A Blog By Me

I like kids, their cute when their sleeping. They do funny things, and for no apparent reason. Sometimes I kinda wanna have one, I’ll keep it in a dog crate in the kitchen, let it out to play when I get bored or lonely, teach it tricks, maybe I’ll name it Suki.
I hate teenagers. Their stubborn, pig headed, and dumb as shit. But the thing is, they think they know it all. I was smart enough when I was that age to know I didn’t know everything, and that was pretty much it. I also spent most of my teenage years fucked up as opposed to lucid, so knowing and pretending to know was a thin line I never stepped over.

One of my friends has a younger sister who, for lack of a better term, is fucking up. Big time. It’s one thing to find weed in the sock drawer, it’s another thing to find little plastic baggies with a thin line of white powder sitting on the bottom of said empty bag. Now, teenagers are suppose to rebel blah blah fuckin blah, but as I said before, they do, and say dumb, dangerous shit. It’s a wonder they make it out of adolescence and manage to not kill themselves when they go off the collage.
Whatever. As opposed to cartin‘ Little Sister’s ass off to a rehab, the rents, asked Friend, to asked me, and another friend, to “talk” to Little Sister.
Like that’s going to accomplish anything.

So, random other friend and I went to go have a little chit chat with Little Sister, and this was pretty much the jist of the conversation.

Random Friend “So, how do you think you’ll like jail? I hate to break it to you, but coke’s illegal, and when you get caught with an illegal substance, they do this thing called “arresting”. You want that??”

Little Sister. Blank look.

Just stares right though Random Friend, who, with all intentions leading to a good cause, just isn’t reaching her. Random Friend tried several different approaches, being nice, being mean, compromising, etc. Looks over at me at one point, I just shrug, it’s frikken pointless. The kids going to use weather they like it or not. Totally pointless. All I did was reiterate what Random Friend said.
I tried. Whatever, people are going to do what they want, when they want to do it. I had friends and family that tried to do the intervention shit, it didn’t work. I did what I wanted. I don’t want this chick to do this, she seems like a bright girl, but she’s either going to figure it out before its too late, or she won’t and then you just have another sad junkie who’s under the age of 21. That’s how shit works. It sucks, it really fucking sucks. But you can’t control someone.

I wish I could have done or said something that could make this chick stop doing that she’s doing. I’m not a professional, neither is Random Friend. There is nothing in the world that i hate more is when I actually get the energy to get up off my ass and try and help someone, and I just get this look in return. After about thirty minutes of getting no where, I just finally left, the girl had a thousand yard stare that was startin to kinda creep me out. Then I thought about it, and realized that the little shit was fucking high as a kite. Dude, when you ask two friends to talk to your little fucking sister about using, how about you at least make the fucking effort to make sure shes not stoned outta her fuckin‘ tree when said friends come over. Jesus.
The chick needs to be in rebab, it’s never too soon. People have this illusion that when you go to rehab is when you hit rock bottom. Which is true, but it’s a pretty good slap in the face for some who are starting to head down the wrong path. That and there is nothing a good ass kickin‘ won’t fix. Getting to rock bottom is almost as bad as when you hit it. Actually, it’s just as bad.

1. How/why did you start blogging. What is your favorite blog piece all (that you wrote). Why is it your favorite (be sure to link it up so any relative “newbies” can read it).

I have always loved writing, it’s all I have ever really wanted to do. But since dreams and happy shit like that doesn’t pay my car insurance or buy me shoes, it’s something that never really got off the ground so to speak. I started blogging back in July because I was really just bored, (and Ex was kinda hounding me to do something with it) with what I was and wasn’t doing as far as the creative process goes. It’s since, obviously taken on a life of its own. As far as my favorite post would have to be Blue’s Game. It’s my last happy memory with my friend Kyle, and it pretty much sums up the relationship between the two of us, sometimes we were in a suspended dream like state, and then some irrelevant variable would come slamming into us.

2. How did you come up with your alias? Is there any deep meaning assigned to it?
Heh. It’s actually a funny story. Kinda. I actually wrote about it a wicked long time ago, I’ll just give y’all a brief overview of it. I got into a huge cat fight with another dancer at a club a use to work at, lots of hair pulling, drinks were tossed in faces, faces stomped in with five inch heels. I ended up in the E.R with a fucked up rotator cuff, and on the way home, Ex said something to the extent of “Your my Angry Ballerina”. It’s stuck ever since.

3. You have a great “take no shit” attitude that I just love. You also have a maturity and deepness well beyond your years (as many have pointed out). What event(s) in your life helped shape who you are today? Who was/were your role model(s)?
I think that there were a quite a few events that got me to where I am today, both good and bad. One of the more pivotal events was when I was about 19, I overdosed, it wasn’t the first time I had overdosed, but it was at a time where I was pretty much at my rock bottom, life was just killing me, so I felt that if it was going to hurt this bad, I may as well just…Do it…Make it all stop. Looking back on it now, I don’t think it was intentional, but I know I wanted the bullshit to stop, and made a deliberate decision to push the envelope, and kill it all. And I succeeded too. I was found, medics were called and I was given an aggressive dose of narcan which, if it wasn’t the overdose, it was the therapy that made my heart stop. The days that followed were either really hazy, or just so painful I wished I was dead. I eventually got over it, moved on, got the help I needed, etc, but I remember when I was in the hospital, just staring at the fucking ceiling just thinking “I’m so much better than this shit, fuck it.” I decide that if life, or whatever, was going to keep throwing shit at me, I was going to take it, roll with what ever punches I needed, and flip off the world with a smile on my face. Life is short, even shorter for those on borrowed time. I also listen to everyone, and everything. As far as a role model goes I had two. Both of my mothers, one to set an example of how I wanted my life to be like, and one to set and example of how I never want it to be. My adopted mother is more than just me mum, she’s one of my best friends, and I really do owe a lot of my life to her. My biological mother, god bless her soul, had a very tragic life, and at times I can see my life paralleling hers. Failure is not an option. It never was for me.

4. Again with the tough attitude - we have seen signs of softness underneath. What just melts your heart and turns you into a squishy ball of goo?
You mean aside from all the fucking rainbows, lolipops and drowned kitties? I have to admit, it’s usually an orgasm. Ok, a serious answer is kids. To be more exact, infants, (I really fucking hate kids, I love babies) there really isn’t a word you can put on looking down at something that small, and that fragile (and sometimes that ugly), and you just sit there and look at it. Everything is ok. People dying, the life’s been recycled, it’s beautiful. And then they puke all the fuck over you, and you get to hand them back to their ashamed parents.

5. (I’m asking everyone this one): If you could sit across from Dumbya, have a “conversation” with him, what would you say? How do you think he would respond?
Heh, nice question…My first gut instinct when answering this would be something along the line of
“Fuck talking to that stupid cunt, I’m gonna kick his goddamn teeth in, then he’ll have a general idea of how much pain he has caused.”

But then that little thing called reasonable intelligence kicks in. I don’t really know if I would actually be able to sit down with that man. I don’t think I could trust myself to say anything reasonably intelligent. It would probably sound something like “Fuckitty fuck fuck, you fucking fuck head, what makes you fucking think your above the law? God doesn’t grant you the right to take the lives of thousands all for the sake of money.”
And then I would take a bath in bleach.

Ya’ll know the rules, if you want me to send you an e-mail, post it.

So, I checked technorati the other day, and had two pleasant surprises;

1. Cap’n Dyke linked me. Cool. I clicked over, and to my amusement, and slight delight came across this post. I had no fuckin clue. This bitch has game.

2. I got nominated for a thinking blogger award by White Noise Insanity. Damn. Technically, I think it may be my second, but I don’t really count Evil Spock’s thrashing to be all that to brag about. Fuckin tool….

So, this is how it plays out assholes, the following are blogs that I read on a daily basis, and for whatever fuckin reason make me go “Heeeeeh” Which is closely related to “Hrmmm” more easily confused with “Huh…”

Oi, this is how it goes..

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the ‘Thinking Blogger Award’ with a link to the post that you wrote.

• my Thinking Spot- Supergirliest has this uncanny ability to deliver with a punch. Shes soft some days, hard others, much like the guy who I was seeing last week, me thinks he needs Cialis. Or maybe I just need to sleep with people my own age and not 10 or so years my senior……Anyway, right, she’s got her shit together, shes intelligent, witty, and keeps her posts together, and drives her points home with a stake. She also reminds me of my real life best friend Leah. I’m not sure if that’s such a great thing.
• Princess Banter- No shit, this bitch thinks like I do, and writes like I wish I could. I read her words everyday, and smile when she hits a homer. It’s good to know that there are others out there who think alike.
• The Birth Of Sanity- Oh Pri…There is nothing like reading someones words who are a whole fucking world away that puts your shit in perspective. Pri’s smart, quick, and for lack of a better word, compassionate. She wrote a post a while back that totally knocked me on my ass, I totally have penis envy when she does she like that. Keep it up.
• Politits- Now, you take a southern belle, and raise her up north and you get one angry lil bitch, BUT, you take a southern belle, and you give her a southern blog to read, and you get a happy little bitch. Politits makes me want to care about politics, of only because she makes them interesting when she writes about them. Not because she’s got a set of mammaries that could crack nuts. Are those real???
• House of the Rising Sons-Fuck man, I normally look to the opposite sex as shit sludge on the bottom of my shoe (unless I need to get laid, then their sweet as sugar), but this guy actually has some fuckin’ I.Q. And he can write.

I get over to my friend Josh’s house, and find him in the kitchen with his head on the table, turned to one side, smushing the side laying on the table. Getting eye level with him, he opens one eye, then closes it.

“What’s up? You okay?” Says I

“Will knocked up Cassidy.” He says, turning his head so his forehead is pressed on the table top.

“Eww…..Did you place on him?” I ask

“Uh huh….Yea….About one fifty.“

“Smart…“

“Well I kinda figured when he found out he had herpes he wouldn’t go fuckin‘ his girlfriend with out a condom. It seemed like a safe bet.” He shrugs

This is what happens when you make stupid bets on people. Myself, I tend to bet on who’s going to have kids. Not who’s going to remain a bachelor for the rest of his days. You have to take into account of your friends ages and the fact that most o them have got steady relationships, meaning, one day, Little Miss Suzie is gonna be pointing at her little biological clock with a nasty disposition.

“Well, how far along is she? She may decide to hit the abort key or something“

“It’s a girl, they already have a name and shit picked out. I don’t think she’s going to opt for an abortion. Dude, it’s like, all my friends are getting married and having kids. Like, look at Doan, goes to work, goes home to be with Delvin. Like the guy hasn’t been on a date since last fucking fall. Like, does the guy even miss sex?“

“I’m sure Doan has sex Josh” God I miss him….

“Hookers don’t count.“

“Thanks.“

“You don’t count.“

I sit there and fiddle with the T.V remote that’s sitting on the table.

“Uh, well, I guess when you get to a certain age, you find that your priorities are different then when your my age I guess.” It’s the best I can do….

“Heh, honey your like four years younger than me, and five years younger then Will. Cassidy’s twenty four.” He sits there for a little bit “I duno, I’m just bummed all my friends are moving on and shit. Like it hurts more then when they move away, at least when their not here, you don’t have to see how much their lives suck.”

Now it’s my turn to put my head down on the table.

“Your so poetic.“

“Oh right, like you don’t feel bad for Doan or Jesse now that they have kids and shit. All the toys and shit all over the place at the house, it’s depressing!”

“This is why you don’t bet on your friends lives, it’s depressing as fuck, and it bums me to out too,” I get up from the table and open up the refrigerator. “How long has this O.J been in here?“

“I duno, try some, if you die I make my money back on Will.“

I sniff it, take a swig, and spit it into the sink.

“DID YOU FUCKING PEE IN THAT?!“

“Hrmm, no but I spit the milk back into the carton.“

“Lets get you a vasectomy so you don’t breed.“

“Yes lets. Did you bet on Will?“

“No, I tried to be a little on the smart side and keep it to arrests and deaths. I made out like a bandit when you got arrested.” Says I

“Good to know, you need to hurry the fuck up and die so I can collect.” Was his loving retort

It really burns my ass when I get the “But your only 22, you have your whole life ahead of you” line.
WHOA! I’M 22?! HOLY FUCKIN SHIT MAN. I had no clue. None, zip, zilch.
Christ, I forget that I was only born in 1985, and graduated from high school less than 4 years ago. Thanks for keying me in into this little known fact.
Idiots.
Here’s the thing people, when you say shit like that to someone who knows they are smarter than you, it only makes you look like a pompous asshole,and severely damages your image it the eyes of said 22 year old.

I’m in pissy fucking mood. It took me an hour and a FUCKING half to get to work today(usually takes me about 45 min), which is fucking pay fucking day, and I fucking get here, and my fucking pay check isn’t here.
Dude.
When you work 40-50 hours a fucking week, and have to deal with the stupid ass fucking people that walk in here, and on top of that, COMMUTE AND HOUR TO FUCKING WORK, I THINK IT’S SAFE TO FUCKING SAY HAVING MY PAYCHECK ON TIME ISN’T ASKING FOR THE FUCKING MOON OR ANYTHING.
Jesus H. Christ on raft.
I am not clocking in until
1. I have my paycheck in my hands.
2. Someone brings my a cup of coffee (John….or Daniel…..)
3. Boss Man stops undressing me with his eyes.

That being written, spell checked, and posted, I’m going to go swear my size three ass off at Boss Man. And not get fired. Because I’m that fucking good at what I do.

…I want….to kill….something…..dead…..very dead…..like a kitten……

Nothing dramatic or Earth shattering happend. The sun didnt fall out of the freakin sky, I didnt get into a fight with anyone. Quite the opposite, everyone has been really nice to me latley, which makes me think two thing:

1. They know something I don’t.

2. Something bad is going to happen.

Fuck off, I’m happy with my pessamistic views on shit. Fisherman called me yesterday just to say how much he loved me. Aw. Waitress cooked me food for the week. Yay. BF#1 brought me coffee and a flower yesterday at work. I didnt deserve it, I’ve been treating him they way someone else has been treating me, like shit smeared on the bottom of your shoe. My friend Ben took me out last night to the drive in, and paid. I don’t get it. Am I cracking up or something? Is it written all over my fucking face? Why is everyone being so freakin nice?

I woke up the other night with a lead weight in my stomach, cravings though the roof. Normally I smoke a cigarette, flip on the t.v and just try and occupy my mind until they pass, which they inevitably do. BF#1 ended up staying up with me again, making me feel all the more guilty about how this shit is still, even after X amount of time clean, affecting the people I care about. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t get scared, just sits there and listens. Good guy, I’m lucky to have him. Went down with him to one of the beaches to watch the sunrise, seen one, you’ve seen em all. One of my friends said that the thing he feared the worst was going insane. What’s infuckingsane? I think Einstein said that doing something over and over again expecting difference results is considered insanity, if I am wrong, correct me. If so, I guess I was insane when i was using. Maybe I still am for expecting different feelings, and reactions from people, just not to the degree I once was.
Crankin’ DMX and Faith Evans “I miss you.”
“Baby it’s going to be ok”
Everything is so up in the air right now, I try to keep myself one step ahead of the game, keep planning ahead to keep my options open, but either way I look at it, it’s out of my control. I can plan my spending for a year, I can keep my routines that keep me safe and clean. I need my life to be the way it is now. I look at other junkies in recovery and active and my stomach drops, so scared I’ll hit the bottom again and lose it all. Failure is not an option here. It’s funny how the one thing that can scare you the most is yourself. Some are afraid of heights, the dark, speeding trains, and I’m scared of a tiny pin prick followed by a rush of warmth and numbness. I refuse to let it happen. I would rather die than go through that shit ever again.

The joys of being a twenty something, the whole fucking world is my goddamn oyster and I hate shellfish.

It’s slow today at the store, so I’m doing what I do best. Nothing. A lot of you gave me a lot of plugs over my last post, than I thank you. I really didn’t think at the time that it would hit so many, in such a way. Moving on. I was reading Pam’s blog and saw the 12 min trailer for “Sir!No Sir!” I’ve heard about it, and seen it around, but haven’t ever sat down and actually read about the movie, or watched it. I’m not a political person. I have my passions, and I don’t want this shit to be one of them. I have my opinions about whats going on in the real world, I let them be know. But, there are somethings that sit in the back of my head all day, Iraq and all the fucked up shit in the world is a major part of it. The link below was my ticket to freedom. I can’t believe I’m about to post this shit.

GI Rights.org is a non profit NON governmental organization that provides information about military discharges, grievance and complaint procedures, and other civil rights for service men and women. The calls are free, they are also (unless proven otherwise) confidential. They are there to help you, and they don’t judge. Their advice is clear cut, and they don’t bullshit around.

While I do not, under any circumstances, condone going AWOL, or UA, for those who find themselves in the military with no one to turn to, sometimes this is the best you can get.

However, part of me feels that when you say the following words, ““I, _____, do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.”
They had better fucking mean it. This isn’t a nine to five where you sit on your ass all day and blog and talk about senseless crap, it’s a huge fucking responsibility.

When you make this voluntary committal to this country, you had better sit your ass down and think about it. However. What happens when the Constitution and the rights of Americans are being attacked and violated by an American?

Then said individual has merit to say “Hey you know what, this isn’t just morally wrong, but shit, it’s illegal too, fuck it.”

Time to leave.

When you just interested in sex….do NOT say the following:

1. “We “fit” really well together.” huh?

2. “Maybe I’ll head down to Georgia with you..Seems like a nice place, be even better with you.” THAT’S NOT WHAT YOU SAY DICKHEAD

3. “Sooooo, I take it you DON’T want kids.” Ok, this is THE phrase you DO NOT say directly after having sex. It’s much akin to a chick bursting into tears after sex. It’s scary, unwarranted, and just plain freaky.

I could go on and on. But really, don’t fuck with chicks heads, it isn’t smart, or nice, and there is such a thing as karma. And a cup of hot coffee that may or may not end up in your face.

end note.

After a nine and a half hour pull at work, stubborn customers, crass remarks at the hands of overzealous lesbians, and a terrible argument with Boss Man over the phone, I had two choices, drink myself into a sweet oblivion, and wake up with a regret stuck in the back of my throat, or go shopping. I went shopping. There are some regrets these days I can live with out alcohol induced or otherwise.
Standing at a kiosk selling wears of “rare” turquoise and lapis rings (please I saw these things in TF Green last month) I spot a Jarhead, about my age, canvassing. I can’t help but not stare at how young this kid is. Squared off, proud of his 13 week accomplishment at Parris Island, a windbreaker adorned with the and anchor. He’s being chatted up by a group of tan preppy girls, who look like they are right about the age of sophomore year in high school. I don’t know who to pity more, the young Marine, or the group of girls vying for his phone number. Such an impressionable age. Who knows what recruiter told this kid to get him to join. I remember my own recruiter, his cars, his clothes. His actions. He was very good at what he did. He knew how to give an illusion of success, and how to sweet talk his way out of responsibility. Through his actions, and my own, he went down in flames, and took me with him. It happens, I made my choice, Ex made his, and this kid has also.
I wonder though, if this kid has this image of how Iraq, or getting shot at in general is like? Does he think, because he went thought basic, that in the event of open fire, he will be able to keep a level head? He seems so sure of himself here, safe, on an island jutting out into the Atlantic, a world away from a future job.
“The nights here arnt what you may expect them to be. Long stretches of quiet, broken by pop pop pops. Sometimes their close, most of the time too far away to care. But you still hear them”

This sudden onset leaves me feeling rather stingy, I leave the knockoffs at the kiosk, and walk away. Young blood looks me up and down as I walk by, I smile, the favors returned. He seems like he could be a sweet kid, the kind that should be marrying his high school sweetheart, or some cliche like that. Not walking around, being paraded by a symbol of freedom that doesn’t exist anymore. Does he know what he is doing? Does he care about what is going to happen to him? Does he know? I keep what happen to Ex close to my chest, it’s not my story to tell in reality. I found myself at dinner a few days ago with an overly opinionated drunk accountant who felt the blood of innocent Iraqi’s fell on the hands of our soldiers. I unfortunately had to sit there, and listen to this for about ten long minutes until I excused myself from the table, and Doan told him that the blood of Iraqi innocents doesn’t fall on the hands of an entire occupational force, just a few bad apples. And then from what I found out later, he told him that the chick who just left the table (me) had a former who was critically injured while serving in the line, and should he feel like continuing his misinformed verbal assault on the memories of those who are lost, he would simply shove his foot up his ass. I think I gave that conversation as much justice as possible with out actually being there.

I’m sitting here, chain smoking cigarettes that cost me just over six bucks a pack, typing on a computer that cost me about two months pay, living in a cottage (barn actually) that costs me about a months pay. And I’m safe. No one is going to shoot at me tonight, or plant IEDs on the road so when I go to work, I trigger them. This occupation is over. We lost. There is no more. It just hurts to watch the t.v, to skim over the articles, and see again and again, how much this war cost. Its not the money. But that’s what it boils down to isn’t it? Cash flow? How much is that kid worth? How much is Ex worth? If I had stayed, how much would I be worth? I will gladly pay double the price of gallon for gas, I would gladly do that if this would stop. It’s over. It’s been lost from the beginning. Nothing has been accomplished, it started with men women and children dying in a single scream caught in the back of your throat, and it’s going to end with men women and children dying in the same breath.

Hey you know what asshole, so does everyone else in the fucking world. Jesus H. Christ on a raft. Get the fuck over yourself and take some fucking Prozac. You know what I miss dickhead? I miss when I could sleep until noon on a fucking Saturday and not have to worry about bills, car insurance or my friends sending me pictures of fucking midgets in an e-mail. I also miss the days where it didn’t matter if you ate a whole pint of Ben and Jerry’s (Half Baked thank you very fucking much) and not agonize over the calorie intake. I also miss being at the age where you can run around naked on a hot summer day and not get the cops called on you. Emo bitch.