So, today Nowhereville had its own little game of Humans vs Zombies. Held at the one place large enough to accommodate such a massive amount of zombies, it was meant to be a day of fun, adrenaline rushes, and good, wholesome zombie killing action. I had successfully persuaded the good ol' boy toy into coming along (although he's not much of one to do these sort of things). In retrospect, BAD IDEA.
So our story begins when I arrived home from a hard day's work. I was previously told that in order to do anything (although zombie killing was not mentioned of quite yet), I had to actually do a bit of homework and finish reading part 1 of Beloved (quick side note: amazing book, I suggest it for a good read). So, in a very Lauren-ish fashion, I scanned through what I already knew, and only read the seemingly important parts. I finished the task quite quickly (although slow enough that I was now already late) and went to inform the madre of where I was headed to. This is the first downer of the day. She, as she seems to always do, throws a fit about me driving all the way downtown, like it's some feat that I can't accomplish on my own. So I fight back, stating that it's not far at all, the big game is on tonight so there'll be no traffic to or from, and that I'm old enough to do things by myself without her needing to throw a hissy fit. She eventually gives in (now that I'm a nice 35 minutes late) and I set out on my way. Here's the kicker: I have never driven downtown and don't know where to park or anything. Which is where we come to fiasco numero dos.
I find my way downtown and exit off onto 3rd Street. The waterfront (where we're holding this mass attack) is behind me closer to 2nd and 1st Street, and I'm on a one way. Long, epic story short, I drive around literally in a circle for about an hour and a half, drive through a parking garage and ask where the nearest ATM is, drive around for another half hour trying to find a) said ATM, and b) a place to park long enough so that I can get money out to then pay for a parking spot, find a broken meter and book it to a totally different ATM, drive around for another 10 minutes trying to relocate the parking garage, pay, park, walk for 20 minutes in the wrong direction, turn around, walk another 20 minutes in the right direction, all the while trying to call my boyfriend who, although said he was going to be late but wasn't, is totally useless in helping through all of the previously mentioned fails. *takes breath* Now... now that I've finally found my boyfriend and his friend that I had no idea was coming along, we begin the fun part: Zambie Killing!!
Death to zombies and then death to humans goes on for a few hours, growing less and less organized and more and more like an actual zombie apocalypse, but I'm enjoying every minute of it. Cody, however, is growing a lot less interested. Now, this could be due to the fact that I came very unprepared: I had no Nerf weapon, no bandanna to identify me with, no socks, nothing; I had to resort to using his bandanna while he used his socks (which were previously zombie killing weapons) as a bandanna, and to stealing his Nerf sword for protection. I eventually found myself a Nerf gun, but I insisted on keeping the sword too.
So the night drifts onward, and a third game comes around, with a now smaller playing field (we couldn't use a certain area as a safe zone any longer). So humans became zombies much faster than before, which was fine because I was now part of the zombie hoard. Cody was too, although somewhere along the way he managed to lose his socks turned bandanna. Now, this didn't start off to be a problem, until someone noticed and asked him where his bandanna was. The Final Fail of the Night: Cody vs random guy vs Lauren. Ding ding! Go!
He and Cody got into it about the bandanna until it eventually ended with a big "Fuck you, man" coming from Cody. I, however, was in the background while this quarrel was taking place beckoning Cody to chill and just find another bandanna or something. It was just a game after all, nothing to get pissed off about. But no, he has to take it a step further after I pull him away from a fight about to happen.
"I would still have my bandanna if you hadn't taken it."
I'm sorry, you didn't want to play in the first place, so why all of a sudden now? So I tell him fine, he can have his bandanna, I'm through with tonight (for the record, he's always like this: pessimistic, ready to fight about anything, just a total downer. It really starts to piss me off, i.e. tonight). I tell him to hand over my keys, that I'm walking back to my car and leaving. Well, what does he do? Follows me, tries to ask me what's wrong (as if he couldn't tell), and then throws a sword at a wall after I ignore him, dodge past people to avoid him, and keep walking.
I don't know what it is, but I'm slowly falling out of love with him. Every little thing that he does pisses me off. I'd like to just throw the blame on something else (PMS, depression, my finicky personality) but no matter what, I know it's just something about him. The problem is, I don't know what specifically. Like, tonight I know it's because of his attitude and his pessimism that brought me down when I was having fun. He turned something that I had looked forward to for a couple of weeks now into a full blown disaster. But other times, I haven't the slightest idea what it is. Maybe we weren't meant to be like we've thought for so long. Hell, I even was tempted to throw my engagement ring out into the middle of the nastiest river this side of the Rio Grande (I was only halted by the selflessness I hold for him and what he spent on that damn thing). I know, at this moment, that I don't want to marry him, but I don't even know if I want to stay with him any longer or not. One side of me loves him while the other is painfully annoyed by everything he does or says. I know that I'm young and my emotions are fleeting, but this is absurd. I don't want to end everything on such a bitter note, but I don't want to just break up with him out of the blue. Sigh..
Something else, that honestly has little to do with breaking up with him, but I mentioned (well, actually went into gross detail about) a certain event that was thankfully (depends on how you look at it) avoided at a very special place of mine. I don't honestly know why I told him, but I could tell it scared him a bit. The thought of losing me is one that he never wants to think about, but he almost did tonight, in a different sense of the phrase. ... Well, what do you know? It did have a lot to do with breaking up with him. Huh, funny... morbidly.
So what do you think? Keep him or lose him? On one hand, he keeps me mentally stable, but on the other he's driving me insane. Maybe I should ask him? Maybe I should actually talk to him rather than freak him out with previous death threats or sit quietly waiting for something to happen? I don't know. All I know is that it's getting mighty late and that I've got work in the morning. I bid you all good night. I hope this has been a little insight on what's going on in my forever worrying mind. Adios, sheep.
~ Misery Chick
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
These Times, They Are A-Changin'
I come from a time where there was Doug, Tiny Toons, and Animaniacs. I remember a time where Steve was our humble host on Blue’s Clues. I remember it blowing my mind when I found out that Arthur was an anteater. I remember waking up and having my mom make me pancakes as I watched all of my childhood cartoons.
I remember blazing summer days where I’d go outside and play down at the creek. I remember having “adventures” like Tommy did in Rugrats. I remember playing with Shad, Maureen, Kristen and Brittany, Shane, Tim, and the rest. I remember playing with Pokémon cards and beating all the boys. I remember Pogs and the battles my sister, my cousin, and I would have. I still have every last one of them that I won.
I remember staying up late watching scary movies with my sister. I remember going to the pool all day, coming home, popping popcorn with lots of salt, and watching Cable Guy while I scraped the butter out of the popcorn bag. I remember that rants that my mom would give me about that, saying that it wasn’t healthy to eat the butter in the bag or to put extra salt in the popcorn or to eat the salt straight from the shaker. I remember eating a lot of things I shouldn’t have, like aphids, powdered sugar cookie dough, and my sister’s chocolate from her advent calendar that my mom would get us every Christmas.
I remember the anticipation for the holidays. I remember finding my Christmas presents every year since I was 4. I remember saving my favorite pair of footy pajamas for Christmas Eve so that I could have a cliché Christmas morning running into the living room full of surprise with little cow pj’s. I remember the Christmas when my sister got Cds and was trying to open them with her teeth. My mom came in and told her that they weren’t chocolate, and I thought that what she said was hilarious.
I remember when I actually liked spending time with my family. Now it seems like I hardly see them at all. I remember the fights me and my sister would get into, but now we’re like best friends. I remember growing up saying I was never going to leave home, but now I can’t wait to go to college…away. I remember being a happy child, so now I’m wondering what happened.
I remember blazing summer days where I’d go outside and play down at the creek. I remember having “adventures” like Tommy did in Rugrats. I remember playing with Shad, Maureen, Kristen and Brittany, Shane, Tim, and the rest. I remember playing with Pokémon cards and beating all the boys. I remember Pogs and the battles my sister, my cousin, and I would have. I still have every last one of them that I won.
I remember staying up late watching scary movies with my sister. I remember going to the pool all day, coming home, popping popcorn with lots of salt, and watching Cable Guy while I scraped the butter out of the popcorn bag. I remember that rants that my mom would give me about that, saying that it wasn’t healthy to eat the butter in the bag or to put extra salt in the popcorn or to eat the salt straight from the shaker. I remember eating a lot of things I shouldn’t have, like aphids, powdered sugar cookie dough, and my sister’s chocolate from her advent calendar that my mom would get us every Christmas.
I remember the anticipation for the holidays. I remember finding my Christmas presents every year since I was 4. I remember saving my favorite pair of footy pajamas for Christmas Eve so that I could have a cliché Christmas morning running into the living room full of surprise with little cow pj’s. I remember the Christmas when my sister got Cds and was trying to open them with her teeth. My mom came in and told her that they weren’t chocolate, and I thought that what she said was hilarious.
I remember when I actually liked spending time with my family. Now it seems like I hardly see them at all. I remember the fights me and my sister would get into, but now we’re like best friends. I remember growing up saying I was never going to leave home, but now I can’t wait to go to college…away. I remember being a happy child, so now I’m wondering what happened.
Grandma, Aphids, and Other Things
I comb a room crowded with various family members, most of which I seem to see on the regular basis, searching for the vibrant blonde hair of my mom. The mouth-watering smell of stuffing and mashed potatoes is in the air, along with a subtle hint of freshly baked chicken. That’s the only upside to family get-togethers, the food.
When I was little, every time we went over to my Grandparent’s house, it usually meant one thing: some kind of family function. I hated them when I was a kid and I still hate them now, the family functions, that is. It always meant that I had to deal with the smell of old people and the hugs and kisses from random people claiming to be my second aunt twice removed or some bologna like that. It meant that I had to suffer through hearing boring stories from even more boring people. It meant that I didn’t get to steal Grandpa’s chair or mess with his hair or choose what we watched on TV. As a young child, all I wanted to do was go outside and play with my friends, not behave at Christmas dinner.
Oh, the bliss of childhood. I remember it like it was yesterday. Playing at the playground, trying to fish at the creek, picking berries and eating them straight from the tree. I remember the time when my mom told me to bring some home and wash them so I could pack them in my lunch. I grabbed my favorite big green bowl, the one I’d always use for popcorn, and ran down to the creek where the berry tree was and started picking away at every berry I could find. I hurried home with the bowl half full, eager to munch away at the delectable fruit. She took the bowl and poured the berries into a strainer and ran some cool water over them. However, this innocent action turned into something straight from some sick scary movie. I watched in horror as hundreds of little aphids scurried out from the berries, panicked by the sudden waterfall crashing over them and the berries. I thought I was going to puke. All this time I had been eating aphids! Yuk! But, as the stubborn child I was and will always be, I didn’t let a few bugs get in the way of a good snack. The next day I went right back down to that tree and ate some more berries, ignoring the fact that I was ingesting an entire family of aphids and their distant relatives.
Most of my childhood was spent like this: eating things I shouldn’t, doing things that I shouldn’t, breaking things that probably weren’t meant to be broken, but then hiding it or blaming it on the cat or my sister. All in all, I loved my childhood. I’d enjoy my days riding m scooter around the neighborhood or setting up lemonade stands, complete with employees that get paid and billboards. I’d stick big cardboard signs on people and have them walk around the neighborhood advertising my stand. It all worked out pretty nicely. I did the same with Pokémon cards. I actually got the ice cream man to buy quite a few cards for his son. A little entrepreneur was I. My mom encouraged my leadership, and thus I haven’t really changed much, in that aspect, since then. But, oh how I miss childhood. It really is true, we grow up too fast.
When I was little, every time we went over to my Grandparent’s house, it usually meant one thing: some kind of family function. I hated them when I was a kid and I still hate them now, the family functions, that is. It always meant that I had to deal with the smell of old people and the hugs and kisses from random people claiming to be my second aunt twice removed or some bologna like that. It meant that I had to suffer through hearing boring stories from even more boring people. It meant that I didn’t get to steal Grandpa’s chair or mess with his hair or choose what we watched on TV. As a young child, all I wanted to do was go outside and play with my friends, not behave at Christmas dinner.
Oh, the bliss of childhood. I remember it like it was yesterday. Playing at the playground, trying to fish at the creek, picking berries and eating them straight from the tree. I remember the time when my mom told me to bring some home and wash them so I could pack them in my lunch. I grabbed my favorite big green bowl, the one I’d always use for popcorn, and ran down to the creek where the berry tree was and started picking away at every berry I could find. I hurried home with the bowl half full, eager to munch away at the delectable fruit. She took the bowl and poured the berries into a strainer and ran some cool water over them. However, this innocent action turned into something straight from some sick scary movie. I watched in horror as hundreds of little aphids scurried out from the berries, panicked by the sudden waterfall crashing over them and the berries. I thought I was going to puke. All this time I had been eating aphids! Yuk! But, as the stubborn child I was and will always be, I didn’t let a few bugs get in the way of a good snack. The next day I went right back down to that tree and ate some more berries, ignoring the fact that I was ingesting an entire family of aphids and their distant relatives.
Most of my childhood was spent like this: eating things I shouldn’t, doing things that I shouldn’t, breaking things that probably weren’t meant to be broken, but then hiding it or blaming it on the cat or my sister. All in all, I loved my childhood. I’d enjoy my days riding m scooter around the neighborhood or setting up lemonade stands, complete with employees that get paid and billboards. I’d stick big cardboard signs on people and have them walk around the neighborhood advertising my stand. It all worked out pretty nicely. I did the same with Pokémon cards. I actually got the ice cream man to buy quite a few cards for his son. A little entrepreneur was I. My mom encouraged my leadership, and thus I haven’t really changed much, in that aspect, since then. But, oh how I miss childhood. It really is true, we grow up too fast.
I Dream A Dream Of Green
A shimmering blade of grass tickles my cheek as I sprawl across the dewy lawn. I close my eyes and hear children squeal and scream a few meters away. A quick, brisk breeze sends tingles like spiders down my spine. I hate and love these kinds of days. Sitting under my favorite tree, the big one with all the ants and cicada shells inhabiting it, and just… relaxing. Enjoying the outdoors behind closed eyes.
The park has some kind of mystic appeal to me, especially on these somewhat warm, yet breezy summer days. I come here to relax, to empty my forever hard-at-work mind of all fret and just lie in the sun, soaking up the rays while my mind sits vacant. Or some days I’ll bring my worn notebook and a pen and furiously write away at my novella. I’ll kick on my iPod and get whisked away in writing and the not so soothing sounds of bands like Bleeding Through or Nirvana. There’s nothing like Kurt Cobain wailing in the background while another page and a half get added to my story. Truly Nirvana. The great thing about the park is that I don’t have to worry about my mom barging in, trying to “clean,” and nag me about having my music up so loud. Here no one cares how loud I blare “Smells Like Teen Spirit” or “On Wings Of Lead.” Everyone’s doing their own thing, whether it be walking their Dalmatians or swinging on the swings or playing a competitive game of volleyball in the sandpit. It’s like the world is on hyper-drive around me, blurs of what appear to be neighbors whizzing by while I stay stationary in my little spot under the sun.
Summer is about the only time I ever get to enjoy the beauty of nature. The fall and the winter are much too cold for my liking and my dang allergies like to act up in the spring when everything is blooming. Plus, when I’m not working, I’ve got nothing going on in the summer. I remember when I was little my mom and I would walk up here from our apartment a little less than a mile away and I would have a ball on the playground. I’d always want to go play in the sandpit, but she would never let me, saying that she didn’t want me tracking sand inside when we got home. I’d be sad for a minute or so, but then find something else appealing to do with my time. When I got a little bit older, I’d ride my scooter up here and sit under my self-proclaimed tree. I’d read a book, probably some edition in the Harry Potter series, and sip on a soda that I’d bring from home. I’d always lose track of time, and suddenly dusk would fall upon me, my cue to book it home before mom had a stroke. I’d end up going back the next day to continue where I left off. I’ve always love this park; it’s been a part of me since as long as I can remember, and will always remain a part of me until the day I die.
The park has some kind of mystic appeal to me, especially on these somewhat warm, yet breezy summer days. I come here to relax, to empty my forever hard-at-work mind of all fret and just lie in the sun, soaking up the rays while my mind sits vacant. Or some days I’ll bring my worn notebook and a pen and furiously write away at my novella. I’ll kick on my iPod and get whisked away in writing and the not so soothing sounds of bands like Bleeding Through or Nirvana. There’s nothing like Kurt Cobain wailing in the background while another page and a half get added to my story. Truly Nirvana. The great thing about the park is that I don’t have to worry about my mom barging in, trying to “clean,” and nag me about having my music up so loud. Here no one cares how loud I blare “Smells Like Teen Spirit” or “On Wings Of Lead.” Everyone’s doing their own thing, whether it be walking their Dalmatians or swinging on the swings or playing a competitive game of volleyball in the sandpit. It’s like the world is on hyper-drive around me, blurs of what appear to be neighbors whizzing by while I stay stationary in my little spot under the sun.
Summer is about the only time I ever get to enjoy the beauty of nature. The fall and the winter are much too cold for my liking and my dang allergies like to act up in the spring when everything is blooming. Plus, when I’m not working, I’ve got nothing going on in the summer. I remember when I was little my mom and I would walk up here from our apartment a little less than a mile away and I would have a ball on the playground. I’d always want to go play in the sandpit, but she would never let me, saying that she didn’t want me tracking sand inside when we got home. I’d be sad for a minute or so, but then find something else appealing to do with my time. When I got a little bit older, I’d ride my scooter up here and sit under my self-proclaimed tree. I’d read a book, probably some edition in the Harry Potter series, and sip on a soda that I’d bring from home. I’d always lose track of time, and suddenly dusk would fall upon me, my cue to book it home before mom had a stroke. I’d end up going back the next day to continue where I left off. I’ve always love this park; it’s been a part of me since as long as I can remember, and will always remain a part of me until the day I die.
Spare A Dime?
Money seems to be everyone’s main interest nowadays. It dictates everything one does in life: where they go to school or college, what clothes they wear, what kind of car or house they have, their vacations, everything. And the sad thing is, many people fall victim to shallow belief that if someone doesn’t have loads of money, that they’re insignificant and unworthy of anything, including human rights. Money corrupts people. There’s no denying that fact. There was no greed before there was some form of payment. Greed and selfishness stem from society’s shallow worship of the dollar. If someone doesn’t have that great of a job, or a job that doesn’t pay well (no matter if it’s what you want to be doing), they are shunned in this capitalistic wasteland we call America. I, for instance, want to be a writer. Yes, this job choice seems a bit vague and naïve, but it’s what I want to do for a living. I know I won’t be bringing in the big bucks 24/7; that doesn’t bother me (although my mother seems to have her own opinion). Money is not my focus in life (although it should be, in other people’s eyes). I do not wish to live in some extravagant house with maids and gardeners and nannies and such. That’s no home in my eyes, merely just a house. A home is where a mother stays home with the kids, raises them to be who they want to be (within reason), and where families are closer together rather than spread apart by numerous floors and rooms. I know this is all quite idealistic, but I have hope that society may one day get the morning crust out of its eyes and see the perfect set up for the typical American family. Boy, was I born decades late.
Money is not something I would perform flips to obtain. You will not see me jumping through numerous hoops just to earn a buck. That’s not what I believe in. I believe in earning money in a way that doesn’t stab at your pride, dignity, or morals. I believe in working hard at what you want to work hard at, whether there is money involved or not. Something like writing cannot be forced through some mediocre bribe. Writing is an art, and art is expression. Not some quick way to earn a bit of cash that’s going to end up being blown on something insignificant and unneeded. It kills me to see young writers strive to produce a weekly column or to see famous authors push to finish another book. These pieces and works tend to come out meaningless and superficial, lacking in the depth of works that were carefully composed. I guess what I’m saying is that there’s not much that I’d do for money, but rather do on my own terms for my own benefit. I do not wish to become a slave to a capitalistic society that basks in its shallow glory. I only wish to become a “me” that is true to her self and that does not let a little thing like money get in the way of true happiness.
Money is not something I would perform flips to obtain. You will not see me jumping through numerous hoops just to earn a buck. That’s not what I believe in. I believe in earning money in a way that doesn’t stab at your pride, dignity, or morals. I believe in working hard at what you want to work hard at, whether there is money involved or not. Something like writing cannot be forced through some mediocre bribe. Writing is an art, and art is expression. Not some quick way to earn a bit of cash that’s going to end up being blown on something insignificant and unneeded. It kills me to see young writers strive to produce a weekly column or to see famous authors push to finish another book. These pieces and works tend to come out meaningless and superficial, lacking in the depth of works that were carefully composed. I guess what I’m saying is that there’s not much that I’d do for money, but rather do on my own terms for my own benefit. I do not wish to become a slave to a capitalistic society that basks in its shallow glory. I only wish to become a “me” that is true to her self and that does not let a little thing like money get in the way of true happiness.
The Man Behind the Screen
Erik winds the film, sets it on the stand.
Theater fills with the oblivious.
Power of entertainment at his hand,
But yet he still remains mysterious.
Up in his tower, he stands all alone.
He watches the silhouettes find their seats.
His clock ticks away, an obnoxious tone.
A new movie plays as his night repeats.
He remains invisible to the blind;
All they see is what’s in front of their eyes.
He is the shadow that follows behind,
Doesn’t exist when the sun’s in the sky.
Without him, movies wouldn’t hit the screen,
But the public is blind to the unseen.
Theater fills with the oblivious.
Power of entertainment at his hand,
But yet he still remains mysterious.
Up in his tower, he stands all alone.
He watches the silhouettes find their seats.
His clock ticks away, an obnoxious tone.
A new movie plays as his night repeats.
He remains invisible to the blind;
All they see is what’s in front of their eyes.
He is the shadow that follows behind,
Doesn’t exist when the sun’s in the sky.
Without him, movies wouldn’t hit the screen,
But the public is blind to the unseen.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Forever
My fallen angel,
My light in the dark.
Like a brother to me you were.
Forever missed, Forever loved.
You came into my life gift wrapped,
A bundle of happiness and joy.
Spreading your kindness upon those in need,
Messenger of the new day.
Walking these halls was a Saint,
One who brought cheer to our hearts.
Aspirations plenty, goals to be sought,
Finding new ways to help others.
We must not forget the past.
We will always cherish the memories.
We will all see you again someday.
Forever missed, Forever loved.
R.I.P.
Breck Young
Sep. 16, 1990 - May 29, 2009
**Author's Note**
Obviously about my late friend, Breck. He seems to be another inspiration for my writing. I miss you, buddy.
My light in the dark.
Like a brother to me you were.
Forever missed, Forever loved.
You came into my life gift wrapped,
A bundle of happiness and joy.
Spreading your kindness upon those in need,
Messenger of the new day.
Walking these halls was a Saint,
One who brought cheer to our hearts.
Aspirations plenty, goals to be sought,
Finding new ways to help others.
We must not forget the past.
We will always cherish the memories.
We will all see you again someday.
Forever missed, Forever loved.
R.I.P.
Breck Young
Sep. 16, 1990 - May 29, 2009
**Author's Note**
Obviously about my late friend, Breck. He seems to be another inspiration for my writing. I miss you, buddy.
"I Can't Seem To Shake This Awful Feeling"
Sitting here
Crying on my bed,
Thoughts of you
Running through my head.
I was ok
Just for a bit,
But you hit a nerve
And I won't forget.
I wanna be friends
But you push me away.
What more can I do?
What more can I say?
Of course, I still love you
And I always will.
But I've tried everything
And you don't love me still.
From being all mopey
To being a beauty queen,
Nothing I did seemed to
Mean anything.
So I wrote you this poem
Hoping you would see
Are you still my friend?
'Cause you're acting like an enemy.
**Author's Note**
I wrote this quite a while back, about a year and a half ago, about this jerk-off that tore me to pieces. I went through a very intense depression because of it, and not until recently (about a bit over a month ago) have I finally come to terms with who he really is. But although I deeply loathe him, he has been the inspiration for most of my better pieces. He's my muse although I hate him; I can't change that. So, my dear readers (if there are any, I honestly don't care), you all will be seeing many works with angst and heartache flowing throughout. I've never published said pieces and only kept them to myself and select few friends (including him). So be not quick to judge these pieces, for they are the crop of my once heartache-filled soul. Just enjoy.
Your's Truly,
Misery Chick
Crying on my bed,
Thoughts of you
Running through my head.
I was ok
Just for a bit,
But you hit a nerve
And I won't forget.
I wanna be friends
But you push me away.
What more can I do?
What more can I say?
Of course, I still love you
And I always will.
But I've tried everything
And you don't love me still.
From being all mopey
To being a beauty queen,
Nothing I did seemed to
Mean anything.
So I wrote you this poem
Hoping you would see
Are you still my friend?
'Cause you're acting like an enemy.
**Author's Note**
I wrote this quite a while back, about a year and a half ago, about this jerk-off that tore me to pieces. I went through a very intense depression because of it, and not until recently (about a bit over a month ago) have I finally come to terms with who he really is. But although I deeply loathe him, he has been the inspiration for most of my better pieces. He's my muse although I hate him; I can't change that. So, my dear readers (if there are any, I honestly don't care), you all will be seeing many works with angst and heartache flowing throughout. I've never published said pieces and only kept them to myself and select few friends (including him). So be not quick to judge these pieces, for they are the crop of my once heartache-filled soul. Just enjoy.
Your's Truly,
Misery Chick
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
No Way Out
She cakes herself in makeup
So people never see
What lies beneath the surface
Where lies her inner beauty
On the outside she thinks she's ugly
On the outside they think she's hott
On the inside she thinks she's perfect
Where other's, they do not
But inside her, there's another side
That only she knows is there
That she's afraid to show them
That she's afraid to share
She thinks they'll call her weak
Or stupid, ugly nerd
Or call her other nasty things
With other nasty words
But all of this is in her mind
Because what they'll want to see
Is what she hides on the inside
Which is where she's hiding me
So people never see
What lies beneath the surface
Where lies her inner beauty
On the outside she thinks she's ugly
On the outside they think she's hott
On the inside she thinks she's perfect
Where other's, they do not
But inside her, there's another side
That only she knows is there
That she's afraid to show them
That she's afraid to share
She thinks they'll call her weak
Or stupid, ugly nerd
Or call her other nasty things
With other nasty words
But all of this is in her mind
Because what they'll want to see
Is what she hides on the inside
Which is where she's hiding me
No One's There
Lifeless...
Pain flowing
Everywhere.
My thoughts
like sins...
No one cares....
No one's there...
to lift me up,
to guide me,
to help.
Lonely...
Everyone's
gone...
No one cares...
No one's there...
to carry me away,
to love me,
to cherish.
Guilty...
I should've known
I'd fuck up...
I'd cheat...
I'd lie...
He's gone now,
Now I can cry.
You've set me free.
I've seen it now.
My emotions wild...
My emotions free..
No one cares...
No one's there...
to cheer me up,
to hold me,
to let me be...
So let me be.
Let me fly...
Let me... go.
Pain flowing
Everywhere.
My thoughts
like sins...
No one cares....
No one's there...
to lift me up,
to guide me,
to help.
Lonely...
Everyone's
gone...
No one cares...
No one's there...
to carry me away,
to love me,
to cherish.
Guilty...
I should've known
I'd fuck up...
I'd cheat...
I'd lie...
He's gone now,
Now I can cry.
You've set me free.
I've seen it now.
My emotions wild...
My emotions free..
No one cares...
No one's there...
to cheer me up,
to hold me,
to let me be...
So let me be.
Let me fly...
Let me... go.
The People We Meet...
Evan
angelic, demonic
loving, lying, leaving
As flighty as a teenage girl
If only you acknowledged that everyone sees through you
Maybe then you’d find your heart
Shelby
blind, naïve
drinking, dancing, damaging
As self-absorbed as Dorian Gray
If only you saw how everyone else sees you
Maybe then you’d be the girl you used to be
Cody
honest, modest
cuddling, caring, caressing
As faithful as a lover should be
If only I could show you how much I love you
Maybe then you’d stop doubting yourself
Breck
missed, loved
grinning, giving, grieving
As cherished as the sun and the earth
If only you hadn’t left us so soon
Maybe then I wouldn’t feel this empty
angelic, demonic
loving, lying, leaving
As flighty as a teenage girl
If only you acknowledged that everyone sees through you
Maybe then you’d find your heart
Shelby
blind, naïve
drinking, dancing, damaging
As self-absorbed as Dorian Gray
If only you saw how everyone else sees you
Maybe then you’d be the girl you used to be
Cody
honest, modest
cuddling, caring, caressing
As faithful as a lover should be
If only I could show you how much I love you
Maybe then you’d stop doubting yourself
Breck
missed, loved
grinning, giving, grieving
As cherished as the sun and the earth
If only you hadn’t left us so soon
Maybe then I wouldn’t feel this empty
Just Another Day
Under the warm sun,
Rays lick my skin while
Shimmering blades of grass tickle my cheek.
I lay sprawled across the dewy lawn.
A quick brisk breeze sends
Spiders down my spine
And grass up my skirt.
Should’ve worn jeans.
Children squeal and scream
With happiness in their eyes.
Dogs bark their hellos to the passerby.
Crank the music up.
“A denial, a denial!”
Mr. Cobain shrieks in my ear.
I close my eyes and let the music play.
Nirvana indeed.
Chewing on my pen,
I dream the fates of mortal fictions,
Sweeping words across a blank page.
A nice place to write in peace.
Dusk comes all too soon.
I pick up my belongings and book it home.
Tomorrow bears another opportunity to relax.
Just another day at the park.
Rays lick my skin while
Shimmering blades of grass tickle my cheek.
I lay sprawled across the dewy lawn.
A quick brisk breeze sends
Spiders down my spine
And grass up my skirt.
Should’ve worn jeans.
Children squeal and scream
With happiness in their eyes.
Dogs bark their hellos to the passerby.
Crank the music up.
“A denial, a denial!”
Mr. Cobain shrieks in my ear.
I close my eyes and let the music play.
Nirvana indeed.
Chewing on my pen,
I dream the fates of mortal fictions,
Sweeping words across a blank page.
A nice place to write in peace.
Dusk comes all too soon.
I pick up my belongings and book it home.
Tomorrow bears another opportunity to relax.
Just another day at the park.
Zippers for Your Ears
Everyday someone has to say it. Everyday someone sees them and is shocked by the mere sight of them. People crave to touch them but are fearful of causing damage to my being. No, I’m not talking about an extra set of arms or legs or anything like that. No, the excitement in my life comes in the form of little zipper earrings. And society isn’t afraid of them, but amused. Someone always says “cute earrings” or the even more popular “are those zippers?” Why, yes. Yes they are. Then, of course, there’s always that person that has to be “Mr. Jokey Jokemaker” and ask if he could unzip my ear if he pulled on one. Eh, no. But that’s what I get for being me.
I’ve always believed that expression is the essence of life. It creates and molds who we are, inside and out. It grips one tiny detail about a person and blooms throughout his or her life. Uniqueness makes a person. They can float through life – living as others live, seeing what others see, believing in what others believe in – or they can escape the silent killer formally known as conformity, spread their wings, and fly away.
But as easy as it may sound to just “fly away,” masses of people get sucked into that vacuum of unique-less-ness. Young girls see Paris Hilton in her tiny tees and miniskirts and assume that’s how they’re supposed to dress. That’s just sick. This is the women who starred in the “independent film” entitled One Night In Paris. Who would want to emulate someone like that? I don’t understand why people in general try to be or just look like someone they’re not, whether it be some wanton celebrity or even just a popular peer. Where’s the thrill in imitation? It’s obviously point blank in front of me on a colossal, flashing, neon billboard and I just happened to be blind. That’s just how it seems to be with all of these Paris and Lil’ Wayne wannabe’s walking around. I can honestly say that there’s only been one time in my life where I’ve wanted to be someone other than myself.
In our elementary years we tend to be very impressionable, and I was no different. As a child of about 9 or 10 years old there was one woman in my life that I fantasized to be: Alicia Moore, or more commonly known as Pink. She was so incredibly cool and had hair I could only dream of calling my own. She was my inner (and soon to be outer) rock star. Now, I didn’t completely transform into a mini-Alicia, but I did integrate her attitude and independence into my own personality, molding it to fit my picky standards. As unbelievable as it may seem to some, there is a happy medium between shunning all outside influence and ultimate reproduction. It’s called incorporation. A person can take one or two aspects from someone else and incorporate it into their own unique style, but taking someone’s entire wardrobe and duplicating it is just too much. You lose all sense of yourself in that crap.
Something else that really grinds my gears about the dying act of independent thought are these lame T.V. shows and magazines that tell us what’s “in” and what’s “out.” I should be the one telling myself what not to wear, not some naggy, 30-something year old women and a 7-foot tall, flamboyant guy with bad hair. It sickens me to see bright, teenage girls draining their brains reading these ridiculous fashion magazines. Why do you need a piece of paper to tell you which look is best this season? Why don’t you go out and just buy whatever you like or whatever you think is cute rather than buying something because Rihanna was wearing it in her latest music video on MTV? Why spend $200+ on a pair of Ugg(ly) boots that every other preppy chick owns when you could start a new trend with a lot better looking and a lot less expensive boots? I never quite understood the point of owning something that everyone and their mother owns. Is there some underground cult built around these boots that I just don’t know about? If I don’t get an answer, then I’m afraid I’m doomed to rely on this explanation until I receive further notice. Ugg owners beware: your secret is out!
Why can’t this impressionable crowd just create their own style, figuratively and literally? I mean, really. How hard is it to make an inimitable necklace or even a shirt? I’ve done it plenty of times before. I can’t even count how many items of jewelry I’ve made throughout the years. My best work yet was just a simple zipper hooked onto a necklace chain. It was so admired that I began a search for more zippers to make a matching pair of earrings. I, however, came across a pair of already made ones at (believe it or not) Kentucky Kingdom for a small fee of $5. These earrings have become my logo, my defining item of my personality.
Everyday someone comes up to me and compliments me on the strange yet unique look of these earrings. The zipper is what expression has gripped onto for me. Who knows, maybe someday I’ll have my own fashion line: Zipper: An Alternative Motif. The people who once ridiculed and laughed at my expression will be the ones modeling my latest works. Ironic? Yes. Possible? Who knows? It could happen someday. For now, though, I’ll just stick to doing my own thing (before tearing conformity apart at the seams). ‘Cause, hey, I’m unique (just like everyone else).
I’ve always believed that expression is the essence of life. It creates and molds who we are, inside and out. It grips one tiny detail about a person and blooms throughout his or her life. Uniqueness makes a person. They can float through life – living as others live, seeing what others see, believing in what others believe in – or they can escape the silent killer formally known as conformity, spread their wings, and fly away.
But as easy as it may sound to just “fly away,” masses of people get sucked into that vacuum of unique-less-ness. Young girls see Paris Hilton in her tiny tees and miniskirts and assume that’s how they’re supposed to dress. That’s just sick. This is the women who starred in the “independent film” entitled One Night In Paris. Who would want to emulate someone like that? I don’t understand why people in general try to be or just look like someone they’re not, whether it be some wanton celebrity or even just a popular peer. Where’s the thrill in imitation? It’s obviously point blank in front of me on a colossal, flashing, neon billboard and I just happened to be blind. That’s just how it seems to be with all of these Paris and Lil’ Wayne wannabe’s walking around. I can honestly say that there’s only been one time in my life where I’ve wanted to be someone other than myself.
In our elementary years we tend to be very impressionable, and I was no different. As a child of about 9 or 10 years old there was one woman in my life that I fantasized to be: Alicia Moore, or more commonly known as Pink. She was so incredibly cool and had hair I could only dream of calling my own. She was my inner (and soon to be outer) rock star. Now, I didn’t completely transform into a mini-Alicia, but I did integrate her attitude and independence into my own personality, molding it to fit my picky standards. As unbelievable as it may seem to some, there is a happy medium between shunning all outside influence and ultimate reproduction. It’s called incorporation. A person can take one or two aspects from someone else and incorporate it into their own unique style, but taking someone’s entire wardrobe and duplicating it is just too much. You lose all sense of yourself in that crap.
Something else that really grinds my gears about the dying act of independent thought are these lame T.V. shows and magazines that tell us what’s “in” and what’s “out.” I should be the one telling myself what not to wear, not some naggy, 30-something year old women and a 7-foot tall, flamboyant guy with bad hair. It sickens me to see bright, teenage girls draining their brains reading these ridiculous fashion magazines. Why do you need a piece of paper to tell you which look is best this season? Why don’t you go out and just buy whatever you like or whatever you think is cute rather than buying something because Rihanna was wearing it in her latest music video on MTV? Why spend $200+ on a pair of Ugg(ly) boots that every other preppy chick owns when you could start a new trend with a lot better looking and a lot less expensive boots? I never quite understood the point of owning something that everyone and their mother owns. Is there some underground cult built around these boots that I just don’t know about? If I don’t get an answer, then I’m afraid I’m doomed to rely on this explanation until I receive further notice. Ugg owners beware: your secret is out!
Why can’t this impressionable crowd just create their own style, figuratively and literally? I mean, really. How hard is it to make an inimitable necklace or even a shirt? I’ve done it plenty of times before. I can’t even count how many items of jewelry I’ve made throughout the years. My best work yet was just a simple zipper hooked onto a necklace chain. It was so admired that I began a search for more zippers to make a matching pair of earrings. I, however, came across a pair of already made ones at (believe it or not) Kentucky Kingdom for a small fee of $5. These earrings have become my logo, my defining item of my personality.
Everyday someone comes up to me and compliments me on the strange yet unique look of these earrings. The zipper is what expression has gripped onto for me. Who knows, maybe someday I’ll have my own fashion line: Zipper: An Alternative Motif. The people who once ridiculed and laughed at my expression will be the ones modeling my latest works. Ironic? Yes. Possible? Who knows? It could happen someday. For now, though, I’ll just stick to doing my own thing (before tearing conformity apart at the seams). ‘Cause, hey, I’m unique (just like everyone else).
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Welcome To The Nightmare
Hello out there in cyberspace! Welcome to my first blog...EVER! If you enjoy a bit of cultured reading (aka the antiblog), I suggest you stick around, grab a nice cup of whatever, and relax while reading a poem or a story or even just a sophisticated rant. I have no idea how well I'll actually keep up with this, but hey, I'm in it for my own enjoyment, not to please you and all the other sheep out there. So don't worry if I don't post for a while, it's just me being me. I still love you and I'll try to keep you well fed on literature, but that's not a promise. I don't do well with promises. Any who, keep watch, because I'm likely to post a few things in the next couple of days. Peace guys.
~ Misery Chick
~ Misery Chick
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