Building Blocks

Building blocks have been stacked to make metropolises through my head. The three-year-old that constructed my headspace city was awfully smart, because I can't seem to wander to the other side and find my ideas. I'm kind of lost and there are no city buses or trains or taxis. I have no way out except to keep walking straight, and maybe, just maybe, an earthquake will come along and knock my imaginary city down. Or I'll reach the other side. Anyways, the point is, I've hit a writer's block, again, and there will hopefully be more posts next week.

Snot, Mucus, Mucus Membranes, Brains?

Uhh, allergy season has come to kill me. All the pollen is floating about, people are mowing their dead lawns, and my hay fever and allergies are acting up. Poor S.H. He saw the worst part of me yesterday when it started at the Hal Ketchem concert. I had to blow my nose every five minutes (Warning: this is not an exaggeration). Well, I woke up this morning and felt like my head weighed five pounds more than it usually does. I debated calling in sick, but I'm really not that kind of person. So I toughed it out at work, again, blowing my nose every five minutes.
And afterwards, I sat pondering the color and texture of snot. I began to contemplate that maybe the phrase, "Blowing your brains out," was true. I mean, sentiments like that have to come from somewhere. And I notice that as the day goes on, I am having a harder and harder time thinking and speaking. Then it occured to me; maybe all the poundage of snot that I'm clearing out of my sinuses is actually my brain melting in the heat and dripping out my nose.

Girl's State!

Okay, I admit that most of it wasn't fun. I had a good time campaigning for the first day or two but after that, the only things to really look forward to were graduation and daily meals. I ran for many different offices and lost every single one of them, putting me into the wonderful Gold House of Reps. We started passing bills the first day! I think that we even passed more than the Winners House of Reps. Before we knew it, we were eating our last dinner on the college campus and the girls from the city of Clark were performing their song and walking across the stage to recieve their certificate from Mona. That night, we had a fun party, including pizza, movies, and a ton of junk food! Yum yum!

Two Days Ago

Two days ago, I found out that I had been cheated on. I had ideas along those lines when he was home, but I didn't say anything because the last time I had talked to him that week was the Saturday when I had a great time with my new boyfriend (back when he wasn't my boyfriend yet. I really couldn't say for sure, but it was the only explanation that I could think of for his dog tags being at her house. But I couldn't prove it.
And then, two days ago, someone who used to be my best friend told me something that tipped me off, said that it was his business to tell me. I asked C.G, or more like told him, "She's pregnant, isn't she." He nodded, confirming my belief that when she called me a whore, she was really just the pot calling the kettle black.
When I returned home, I was so angry. I picked up the phone, dialed his number, and listened to his God-forsaken voice tell me that he was pretty busy and that I should leave a message. Yeah right.
I'd like to think that I was only affected because getting cheated on hurts. It may be that in some small way, I still cared for him. I was almost to the point when I didn't care that he screwed me over. Didn't care that he had, in some small way, cheated... and then I talked to him today.
"When, after you got back, did you start sleeping with her again?"
"Respectively, that's none of your business," he replied, "but I'll tell you because I feel I owe you that much. About two or three days."
Mmm, nice.
"How did you find out anyways?"
"Well, I wouldn't have if a friend hadn't said something to help me figure it out on my own. The reason that I've been trying to call you the past couple of days is to request that you take my number out of your cell phone and never call me again."
"Ouch."
"But I don't think that I'll do that because I'm not as angry as I was. Are you going to marry her?"
"I don't know. We've talked about it but the fact remains that she's very young, and I'm too young, and I still have a job to do." He proceeded to kiss my ass so much after that so much that I can still feel his lips there. I could tell he was trying to get back into my good graces. Then he asked the question that I didn't want him to ask, and didn't know how to answer.
"Why do you care anyways? You have a boyfriend."
I don't know, but I shouldn't.
"Why were you so surprised when I told you that I had another boyfriend?"
"I didn't mean to come off that way. You shouldn't think worse of yourself just because of what I did to you. You're still a princess in my eyes."
"Don't call me that." The other night S.H. tried calling me that and I said the same thing to him, just because that's what he used to call me.
"Okay... look, before things end on a bad note, just let me tell you I still want to talk to you and be your friend, so I'll call you on one of your days off because my mom is on the other line." Pause pause pause. His mother never liked me.
"Well, I'm off everyday this week except for Tuesday, but I won't be around Friday."
"Okay, well, I'll call you sometime this week then."
Whatever, that's what you said shortly before my birthday. Oh well, S.H. is better than you anyways. He might want to get into my pants, but he's a lot more respectful than you and cares about my boundaries more than you, which is why I love him. Maybe.
"Okay, bye."
"Mmm bye."
Ten minutes later: "S.H, don't ever cheat on me."

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

I admit, I am an addict.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Situation So Much Worse Than Mine

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

Addressing Different Issues

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

Too Much, Too Soon... Maybe

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

Odd Dreams

I honestly don't know what brings these things into my head at night, but sometimes I have these really psychotic dreams. Here's one from the other night, and I guess what the strangest thing was, was my reaction. I would have never laughed.

Picture: a house near a street with a lot of neighbors, and with enough room to have many trees as well as a workshop next to the house. The night that I was there, there was a party going on. We aren't talking about a teenage drinking party where the music is loud and the neighbors call the police within the first hour. No, the party that I was at included mostly adults, a few young children and a witch, a bit like a July barbecue. I just happened to be sitting next to the witch on the couch and she started telling me that she liked using rocket fireworks instead of the old fashioned brooms. She took one out of her jacket/cloak, and handed it to me, explaining that, in order to use it, you have to hit the pointy end on the ground, then flip it over and hit the other end on the ground as the rocket is expanding. So I took this firework outside and did what she said, and just as she promised, it worked. Immediately after the rocket was out of sight, the mother of the household let out the family puppy, something that looked kind of like a beagle, only it was black. The beagle and I were just sitting there on the porch, looking kind of pathetic, because I didn't know anyone and he was just a little puppy, waiting to be let inside. Neither of us was making any noise but the door to the shop behind me opened and this boy stood there, letting the dog in, and silently, inviting me in, too. So I pick myself up and go into the shop, noticing first the concrete floor, and second all the old fashioned knives that looked like they could have been from the late nineteenth, early twentieth centuries. I asked the boy, "What's with the knives?" He told me that he loves old things like that, and hates to see them die out, so he makes them and collects them. It was then that I noticed all the equipment and tools in the room.

Time warp: I'm in the same shop, sitting on the couch on the far end with the little black puppy. The witch had given me another rocket, which I held on my lap. The neighborhood is burning down; every house is on fire, including the one that I started in. The shop is the only fire-proof building nearby. The boy comes bursting through the door, and I calmly shut it behind him. He yells at me, "What are you doing?!? Now my family can't get in and they are all going to die in the fire!" And you know what I did? I laughed. I don't know why, and I didn't know the family or the boy. I had no clue who they were, and yet I laughed at the thought of their skins burning off.

I think that there is something incredibly wrong with me.

Letters From My Ideal Vacation Spot

No, it's not Mexico. It's not the Caribbean. My little vacation spot doesn't even show up in the guide books. It's a little town called Donzère, existing cozily next to the Rhône river, in the west region of France. It's the kind of town that my friend would call a sneeze town (sneeze and you miss it). It's a beautiful place, with many things to see if you look hard enough. Everybody knows everybody to the point that you could walk down the street and say "Bonjour!" to everyone. I love places like this. I came across this little nook in the world during a trip to France last summer. I stayed with a French family for a week and got to know them all quite well. Two of my host sisters spoke English, as did the mother. The one that I knew best did not, of course, and so whatever we did, she would always ask the English word for it. When we played games, she would say "Encore? Qu'est-ce que le mot en anglais? and I would reply, telling her that it was "again." After receiving a letter from her towards the end of last summer, I tried to reply, but I guess my letter didn't get to her. Or her reply didn't get to me. Whatever the case, I tried to write again, through her sister's email, and when she didn't respond, I wrote another letter. The last letter went out about two weeks ago, and today, as I was getting the mail, I pulled a red, blue, and white striped envelope from the 3" by 3" mailbox. In seeing the stamp and the PAR AVION air mail sticker in the margin, I knew right away who it was from. I got updates on F.D.'s family and she asked me to come visit her this summer. I don't think that I can raise enough money by the time August rolls around, but I can certainly try. Who knows, peut-être ça va avec mes parents.