Hello all,
Finally last night Fuckhead ended his side of the relationship. After months of back and forth, me phone stalking him, and him not sending me my things, he finally answered me. I have been trying to get him to answer a simple yes or no question and he answered no at last.
If he answered yes I would be working on a relationship with him right now and since he said no I at least don't feel a need to contact him. That was a gift in itself. As you know, I have too much on my plate and could not handle the unanswered question, because the chance of getting back together was something to hope for and that hope was driving me crazy while unrequited.
I got to end things just as I wanted. I told him that I hope he continues with his success (that he sucked right from my very loins), that he find someone that fits his life better (he said that he compared everyone to me and no one was as special, ahem, ahem bull crap and no duh), and that he should NEVER come find me cause I would turn my life up side down because I love him and because I love him so much I would drop everything for him, I always will, and I can't live my life knowing that he would ever want me again.
Drama, right? I was crying the whole phone call, with him saying that he loved me, no one was like me and that he was going to come see me. But, when he finally said no, I finally pulled my life out of my ass and walked away with a small scrap of dignity while he wept on the other end of the phone.
I thought he was going to say yes until he kept on not saying anything. Because as many of my friends have pointed out, if the answer was yes it would be "Yes, yes, yes!" and not "............". I'm really exhausted from everything and I don't know where I'm going next, but at least I know it will be just me..........and Graham.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Doubting Noah
Hello all,
Sorry for the long lapse in entries. I died and woke up 26. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. I have had way too much happen to me in the last month and a half. Look up "deluge of shit" and you'll see my picture next to it. Anyway, all this has made me think of on old saying:
"God only gives you as much as you can handle."
If that is true I have 2 things to say to God:
1. Bitch, you don't know me!
2. That's bull shit.
I had a theological chat with a young man named Hughes last week. I won't say where we chatted, but If I ever write a book I'll put it in there. Hughes is nineteen, has 2 children- one 7 months and one 1 1/2 months by two different women, stopped going to school in 6th grade and is constantly finding himself in illegal situations.
Me: Um, where do you go to school?
Him: Na, na, na, man, I don't go to no school. Dat shit not fo me, her?
Me: .......yeah.
Him: Na, na, na, I don't need no schoo. I already got me a job.
Me: Oh, really? Where do you work?
Him: Uh, I work in a fa'try. Doin' inventory 'n' shit.
Me: Well, that must be nice. Do you get to see your children very often?
Him: Na, na, na dey mom's is real mad at me and shit. Dey found out about eachova and dey go off da deep end fo sho.
Me: I see.
Him: Yeah, yeah, yeah, I wanna see 'em 'n' shit, but I keep gettin' arrested and shit. Ya see?
Me: Mm-hmm.
Him: God gave me dem babies so I could be a fava to dem.
Me: So, God gave you those children by two different women so that you could be a father to them and that makes you a better person?
Him: Yeah, yeah, yeah, ya see?
Me: I do. And he must really want you to see this by giving you 2 children in one year, especially at the tender age of nineteen.
Him: Yeah, you know?
Me: I do. And what do you think God's trying to tell you by arresting you every other week?
Him: Na, na, na, ya see, id ain't God dat make me do this.
Me: That's right! You need to take responsibility for your own actions!
Him: Na, na, na id ain't God dat make me do bad stuff..... uh-uh, it's Satan.
Me: Oh really?
Him: Yeah, yeah, yeah, Satan makes me do all this shit, but it's ok I know God will fo'give me.
Me: Oh really?
Him: Yeah, when I die, he gon fo'give me and he gon fo'give you too.
Me: Oh that's really alright.
Him: Wha?
Me: I don't really believe in God.
Him: Why?
Me: Well there's this little thing called science. If we believed in the bible and Jesus and whatnot, the earth would only be, like, thousands of years old. There are fossils and certain evolutionary processes that have needed millions of years to occur or else you probably wouldn't be here. Where is your god in all of that? Who says that your god is the right one? There are tons of religions all across the world, who told you you picked the right one? If you chose it at random, given your track record, I'm going to guess you probably picked the wrong one. I admire your faith, really I do. I think it's great that you have faith. If I were in your position and didn't have faith, I would kill myself. But I like to have faith in myself, and you should too. That, at least, you have some control over. I've been baptized and confirmed so I have all of the paper work done, so if I die and go to your heaven, while I'm on one side of the pearly gates and you're on the other, when I get to the head of the line and have my chat with Paul or Peter or whoever is manning the gates that day, I'll give you a wave, show them my papers and say, "Oh, don't worry. Hughs,over there, said God would forgive me."
Him: Well...... if it's cuz yo' gay 'n' shit, he fo'give you too.
Me: Awesome. I'm set then.
Sorry for the long lapse in entries. I died and woke up 26. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. I have had way too much happen to me in the last month and a half. Look up "deluge of shit" and you'll see my picture next to it. Anyway, all this has made me think of on old saying:
"God only gives you as much as you can handle."
If that is true I have 2 things to say to God:
1. Bitch, you don't know me!
2. That's bull shit.
I had a theological chat with a young man named Hughes last week. I won't say where we chatted, but If I ever write a book I'll put it in there. Hughes is nineteen, has 2 children- one 7 months and one 1 1/2 months by two different women, stopped going to school in 6th grade and is constantly finding himself in illegal situations.
Me: Um, where do you go to school?
Him: Na, na, na, man, I don't go to no school. Dat shit not fo me, her?
Me: .......yeah.
Him: Na, na, na, I don't need no schoo. I already got me a job.
Me: Oh, really? Where do you work?
Him: Uh, I work in a fa'try. Doin' inventory 'n' shit.
Me: Well, that must be nice. Do you get to see your children very often?
Him: Na, na, na dey mom's is real mad at me and shit. Dey found out about eachova and dey go off da deep end fo sho.
Me: I see.
Him: Yeah, yeah, yeah, I wanna see 'em 'n' shit, but I keep gettin' arrested and shit. Ya see?
Me: Mm-hmm.
Him: God gave me dem babies so I could be a fava to dem.
Me: So, God gave you those children by two different women so that you could be a father to them and that makes you a better person?
Him: Yeah, yeah, yeah, ya see?
Me: I do. And he must really want you to see this by giving you 2 children in one year, especially at the tender age of nineteen.
Him: Yeah, you know?
Me: I do. And what do you think God's trying to tell you by arresting you every other week?
Him: Na, na, na, ya see, id ain't God dat make me do this.
Me: That's right! You need to take responsibility for your own actions!
Him: Na, na, na id ain't God dat make me do bad stuff..... uh-uh, it's Satan.
Me: Oh really?
Him: Yeah, yeah, yeah, Satan makes me do all this shit, but it's ok I know God will fo'give me.
Me: Oh really?
Him: Yeah, when I die, he gon fo'give me and he gon fo'give you too.
Me: Oh that's really alright.
Him: Wha?
Me: I don't really believe in God.
Him: Why?
Me: Well there's this little thing called science. If we believed in the bible and Jesus and whatnot, the earth would only be, like, thousands of years old. There are fossils and certain evolutionary processes that have needed millions of years to occur or else you probably wouldn't be here. Where is your god in all of that? Who says that your god is the right one? There are tons of religions all across the world, who told you you picked the right one? If you chose it at random, given your track record, I'm going to guess you probably picked the wrong one. I admire your faith, really I do. I think it's great that you have faith. If I were in your position and didn't have faith, I would kill myself. But I like to have faith in myself, and you should too. That, at least, you have some control over. I've been baptized and confirmed so I have all of the paper work done, so if I die and go to your heaven, while I'm on one side of the pearly gates and you're on the other, when I get to the head of the line and have my chat with Paul or Peter or whoever is manning the gates that day, I'll give you a wave, show them my papers and say, "Oh, don't worry. Hughs,over there, said God would forgive me."
Him: Well...... if it's cuz yo' gay 'n' shit, he fo'give you too.
Me: Awesome. I'm set then.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Death and Brownies
Hello all,
It is 7:38 on Sunday night. I have just settled down to finish off a bowl of Walking-Choco-Mallow-Crispies (a little concoction that I’ve been eating since 8th grade where I mix Rice Crispies, Hershey’s Kisses, and marshmallows in a bowl, melt it in the microwave for 35 seconds, and eat it right out of the bowl before anyone sees me, no judgment) while watching the Best of Tracy Morgan SNL Special. This act juxtaposed against the last few days has made me reflect on my life.
Today Mom asked me to make my special brownies. Now to some of you this may include some kind of mind-bending drug, but I assure you it’s nothing of the sort. Right when I moved home this summer (sigh) my grandparents came over for a cookout and I made brownies from a box and sprinkled butterscotch and chocolate chips over the top and I undercooked them-giving them a fudge quality. My family thought this was a delicacy beyond imagination and “Noah’s Special Brownies” were born. This specific request for brownies was for a funeral my parents are attending tomorrow.
Mom thought that with only 5 salads and 5 desserts for a high profile funeral she should bring something else because that was CLEARLY not enough. Noah’s Special Brownies to the rescue! I imagine everyone coming back from the funeral to morn and graze on a mediocre spread, but instead of bland cookies they are greeted by my special brownies. “Hey, wow this is the best day ever, look at those brownies, yummy!” I can hear them say. No.
No. My brownies are meant to make the masses happy, but I imagine that a funeral is a funeral and no one will be saying this. No one will give a rat’s patootie what food is at a funeral, it’s a funeral. In lieu of a funeral for myself, I will be having a musical themed BBQ. It will be gay gay gay and fun fun fun. It will be happy and sunny, and when normally I would be worried about getting a sunburn, who cares, I’ll be dead.
The other day I got one of the best hair cuts I have gotten in years but I was surprised by what fell into my lap. White hair. I have white hair. I HAVE WHITE HAIR. I mean I’m all for natural highlights, and better white hair than no hair, but really? When I saw white hair in the mix of amber locks on my lap I contained my freak out and asked the stylist for her professional opinion. She said that yes it was in fact white hair and flipped her gum. I guess it’s not a problem….or is it?
I’ll be 26 next month, I work 3 days a week as a cashier, I live at home with my parents, I codependently sleep with my dog, I accost my ex-boyfriend with voicemails in hope to get back my possessions and self respect and now I have white hair. This all came to me as I finished my Walking-Choco-Mallow-Crispies and I started to laugh. After a few seconds it became much less funny.
Bitch of a life- 1
Noah- 0
It is 7:38 on Sunday night. I have just settled down to finish off a bowl of Walking-Choco-Mallow-Crispies (a little concoction that I’ve been eating since 8th grade where I mix Rice Crispies, Hershey’s Kisses, and marshmallows in a bowl, melt it in the microwave for 35 seconds, and eat it right out of the bowl before anyone sees me, no judgment) while watching the Best of Tracy Morgan SNL Special. This act juxtaposed against the last few days has made me reflect on my life.
Today Mom asked me to make my special brownies. Now to some of you this may include some kind of mind-bending drug, but I assure you it’s nothing of the sort. Right when I moved home this summer (sigh) my grandparents came over for a cookout and I made brownies from a box and sprinkled butterscotch and chocolate chips over the top and I undercooked them-giving them a fudge quality. My family thought this was a delicacy beyond imagination and “Noah’s Special Brownies” were born. This specific request for brownies was for a funeral my parents are attending tomorrow.
Mom thought that with only 5 salads and 5 desserts for a high profile funeral she should bring something else because that was CLEARLY not enough. Noah’s Special Brownies to the rescue! I imagine everyone coming back from the funeral to morn and graze on a mediocre spread, but instead of bland cookies they are greeted by my special brownies. “Hey, wow this is the best day ever, look at those brownies, yummy!” I can hear them say. No.
No. My brownies are meant to make the masses happy, but I imagine that a funeral is a funeral and no one will be saying this. No one will give a rat’s patootie what food is at a funeral, it’s a funeral. In lieu of a funeral for myself, I will be having a musical themed BBQ. It will be gay gay gay and fun fun fun. It will be happy and sunny, and when normally I would be worried about getting a sunburn, who cares, I’ll be dead.
The other day I got one of the best hair cuts I have gotten in years but I was surprised by what fell into my lap. White hair. I have white hair. I HAVE WHITE HAIR. I mean I’m all for natural highlights, and better white hair than no hair, but really? When I saw white hair in the mix of amber locks on my lap I contained my freak out and asked the stylist for her professional opinion. She said that yes it was in fact white hair and flipped her gum. I guess it’s not a problem….or is it?
I’ll be 26 next month, I work 3 days a week as a cashier, I live at home with my parents, I codependently sleep with my dog, I accost my ex-boyfriend with voicemails in hope to get back my possessions and self respect and now I have white hair. This all came to me as I finished my Walking-Choco-Mallow-Crispies and I started to laugh. After a few seconds it became much less funny.
Bitch of a life- 1
Noah- 0
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