Monthly Archive

sometimes i like to make lists. lists of facts, lists of ideas, lists of things to do, lists of my top five favorite songs of all time, lists of lists that i have made.

i like to read lists too. i just read “the fifty things a guy needs to know about girls.” i got a lot out of it, obviously, considering i agreed with it all- and i thought, “hey every guy should read this.” then, i almost reposted it on facebook. but soon after reading it, i figured that the only people to read it would be girls, and they would say things to me like, “every guy needs to know this!” and i’d have to respond to them or something. and i just don’t have the time. plus i don’t think guys read lists. because i really don’t think they care. it be another one of those things girls do to preach to the choir.

i would imagine that if a guy out there had a crush on me, he might want to read something about me. like a list. maybe a list of my favorite places, favorite movies, a list of random facts… but then i stop and think. no one really cares, let alone guys.

men don’t give a shit about what you like, and you’re lucky when they remember your birthday.

i so badly want to make a list right now. i might later. write it on a scrap piece of paper and throw it away after i read it and realize, that yes, this is an honest, factual list. i’d start with the things i’ve done, like how i’ve watched every episode of sex and the city, how i went to california and new york last year, how i dance in my car when i’m by myself and i do think i’m the shit when i do it.

later, i might go on and make a list of what i like in a guy. i made one of these in highschool, and no joke, it got up to 200 things. i was picky then, didn’t want to waste my time on a ‘non-perfect man,’ now i’m just alone. with no practice. no feelings that i am able to comprehend. i guess i should have practiced my hand on the dumbasses. but it’s too late now. i never went to prom, never practiced kissing underneath the bleachers, never cared for someone.  and now i don’t know real love from lust, don’t know friend from fuck. don’t know.

tonight, i might make a list of things i should do before spring break ends- like my taxes. and how maybe i should study for a test. and how maybe i should work out a little more. or maybe i should stop crying all the time. that would be a good list. but just thinking about making that list makes me want to vomit. and i’ve puked too much already this week.

a little side note: my dad’s sister died yesterday. so he and my mom are in florida for the week. i feel bad for my dad, though i didn’t know what to say to him. i said i’m sorry. i guess that’s what you say. and now i’m home, by myself, and i feel alone. i’m not sad about my aunt dying. though i should be. i’m not hungry, i’m not tired, i’m not anxious. i’m just alone right now. i hate this feeling. i feel worthless. common. disabled. good for nothing. numb. loveless. annoying. fat. ugly. short haired lesbian looking stupid cunt.

i just spent an hour looking at pictures of this guy i used to love and his current girlfriend. what good does that do me? all i did was think about how unattractive she is, and how she probably isn’t as witty, intelligent, and original as i am. i don’t even like this guy anymore. so why waste my time you ask?

i think that after awhile you just start to wonder why in 22 years, you weren’t good enough for any one person you decided to let your heart love.

it’s not healthy to turn the reasons you suck into a list, but i might try tonight.

the second love of my life. i was eight, he was ten. his name was matthew. he was tall. blonde hair, blue eyes. he lived on a farm on the outskirts of springfield, il. i knew him for the four years i lived there in the “city” of springfield. his voice was deeper than most men, i think he hit puberty when he was seven, and if i remember correctly, he might have had facial hair. at least in my memory he did, he was perfect.

on my birthday he took me on his horse. the horse’s name was sam. it was the first time i rode one, i loved horses more than anything. they were the first thing i taught myself to draw- majestic, strong, and beautiful. i remember that riding on that horse hurt immensly, but matt had his skinny arms around me, and they felt so safe, so i pretended like i was fine. he rode up to this little barn at the end of his land, he got off the horse and helped me off. we walked up the ladder and sat on the roof of the barn, in the hay, looking at the sky. we talked about god, horses and creeks. he loved creeks. he and my brother would take their sling shots and kill squirrels. if one of them got hurt they would run to me so that i could fix them. i wanted to marry him. i would have too, if he would’ve taken me.

his dad died when he was eleven. i saw him cry. which in turn made me cry. but he was so strong, he never once was embarrassed that he cried. he never let that turn him into something else. most guys close up, he never did.

the older he got, the taller he got. the lower his voice got. the last time i saw him, i was eighteen, he was married, and his voice was LOW. i didn’t love him anymore, but i do know, that if i had to choose the best date of my life, it would have been my birthday- when he took me on his horse, and talked to me like i was his friend, like he cared.

“i’m afraid of heights, matt.”
“if you’re gonna fall, i’ll catch you.”

i almost jumped out of the barn to see if he would. but i knew i didn’t have to, he was the only guy i’ve ever trusted.

this thirty-two year old bartender i worked with at fridays last year, told me that she didn’t understand why anyone bothered smoking in the winter, “really it’s lame, i should just quit when it starts to get cold. you don’t smoke? you think you’re better then us? if you wanna talk to people and know them you should take it up for the summer, thats where we talk.” i told her i’d rather run on my days off. she rolled her eyes to my face.

she then told me that she “owned the bar” and that if i did anything wrong, i might as well give up and go home. i stared deeply into her brown eyes and deep wrinkles, wondering how long i had to maintain eye contact, before i was allowed to walk away and roll my eyes. she had yellow teeth and frizzy hair. she told me her regulars were what kept her there. thats when i woke up.

i drove home that night at two in the morning, wondering why anyone would ever work at a resturant as long as she did. why they would be okay calling it their life. why they would get pleasure out of yelling at a new bartender because she cleaned a scooner the wrong way.

i quit soon thereafter. if i was going to have a job, it was going to be easy, mindless, and not FRIDAYS. i took my old job back, and registered for classes at some community college in the northwest suburbs of chicago.

i started smoking again for the winter. i also broke five scooners when that thirty-two year old bartender wasn’t looking. she would’ve been so disapointed on both counts.

the moral of the story, because there isn’t one, is that sometimes it takes seeing someone who resembles your future, to make you run the other way. this ugly, old, wrinkly, fake tanned, yellow-toothed bartender might have been me in ten years. well not completely, she was married with two kids.

i am currently listening to kylie minogue. i don’t really know why. i thought i was smarter than that.

in front of me is a couch. it’s tan. it has tan pillows. it has a brown blanket. the table in front of me is wood. oak, or something. the blanket beneath my feet is earth tones to match the green walls that were there before my grandmother arrived.

she didn’t always live in wisconsin. in fact for a lot of my young life she lived down the street. i would go over with my brother and two sisters (pre-adoption days), every saturday, so my parents could learn to love each other again. there i ate macaroni and cheese and watched speed racer until two in the morning.  there i was allowed one can of sprite.  sometimes i’d get two.  sometimes i’d watch my grandma’s movies instead of cartoon network. 

sometimes, i would go over after school to babysit my cousins for 10 whole dollars.

My cousins moved there after the trailer they were living in burned down, because of some chemical reaction to the pepper spray used by the police when arresting my uncle for beating his wife. This was some time ago. since then, i doubt my cousin would ever think to call the cops on his dad again. not since he’s been molested by his mom, and learned that sometimes the best option is to remain silent.

this did happen in illinois, not wisconsin. but it seems the majority of my family has fled here. things are more accepted. things like driving slow in the left lane, and coming to complete pauses at yield signs.

i have stories i could tell you. but when you ask, i’m not always going to offer up my information. the only stories i have are the bad ones.

i miss my cousins. there are four i used to babysit. i hated babysitting them, because they were well, messed up. but there were times that they were just kids. they were sweet. they were normal.  some had more adhd then others, but they weren’t lost souls yet… i haven’t seen them in seven years.

so now i sit in wisconsin. in my grandma’s house. smells like marlboro menthol ultra lights, just like it did before. looks like tan and brown, just as it always has. the walls are covered with skeletons that we all pretend to see as innocent photographs- as they’ve always been. my senior picture is nowhere to be found amongst the grown cousins. i’m a little excited for that. it almost makes me not exist here.

but i do.

you can’t escape the family you were born from. no matter how hard you try. they’re behind you. and somehow when they’re not there you miss them. and then i do wish my senior picture was on the wall, so that when my cousin’s come over, and i’m far away again, they will remember that i exist. and that when i think about them, i cry. because i know my love for them won’t save their life. they are a victim of the family just like i am.

i feel bad for only telling you a small fraction of the stories i could.  but then again, you’d probably not believe me anyway.

my family is more fucked up than yours.

by the format

Well you stole my stole my heart
Me, I stole your innocence
Well age just ain’t so easy to replace
And you’re bitter cause I always win
So how do you make up for it?
Go ahead, sleep with every boy in town
But you’re not a whore, you just don’t know who you are

You’re not a whore, you just don’t know who you are

Oh Friday night get ready for the bright lights
When Sunday comes you’ll make a good excuse
You know that he’s never gonna call you back
But you’re young
So what have you got to lose?
You’re not a whore, you just don’t know who you are

You’re not a whore, you just don’t know

Well you stole my stole my heart
Me, I stole your innocence
Age just ain’t so easy to replace
And you’re bitter cause I always win
So how do you make up for it?
Go ahead, sleep with every boy in town

Well last we talked you were you were slitting your wrists
But I’m still convinced we’re gonna get hitched
If only I could learn to to forgive and forget
You’re not a whore, you just don’t know who you are

Everybody knows somebody,
Big deal, big deal.

i’ve found myself calling/writing guys, that i used to date, like, or know, waiting for one of them to tell me they are still in love with me. a couple still do love me. but it doesn’t make me feel any better, i still know that i never loved them.

i’m addicted to being alone. sometimes when i’m sleeping and there is someone near by i will groan for no reason. i’ll catch myself doing this and realize that the groan was anger towards someone, constantly waking me up, just because they’re there. who sleeps well with someone else there? i never have. who lives well, with someone else there? i don’t know how.

not talking about friends. i have a lot of friends, and a few good ones that i want near me. but i couldn’t imagine needing someone, loving someone, and being there for someone at all times. All shit on the table, and all love aside, but you do love this person– maybe you’re in love with this person. but what is in love? i don’t know. i really don’t. i know a few people that think they’ve been in love with anyone with a pulse. i know some other people who wouldn’t admit love if it slapped them in the face a thousand times over. i know i’m not apathetic towards love, i think about it every second, and double that if i have the time. but i still don’t understand what it is.

cliche as it sounds.

i don’t think you can be in love with someone you’ve known for three months. but then what do i know? i’ve never known it. i don’t think sex is love, but i think it clouds people’s minds. i one time thought i liked this twenty-nine year old professor that i made out with in madison. all i did was make out with him. but i still was confused. i think we all get confused. but sometimes the confusion is lovely.

i’d like to be confused with someone just as confused as me. that would be sweet. we could make out and wonder what the other person really felt, but still know the feelings were mutual. hold hands on the couch. giggle. throw food at each other. question everyday whether or not he is the right one.

sounds stellar.

no joke. i kinda wished strange love existed in my life.

i’ve had a lot of unfinished business. i’d like to think that if i died today on the way to work, i would become a ghost and haunt people. there would be some lucky people out there, getting to be haunted by me.

yesterday my english teacher told me that i should be published. that i have a lot of knowledge and experience in writing well. he’s a little off, because where i write a lot, and have experience, i do not write well. maybe he knows something that i’m not particularly inclined to know. i wish i knew what others know to be true about me. he told me i’d get an A in the class, which is awesome, because i’m always late and i miss class all together, about half the time.

people tell me i’m pretty, but if i don’t hear it everyday, i start to doubt it. i’m such an insecure, little twenty-two year old fuck.

all i want is to be left alone, but i hate when people actually do. don’t call me, because i don’t want to have to call you back. but if you don’t call me, you must not love me, and therefore i suck. i have two contradicting personalities, actually i might have seven. i’m not bi-polar, i have dissociative identity disorder.

i ran the majority of the chicago marathon, and when i say majority i mean they cancelled it in the middle, so i had to walk six miles, or i’d be arrested, or looked down upon, or something. now i’m going to run the majority of the san francisco marathon. and when i say majority, i mean when we run over the golden gate bridge i’m going to throw myself in the water.

…then become a ghost and haunt people.

i used to have this severe power of being able to make anyone hate me just by talking to me. it was strange, nowadays, i assume thats not the case, but it could be. you never know. i often times talk to people like they are dumber than i, mostly because they are. i know a lot about everything, and if i don’t know something, i’ll google it, or pretend i know and make up shit. my friend dana hated this about me, and always used to ask, “how do you know this? is this a fact?” and she hated my answers of, “it should be a fact,” or “i just know it, because it makes sense,” or “i may not really know, but it’s probably right.”

i’d haunt dana by whispering sweet random nothing facts in her ear at night. she’d probably think it was witchcraft, cause she lives in honduras. oh, wait that’s haiti. whatever, i don’t know much about honduras. she’s got me on that one. when i see her, i ask her how it feels to sleep under grass and dirt huts and swat flies from her face. she looks at me like i’m mental. i guess she has a maid, even. i don’t understand why, if you lived in a mud hut, you’d actually need a maid.

i have a membership to lifetime fitness. it’s fun. i watch a lot of fox news, law and order, and the biggest loser all through closed captions. i’ve never watched so much tv in my entire life. it gives new meaning to being a couch potato. i don’t watch tv when i’m doing nothing. when i do nothing, i really do nothing.

one day, after i do all this school stuff, and live my life being poor, i’m going to make a lot of money. it’s just obvious. i will one day be able to support myself and a bunch of other people. it’s nice to think about, but for my twenties it will not be the case… i’m going have to serve/bartend at some lame old bottom of the barrel resturant chain in hoffman estates. i might get a job as a starbucks barista soon. i’d save about 10,000 a year on coffee. no joke. i’m sick.

when i die, you will know me by the starbucks cup in my right hand, and the witty ghostly dialogue coming from my see-through mouth. hopefully i get to keep my pretty, dark-brown, flowing tresses. i love you all.

love, me.