then explained that it feels like an invasion after having the house free of anything having to do with him for the past four years, and now all of a sudden she's hearing all about him, and everything has gone back to the way it was after she had divorced him. She said to "leave it at the front door. Don't talk about him, don't think about him, don't worry about him."<br />This is a safe place. It will always be a safe place. He cant touch me here.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-27945358667961161462011-11-07T09:38:00.000-08:002011-11-07T10:20:25.818-08:00Life Back With My ParentsQuick update on the S.A. front: my father (S.A.) has gotten to my aunt. What I mean by this is that he has convinced her that "he still cares," and she has been trying to convince me and my mother to send him a wedding invitation. The answer is flat out, NO. Especially because he seems to be cyber-stalking me. He told her that he was getting all of his information from the internet, which is funny, because I told no one over the internet that I was moving. What I think might be happening is that he is using my phone somehow, and getting access to my texts. I feel like no part of my life is being unobserved, like I'm on a reality TV show with some kind of horrible ending. I don't know what he's going to do, or where he's going to strike next. <br />On a happier note, I ran into Mr. D., my high school AP English teacher, the other day. My check engine light went on in my car because there is something wrong with it, so I took it to a mechanic, and they did some work without telling me what they were going to do and how much it was going to cost. So I was there, picking up my car, and Mr. D. was waiting in line behind me. Now the thing with Mr. D. is that he has his favorite students, and then he has the rest of the people in his class. When I took my AP exam, I got a 3, whereas the favorite students got 5's. I was never a favorite, and I was only in the class because I wanted to get into a top school, and rise above the rest of the SW high schoolers who really didn't care about school. Apparently, Mr. D. grouped me with the rest of the school anyway. This is what he thought of me, via a letter of recommendation:<br /><br />"Dear Scholarship Committee:<br /> "J.A. was my lovely surprise this year. I was her teacher three years ago in Regular (non-Honors) English 9, and after seeing her work I told her I was disappointed that she had not opted for our brand new Honors program (P.S. this is not true, but I did sign up for Honors courses starting in my sophomore year.) When she told me last year that she was considering taking my Advanced Placement English class in her senior year, I expressed grave doubts; I was worried she just did not have the background. Nonetheless, she persevered. She currently has an 'A' in the class, manages to surprise me at every turn with the quality of her work, and is one of the hardest working, intellectually passionate students in the class. I have to make it clear how rare that is. Usually (and this is a little sad, I suppose) a student begins high school right squack on the same track on which they end high school. J.A., on the other hand, has made such a huge step up from freshman year that I still cannot quite believe it at times.<br /><br />"My only worry about J.A. is that her hard-working but quiet and unassuming nature might cause her to be overlooked in the whole scholarship process. She, however, does not seem to be worried at all. Her college attendance and college success are not contingent upon money nearly as much as they are contingent upon her passion and ambition. But still..... right? Please consider her as amongst the top candidates at the school for this scholarship.<br /><br />"Now she is almost giddily excited about the college application process, applying even to several colleges which are beyond the hopes of a student with her background and test scores. She is aware of the challenge, but so in love with the idea of furthering her eduacation at the best school possible that she doesn not care. All three of her AP teachers (we only <span style="font-style:italic;">offer</span> three AP classes!) are thrilled by her passion and her hard work, and we all share the hope that she will end up at a university which deserves her joyousness in living and learning. Thank you for considering this fine young student. Please email me or call if you have any questions.<br /><br />"Sincerely,<br />T.D."<br /><br />Anyway, Mr. D. convinced all of us that top schools were good, that they held a lot of potential about helping you get jobs after school, and that student loans were okay, and everyone has them. I was convinced. So I applied to the best schools I could, and was accepted at all except one. NYU, Boston University, Willamette University, CWU, all of these schools accepted me, and Mr. D. was shocked, especially by NYU. Luckily, one of the private schools gave me a great financial aid package, and I was able to attend. Fast-forward four years, to me, graduated, but living with my parents, working as a Sales Associate at my high school job, just <span style="font-style:italic;">waiting</span> for a promotion, and $30k in debt. I'm so glad I took Mr. D's advice about student loans.<br />Anyway, we ran into him at the mechanic, and he was very surprised to see me home, and not out on some epic adventure. I told him I graduated, and that he was actually at my graduation, which he didn't seem to know, even though I had been standing right beside him for about a half an hour, waiting for my turn to say hello, all the while, A.A.S., standing behind me, urging me to just do it. Let's just say I felt very justified rubbing it in that he overlooked me because of his favorites, and that I graduated, despite what he thought of me, and that I am planning on attending grad school next year, my top choice being UW, where they waive your tuition, my second choice being SPU. My mother couldn't stop at that, being the proud mother that she is. I was headed out the door, and Mom stood there, still talking; "Oh yeah, she graduated with a degree in psychology, and she has been volunteering with Marion County Victims' Assistance in the District Attorney's Office, and she's been doing really well, and, and, and," and I finally had to pull her out the door. As we were leaving, Mr. D. said, "Well, if you would like to come talk about applying to grad school, and preparing for the GRE's, feel free to drop in."<br />My reply came at the same time as my mom's, and we said the exact same thing: "I think I'll be fine, but thank you."Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-76383164843844355752011-10-25T17:28:00.000-07:002011-10-25T17:41:12.671-07:00Moved back in with my parents.So, I moved back in with my parents, which means that I have direct access to the internet. This means that I will be posting a lot more, I think. Since moving in, I have set up my bed, and pretty much nothing else. I have not seen anyone I know, I haven't done much of anything except for laundry, which is something that desperately needed doing (Alex was out of boxers). Our room is beautiful: The only trace of my younger self that is still here are the pictures I had taped to my door in high school. We took a walk around town today to see what had changed and I was amazed at all that had. Stores had moved, gone out of business, people had moved, ect. It was a weird little trip down memory lane. <br />As you know, I ceased contact with my father last January. However, when I moved in, I found that he did not necessarily cease contact with me. Mom found out from my aunt that he was asking her if she knew that I was moving home: Something that I didn't tell anyone who is connected with him. He's stalking me, and I'm not happy about it, which is another reason I'm starting this blog up again. <br />When I lived in Oregon last year, I worked for the Marion County District Attorney's Office as a victim advocate for victims of domestic violence and sexual assault. Since finishing college, I have decided that I want to work with child victims of these crimes to effect change using therapy animals. I will be going to grad school for this, and it is really something I have been interested in since middle school, the time when I became aware that what my father was doing was abuse. Not only that, but he groomed me for sexual assault so well, that it wasn't until I was writing my "stay away" letter to him that I realized that what he had been doing to me was also sexual assault. <br />That being said, I would like to pass on information to women who think they are being abused, and to sexual assault families. It is my hope to get involved with a domestic violence shelter in my new home, or with the DA's office here, and I will be updating all the way.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-5624149716042792622011-04-11T19:17:00.000-07:002011-04-11T19:22:20.199-07:00We Are Like Jenny and Victor<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> 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mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">Alex and I keep having this conversation that he and I are like Jenny The Bloggess and her Husband Victor. For those of you who are new to the blog Alex is my ornery betrothed. He steals the warm blankets from me all the time so I freeze to death. But that has nothing to do with today’s conversation.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This morning I was eating breakfast while getting ready for work, and we were discussing the hamster we adopted that I have deemed defective because it isn’t cuddly like it advertises with its fluffiness. I was telling Alex that we need to return it to Petco, because it is defective. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">You need to know that Alex is just as crazy as I am. We keep an empty fish bowl on our mantel because I made the mistake of wanting to own a fish that I forgot to feed half the time but miraculously survived living with me for 3 months. Anyway, it died, and now we just keep the bowl full to confuse people. Which, as far as I can tell, only works on people that have recently smoked pot (Alex’s friends, not mine). Only all the water has evaporated, so I guess the fish drank it all or something. Anyway, what spawned this conversation about the devil-rat was that Alex pointed out that we needed a new fish. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I told him that we needed to take back the defective merchandise, and Alex proceeded to inform me that we would probably end up on Not Always Right, the customer service blog that we read occasionally (for Alex, it’s a little more than occasionally I think). Then he monologued the following conversation:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Hi Petco Employee, we’d like to return this hamster that we adopted from you because it isn’t cuddly and doesn’t like us. Can you refund us the money, or give us a better, more cuddly hamster that’s easier to catch?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I told him that’s not the way it would go. No, it would go something more like this:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Hi Petco Employee, we need to return this hamster because it is from the devil and hates us, and is planning to launch a nuclear coup on us when we are asleep.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And the Not Always Right story, according to Alex, would continue like this:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">*Boyfriend walks out of store*</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Edited: Boyfriend to Cashier: “Sorry my girlfriend forgot to wear her tinfoil hat today to let people know she’s crazy. We’ll try to remember it next time.” *Escorts girlfriend out of store*</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Is it bad that I really want to try this now?</p>Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-33034176735916020942011-02-15T09:50:00.000-08:002011-02-15T10:11:12.500-08:00It's definitely been awhile since I posted last, and I know it's on my Bucket List to post 200 times on this thing, and I'm in my last semester of college, so I guess I should start posting again. Well, plenty of new stuff since I posted last: I've been promoted at my new (as of November) job, I'm writing my super exciting, super cool thesis that will allow me to graduate this spring (if my professor ever sends me notes back, and I excommunicated my father, which I guess is another thing I can cross off my Bucket List. I sent the letter last month (January 11, 2011). I'm calling that day my freedom day. But it doesn't feel like freedom. Here's something I wrote:<br /><br />"Hi, my name is X.<br />I'm a victim of y.<br />My freedom date is MM/DD/YYYY."<br />Together: "Hi X."<br />"Hi, my name is M.<br />I'm a victim of n.<br />My freedom date was MM/DD/YYYY."<br />Together: "Hi M."<br />My turn.<br />"Hi, my name is..."<br />Shit, what's my name?<br />Has his crime<br />Destroyed that much of me?<br />Where's my ID?<br />It <span style="font-style: italic;">says</span> JA,<br />but that isn't me.<br />"My name is J."<br />What am I a victim of though?<br />What was the crime?<br />Dammit, why is this so<br />Confusing,<br />Difficult to Remember,<br />Difficult to Accept.<br />Maybe I don't want to<span style="font-style: italic;"> remember</span>.<br />Maybe I don't want to <span style="font-style: italic;">accept</span>.<br />Fine.<br />"I'm a victim of domestic abuse and<br />Child Molestation,"<br />if that's what you want to call it.<br />I don't know if I would call it that.<br />Molestation is such a dirty word.<br />I don't want to be associated with that.<br />It's what pervs do,<br />It's what bad people do.<br />It's the stuff offenders tell their<br />VICTIMS<br />Not to tell about.<br />And he never told me not to tell,<br />So that must mean it wasn't,<br />or was it?<br />God, this is embarrassing.<br />Who am I talking to?<br />God must not exist.<br />He wouldn't have let this happen to me.<br />Whatever.<br />"My freedom date was 1/11/2011."<br />Only I don't feel free.<br />I feel guilt.<br />I feel sadness.<br />I thought freedom was supposed to be a<br />Good feeling,<br />like<br />Happiness<br />or<br />Joy.<br />So why do I feel lost,<br />like I'm in a large field with no landmarks on the horizon<br />or anywhere around me?<br />Lost with no name.<br />It's like Waiting for Godot<br />This is pointless.<br /><br />I wonder if the slogan here is<br />'One day at a time'<br />like in AA.<br />Only here, we're not addicts,<br />we're victims of "addicts".<br />Mine's not an addict. He only did it to me.<br />He just has better excuses than<br />Others like him.<br />And better ways of hiding it,<br />And a better threshold for the<br />Boundaries<br />between<br />Getting Caught<br />and<br />Remaining Not GUILTY.<br />What he did is so much less than<br />Any other defendant.<br />But so much more<br />Because it's gone<br />Undetected,<br />and will remain so.<br />Maybe my letter was a bad thing,<br />Because it informed him he was<br />Borderline,<br />and needs to step back.<br /><br />I look out the window and see a<br />Brick Wall.<br />Impenetrable.<br />Unwavering, despite my efforts.<br />No.<br />This isn't freedom.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-77976897632803669662010-09-20T11:54:00.000-07:002010-09-20T12:28:57.111-07:00Seeing that I told you all that I would be back once school started, I'm a little behind on my posting.<br />Here's a little bit about what you missed while I was gone:<br />Alex moved in. Interning at the DA's office was so rewarding, and I am 3 weeks away from being finished. My job at JewelryShop sucks, and I hate my boss, but have made some awesome friends. I'm back in school, and the workload is a little heavy for all the things that I am juggling, but once my internship is over, I anticipate having a little more time on my hands for things such as homework. I have an interview at a nearby EB, the company that I have worked for on and off for the past five years. I am excommunicating my father, finally, after he put me through hell, worrying about whether or not I was going to have to sue him for the money that he is court ordered to pay. I'm doing some night work for the Stillings', and other than that, things are going pretty smoothly.<br />So, now onto school. I'm taking four classes, but only 3.5 credits. Right now, school consists of Mondays and Wednesdays, starting at 9:10 with an art class, then an English class that does a lot of reading (all Pulitzer prize-winning novels), and finally ending at 4:00 with a Personality Psychology Seminar. I love the art class, though I'm not too good with art. In fact, my latest escapade in the art world had to do with basically a white sheet of paper, colored almost all black with charcoal, except for a little bit of gray on the sides. Definitely epic. So not good. I'll post a picture later. My teacher said, just as we were leaving class, "I'm not going to grade these until Wednesday, so if you want to add anything to them..." I just thought, <span style="font-style: italic;">man, if I add anything to mine, it's just going to be one big, charcoal-y mess.</span> When you see the picture, it will be funnier, I promise.<br />The literature class is also very amazing. Right now, we just finished Beloved, the book that I was trying to put off reading for the longest time because I thought it would be painful. It was, to some degree, but it was also very delightful. I had a good time reading it. It's about a ghost, basically, of a baby, who comes back to haunt her mother. Quite an interesting and original idea. Next, we're going to read the Shipping News. I've already started because I wanted to get a head start on the semester, so I bought my books about a month in advance, and started reading the one that looked most interesting. I also have to read The Road, by Cormac McCarthy, The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, by Junot Diaz, and Olive Kitteridge, by someone I can't remember the name of right at the moment.<br />As for personality seminar, not so much. He assigns so much reading, and most of it is really dense, so I rarely get it all done. Not only that, but I don't understand a lot of the stuff that he says, but I'm too embarrassed to ask for clarification. *shrug* I suppose I'll get through it.<br />Finally, I'm taking the first part of my thesis class, which is a little scary at the moment. I am so not looking forward to writing that 20 page paper next semester. I thought theses were supposed to happen when you were in grad. school! Not in undergrad! Man, if I'm stressing now, think what it will be like when I actually start writing.<br />Also, I feel so accomplished today. I finished most of my and AS's laundry last night, so the laundry monster of monumental proportions is finally under control again. It took <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">4 hours</span></span>! I didn't know it was possible to have that much laundry! Since school started, it has been easier to do it. While we still don't have a car, we can walk our laundry to the school (not far from the house) and pay 5-10 dollars to do seven loads of laundry (including drying!), as opposed to the 15-20 that we were paying at the laundromat, which was also a $5.00 bus ride away.<br />I love this. I love the freedom that I have now, even though I am working my ass off and taking odd jobs and such. Doing my laundry outside of my home, paying rent and my own bills, and the other downfalls are just a small price to pay for my life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-47529409293906612552010-07-24T11:10:00.000-07:002010-07-24T11:22:45.561-07:00It has recently hit me that I am four posts away from meeting my goal of having 200 posts, and not only that, but I haven't posted at all for the month of July. As of today, multiple things have changed in my life. AAS moved here to Collegetown a couple weeks ago, then, while setting up care with his new doctors, he landed himself in the hospital so they could kill the clots in him. So, he's been here since Tuesday, and I've been able to spend two nights with him. His family, luckily, was visiting, so they have been taking me back and forth from Collegetown to Hospitalville (an hour each way). They have been paying for dinner, they took us shopping for the things that we needed in our house.<br />DA internship is going extremely well, and I love some of my cases, and hate others. I can't stand my job at Zales, but I love the people I work with. Yesterday, I told my boss to not get hit by a car when she went to go get her lunch of pizza and soda. She stopped and gave me a look like, <span style="font-style: italic;">Did you really just say that?</span> while my co-worker M. and I cracked up. I've made excellent friends with a girl named TM, soon to be TY, and ended up at a strip club for gay men, where all but one of the strippers were straight. (It was her bachelorette party). I'm totally stoked for her wedding, and also, the last wedding I went to, (LR and DH) Alex urged me to go try for the bouquet, and it's funny, because I actually caught it. Funny thing is, he's already told me he plans to propose in the next year. Freaking Awesome. :). We won't get married for a long time though, til we're 26. That way, he can stay on his parents' insurance plan in case something like this happens again. He's considering going into nursing, which I think is a good idea: more pay, better health benefits, and he'll be working in a hospital ALL THE TIME!<br />I love having him in the house. He's currently looking for a job, a hard thing to find in this dick-faced economy, and in the process, he cooks, he cleans, and best of all, he freaking LOVES me. And I love him... so much. Long distance worked for two years (a little less than), and now he's here, and he lives with me. *glee!*Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-42432019014222697082010-06-21T12:22:00.000-07:002010-06-21T12:25:12.466-07:00Yo, Dudes.I'm peacing out for the time being. I'm working at the DA's office in the Victim Assistance Division, and as a result, my life has become too interesting to write about. The other stuff is just boring in comparison, which is why I believe no one reads this damn thing. I will post random stuff here and there, but it will be rare, and I will pick up my once a week ritual when school starts again in September.<br />Love y'all.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-51958917438725244982010-06-05T20:13:00.001-07:002010-06-05T20:19:35.912-07:00Finally.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtOyOU4M-u8DCEo8-aGAo4eYbUvx770PnagMxyjDHZK5nx_vE3-JVeebgTTh8umBZJ3zu_sVdq-n-xB1rLAQu0sUgm8mogbY_5GD9oY_sry4DIUCZX1WYNNcf41iMkNGaS6y0KQQ/s1600/know+how+I+feel+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtOyOU4M-u8DCEo8-aGAo4eYbUvx770PnagMxyjDHZK5nx_vE3-JVeebgTTh8umBZJ3zu_sVdq-n-xB1rLAQu0sUgm8mogbY_5GD9oY_sry4DIUCZX1WYNNcf41iMkNGaS6y0KQQ/s400/know+how+I+feel+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479494342639474306" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8RkEnr1d8Vbri8DKK1xWunWKPRkbLMdHwP3rk_R3SWSfg-j6kxOF9nzqulbY6QOff8qFqTH9mpaSayEkaj8m6w-FPQxtn1KM7klcxgMOm2hAc9oFY5EjJJOoWmYSsdjc9jTO9Jw/s1600/know+how+I+feel+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 285px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8RkEnr1d8Vbri8DKK1xWunWKPRkbLMdHwP3rk_R3SWSfg-j6kxOF9nzqulbY6QOff8qFqTH9mpaSayEkaj8m6w-FPQxtn1KM7klcxgMOm2hAc9oFY5EjJJOoWmYSsdjc9jTO9Jw/s400/know+how+I+feel+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479493724009817570" border="0" /></a><br />Neither of these postcards were sent in to PostSecret by me, but both of them describe pretty adequately how I feel. The one exception is that I had my loving and amazing boyfriend, and my fantastic mother as well as my TV show and movie companions. It's been a hard year, but it's looking up, folks. It's looking up.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-856673112143238282010-06-04T14:19:00.000-07:002010-06-04T14:43:15.600-07:00New Place, New LifeIt's been SO LONG since I posted last that I felt like I owed my one devoted reader a new article. I found myself a new place. YES! That is right. I found a new place to live, one away from the crazy old woman, one of my very own. It's very small. It's very dirty. But it's very <span style="font-style: italic;">mine</span>. I have lots of new friends in my new place. Many of them are spiders, alive and dead. I let one live today, because my mother said that I shouldn't waste time and energy on such a small spider. I told her that the only reason I waste time and energy on even the small ones is because I don't want them to end up in my bed, which, by the way, is very close to my living room. The kitchen is attached to the living/dining area, which is attached to my bedroom, which is attached to the bathroom. I'm learning all of my new house's quirks, like not drinking the water, and that the facet leaks slightly when you turn on the cold water, and the heater makes funny noises when I turn it up past seventy (only for a moment, and I only did it as a test). Also, the kitchen smells like gas when I cook, and the cupboards and drawers <span style="font-style: italic;">really </span>need some contact paper. My parents are coming here for my uncle's wedding in two weeks, so I'm making a list of stuff that I want them to buy me when they get here. A plug for my tub is one of those things, because the handle that is supposed to stop the water from leaking down the drain doesn't work. You are lucky if you even get it two inches full for a bath.<br />It's weird sleeping in my own house on my own. The first night I stayed there, I got scared, because earlier that afternoon, I had been sleeping on my newly made bed, basking in the sun, when a creepy guy knocked on my window, and asked if I wanted a beer. When I said no, he asked if I wanted a Coke. When I refused that too, he asked if I wanted an iced tea. I turned that down also. He looked unconvinced, and somewhat dejected. I closed my window and got rid of him. Later that evening, I had opened my shades again, and I caught him walking past, when he had no reason to. Creeper. So I talked to my landlord. Turns out the guy is a felon who was staying with his mom. A felon for kidnapping. Ha. No wonder the only thing he was offering me was a drink. Bastard was trying to drug me. Anyway, Landlord talked to his mom and had her kick him out. Thank goodness. I don't think I could live next to a creeper for a year.<br />I did all of my dishes today (that I have unpacked so far). I was shocked to see that I actually had a sink! When I was done, I had five wet dish towels on my hands, with no towel rack to hang them on. Believe me, that's on my list. I also started to clean up my living room. Now you can see slightly more dirty brown carpet than before. And no, the carpet isn't brown because it's dirty. Mom said she was going to bring a carpet cleaner down from up North when she comes in two weeks. That way, I can get my carpet cleaned without having to pay someone for it.<br />Best things about my new house:<br /><ol><li>I can stay out as late as I want, or leave as early as I want, and I don't have to greet or bid adieu to someone I despise when I come and go.</li><li>There is no biddy with unlimited access to an annoying call button on a walkie talkie that I am responsible for.</li><li>I can decide what to have for dinner, at what time, and I don't have to have something from every food group on my plate.</li><li>No one is around to tell me when to clean, where to clean, or how to clean.<br /></li><li>No one is around to interrupt me when I am doing something important, or something I care about, which hasn't been happening a lot lately, since all I've been doing is working at the DA's and at Zales. But still.</li><li>I can shop for my own groceries, and plan meals that don't disgust me, like "Pork and ginger ragu with squash," shit like Chrys used to make when she came down from Alaska.<br /></li><li>There is no one around to correct my grammar, tell me that it's "she and I" and not "her and me".</li><li>There is no one around to interrupt me when I am speaking to correct my manners. I can scratch my damn feet at the dinner table if I so choose. Oh wait... what dinner table? <span style="font-style: italic;">Oops</span>.</li><li>There is no one that I have to serve hot meals to, who will jabber on until her food gets cold, then complain passive aggressively about the cold food.</li><li>I get to buy my own milk, good milk, milk that doesn't taste like it has gone bad the moment you open it.</li></ol>This is the top ten. If I think of anything else, I'll add it.<br />Also, I think it's notable to mention that I am getting closer and closer to my 200th post, something that was on my Bucket List, a few posts back. Take a look if you don't remember, folks.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-38504212489567068262010-05-22T07:28:00.000-07:002010-05-22T07:42:47.023-07:00News... and SpamSo, spam is, for the most part, untraceable, correct? Sure it is! Not. I've been getting a lot of spam in my email as of late, and I've just been clicking the unsubscribe button. But today, I noticed something funny about my spam. It had another girl's name on it. Another girl that I happened to know. It started like this:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dear L.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Thank you for signing up for a speeddate account...</span><br /><br />Okay.... what the fuck. First of all, my name isn't L. Secondly, I know someone named L. who would have indirect reasons to spam me (she's friends with MZ and AK). But it cant possibly be her, can it? LB? NAH! So I click on the link to investigate further, see if whoever was a douchebag put a last name down. No, there wasn't a last name, so my suspicions weren't confirmed... right away. I then noticed that I had a profile picture. I looked at the picture, and what do you know! It was a previous profile picture of the same "friend" LB on facebook. So I called her on it. I cant wait to hear what her answer is. Dumbass. If you're going to spam someone's email, at least do it in such a way that it's untraceable.<br /><br />In other news, I started my new job at Zales yesterday. Good stuff, except I don't know anything. Two teenage girls walked into the store last night, and one was like, "my mom's birthday is coming up, and I want to buy her a ring." <span style="font-style: italic;">So, the jewelry consultant in me was like, great, I know nothing about jewelry right now except that it sparkles and is pretty. What would be the first question I would ask if I was legit? </span>"What's your price range?" Great question, JA, but you don't know ANYTHING about any of this jewelry. Luckily, she said she didn't know, so I told her I would let her look around, and if she had any questions, she could ask. She didn't and left the store shortly after. I fail at consulting. But I'll get better.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9907798.post-29269008383163890892010-05-17T19:50:00.000-07:002010-05-17T19:59:12.564-07:00Less UnfortunateSo, last week was shit week.<br />This week is infinitely better.<br />I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders<br />Like all my prayers have been answered. <br />Not only do I have a place to live<br />(At least for a month), <br />But I also landed a job,<br />Selling jewels and beautiful things.<br />I'm moving in a week.<br />Quitting my shitty job.<br />AAS is moving in in a month and a half.<br />Exciting to be together,<br />Finally,<br />After almost two years of being apart.<br />The DA internship is going well,<br />I'm getting more and more cases every day.<br />Keeping busy, <br />Just the way I Like It.<br /><br />Life is finally coming together,<br />Fitting all the pieces into the puzzle.<br />My motivation has returned.<br />My sense of self<br />My sense of accomplishment,<br />My sense of direction.<br />Things feel like they will be okay.Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06826332091888220298noreply@blogger.com0