It’s Been Years…

but i’m now letting go of this blog, and moving to a new one.

so thank you wordpress– keeping me posted since 2006. (i’m a fag).

please continue to use this source as an archive, but you may now go HERE:

http://alyssasharpe.tumblr.com/

me in black and white.

today i don’t know if i want to write in cryptic poem form, or free thought. i don’t know if i’m tired off my three hours of sleep, or if the coffee is sustaining me.

i don’t know what sustains me, to tell you the truth.

i watch a lot of south park. it’s the only thing that makes me laugh. i need to laugh at life more. but for some reason it all seems to be going by too fast, and i don’t want to laugh. i want to hold on so hard. i want to hold on to those memories of ex boyfriends, and ex friends, and ex jobs.

like remember the time i spent all night in a hotel dressed in a black dress that made me look phenomenal, at a ball meant for marines. i never looked prettier. i don’t know why it’s impossible to recreate that moment. i was so excited that night, sometimes i forget that my date was mia for the entirety of the night, and i was forced to converse with a middle-aged, 400 pound, married lunch lady that was having an affair with a twenty-year old virgin marine. but i looked pretty, and i thought that i was on the verge of being in love. how time can change things that we bet our life on.

it makes me sad to think it hasn’t even been a year since then, but it feels so long ago. so is time fleeting fast? or really is it stagnant, and i just think it’s going by fast, because i’m all fucked up in the head?

and then i remember the time when i was fifteen and got my first job. i have been working for ten years. TEN years. i’m pushing thirty, so yes, time is going by fast.

people my age are fat. people i went to high school with have graduated college years ago, and are now married. people my age have wrinkles. thank god that i am not people my age.

i want to get married, hopefully to the man i’m with now, but i’ve been wrong before. i want to have children. maybe 2.5 of them. maybe not. i want to let go of these memories that i hoard in my head, because i am an emotional hoarder. and there should be a reality show about me and how i hoard my thoughts, and how if i get a little crazier, i could destroy my life with these useless memories.

because if you hang on to memories, you end up exploding information to the wrong people, people like your husband, or your children. and how do i tell my children that another man made me cry before my husband did? how do i tell them that i let myself go through hell and back for a man that didn’t love me? how do i tell them that i still think about all of this because i am an emotional hoarder, and time only seems to be against me?

well except for the wrinkle part– time has been good to me there. too bad i get ID’d at wallmart when i’m buying rated R movies, but good thing i don’t look like my GM’s girlfriend who happens to be my age and looks ten years older. i’m a bitch.

men love bitches. men love me. my boyfriend loves me. i’m above average cute, and i’m smart, but i talk “stupid like” so really you see, i’m the best of both worlds. like katy perry, but fatter.

speaking of fatter, i got a gym membership. i don’t know how i’m supposed to be a fame-seeking whore, with this fat ass.

and somehow i just turned this post into a shallow, egotistical rant.

i’m awesome.

here’s a black and white picture of me, so you can see how cute i think i am.

the meaning of life.

sometimes you and i get tangled
yes, somehow, are faces mangled.
a dog, or a cat person.
a gross, dissected persona.
a mangy, little beast starving for life.
you are, above all else, the only thing,
and tomorrow you will see
what this world is going to bring.
revelations, salutations, this nation,
and the bible is part magic.
just accept it.
see you later pretty girl.
your eyes are quick.
see you soon pretty girl.
take your pick.
you and i are definitely tangled.
crazy, idiotic ideas, all newfangled.
a monkey, or a fish
a bird, or a snitch.
and the eleven percent of your brain-
use it wisely, or just go insane.
but if you say i don’t know what i can do.
you say i can bend reality, it’s nothing new.
then he can walk on water,
and i can curb your thoughts.
and put your focus on my chest,
i’ve done my best.
you pretty little thing.
you’re such a pretty little thing.
be happy.
be happy little thing.
there’s one thing i know.
for sure i know.
you’ve got miles to go.

things i learned today.

redbull can make you happy, but only for a moment.

running is better for your tan then laying out, and consequently, better for your figure.

one day i think i will alter the world.

i like to write. i wish i could sit and write all day. that and take pictures of my hair in my backyard.

this sounds a little scary.

disclaimer: this is extremely cheesy, stupid, and is not really intended for the mentioned men to read. so if you think it’s about you, just pretend it’s not important, and go read another cute girl’s blog.

i’ve been crying a lot.

it’s been awhile since i’ve done that. i am an expert at crying myself to sleep with no one noticing. whether or not i’m suggling up next to a boy, or just alone in my silence. but like i said, it’s been awhile.

i think i’m afraid. really afraid. scared shitless. lost in the world, grasping for something i understand.

when i dated my last boyfriend, a lot of the time, i felt like i was single. in fact, i wasn’t technically single, but figuratively i was the whole time. he didn’t really care if he found out someone crashed in my bed, he didn’t care if i got hit on in bars, and took drinks form them. he wasn’t really in the business of jealousy, good or bad. he also wasn’t in the relationship, for relationship purposes, more for trying to figure his life out.

he would tell me that he was in it for the difficulty we had. sometimes it made sense, sometimes it just made me feel difficult. and you know, about the time he decided to really give me everything i wanted, like really commit. it was too late. i cheated on him. but in a way, it was for the best, i broke free, not in the best of ways, but it all happens for a reason.

i miss him a lot. i don’t want to be with him. i know that it never would work. but i miss him. like it hurts, and i’m trying to deal with this pain, and i’m also really happy with my life now. i think the word might be ambivalent.

and i’m scared, because i love the man i’m with, and as far as i know, i want to spend forever with him. but how scary is forever? what if i’m wrong? what if this is too easy? what if i wake up one day alone? because unlike with my ex, i’m not single at all. i am in a serious, committed, let’s talk about the futue, relationship. and what’s more scary?

the weird part: “alone” sounds good. i know alone so well, it’s not scary. alone is NOT scary. missing my ex is scary, loving my boyfriend is scary. my life alone, totally doable.

i hate the fact that my boyfriend calls me out on having a big mouth, how he tries to give me pointers to make my life better. i hate it when he tells me to shower. i hate that i’m not allowed to get self-righteous on his ass, without him getting right back up in my face.

i spent twenty four years understanding that i was going to be a life long single lady. i started looking in to kittens. tried the slut thing. tried the celibate thing. and i was starting to get the hang of it.

and now here i am in a deeply commited, spiritual almost, relationship with a wonderful man who loves me enough to call me out on my bullshit. and sometimes i cry at night, because that is awfully scary.

so to my ex: i do miss you, i’m not sure what that means yet, i hope i get over it, but maybe one day we’ll just be friends. maybe, we’ll understand that are similarities were so strong that we failed to understand how our oppositions would kill us. and in that sense, just a couple kids that should have just stayed friends, but heck, we learned shit, didn’t we?

and to my boyfriend: i love you, i don’t know what it fully means yet, but i said it. i said it a lot. and it’s scary, so just don’t run away, and don’t let me run away. but just so you know, i think i’m going to have a panic attack.

i am so predictable.

and by predictable, i mean awesome.

my mom told me that those that you admire the most are, most likely, those that share the same gifts and talents that you do.

she has told me this for years, but very recently stepped into my brain and took a walk around.

i was watching sex and the city. no, please, don’t tune out now. but i was looking at those girls, carrie, samantha, charlotte and miranda. and in some sick girly way admire them all.

carrie most of all, because she gets to be a reporter of love. and that is my dream job. and it’s also what i do. i am a writer of love.

samantha because she is in PR and who wouldn’t want to socialize with the elite and plan awesome parties? it’s another one of those dream jobs, and also what i already do. i am a social butterfly, party coordinating, popular jagoff.

charlotte, because she works in an art museum, believes in a knight in shining armor, and eventually quits her job to raise a family. she holds dear, what i hold dear. beauty, romance, and family.

miranda, a lawyer. umm, hello, the only job made for a libra. what is just and pure, noble and cynical, and self deprecating. if i had money i would have already finished law school. just because i’d be really good at it.

so yes, am i really all these things? a writer, a socialite, a lover, and a lawyer? then yes, on a smaller scale i am. and if i’m okay with that small scale, i have arrived. and is small scale okay with me when i’m still a server? if i am all of this, and i make my money by waiting on a million people who don’t appreciate me, and treat as though i am nothing compared to them, am i okay?

i think people base their happiness on the way that other people view them, and not enough on how they view themselves. i am amazing. i know that, people know that. i surround myself by a few amazing people, and you are the company that you keep. but do i go to sleep thinking about how great my life is? no. i hate it, i can’t stand it.

a girl called me stupid repeatedly, and therefore i called her a cunt. maybe overreacting? maybe not, not if you really do view yourself that way, as stupid. you call me stupid, you treat me like i’m not too bright, or precious, special, or beautiful i will punch you in the face with my classy rhetoric. it’s only because i am so afraid of actually being a lesser version of a person. and my fear steals my self worth.

i wish i could write you into self worth, but i guess we can work on it together. maybe you admire someone? maybe it’s because you are everything that person is. think about it, it might make you smile.

i used to write in rhyme.

i still do. but i find myself ranting a lot more these days, and less time writing poetry. maybe i’m not crazy anymore? well i’d like to believe that, but i don’t really think that it’s totally true. i think i can explain myself better these days, that i don’t have to be all cryptic in my speech. this is nice, but a hell of a lot less creative. therefore, i’m going to write a poem.

it’s called four years in october.

four years ago i started a blog.
october 2006 to be precise.
four years ago i was an emotional wreck.
some bastard raped me, which wasn’t so nice.
i had a counselor who told me to talk.
i had a church that told me to get lost.
i was angry back then.
i wanted to kill the pain at any cost.
i was told that writing was important.
so then i figured everyone should read it.
sometimes i wrote good things.
most of the time it was emotional vomit.
things that some people have called genius.
i just called it mindless, retarded shit.
i wrote a lot in rhyme.
that way people couldn’t judge me.
i wrote a lot, all the time.
except when i was happy, or numb without feeling.
at the time i thought i was meant to be something.
sometimes i just thought.
sometimes i wanted to be happy.
because happiness is something that can’t be caught.
i’ve been wrong before.
i’ve been wrong a lot.
i’m in love with love.
because it’s something that can’t be bought.
unless you’re rich.
which i am not.
if you’ve read my words, i thank you.
the idea of you has cured my soul.
one day i hope to be published.
until then, i will quietly pursue that goal.
i will write here for years to come.
in rhyme, or just in rant.
and believe in myself and love.
except on those days that i can’t.

and the day has ended. once again.

sometimes i wake up. then i go to work. then work for 12 hours. then go home, shower, hit my pillow. dream in vivid color, in strange realities. then i wake up. then i go to work. my life is a puzzle waiting to be put together, just so it can go back in the box, and be put together over again.

sometimes it’s nice to have help putting it together.

sometimes i wonder when i eat. but i know i do, because i feel fat tonight. but sometimes i feel fat just because i feel ugly. and sometimes i feel ugly because the man i love doesn’t tell me that i’m pretty. and sometimes it makes me cry. because there is nothing better in life than being pretty. and i know that might just be me. but it might be other people too. and they’re just pretending not to care.

do you ever feel that you are making the worst mistake of your life because you’re too devoted to your own self righteousness? i know i am to devoted to myself. i hate being wrong. and sometimes i won’t let you see that side of me. because i’m basically an easy going person that admits her faults before you can. but you see, if i’m wrong about someone? that’s when it sucks for me.

how could i date a boy that every one of my friends thought was ridiculous? because i chose him before i introduced him to my friends. (and then dated him to prove a point.) and then fell for him, because i’m totally queer like that. and that’s what i do. and then we break up because i was wrong. i probably should have just admitted my wrongness in the beginning. would have saved my heart, and his. not that i actually believe i hurt his heart. unless his heart was sitting somewhere close to his pride.

but yeah, my last post was stupid. i don’t believe any of it. i mean, i believe all of it, because i wrote it, so it was in me to speak it, to write it, to believe it. but honestly, that was my logic working it’s way through my fingers. and i don’t live by logic, only sometimes. i mostly live by feeling. and i feel that there is someone that could be “the one.”

and sometimes i believe that it is the man i am dating now. and sometimes i get scared that i’m making rash decisions because i am so happy with him, that everything will fall through like it does, and i will end up old and alone. WITH A CAT.

and what if it’s me that kills it? i know there are always other ones. but please, for the sake of my point, what if it’s my fault? what if it is my hand that has destroyed every leo, virgo, or aquarius that i have been “in massive like” with. what if it was me who ran from the gemini’s, sagittarius’s, and capricorn’s, because i was afraid of something real, because it seemed like it might be too boring, or too crazy.

you know i ask these questions, but i know the answer to every one. i am the reason that these ended. mostly because i ran away. and some, the scariest thought of them all, left me alone, because i just wasn’t their “one.” and that should be okay with me.

because you don’t live life, and live it well with one foot in the door. and i have never lived that way. i have never lied and gotten away with it. i have never been someone to mask my vulnerability. and i was not born to wander the world alone. but somehow as i walk into this abyss of love, i am shaking with fear.

here i am, giving it my everything. and if it ends, i don’t want to be there alone on the floor, putting my puzzle back in the box, just so that some other man can come around and help me. when god knows he has no idea how to help me yet. and i don’t know if i would be able to teach anyone the same way i taught the man i loved.

breaking up is only painful because of the thought that things will never be the same again. and getting over it, is when you realize that you’re glad your life has changed. and this love isn’t going to die. because i’m not willing to get it over with.

my biggest fear is that i am not good enough to love. and i guess that is a fear we will always break through. because deep down i know that i’m fine. i’m just a whackjob.

The Ones.

before i write any further, there is something plaguing my mind. i’d like to ask why people still blog about cellphone use being an epidemic? i have one word for them: duh. i don’t want to read five pages of your psycho-babble (with references) to relearn what i’ve already learned in the year 2003. and if you got to write about something that already makes sense to the masses, you’re running out of ideas.

but for now i will go into what i care about. love. the love which i could have also stopped talking about in 2003.

but this is slightly different. i want to write about “the one.” i never have actually believed in “the one.” i’m kinda more love-sick than that. i just wanted to “fall in love” and “live happily ever after.” and this all has nothing to do with “the one.” so yes, i don’t believe i’ve touched on the subject.

i guess i never believed in “the one” because i never got past the fairy tale ending in my brain, and that fairy tale ending is never anything more than a first kiss. i never talked to a guy long enough to understand why cinderella might actually have problems with the man that saved her from her miserly hell hole. seriously, until i was fifteen all my friends were girls, and then when i started hanging out with boys, i kept them at a very far distance. until i turned 21, i had never actually conversed with a guy long enough to figure out if men had souls, or not.

turns out most men are soulless creatures with shallow appetites only. true story, anything they achieve, conquer, consume, or uncover is because somewhere in their gut, they grew this appetite for it. and that’s why nothing ends up being more important to them than food, beer, and sex (all things capable of confusing a man from the much larger goal). but this is why they are so good for us women.

most women (and i use that word earnestly, as i believe some women are as shallow, and instinctual as men) are so incapable of not over-thinking, over-analyzing, over-enunciating, over-communicating, over-processing, over-emoting, and over-caring, that someone needs to shut them off. and what is more qualified doing this than a kiss from a hungry man? but that one kiss does not equal happy ending, and that happy ending does not go one step further to become “the one.” this is why i never believed in the one– i never got past the happy ending in my head, to actually care about there ever being a one.

my guess is that most people view “the one” as a puzzle piece of some sort. only one man can complete one woman. but if we are so simple, the whole one thing has gotta be more simple than that. i’d like to think we each have about a million “the ones” meant for us and we can find them right next door. they just might be married, gay, perverse, shy, or blind. so ultimately in your neighborhood you will find one person that is none of those, and we could call him the one.

i think what people need to start realizing is that they are all too picky. too unable to take risks. unable to work hard at something such as a relationship, and probably too emotionally immature to take something like love on. if it makes sense, it’s probably pretty worth it. and the spark will come in time. and the best sex you ever had will come in more time. and that person will ultimately become the one, till they’re gone.

if you believe in “the one” i guarantee that you will never stop looking. you will let go at the first moment you see someone for the faults they have. and if you are dating a man or a woman you will find flaws in them. not because we are human, but because we are idiots.

i’m not saying date the first person that asks you out, and marry them in vegas. but maybe if they are emotionally, spiritually, economically, and socially on the same page as you, why do you have to run away before a chance is taken?

the point is, is that i believe that we, as people, throw a lot of good things away. we waste good things, on waiting for other things. we spend too much time on things that aren’t in our league. we don’t take a good thing and roll with it. we don’t get to know each other, before making false accusations. we fail as humanity. and this is why the divorce rate is up, and the mass population has given up on happiness.

you see, the spark you have with a new person, is the enemy. forget about the spark. forget about the fairy tale. just be true to the one your with. love them when you feel it, and don’t let that go. love is a choice you make everyday, not a feeling. “the one” is just what you make it. choosing to love someone, and getting that love back. and then sometimes the love ends. it doesn’t mean he/she wasn’t the one. it just means it didn’t last because someone wasn’t quite fit, or quite ready for the ride.

so move on, and find another one.

so happy i could cry

it’s hard to write when you’re happy. so i guess i’m happy. happy is such a silly word. it’s a wonder it’s such an acheivement. it has two of the world’s oddest letters in it. h and p. in fact, it has two p’s. so why on earth does everyone want to be happy? if i knew the answer, i guess i wouldn’t keep striving for said happiness.

i don’t know if there is something in the air, but for some fucking reason everyone seems to be treating me like i’m five. maybe i’m acting like it. maybe i’m digressing. i think everyone digresses from time to time, but i just can’t believe that it’s all on me.

when i was eighteen i had a small group of high school girl’s that i lead at church. i used to drink alcohol with them. in fact, they would supply it, i didn’t have connections and i never had a fake ID. but those girls did. and we would have a pretty good time. these were called our small group sleepovers. in fact, i would tell my superior asian man about these bonding times, and it made me look more devoted. granted, he didn’t like me that much in the first place, so it’s not like me telling him about my sleepovers boosted his confidence in me. he was a superior asian ass. and i wasn’t exactly a star performer.

i learned a lot in that time though. the whole leading a small group at my church for three years is ultimately what made me stop going to church. i was a called a rebel, an alcoholic, and a bad leader on many occasions. my peers eventually showed their true colors and decided to hate on me. my girl’s, the ones i lead always loved me and they would thank me for being there and watching over them. i was their protector, the only “adult” that they could trust. and i never got a thank you from my church. i only got critizism.

i’m not saying that i was in the right. but i only acted out of anger and resentment. my leaders never liked me no matter how hard i tried, that when my girl’s decided to party, i wasn’t about to say no. i was young too, and never entrusted with anything. and i tried many times to prove myself a good moral leader, and eventually just fell from their grace altogether when i decided to stop caring. i was forced to step down, and in it i realized how flawed people were.

not just me, the seemingly morally corrupt, minor who boozes on occasion (because i am the only one who ever did that), but they more so. because they were the pharisees. those that judged and gossiped and griped and hated. and my heart was pure. and every now and then it makes me sad to remember that story. how you can single out a girl, a girl who was at this time twenty years old, and sweep her under the rug. like she was a voice that needed sliencing, and virus that needed killing, a life that could no longer be of service to the church, because she had sinned.

and that’s fine. i’ve always been fine. i still don’t go to church, because i can’t see it’s purpose. but i protect the girls that come into my life, because i never got to finish what i started. i hardly see my old girl’s anymore, they have actually all graduated college and made it further in life than i possibly have. i wish i could have saw it through with them, but i was in the end, the one who messed up.

today a mother thanked me for taking care of her daughter last night, when no one else stepped up. and that made me really happy. so happy i could cry.