I said the world don't owe me no living

The band America is on constant play on my record player now. That album is just SO good. I have no idea what the symbolism in any of the lyrics is supposed to be about, but the music, the melodies, the sounds are just SO good. I'm hoping to find more America albums at some point. Job first. Then comics. Then America albums. That's my finding order.

So the past few days I've taken to finding people I used to go to school with or know from somewhere on LiveJournal. Only one of them doesn't have a blog. Incredible.
But it was also sort of a depressing venture for me. I can't really explain why. It's not like any of them are doing better than me. Maybe a small part of me still believes that the internet is my playground, and no one else sees this shit every day, like I do. I can be so deluded sometimes. I'm not going to try to contact any of these people, nor am I going to regularly stalk their LJ's. (Or at least, I don't plan to.) I'll go write in my blog or something.

Today was Ken's birthday and he called me drunkenly. It was still nice to hear him, drunk or not. He had a good birthday, though, so whoohoo! I'm glad. Part of me was hoping he'd come down, but the other part knew that it would mean he was fighting with his girlfriend, and I don't want that. They seem to be getting along today, so I suppose that's better than nothing. He says he'll be in the area this weekend and wants to come over on Saturday, but he was drunk, and I never trust my friends. I'll call him Friday and remind him, I think.

I got another letter from Aunt Mary today. She's so cryptic. Between her bad handwriting and her loose train of thought, I can hardly decipher the words, let alone the meanings. Apparently, someone named Karen is coming to visit her. I don't know who Karen is. And Mary's buying me clothes and leaving them at my Aunt Dorothy's house because no one's home at my house. How awkward, but sweet. She's such a nice, well-meaning old lady. I wish people wouldn't go out of their way to avoid her like they did at the reunion. She's a gabber, though. Talk, talk, talk...it brings her joy. If I had the opportunity, I'd go visit her at her home and listen to her for a while. I like doing that, hearing stories, learning about people's lives and interests and whatnot.
Years ago, our neighbor, Truman Wood, got married to a woman named Mary Collins. (Marys seem to pop up in my life chattily) I'm not sure why they married, but they were fairly mismatched. I don't know what to think of Truman. I remember he bought my sister and I a video (All Dogs Go To Heaven) once, and it was a strange offering, just out of the blue. We appreciated it all the same, but really didn't hear about him again until he was married. Mary, though, I loved. She was this Catholic, Italian, chatty grandmother whose kids and beloved grandkids lived in Boston. She loved to talk, loved to cook, did beautiful artwork (I still have some of her beautiful decopage work. She did paintings as well.), and raised big beautiful goldfish. Everything about Mary was interesting. My sister and mother HATED to listen to her for so long, but I thought it was great. She had so much to tell, so much to teach me, and she gave me cookies and art supplies, so how could I not listen? I wish she was still my neighbor. I'd love to spend some time with her.
Am I just a person with time on my hands, that I want to listen to elderly ladies recount the glory days of their lives? I don't know. I like doing it, though. I know they appreciate it, and I like to listen. You get some of the best stories sometimes. I'll write Aunt Mary a reply soon. I've just got to figure out what I'm replying to.

I know I should work on a comic for ComeTogether at some point, but I've really been enjoying not doing anything for it. If Mea asks, I'll do it. They're all inked; they just need to be colored and scanned and texted. *shrug*
I feel less and less enthused by ComeTogether lately, but I don't dare share the sentiment with Mea. I don't feel it's really my place, or really even necessary to make a stink about it. Inside, I feel like it's not a porn site for "real" people, so much as it is a porn site for people who haven't had their particular fetish done tastefully yet. I'm white, straight, and whatever else. My porno spot is filled. I don't really feel like it is, but that's the way this whole thing comes across. It's like, "I know you like this, but that's been done, what about the trannies, and the transgenders, and the lesbians, and the people who like this or that? We need to think of them first."
I guess I just feel like I don't belong. Sure, I like BDSM, but it's not something I explore openly because I don't want to jeopardize my relationship with Dave. He's not into that, and I don't see him that way. And the people who are into that, and I do see that way, are far away and really only want me because I'm already taken, and therefore a conquest, something to be stolen from someone else's tower. I have the sneaking suspicion that they'd get bored with me as soon as they saw me. My self-esteem is just soaring these days. So, I can't fit in with the BDSM people. Beyond that, I don't know as much as everyone else, so :p on me. I wonder what will be censored in this next run of comics, especially the lesbian one. I don't want to step on toes; I just want to fucking exist and enjoy these things and not have to pretend I give a shit about whether or not what I said turns me on will offend the tranny down the street. I won't talk to Mea about this stuff though, because I'm the kind of person who's easily talked down from an argument. I get flustered and can't defend my position right away, so I back down, rather than deal with a confrontation.
I think the ComeTogether issue bothers me a lot because I don't know what to say about it. Let me put that better. I've been reading arguments on LiveJournals about rape, and about the images presented by the Dove "real beauty" advertisements. (these are separate subjects.) In the discussions of rape, there will be people popping up and claiming, "But men get raped too!" Ginmar smites this quite effectively by asking, "Why would we discuss the 1%, when we're trying to fix the 99?" or something like that. The Dove "real beauty" campaign discussions were about the ads where they show women fatter than normal models, or women with wrinkles, or women with freckles, and Dove says it's real beauty. They're still hawking a beauty enhancement product, though. A lot of people lauded the presentation of "real" women, or fat(ter) women (than the models). But a few disgruntled skinny chicks popped up to say, "Why do women have to be bigger than a size zero? I'm a size zero and people pick on me all the time." The other posters put it into perspective for them nicely, I think, or at least offered a good counterpoint to their argument, saying that the size zero models are seen as the norm, whereas most (there needs to be a word closer to all) women don't have the ability to be a size zero, and are forced into unhealthy lifestyles trying to reach an unnattainable goal. Beyond that, even if you are a size zero getting picked on, the picking done on you is nowhere near the magnitude, ferocity, or as constant as a fat woman gets.
So here's my dilemma: While it's sort of refreshing to be on the right end of those arguments, both a woman capable of being raped, and a fat woman fighting to exist and be seen as beautiful, I'm on the fighting end of the conflict at ComeTogether. While I feel singled out to be left out so that others' may not be offended, it doesn't mean that they're wrong. Those people should be thought about, and I am part of a very big majority that in this argument ought to be ignored for the sake of getting the rights of the minority. I guess that's why I don't speak up about how I feel. What's the point? I would be the person saying, "But men get raped too!" and utterly ignored for being the exception to the site's rule.

After all that, I still can't help but hate skinny women who whine they get picked on. "But people tell me to eat a sandwich all the time! They tell me I'm not a "real woman!" I have problems too!" Wah, bitch, wah. Have you ever been left out of riding an amusement park ride because the operators didn't want to find out if you could fit? (Didn't happen to me, I saw it.) Have you ever had people heckle you just walking out of a Wendy's with a bag in your hand? Have you had anonymous people tell you they didn't want to talk to you because of how you look? Have you heard children saying, "Oh mommy! Look at that woman!"? I could go on, princess. How SAD, how utterly fucking SAD it must be to able to find jeans in your size at every store except Lane Bryant. How SAD it must be to be able to order enough food to make yourself full and smile cutely about where you put it. How SAD and TRAGIC is must be to have people tell you you're beautiful and ask you out and shower you with gifts because of your beauty and not expect you to find a job or to be able to model because you're SO FUCKING BURDENED by your thinness. Oh yeah, and you're BEAUTIFUL...not "beautiful in your own special way", beautiful. End. Period. Beautiful. Fuck you, princess, and all your Twiggy little minions who make my life a living hell. Don't anybody kid yourself trying to argue with me about this either. Between direct interaction with them, and their effect on the public en masse, they've ruined my life.

Moving along, my friend Philip is such a sweetheart. He's sending me the newest Harry Potter book. I feel a bit bad accepting such a generous gift, but I'm desperate to read it too. He's sent me GTO before. I really don't know what to think of this. Part of me believes that he's just a sweet friend, doing a sweet thing like Peter used to do all the time, and another part worries that he's trying to win me over. Hmph. It could almost work, if trips and cuddles and listening were included. But no. I'm not that shallow. The more I think about it, the more I think he really is like Peter. Peter was just a giving kind of person. He didn't just give me things, it was everybody who was friends with him. I bet Philip's like that too. I guess I'll find out. All the same, it's WAY too awesome that he's buying me the book. Thank you, Philip. You rock.

I feel the need to draw. Probably fairies. But lord, I hate skinny people.

Real music that nobody ever hears

I forgot to write what I was going to say yesterday.
I got a bit distracted by the sunburn and the Tylenol PM. Ahh, sleep. I'm totally going to sleep far too long tomorrow, since Dave has to work. I know it's lazy, but it feels so damn good.

I went to a little family picnic that my Aunt Minnie was holding. She and her family were up from Connecticuit and were camping at Lake St. George Park. So, we all went to see her and eat hamburgers. The park charged us to get in, can you believe that? Just across the lake, there's a free spot called Marshall Shores. As if I'd pay four dollars a person to go swimming in Lake St. George. Get real. That lake is fucking cold.
My family was a bit...embarrassing. This outing seemed to draw out only the most shudder-inducing of the clan: The dropouts, former inmates, bad credit holders, and all around ne'erdowells. I suppose I shouldn't hold myself in such a high regard in comparison to them, but Christ. *rolls eyes*
A greatly hilarious, yet sad moment with my aunt Crystal:

I was sitting in my chair, eating a brownie with Dave, and my Aunt Crystal shows up. (Aunt Crystal is one that shows up asking for money only every decade or so.) She makes her rounds hugging the relatives and comes over, placing her hand on my shoulder. Then she says to me, speaking slowly, carefully, and surely, "I knew you from the minute I saw you, Megan."
I couldn't have been more dumbfounded. She started to say something more and I just said, "My name's Erin." I'm sure I was bit too quick, and a bit too curt about it, but it caught me by surprise to be mistaken for my sister by such a close relative. (We're related by blood. I fear for my future children.)

Minnie's three kids, my cousins, are scary stories waiting to unfold.
Felicia is a typical spoiled brat. She's just turned 18 and has never, ever held a job because her mother gave her the child support checks her father sent. Now she's an adult and the money can't come from Daddy's pocket anymore, so Felicia has to get a job. Odds are she's dragging her ass on that task.
Robbie ate paint chips as a kid. Minnie doesn't know for sure, but she swears that he had lead poisoning. From the time he was a toddler, she's treated him as a special needs kid, and I don't think he ever was. He's 14 now and acts a little slow and immature, but I don't know the whole story.
Kyle went swimming with me while his brother went off to play with another cousin. Little Kyle, all of 10 or 11 years old, told me that the kids at school don't like him, and call him ugly and an "ogre." I imagine the ogre comment comes from the movie Shrek. Too bad little kids still can't seem to be taught that ugliness is on the inside, not the outside. I assured him that I went through that too, but people really liked me after they took a minute and learned that I'm a cool person all around. He said he thinks he wants to be a cook. I wish I could be around to nuture that dream for him and help him through this rough spot in his adolescence, but I fear he's doomed with Minnie, who obviously doesn't see it herself.

I wanted out of there ASAP. As soon as I was done swimming, Dave and I headed out, and I became increasingly thankful for my move to Albion.
We stopped at a local "indoor flea market" (read: building where crap most people can't give away is sold) that one of Dave's relatives apparently owns called "The Bargain Bin." It was nice, as far as those places go. The guy hardly ever opens his doors, and he has some of the best stuff I've seen. Really rare, really well kept, really oddball, his stuff was cool, and relatively well priced. I was, of course, shopping for records. Dave picks on me about it being outdated technology, but there's something great about records to me. My parents had quite a collection that they foolishly gave away, and I've been trying to buy it back little by little as I find the titles, as well as adding some of my favorites.
My most prized finds are ABBA records. I've found two, so far (Super Trouper and Arrival), and I cherish them dearly. It's like finding an ancient relic to me. I keep reading these books on ABBA and finding out how the songs and records and covers were made, and I want to own a piece of that, and see what it was like. The record I found on our trip was Super Trouper, and it is fantastic. It has a few dings on Side 1, but they're songs I've heard on CD, so I'm not too heartbroken. The songs "Andante, Andante", "Happy New Year", and "Me and I" were ones I'd never heard. Well, I'd heard Me and I, but it was a live version on a CD. The record version isn't anywhere near as good, but it's a great song all the same. The line "Sometimes I have toyed with the ideas that I had got from Good Ol' Dr. Freud" was much clearer on the record. I just can't follow that line in the live version. Abba is an amazing group. I'm constantly reminded just how talented they are when I listen to their music. They were real musicians, despite the fame in disco.
Other records I purchased were of Paul Simon, Hall and Oates, several Foreigner records, America, and a few Seals and Crofts. I love Seals and Crofts but their stuff after '76 sounds really...bleah. The Greatest Hits is still seeming to be so. The America record is...incredible. I don't really know anything about this band, beyond the fact that they sang "Horse with no Name" and the soundtrack to "The Last Unicorn". But their music is gorgeous. There aren't enough adjectives for how good they are! I love their sound and their approach. The gentle acoustic and mature whine of these once upon a time teens is beyond words to me. This is music, beautiful, well-done music. I don't care if it's from the 70's or the middle ages, it's fucking fantastic. I'm hoping my other Seals and Crofts records will be as good. The songs on their Greatest Hits album can't be their only good songs.
Dave ended up getting "Mike Tyson's Punch Out!" and explained to me the story behind it, and his excitement for it. Apparently, after Mike Tyson's ear-chewing fiasco, they renamed the game Super Punch Out or just Punch Out and Mike Tyson as the big boss was replaced by a white man (whose name Dave can't remember). Mike Tyson...Taken out of his own game. Wowza. If you learn anything in life, it is this: Biting people is bad publicity. I love learning little back-stories like that...it's like finding out a secret.


My sunburn is a bit better today, but the sun burns! Aaagh. Dave took me around to pass out my resume, and the sun hurt me so bad while I was riding in the car. Ouch. I'm staying inside as much as possible tomorrow.
I am, however, going to this place in Albion, the Lovejoy Health Center to pass in an application. If I got that job, that would be fucking awesome, but again, I can't hold my breath for anything.
As I was in another place filling out an application, I heard a woman come in and ask about the same position as the one I was applying for. She sounded so confident and like such a shoe-in for the job, I almost didn't want to finish the application. I'm at a point where it's like, "Why even bother? No one's going to call me anyway." But I continue on. I just wish I knew how better to conduct myself and sell myself. I was so good at that in the classroom. What happened to me?
I can't forget, though, that I had a hard time finding my job at Burkettville (like that's some great shakes). But McDonald's was my last resort when I finally got that job, and I hated it with every breath in me...so six months later, when Burkettville actually called me and wanted me to work for them, I jumped at the chance, and haven't regretted it once. It was tedious at times, but in comparison to McDonald's, it was the promised land. I wish I could find a job that I could appreciate as much as that. I feel like I'm being too picky about the whole thing...but I've been applying for nearly everything except chain-stores. I will never again wear a uniform.

In thinking about real musicians like ABBA, America, Seals and Crofts, and Simon and Garfunkel, I can't help but wonder where today's musicians would be back then. Lip-synching at public events, sounding JUST like one another, and having their only talent be to gyrate and move lips on command. Would they still be as popular? I wonder where music is headed, too, when we idolize groups like the Black Eyed Peas and singers like Jessica and Ashlee Simpson and Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera. I think they should all only be allowed 15 minutes. That's like 3 songs a piece. Then I'd never have to hear their asses again. God, I hate today's music. But that's a rant for another day, I think. I'm feeling a little in-between on everything.

I'm almost hoping that Ken comes to visit me on Wednesday. I'd love to see him and show him a good time, but it would mean that he's fighting with Alissa, and I don't really want that to happen. I'll call him and wish him Happy Birthday and see what happens. It sounds like Alissa is trying to do SOMETHING for him, so I mean, that's good. She's still an ungrateful bitch, but...that's something. I'll be waiting.

My head's getting foggy. I think it's time for a break. Maybe a nap too. Almost bedtime.

Rock Lobster

Okay laugh. Point and laugh. I'm sunburnt all to hell.
But I'm not burned in that way that's unfortunate...I'm burned like an idiot. My lower eyelids didn't get burned at all...but my cheeks are a bright pink...and my arms look like rare meat. I'm such a 'tard. Honest to goodness. I've been rubbing ice down my shoulders and applying aloe, and that alleviates it for a bit, but then the burn gets hot again, and I feel exhausted. Not exhausted like I could sleep, just worn out and pissy. I'm going to save myself the hassle and take a Tylenol PM again tonight so as not to be a burnt insomniac. Don't say SPF to me either. I'm 20 fucking years old and I never go outside. If I haven't learned now, I'll never learn ever. Fuck you guys, stop laughing at me.

Bangor was an alright trip. The food was fantastic. I had forgotten how good it was up there. The service was a little lax, but it was forgiveable. It was a nice meal. We didn't go shopping at the mall, though. Instead, my mother insisted on going to Super Wal-Mart in Brewer. Lord, I hate Wal-mart. Then, I had the bright idea of splitting up so as to not follow my parents around the boring aisles. Dave, my sister and I went to the movie section and perused the selection giddily, despite two of us being penniless. Dave got a movie and we waited for my parents. It seemed like it took FOREVER for them to get done. God, I hate Wal-Mart.
The ride was surprisingly fun, though. We bitched and complained about people and events, and I was delightfully witty...and a couple of times we nearly went off the road with laughter. Nevertheless to say, I need to find out what the hell "herpengina" is. Good times...good times.

There will be more at a later date. It is time to snuff the fire again.

Anonymous

I didn't get the job, as far as I know. They didn't call me, or answer my call. But the blow isn't as harsh as I'd expected, I guess. Talking with Dave about the situation made it seem a little less hopeless. I'll just keep putting my name out there and hope and pray that someone needs me to work for them and soon. I don't know at all what I'll do about money at the moment, but I'll make it through. All this trouble has got to be worth it to get Peter out there.

I did a bad thing tonight. I do bad things all the time, but this was really low of me. I posted anonymously to someone's board. It was a snide, mean, rude, and uncalled for comment from me, no matter how simple. It was hurtful. She hasn't been mean to me specifically, but rather to Julie and my other friends. Despite the anger this puts in me, it doesn't give me the right to deem punishment fitting for her. She does need to grow up, but it's not my place to say so. (Shush, Julie, she doesn't deserve it from me...from you, certainly, considering her actions toward you over the years, but she hasn't done anything to my face that deserved that comment.) And my recognizing it doesn't make it karmically negated either. I'm not going to say I'm sorry, though. I'll just cut it out and leave her alone. It may be as cowardly as the initial act, but it won't hurt her feelings any more and it'll save me a fight.

So, I'm feeling pretty bad about that and the job thing. I've got to keep going, though. Things are pretty shitty, and I'm getting pretty bitchy, but there's got to be some good somewhere. I've got to behave myself when it comes to stuff like that. I forget the deal with the anonymity of the internet. It doesn't make you immune to the stigma of cowardice. To put it plainly, you still look like a jackass, even if you don't sign your name to whatever you did wrong.

Tomorrow is a trip to Bangor, to Bugaboo Creek with my parents in celebration of my father's birthday. Happy Birthday, Daddy! I hope you don't read this!
I worry a little about how Bangor will make me feel. I miss living at the Comfort Inn. (I lived there while I was attending Eastern Maine Community College. Dorm Renovations)It's been more than a year since I've lived there, but at my most stressful times, I can imagine myself back there, and the small freedom it allowed me. I hated it when I first moved in. My roommate went to live with her friend in the other hotel, I was so far from home, I couldn't make friends, and I didn't know if I'd ever adjust. But I did. I found a lot of comfort in the solidarity after a while. I got myself into routines and really loved the place. I made it my own. We probably won't be in Bangor long enough to pass by the place, but I'll probably think about it all the same. I keep thinking, "That must be what heaven's like for me. My own little room with two big, comfy beds; cable tv; free delivery from all the places nearby; and the mall just down the street. Ah, I can't wait." I hope that's what heaven's like.
...I hope I go to heaven.

I've been accomplishing my tasks, though a bit lazily. I should set Peter as a task. I want to have a meeting with Jon soon.
I wonder how Mea's faring.

More on the job front in future posts.
Job...ho!

Brilliance

I happened upon this and I think it's rather brilliant and accurate.

Woman is the nigger of the world
Yes she is...think about it
Woman is the nigger of the world
Think about it...do something about it

We make her paint her face and dance
If she won't be a slave, we say that she don't love us
If she's real, we say she's trying to be a man
While putting her down, we pretend that she's above us

Woman is the nigger of the world...yes she is
If you don't believe me, take a look at the one you're with
Woman is the slave of the slaves
Ah, yeah...better scream about it

We make her bear and raise our children
And then we leave her flat for being a fat old mother hen
We tell her home is the only place she should be
Then we complain that she's too unworldly to be our friend

Woman is the nigger of the world...yes she is
If you don't believe me, take a look at the one you're with
Woman is the slave to the slaves
Yeah...alright...hit it!

We insult her every day on TV
And wonder why she has no guts or confidence
When she's young we kill her will to be free
While telling her not to be so smart we put her down for being so dumb

Woman is the nigger of the world
Yes she is...if you don't believe me, take a look at the one you're with
Woman is the slave to the slaves
Yes she is...if you believe me, you better scream about it

We make her paint her face and dance

"Woman is the Nigger of the World", by John Lennon

I am proud to be a feminist, and will continue to be a feminist until it is unnecessary to be so.

I'm in it for the long haul, fuckers.


I only wish I could have that kind of eloquence and clearness of thinking when it comes to these topics. I usually just get mad and splutter and sound like an idiot, definitely not furthering the movement of feminism. But I suppose I must allow myself a little as well. I'm 20. I don't know all. There is still time to learn. I just want to learn it quickly so I can stop sounding like I don't know what I'm talking about and finally prove myself and my causes right.I don't want to be the loser standing the wrong way for the right thing.

Later on...

It's still fucking cold in here.

I made devilled eggs around midnight. Apparently, this is an act of spontanaeity, though I see it more as an act of love, boredom, and curiosity. Dave's grandparents gave him some eggs from a local farm. They've been sitting in the fridge doing nothing, so I decided to cook some of them up. Farm eggs don't peel like store eggs, don't ask me why. So, my eggs look a little special. I just hope they taste alright. It's a small bit of joy to know that I can cook better than some people, and at least decently enough to get an "mmm, please make that again."

My dread has subsided into a sort of numb feeling. I'm a bit tired and pretty cranky at the moment, so that's about all I'm feeling. It's better than dread, I'll give you that. It won't be the end of the world to have to move back in with my parents, but I'd just as soon be successful at this "move out of the house" thing. I'm going to try to make this work as long as I possibly can.

So far as Ken and his girlfriend go, it's a complicated mess, and I really shouldn't offer anything for it. But I do, all the same. I suppose I hold a bias against Alissa to begin with because...well what the fuck is so special about her anyway? He's been head over heels for her since Angie Lord didn't want to have anything to do with him in high school and I can't understand why.
She needs to get a job, rethink her perspective, take in a lesson about herself, and treat him with the respect and dignity he deserves as her partner (not as a man, as her partner). He needs to grow a backbone and tell her to wise up, and realize that he is not nothing without her. He's a strong, intelligent, fascinating guy (but I won't say it to his face, cause I don't want to give his ego a stroke unduly.) and he deserves a whole lot better than her. He deserves to realize that he could do just as well in life on his own, especially since she seems to have learned it while being with him. (Snazzy.)

I think it is the time of bed now. We'll see what tomorrow brings. I'm supposed to do a picnic at some point soon. God, part of me just really wants to go home and get my job at Burkettville back and not have to worry about shit. But I guess it doesn't work like that. Where's my good times? Here's to hoping they come Friday.

Stuck

Friday couldn't get here any more slowly.

The drama I'm feeling and living right now is just about killing me, too. It's so utterly ridiculous that I feel this way. I mean, come on, I'm supposed to be young, this is supposed to be the easiest time in my life.

But everything is scaring the shit out of me.

Everything I draw looks like utter crap to me, which makes my hands shake when I think about future ComeTogether updates. How am I supposed to give Mea nothing?
Also on the drawing front is Peter. When I think about him, I see the project as a beacon of hope, like fame and easier living and easier decisions lying just beyond the horizon. But the dread is there too. What if I can't get this off the ground? What if Jon gets too busy to work with me? What if I don't get out of this art slump? What if "real life" takes over, crushes me, and I never get to fulfill this dream? I've got to continue, though. Peter's seeming like my last and only hope.

I wish the job I'm waiting on would just call me already. This stress of waiting is ridiculous. I keep fantasizing that I'll get it and I'll have money and Dave won't give me those looks like he's frustrated with me. I fantasize that I'll be able to do that and Peter and someday soon I'll be able to do just Peter. But I try to hold off on the fantasies a bit too. I can feel the pain of being denied this job already. It's like it's bound to happen, that I'll be turned down. I don't know what I'll do when that happens. I have a sneaking suspicion I'll be utterly crushed. I've been thinking lately too, that if I don't get this job, I should consider moving back home with my parents. It seems like the only logical thing to do. Jobs are opening up down there, nothing's up here, and I'm just a huge burden on Dave. I have no money and I don't know how to ask my parents to help me. Then again, I don't know if I should ask my parents to help me. I dread the lectures, so I avoid the subjects. I'm not like my sister; I don't think my parents owe me anything and I never ask them for money. I don't know at all what I'll do from here on out.

Some of my friends are getting creepier and creepier while others are seeming more and more pathetic. Seems most of my online male friends are that classic kind of sexist that I've been trying to watch out for. Why didn't this come up before? Did I just not see it? Is this a new thing for them? And what do I do about it? Certainly it can't continue that they should see women as objects for their pleasure. Looks like I'm going to lose from friends at some point soon. Another friend is having girlfriend troubles, and Lord, does he bring them upon himself. What in the fuck is so special about his girlfriend that he stays with her? She's treating him like shit and he's debating throwing her out. Good lord, Ken, just do it! If she breaks up with him for it, instead of doing some inner searching and realization, then it's her loss, and a big one. I doubt many other men would put up with her bullshit.

More later. It's fucking cold in here

Yeah? Well, maybe I'll write a book, and you won't be in it.

Today's title is another snarky remark by yours truly, used as a modifier to my MSN screen name. I haven't said it to anyone in particular, but I know a few who could use the dig.

I asked Will a question that brought a lot of light to his story. I asked if it was supposed to be a children's story, and apparently, it's supposed to be for 5th-8th graders. That makes the cringe-worthy dialogue only slightly less cringe-worthy. I remember those 5th-8th grade level books (Or the ones that were supposed to be). I was already past that reading level when I got there. The dialogue in those was as hokey as Will's story. This makes his story seem a little unfortunate, though, considering his aspirations of beating out Harry Potter for the number one spot. If he wants to do that, he'll have to aim a LOT higher than the standard, which is what he's barely hitting with this bore. I think he needs to take a whole other approach. Rightfully scrap this story and start anew, with fresh, new ideas. Turn off your tv and put down those books. Time to stop borrowing and modifying ideas from the past. That's why I stopped writing the crap I was. It was nothing more than what had already been done, and I wasn't doing it very well.

I did some writing on Peter today that I think went pretty well. I always feel accomplished when I'm able to articulate things that I've previously been tongue-tied about. I really, really want to have a meeting with Jon soon. I'd love to get this ball rolling, though I have a suspicion it would mean sacrificing ComeTogether for a while. That's kind of the way I work. Take on a lot of burden at once and then sacrifice something for another thing. I had to sacrifice work on Peter for Come Together, so I figure the flip side won't be too devastating. I hope though, that if I get this job I'm waiting so patiently and desperately on, I won't have to sacrifice everything to it.


My friend Jonathan is a continuing source of emotional and artistic inspiration for me. I hope he can become a woman, like he wants. It seems he finally knows what he wants and he deserves it.

I went to another family reunion today. It was a pretty good time, if too muggy to stay out of the water. I really ought to carry my swimsuit with me wherever I go. I've only been swimming once, and it's just not right. I think they need to find ways to speed up the process of some of the events, mainly the auction and the raffles. Good lord, that's excrutiating to sit through. And the woman who did the auctioneering...what was she thinking? Agh!
But I made out like a bandit all the same. Dave and I got some really nice glasses and plastic cups. I got a paper towel holder that looks like a kitty, two really awesome chess piece-looking statues (Dave says they'll be bongs, but I'm thinking bookends. I just need to find weights.) and something I really wanted, a framed double print of a couple of pictures from Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit. I'm going to hang it upstairs and hope that someday I have a child who will adore it as much as I do. I remember when my mother used to read Peter Rabbit to my sister and I. It's a special sort of memory to me. I'm in no rush for children though. They can wait till I grow up. My Aunt Ginny also very generously gave me two pictures that apparently belonged to my Aunt Beverly, who passed away not too long ago. That was so sweet of her. I'll send her a thank-you tomorrow.

I don't know where I'm going.

Think again.

I changed my mind. I'm not going to start a story.
I'd been blithely drawing some characters and stumbled upon a few that I found interesting in design and began vaguely forming bits of a story from. But the effort of using these characters to create a story would be wasted thanks to a character from a previous story, Kary Kan, which I never finished. (And thank God. I was reading it tonight and it needs WORK.) I need to concentrate on Peter, like I said I would. Ahwell. Maybe some other time.

I started reading Will's story, one he sent me. He claimed it would be "bigger than Harry Potter." I don't know which Harry Potter he's talking about, but I hope it's not the one by J.K. Rowling, because his goal will never be achieved. It was really bad. Apparently, it's supposed to be some sort of action/horror story, but it reads like an entry of his journal from middle school. The character descriptions, personalities, dialogue and action of the story are all seemingly borrowed from whatever he found cool on T.V. The dialogue was especially cringe-worthy, both from the narrative and character perspectives. I'll get into it more later, I think.

I'm wondering how enamored of this journal I'll continue to be. I don't want an audience, and at the same time I do. But I'm selfish about it. I only want the kind of audience that will laud my writings and not make me feel bad about anything. And in that much, I sort of don't deserve an audience. ...but then again I don't really want one because I don't want to be picked on.

I'm shutting up now. Time to end the sleepless streak. Insomnia be damned! I have Tylenol PM!

Tater tots

I think I have a tapeworm. All this week, I've been starving for no reason at all. Tonight's no different. So, I grabbed the last of the tater tots from tonight's breakfast for dinner and have consumed those in hopes of pleasing the belly gods. (I don't know why...what have the belly gods done for me lately? Made me fat, that's what. :p) Actions beyond the tots are yet unknown. Perhaps a brownie, or perhaps a cookbook perusal. I really love looking through my cookbooks, but I always want to make the most extravagant things in there. *rolls eyes* I'm not that damn talented. And half the time, we don't have the ingredients. Dave cracks me up, though. He's always trying to substitute things when we're out of stuff.

"Well how about this can of milk instead?"
"No, Dave. That's sweetened condensed milk."
"So?"
"So it's different. It tastes different."
"So? It says friggin' milk right here."

I especially love when he just goes ahead and uses the substitute. A couple of times, it's been a passing meal, and a couple of times it's been...thrown away. I just want to go, "GO TO THE STORE AND GET WHATEVER IT IS YOU NEED, YOU LAZY BRAT", but I don't. I love him and will let him do his thing. He's survived this long without me, I don't need to go changing him just because there's another way to do it that I think is better. His opinion counts too, you know.

I took a step back mentally from my troll/argument situation while I was offline. I think I may be coming off as the same kind of whiner that Rob is, where I'm upset that I keep getting into these arguments that I create for myself and think that people are just picking on me. It's not as much like that as I made it sound. The argument about feminism with Darryl today was sparked by my mention of Ginmar's livejournal as a feminist community that I read and enjoy. The argument with Rob was one he started. I messaged him saying "Happy Canada Day" or something, and he wrote me back and talked to me. But when things on his screen started flashing and his precious favorite program (Trillian, blech) started acting up as it always does, he turned on me and blamed me for causing him undue stress by "demanding" that he talk to me. As if. I had said, "You're taking a trip this summer, right? Where to?...Oh, Dragon Con, that sounds interesting. I've never been to a con before." Tell me where that's so demanding that he simply HAD to freak out at me.
I don't know why I'm even defending my position. No one reads this, I must remember, and so long as I don't show anyone, that will continue to be the truth. I don't need to prove myself to anyone on here, even if they show up and claim that I'm out of line or I'm wrong in saying something or I'm a bad person for believing in whatever. No more. No more backtracking and saying, "Oh, that was bad of me. I'm sorry nonexistant blog-reading public of mine. I should be more careful of what I say so as not to hurt anyone else's feelings." Fuck that. Enough of that. I do that enough in real life that I'm allowed an outlet to bitch about things that piss me off without having to defend my right to my anger, to my feelings, to my existence with anyone. If it comes into question by anyone...I'll ban them from making replies. My blog, my rules, bitch! BWAHHAHAAHAHAAHHAAHAAAHAAA!

I'm going to go read some stories I've been sent and haven't gotten around to reading yet. I've been so enthralled by message boards and blogs that I forget I have material to read that I don't even have to wait for someone to post. I'm feeling a bit inspired by having my comic done for this month and am considering starting a new story, written with illustrations, for my best friend. I won't finish it, I know, but I'll be damn proud of every bit I write and will pass it around like a jackass. Hopeless.

Dropping Like Flies

It seems I lose allies everytime I try to explain feminism. I know that I know what feminism is. I know that I am a feminist. So why is it that I'm struggling now to convey these ideas and truths to those around me? Am I simply fighting a losing battle with friends who won't open their minds to a challenge of their old notions? Or am I juxtaposing everything till it comes out a jarbled, confusing mess of "Don't listen to what they've told you before cause I say it's right!"?

Despite this sinking feeling that I'm alienating everyone around me with these concepts, I'm going to continue to grow as a feminist and nurture and support these ideals ferverently. I don't want to support feminism because I think it's a strong fad. I don't want to support feminism because I think it'll make me right. I want to support feminism because it is right.

I almost got into an argument with another friend today, Darryl, about feminism, where he claimed that it's a good thought, but not well practised. "Feminism should not be an excuse for a woman to bitch about everything they think they're being surpressed about", he said, "I really think the concept of feminism is a good one just seriously flawed in its application." At this point, I felt the rage building and my inner tongue swelling so that I couldn't figure out just what the hell I would say to debate this. Part of the problem was that I knew already that I wouldn't be right with him. Considering how he presented his view of feminism, I would not be able to convey my enthusiasm and support for it without seeming like another man-hater looking to bitch about something and glad to have a group to say I belong to that will give me a coverup to do so. I noted a few points (angrily), but ultimately said, "I respect hat you're saying about it not being every man. It isn't every man, you are right. It is significantly more than 2%, though. I don't want to argue about this because I don't care to prove anything right now. Can we please change the subject?" It feels like such a cop out, but I didn't want to fight with him. I really hate this feeling like I'm losing friends and like I'm so wrong in believing these things. I'm not wrong for believing in and fighting for feminism.
Darryl, though, is a troubled one, I think. I've known him nearly as long as I've known Rob. I'm beginning to take the things he says less and less seriously, though. He claims to be a professional writer, and articulate. He was, when we first started out talking. He spelled everything correctly, used perfect grammar, etc. But as the years have gone by, he's become careless in his use of the English language. It makes me doubt his credibility as a "professional." At least he claimed to be a history teacher, and not an English teacher. He's also claimed to know Avril Lavigne and made a point to note that he helped her write one of her songs, as though that would impress me. It didn't. I find her insipid, stupid, and fucking lucky to be where she is today. The fact that she doesn't recognize how lucky she is to have those fans she hates, and takes everything she's received so much for granted pisses me off to no end. I've yet to see his credit in her liner notes for the song, though. Finally, there's the very serious topic of his recent court battle with his ex, Missy. Apparently, she's charged him with rape, which he obviously vehemently denies. I told him before that I believe him, but now I'm not so sure. He calls her evil, says she's a bitch, and I haven't heard her side of the story at all. Coupled with the recent realizations of his truth-withholdings, I'm almost at a point where I don't believe him. After having read the rape discussions at Ginmar's livejournal, I realize I may be facing the fact that a friend of mine is a rapist. I don't know how I'll deal with this. I have a sneaking suspicion that I will just cut contact with this "friend," as it seems he doesn't want to tell me the truth, I won't know the truth, and I don't need to be involved. Internet drama can remain that...on the internet, and thus, I can navigate away from that page. It's not my fight, and I don't want to be a part of it. I'll see what else happens with Darryl, but just sitting here, writing this, I'm pretty much coming to the conclusion that that is what will happen. I will disconnect from him. I hate to lose all these people I've known for years, but years acquainted don't equal infallability.

I talked with Mea for a long while last night; a lot about his life and a little bit about Rob. I would have gladly talked about Rob all night, but it seems Mea really needs somebody to share his stuff with. That's okay. I know how to listen as well as talk. I hope he's able to get through this stuff he's struggling with. Apparently he's moving to Philadelphia soon. Wow. I feel like everyone is speeding past me.
I wrote a commentary to my "Things That Turn Me On" comic this week, where I said that other things that turn me on include a male voice in a stern tone. Mea proceeded to change "male" to "deep." This really grates me, especially after having to change the text on my comic to be more conscious of trannies. It shouldn't bother me. I shouldn't be bitching about this. But when I wrote the comic and when I wrote the commentary, I wasn't doing it to comment on things that should turn other people on, but rather, "Things That Turn ME On." When I said, "I like trannies who try to be really girly, but are still so cutely butch," I wasn't trying to put off the trannies who are frustrated by such a situation, but rather saying, "Hey, I find this hot." And when I said a "male" voice...I meant a fucking male voice, not a deep voice. But like I said, I shouldn't complain. I'm really lucky to be a part of this site and I don't want to fuck up my chances just because I think I ought to be able to say one thing without it being changed to protect someone else's interests while ignoring my own. I want to be successful, and I see this as a stepping stone to that success. And if changing a few words means I don't have to argue my standpoint, then I guess it's not so bad. I hate having to argue my existence all the time.

I'm glad people don't read this, but at the same time, I'm glad I write it. It's become more and more therapeutic to just bitch into the nothingness of cyberspace and not worry about offending anyone. If I knew that people read this, I would worry about what my persona comes across as. I don't want to be seen as a bitch or as a poser or a loser or a wannabe. So I'm glad no one reads this to try and make that assumption about me for themselves.

Now I'm going to go try my hand at making a breakfast pizza for Dave when he gets home. He asked for it last night, and the homemade brownies I made came out so well, I can't help but try.
Family reunion Sunday. I'm making devilled eggs. I wish they'd give me a scholarship for looking cute. :p But I'm not in school, and the kids in school deserve that money more that me.

More later, maybe.

Under Attack

I couldn't sleep at all last night. I have so many things on my mind, when really, it should be at ease. I got my comic to Mea (basically) on time. We went over it today and he liked it. I had my job interview Monday. That went pretty well, I guess. I think it went really well, and I really want the job. I still haven't sent that letter to Rob, so I'm not fighting with him.
But for all the good things happening right now, I still have this sense of dread, a sense of desperation as though everything will fall apart in front of me. I feel emotionally and mentally exhausted (and after a sleepless night, physically). I'm really glad I got a couple months' worth of comics drawn and inked because I just don't feel like doing more of that right now.
I think a lot of this is a result of arguments I've witnessed and been a part of in the past few weeks. There was a troll on the ComeTogether board, and he was a particularly nasty, stupid one. I mean, I really shouldn't be affected by "...you dork. Grow up." but it hurts, you know? It hurts because I want to scream back and I want to prove I'm right, but there is no being right with a troll. A troll thinks he/she is the smartest, most important person alive, and their opinion or garbage talk is the only thing that matters. I shouldn't have even said what I said to him, which was basically, "Hey, you were already told to cut it out. You're just making it uncomfortable for everybody."
I've been reading Ginmar's livejournal obsessively and the trolls she gets are unbelievable. They travel in packs, I think. These close-minded sons of bitches just HAVE to be right about SOMETHING so that they can make up for whatever lack they posses, and thus they take a sort of "devil's advocate" to the debate and come up with these completely asinine arguments that really frighten me. Debates on stuff like rape, victim blaming, men's vicious hateful attitudes toward women, etc. And these creeps come in saying things like, "women who dress, act, live that way deserve to be raped," "men can't help it. Their sex drives are just bigger/better/more important than women's," and "women perpetuate mystery and confuse us with their mixed signals where yes means yes and no really means yes too, but how are we supposed to know, so we just figure everything means yes and take what we're entitled to." I'm really condensing all the conversations and arguments that have taken place, but it's still all there and it's still really frustrating. These guys think they're SO right, no matter what, but they don't believe they're trolls. That troll at ComeTogether said it point blank though! Unbelievable!
And Rob...oh good god, Rob. He's like a personal troll for me. Everything is an argument to him...and not just an argument, an ATTACK ON HIS CHARACTER AND VERY CORE IDEALS AND WAY OF LIFE AND WHY ARE YOU PICKING ON ME ALL THE TIME YOU UNGRATEFUL BITCH OMGLol11!!!!11!!111!!11! Okay, so he doesn't quite say it that way, but after 4 years, that's the jist. Reading and learning all this feminist stuff, I have to say I'm ashamed of myself for not having sent the letter yet. He needs it. But it would crush me to have him not take any of it to heart. I know the whole deal would hurt his feelings, and while I do and don't want that to happen, I don't want that to be the only result. I really want to teach him something about himself. But I know very well, he'd sit there blindly, and bitch and cry about how mean and horrible and wrong and sexist and ageist and assuming I am and not let a single thing I said even cross his radar as a personality possibility. He'd see it as, "She's just trying to attack my character like everyone does and she does everytime we talk, therefore, I should debunk her statements as things said by a meanie who's just being unfair to me." I was thinking today that maybe I should poke him again and talk to him and see if we can't have a civil conversation, and that maybe I was being too hard on him, maybe that letter wasn't called for...and then I thought, HOLD THE FUCKING PHONE! Why am I still defending him? Why isn't my opinion, my outlook valid in comparison to his? Is it just because he has the ability to bitch about it every time it comes into question, therefore making me back down and rethink my position? Or am I really wrong? No. I'm not really wrong, and it's taken a lot of time and thought to realize this. I just wish he would. He thinks he's so entitled to rightness all the time, that no matter what, his positions are infallible in arguments purely because of what he's been through and what he believes in. I'm really seeing now what a sexist pig he is, and I wish I could show him, but I know better than to try to start that argument. Just because I see it doesn't mean I can make him see it too.
C'est la vie, I suppose.
Like I said, I got my comic in to Mea during my sleepless night. We had to change the last bit of text to be, I don't know, more fair or something. I sort of care, but not enough to complain about it. I don't want to step on toes and hurt feelings, but at the same time, I hate having to walk on eggshells for every different little sect of sexuality. "This might offend these people, and this might offend these people." Blah blah blah. What about my needs? All these trolls recently have put me in such an argumentative, all around bitchy mood. I just want to be mean and right.
But I can't be. Especially not right.
God, people are so spoiled.

I can still hear it.

I can't stop loving ABBA, honest to God. Everytime I listen to the "Undeleted" track, I think what a wonderful band they are. They have real, musical talent. It's so amazing. I wish I could have that kind of experience, to really sing like that. The music is incredible.

Haaa, I'm cool.

Abba Disc 4...and other musings.

I'm trying to find my disks. I've found half.
I'm re-realizing how brilliant ABBA is, not just as a band, but as a musical group. Their Undeleted stuff is amazing.

Job interview Monday...finally. I'm crossing everything there is to be crossed for this one. I need a job so badly. Here's to hoping.

I was insulted by a friend a few nights ago. This has been an ongoing thing for years, and no, I don't know why he's still my friend. At any rate, he claimed that, "Talking to [me] is like being forced to talk about the weather for long periods of time." And he had the GALL to wonder why I was so offended and bitch about how I expect him to be all these things and he doesn't know what to be. Guh. Writing that is so hard while continuously rolling my eyes. I didn't reply to him. I wrote a REALLY nasty, albeit truthful letter to him and haven't sent it. I guess I'm too afraid of what he'll say back and that nothing will hit grey matter for him, so all my effort will be wasted, and I'll look like Queen Bitch Supreme. Here it is:

Just because you're stressed doesn't at all excuse the fact that you're extremely rude and hurtful. I use the present tense intentionally; as you continue to be so nearly every time I talk to you. I was really worried tonight that I was going to say something to offend you and get in a big fight with you again, but oh! I guess I didn't have to worry. My entire presence stressed you out so badly that I became a HUGE burden to you just by BEING THERE. If I'm such a huge burden, you don't have to talk to me, you know. I'm not forcing you to do anything. You could say, "Hey, I've got a lot going on my screen right now, could we talk another time?" I'd understand.
I know your world doesn't revolve around talking to me, nor would I want it to. But to just get so mad at me for talking to you is asinine, at the least! And if talking to me is like being FORCED to talk about the weather for a long time, I'm sorry you can't hold interest in a conversation without it being sexual, and not just sexual, all about you.
And just so you know, since you didn't seem to get it the first bunch of times I told you, JULIE AND I ARE NOT A SET PAIR. Please stop grouping us together! That drives me so crazy. Just because we happen to talk to you at the same time, for whatever reason, does not make us one in the same person or a set of two people that must always go together. It really steams me that you get so mad at having to talk to both of us, and yet tell me I'M boring and I'M monopolizing your time and you wish that *I* wouldn't stress you out so much. *I* don't want to do that. I don't know when Julie is talking to you. I don't like being held responsible for your stress level, either. Please stop punishing me for the fact that you can't seem to multitask without flipping out.
I also dislike being held responsible for your state of arousal. I am NOT your sexual gatekeeper. Just because something I say seems sexual, or is flirty doesn't necessarily mean that I'm trying to turn you on. I like flirting, but I am SO sick and tired of the "But you got me hard, doesn't that turn you on? Don't you want to do something?" conversations that follow. Flirting is fun and mentally engaging and stimulating, but I don't see it as something that HAS to be so sexual and lead to sex all the time. I'm taken, and pretty happily so. I have sex now, so I know what I'm missing if I say no. And I've said no. Get over yourself. My sexuality isn't all about pleasing you, despite the idea of BDSM and of me you seem to have. You'd be surprised how many other women would probably like to tell you the same thing.
In reading your profile on your MySpace board, yeah right. Hypocrisy everywhere. You remember a few conversations we had way back when, when you told me that you would consider being in a relationship with me, but you would rather be with someone who thought like me, but looked more like Julie or like my sister? That's just hypocritical, considering the concepts you're pleading on this profile of yourself. Are YOU "mature enough to care about someone because of WHO they are, not because of irrelevant things such as looks...?" Seems to me, you aren't. On more than one occasion, you've made me ashamed of my body, of myself, ashamed to try to be myself and exist without being beautiful, and I won't ever forget it. I hope you're deeply mortified.
And this ageism thing you're trying so desperately to argue...are you feeling the stinging backlash of your conscience, having talked inappropriately with underage girls (and I mean ANYTHING under 18), or are these girls figuring you out, and you're feeling bad because you really ARE too old for them, and it seems like something you could just debate as social inequity and label it as some sort of "-ism," therefore bringing about a notion that maybe it's okay after all? Debate till you're blue in the face, Rob. That doesn't make it right. You can claim all day long that you don't necessarily talk to these girls sexually, but I know you, and I know what you've done and how you prey upon women. Those girls don't deserve that, whether you or they think that's what they want. And don't you dare try to argue that any sexual conversations are started or caused by these girls. That's blatantly sexist. If you're such a grown man, you can and will say no every fucking time. I wish you'd learn to age with a little more grace than to think you deserve a teenybopper for every bad thing you've been through in life. They're just young girls. They're somebody's baby girl. They're not trophies. WOMEN are not trophies, and you are not entitled to one for any reason.
I don't know if you remember, but I've explained to you before that relationships aren't something you just grab off a shelf when you're rich enough to afford one, they're partnerships. You have to WORK at a relationship to deserve one. Sometimes you have to work a lot harder on them than anything you've worked on before. And if you don't want to work that hard to deserve to be in a relationship with someone, well you better keep your hand in good working order, since it'll be the only thing keeping you company while you sit there crying about how everyone's so mean and unfair for not being with you, even though you won’t work to deserve to be with a single one of them.
And another thing, stop trying to make an argument out of everything and anything just so you can seem right about SOMETHING. I feel like you pick fights with me because you know I'll back down and I'll say I'm sorry and I'll be less smart, less informed, less right than you. I'm not always wrong, and I don't always want to fight. And I'm not sorry for saying all this. I'm not sure you've read all the way through this, and if you have, I'm more than certain you haven't swallowed all of it. Take it deep, baby. You deserve every last period.
Welcome to the world, Rob. Get real and grow up.

He was a big jerk, and I figured he deserved it. But not enough for me to send it I guess. I'm such a coward.

Ah, another day, another dollar spent. Time for a computer break.