Writing about everything you like...with negativity :D

Long ol' time

2008-04-15T23:20:00.003-04:00

I know it's a been a long time since I posted anything, but I've already said everything about it to the people I wanted to. I've been through some trials, y'know, but hey, I'm a toughie. :)

Good times ahead, y'all.

2008-01-14T22:17:00.000-05:00

http://www.bravotv.com/PR4DEV/games/design_challenge/index.php?design=51512

Because I don't want to do an update on my life yet. :p

Long time comin'

2007-11-09T23:49:00.001-05:00

Thanks for the comments on the last post! It meant a lot to me to write like that. I don't know when I'll get that courage again.

Not going to report anything in this post, but I will take this opportunity to show you the BGS (Burkettville General Store) Fairy! I dressed up at work for Halloween! Here you go! Can you handle the cute?

I made my wings out of a carboard box. I totally rushed to color them before work!!!

Don't you love my pink ribbon straps?

I painted my face, which was tons of fun. I'm going to play with Halloween makeup more often. (I think I'm a cosplayer wannabe!)

Everybody was very impressed and amused by the fairy.

And now, here's some cute baby pictures! It's Baby Leroy!

She was very interested in the camera.....not so much in the flash.

And here she snuggles with Mom in the blanky. Isn't she cuuuute? I love her pink collar with the big bow and bell that's just goofishly big for her.

"Mom...don't you know I'm way too pretty for this?"

I get this love face a lot.

All for now! More sometime!

Love, Erin

Hysteria

2007-07-28T06:54:00.001-04:00

I just want to say this because it's been screaming around in my head for a while now, but especially since last night.

FAT DOES NOT EQUAL UNHEALTHY.

HEALTH IS NOT A MORAL IMPERATIVE.

So what does this mean to you and me? Firstly, fat does not equal unhealthy: A person can be thin and unhealthy, can't they? It's not to say that a fat person cannot be unhealthy, but fat itself is not synonymous with being unhealthy. Being fat is not synonymous with being unhealthy.

Secondly, health is not a moral imperative: Being unhealthy does not make you a bad person. Even if (IF! It doesn't!) fat made you unhealthy, it wouldn't make you a bad person for being so. Because I am fat, I am not a bad person. You wouldn't say a person is bad and unworthy because they have cancer, would you? Fat is no better understood by the medical community, and those who are fat deserve the same respect anyone else gets.

Let's clue in, folks. Being fat doesn't make me a bad person. Being fat doesn't make me unhealthy. I don't owe it to anyone to explain why I'm fat or how I'm fat. I don't owe it to anyone to change my body. I don't deserve to be treated differently because of my body.

I am a human being.

So let's remember that when your snot-nosed little brat espouses this "cultural wisdom" that I get bestowed upon me every so often to put me in my place. That ain't my place, Junior. I'm fine with me, and I don't need to change for you. Nor do I need to explain to you why this is my choice. I'm just trying to live my life. I am a human being, after all.

Please visit http://www.therotund.com/ and the links on the Blogroll for more valuable insight.

Test

2007-06-19T09:49:00.000-04:00

This is just a test so that I can have somewhere on the web to host my signature picture for the forum on the Sailor Stars project.

Hesitation

2007-06-18T21:00:00.000-04:00

I'm trying really hard to get a few roles in a fandub production of Sailor Moon Sailor Stars, but I feel like my voice sucks. I can't seem to connect to the lines when I record them. It's really disappointing as someone who prides herself on a lot of talent. However, I was really surprised by my singing voice. I emailed the project manager and let him know that I'm going to practice some more. This seems to be like everything lately...I've just got to keep trying.

I am Sailor Moon...aren't I? :p

A quick note

2007-04-25T09:10:00.000-04:00

M- Those videos are fat positive videos. The second link is my favorite. It's Joy Nash's "Fat Rant". I don't know why the links didn't work for you...they still work dandy for me....sorry.

And a note on the whole thing: I've been so confused lately, and I don't talk about it because I don't want to say a half finished thought, but...I feel like I'm silencing myself, and defeating myself.
I really love myself: my body, my brains, my passions...I just wish everyone else did too.

Kellayna Hime says: If you get a chance, you'll appreciate these videos:

2007-04-20T00:45:00.000-04:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qyG8Zf5RM7g

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yUTJQIBI1oA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iU8QgN-kv1A

Being 22 and you

2007-03-29T19:15:00.000-04:00

Are there new things to write about, or not? I can't decide.

So spring is coming, and the sunshine has really brightened my mood and increased my energy. (+100 Sta!) There were a couple weeks there, where I could hardly be assed to open my eyes, let alone function. I just felt EXHAUSTED. It sucked.
Now, I feel like I could get things done...but I'm a procrastinator, and also a television addict, so...it's still not getting done. :p I'm trying, damnit.
I'm trying to find a new job, but not as frantically as I probably should be. I'm such a baby, such a spoiled brat. I wonder how long everyone will just put up with it...?
What else do you want to know?
The comic is slower than ever, and always my fault. Dave's right, "if [I] worked on the comic like [I] turn down jobs, [I'd] be done by now." le sigh. It just never looks right, you know? I'm so afraid I won't be able to meet deadlines when it comes down to it...I know I won't be able to do it without Jon's help. I was just fooling myself before. I need to give myself time to grow and grow up and learn....I'm just so damned impatient!
I can't think of anything else smart and impressive to say, so here's a picture of a cute, fat fairy:

A poem, after a brief hiatus

2007-01-20T20:24:00.000-05:00

I never know what to say when I sit right here.
It's when I'm driving in my car
when I'm in the shower
when I'm at work, in the kitchen, all alone
Then the words come to me
Then the thoughts flow

I've been thinking a lot lately
About what a failure I've become
and about how I'm not the same person I was

I despair,
seeing no light in the tunnel.
I mourn
the loss of something I'm not even certain is gone.
I look
for hope, for inspiration, for some fleeting sign

As I write this, I'm not upset.
I feel a sense of duty.
I can feel you wondering, as you look at these words on another screen somewhere:
"How is she? What's gone wrong with her now?"
I'm not upset.

I feel this fear of the future in the back of my mind, a tension regarding what's to come.
I worry, really only, that I will disappoint those I love
that they'll stop believing in me
they'll stop rooting for me.
I think
I want to believe in myself.

He's really quiet lately.
He sits with his face twisted, as though pondering something unpleasant.
Steely, as when he was mad at me.
I ask, and his voice gives no sign of ill feeling.
I can't help but look sad. I worry.
I want you to love me
Love me, not be obligated to love me
Sometimes it's hard to figure out.

I want so much
but I feel like I never give enough.
I feel like I'm taking
Like I'm selfish
and I don't want to be.
And still I catch myself at times, wallowing in my own martyrdom.
But please, let me continue to reach for you.
I know I'm trying
and I'm frustrating
and disappointing, but
please love me still.

The world and success seem to slip farther and farther away every day.
I stare at blank pages for weeks
and curse the ones I've marked.
I drive to
and hate my job
and from
and am too afraid to leave it.
I see classmates
with benefits
with rings
with children
with something more to say
I'm not jealous, I'm disappointed in myself. I should be more successful now.

I wonder:
Am I young?
Am I young enough to let mistakes roll off me as mistakes?
Am I young enough to learn?
Am I young enough to change?

It seems like the days are catching up to me.
It seems like the weeks are shorter than they ever were.
It seems like the years couldn't have possibly gone by.
And yet
I have nothing to show
but a few pages I didn't draw myself.

I need some confidence.
I need to feel like I'm doing the right thing(s).
But I don't want to ask.
I'm not looking for a compliment.
I just want to go farther.
I just want to succeed.

Not much of a poem, but there are my feelings, there is my news, there is my update. Thank you. Stay tuned.

Love, Erin

Shooting Star

2006-10-10T02:19:00.000-04:00

I haven’t posted in a long time because I’ve been scared to. T’ain’t right.
I ain’t right.
What I did to Dave, talking to Josh, it wasn’t right. I was really selfish. I have a million things to say about the whole thing, but all that ever comes out is “I’m sorry.” I’m really lucky, really fucking lucky that he’s willing to deal with me and work through my bullshit. I wish I didn’t have bullshit to work through. He called me on my bullshit…I don’t really know what to think of that. People don’t do that to me. I can’t lie to him. He’ll know. It’s different.
I lie to everybody, you know? But not to him, now. I didn’t want to lie to him to begin with. I did, though. I fucking lied. I don’t know if I was thinking or not. I didn’t want him to think worse of me for not having gotten rid of Josh from my list, from my life. And I want to pose the question: Why couldn’t I just have done that? I wasn’t thinking about Dave. I was thinking just about me and what I wanted, not about him and his feelings and how my actions would affect him. So, I lied…I gave him a different name and swore it to be the truth. Right to his face. What the fuck.
I’m lucky.
I’m real lucky.
I won’t do that to anyone again.
I’m so sorry, Dave. I’m so sorry for what I did, and for lying, and for not treating you right. I’m sorry I forgot that you love me. I’m sorry I forgot that I love you. Okay, so now that’s all in the open.

In other news, Buddy hasn’t been doing so great lately. Last week, we watched him have a seizure, and I had a less than fun trip to the vet’s with the kitty. The kitty is “infested with fleas”, despite the fact that I’ve been checking for such things…I guess I don’t know what the hell I’m looking for. I love that they use that terminology, too: “infested.” As though I’ve rolled him around in a swarm of the things intentionally. Anyway, they haven’t said one way or another what may be causing the seizures, but I got some pills, and they seem to be doing the trick. Poor Buddy boy was really scared of stuff, and was spacy and crazy, but the pills seem to mellow him out and normalize him a little more…and there are no more seizures. It’s nice to see. Poor boy. He needs me to hug him a lot lately. I think he’s scared and confused, and I wish I could just make it all better.
The whole vet trip was really expensive…crazily so. I’m such a dummy. They kept mentioning all these tests we could do, and I don’t have brains enough to say, “Does this have anything to do with the seizures?” It would have saved me tons of money if I had. I wish I’d had somebody smart with me…Meggy or somebody. Next time, I think. The people at the vet’s made me feel like a bad kitty parent, and like a general moron. I’m doing the best I can for that kitty, what with my income and knowledge of pet care. I know they’re just trained to do that to sell me stuff, but…grr. I’ll try to put my backbone in the next time I go.

The job hunt is dismal. 1 call out of 20 applications filled out…my hands are tired. I’m so scared, too. Everytime I picture myself in the position I’m applying for, I get that awful nervous feeling I got at T-Mobile, and I just want to run away to a safe place. Luckily for me, nobody seems to want to fucking hire me. Whooopie. :p
I’m going to keep trying, though. I’m giving Dave money now, but I don’t have any put aside…it keeps getting spent on that damn car. I owe my parents 300 dollars still for the insurance payment. I’m so glad they’re patient with me, but I hate feeling this way. I hate feeling like every extra thing I even consider buying is a mortal sin with my debt. Like…that dollar you spent on that soda could’ve been put toward what you owe your parents, or put in the bank. *sigh* I’ve just got to keep going, keep trying. It’s tough, but I feel like there’s a way out somewhere, I just can’t see it yet. I’ve cut back A LOT on the extraneous stuff, even if no one’s noticed. No online shopping, no lunch out, no extra travel…is it helping?
In the meantime, I really have a soft spot for my job at Burkettville, even with all the silly, petty bullshit. I like my job there. I don’t want it to be a crutch for me for the rest of my life, that I feel like I can only work there forever and ever…but all the same, I really love it sometimes. A lot, lately. I feel like I’ve got a good grip on things, and I’ve got a good thing going. What’s so bad about liking your job, even if it is making pizza all day long? Blah blah blah, I know, I know…responsibility, the real world, blah blah. I kind of like feeling like I like my job, though.

Bah, please don’t even ask about the comic. I keep finding ways to distract myself from it. It makes me feel so bad to do that. I have a meeting with Jon Thursday, and I know he won’t be happy with my non-progress. I can’t say I’ll get better because I don’t know that I will. I really want to make it work, I do…I just…I get scared of my own inability…I keep thinking it’s not measuring up, and that I should quit while I’m behind…but I don’t put it away…I keep it out there on that table and let it nag at me for as long as it takes. By the way, Dave was super-cool enough to build me the stand I’d been dreaming of, to tilt my lightbox up toward me and negate the hunchback syndrome I was getting, so…round of applause to my man! I need to stop putting so much pressure on myself about what it should be and what it could be, and just let it be, I think. Everytime I look at the pages I’ve finished or that I’m working on, I keep thinking, “Oh, it should look more like this…why can’t I make it look more like this?” I need to cut that out and just put it out there and get better as I go along. Fucking perfectionist in the wrong places, that’s what I am. Additionally…I have many sideprojects that are distracting me. I like the whole crocheting thing, but it’s cutting into my comic time. EQII is a bit time-consuming, but I’m gonna let that one slide a lot because it’s quality time with Dave, and it’s important to him, so it’s important to me. I’ll figure out how to manage my time someday. Isn’t that what grownups do?

I’ve been downloading a lot of anime fansubs lately. Hurray for the internet. Here’s a rundown of my viewings:
Peach Girl is fluffy and cute, though not altogether unenjoyable. I think the dynamics aren’t so much “angsty”, as they are “confused, loud teen-y”. I can respect the way that Momo deals with her relationship with Kiley, but I hate it all the same. I remember being the girl trying to vie for the affections of a man who loved another woman (in this case, every other woman), and feeling like “being #2 is okay for now, so long as he’ll love me later”. But that’s such a toxic way to treat yourself. I was hoping that Momo would snap out of it and get a backbone, and stop living her life based on the decisions of two young, stupid boys. She’s got a lot going for her that doesn’t involve men. It’s a point of contention with the new, improved, feminist me. Maybe the end of the series holds hope for my wishes. Here’s to you, Momo…don’t sell yourself short as just being for a man.
Doki Doki Denetsu Mahoujin Guru Guru continues my beloved series in all its cute glory. I think this updated continuation of the original Mahoujin Guru Guru is great. The voices are super close, if not the originals. The character interactions and traits are all smooth and consistent with the original series. And the comedy is more than admirable. I heart this series. A joy to watch. I’m awaiting my batch download of the original series to finish (99.99% for one week and counting…fucking Shareaza), so that I can compare the two more easily. Not disappointed thus far, though…in fact, totally entertained.
Great Detectives Poirot and Marple is beginning to grate on my nerves. Okay, so I haven’t watched an entire episode of the batch I just downloaded, but I’m fairly certain that I got the gist from the first nine. This series is a terrible disservice to mysteries. It and Detective Conan lead me to believe that anime does not do the mystery genre well at all. I don’t think Agatha Christie would have appreciated the addition of Maybelle and her obnoxious be-ribboned duckling tagging along on every “mystery”, if they may be called that. The language of the series is interesting to listen to, since it’s supposed to take place in England. Many many butchered words in that series. Fun to listen to…getting rather annoying to watch, though. The mysteries are set up so that you aren’t so much solving the case as you are getting the clues too late.
Ippatu Kikimusume…goddamnit. What the hell did I just watch?
Kappa no kaikata is another one of those nine-minute series I keep finding. I don’t really understand this trend, but I don’t hate it, either. It’s easier to watch series, I’m finding, when you’re only watching 9 minutes an episode. This series is a bit crazy, but I find myself loving the kappa. I especially love Chii-chan. They saw me coming when they created him. Oh my god, that’s just too cute. He’s a big ol’ kappa who scares everybody, but his master is a little kindergartener, and he loves trumpets…oh my god, I want a Chii-chan! He’s cuter than the obviously supposed to be cute Kataan. I love to watch Kataan get punished, though…haha. Naughty Kappa.
Moving right along, we come to Peach Girl, the Taiwanese drama version. Oh my god, I’m still not through a whole episode of this. It moves SO SLOWLY. IS IT OVER YET? MY GOD. But it’s interesting to compare it to the original Japanese manga/anime. The characters’ names and many of the circumstances changed, but it’s pretty easy to catch the similarities. Momo is now Xiao Tao, who is kind of plain looking, if a little bug-eyed, but she seems to be fitting this version of the character. Xiao Tao doesn’t complain as much about being darker skinned than other girls, rather she’s too tall, though the skin thing is mentioned by the boys. Apparently, she dresses sluttily too. Sae is now (princess) Sha Hui. I get that she’s just the school princess, and everybody adores her and all…I still think it’s cute that she’s got such devoted followers. Sha Hui is really more subversive than Sae…she needs a cackle, I think. I wasn’t sure she was Sae to begin with, except for the barrettes in the hair. Toji is Dong Shi, a quiet, reserved photographer with the more obvious hots for Xiao Tao. I like that Dong Shi is so enamored of her, since she feels the same way about him. Toji is a rather boring, unlikable character, especially next to Dong Shi. Kiley is now A Li, the resident pinup boy/rocker/every girl’s dream. He’s got a flock a mile long, and 400 decibels too loud. Good god, those girls never shut up. His character is a totally toned-down version of Kiley. I hope he gets silly and crazy…I was starting to like that about the guy. Who knows if I’ll get through the four episodes of this that I have…it’s SO slowly paced….It’s rather tiring. Maybe just for curiosity’s sake.
Maria-sama ga Miteru continues to be dry, boring and confusing. Why should I care who is whose petite soeur? Why is Yumi such a ditz? Guh. I’m gonna finish this damn thing cause I started it, but I won’t like it, damnit.
I’m beginning to lose my love for Creamy Mami. Yuu is a brat. Yuu is a spoiled, uncaring, ungrateful brat and Mami ain’t that interesting…and all the little sexist comments….I may be done with this one soon.
Mahou no Star Magical Emi was an even worse version of Creamy Mami. Go 80’s anime. Crap.
And finally, this all brings me to Mahou Shojoutai Arusu(Alice). Okay…this one has got me up in the air. I adore the nine minute format, and especially that it doesn’t follow the same “instructional video” format as the other shorter series I followed. The animation is weird, but pretty smooth. I love Ateria-sama’s character design. The character dynamics were a bit off, though. When Renon-chan made the scene and it was discovered that he wasn’t a she; he was Alice’s half-brother; and he was abandoned by both his parents to float along the void of nothingness between the human and magic world, everyone just sort of reacted as though, “Oh. Yeah. Huh. Yeah, that’s what happened, alright. So, about this book…” Guh, what???! Renon-chan gets the short end of every stick in this series. Poor Renon. I love that they made Eva the dark magic witch in the end. They totally eluded to it, but never made it clear. It also could have been Renon or Ateria, with the way they worded everything. Fucking great. I love twists like that. But the ending of the whole series was the biggest disappointment for me…It was as they always are, leading up to nothing. Like taking in a deep breath and then belching. Alice goes back to the human world…and realizes that she has to give Eva-chan sweet chestnuts to break her of her depression? Some hikari no mahou that is. :p Still, though…for whatever reason I can find, I would recommend this series for a watch. I think it was pretty worth it, despite the obvious frustrations. It’s really different and flows really well.
I’ve got a whole bunch more anime in queue, too. If anyone’s interested in more reviews, I’d be more than happy to share.

Sorry about the casualness of this post…but…I guess I needed an update, you know? I think I can get back into the swing of things now that I’ve covered this ground.
Additionally, I want to sing again. And not just to myself.

The good stuff

2006-08-09T02:54:00.000-04:00

How he came to the hotel room I was living at...and left when I asked.
How he kept coming back.
How he kept staring at my breasts when we played cribbage that first time. I wore that shirt with the Chinese keyhole collar. That's where I wanted his eyes, and bless him, that's where his eyes were.
How he makes me laugh.
How he makes me try and see and do new things.
How he puts up with my crap.
How he smiles everytime I ask him if dinner is good, and answers with a resounding, "Mm-Hmmm".
How he touches my leg or my arm during loading screens.
How he kisses my forehead.
How he tries to squeeze me just a little too tight...but I know he just loves me that much extra.
How he proves that he loves me.
How his fingers feel in my hair.
How he smells.
How he'll put up with watching the crap I like, even if he makes fun of it all the way through.
How he stopped horsing around on the icy road when I started to cry. I hated that he was doing it in the first place, but it meant so much for him to stop and put his hand on my head instead of insisting I'd be fine.
How he decided to take the blanket outside one night for sex.
That kissy face we make at each other, instead of saying anything.
How he talks in his sleep.
How he laughs when he really thinks something is funny.
How he followed behind me so patiently that night my car was dying.
That time we stood in front of the mirror, with his hands cupping my breasts, and he told me, "What's more beautiful than that?"

You are, Dave. I'm sorry, but I can't write all the good stuff. There's so much more than the bad stuff. Sounds facetious, but it's true. You're beyond good to me. I love you.

...to me...

2006-08-09T01:13:00.000-04:00

You fucking suck.

I hate you.

Get your shit together, you lazy, worthless fuck.

Here you sit, wanting to pity yourself, wanting somebody to feel for you. You know why you don't? You know why they don't? Because you fucking deserve this.
You didn't deserve a bit of the good you got, and look how you fucked it up. I knew you had it in you. God, what the fuck is wrong with you?
It's not giving in; it's not giving up, you idiot. It's not conforming. Just fucking do it! Ugh, I hate you.
Look at what you have...Fucking take a look! "There are his blue eyes; there is his smile"...god, you're fucking pathetic. You don't deserve that, that good stuff. You gotta fucking work for it...that's what you always tell everybody else, isn't it? You hypocrite. Even if you followed the tripe advice you spew out, you wouldn't be half the person you wish you could be.

Fuck you. Fuck you and what you think you need. You're not the only fucking person in this relationship...in the world...in the fucking universe! What makes you so fucking special, huh? You make me sick...and if you dare cry about this, I swear I'll leave you to fuck yourself up further.
Get over yourself!
Live life. Change. Fucking try it.
Pathetic.

I'm still dreaming

2006-07-31T21:38:00.000-04:00

I can feel it. I see the wires. I see the wires I severed, the wires I disconnected sparking wildly and begging to be put back. I see the wires I plugged in powerless, unable to make the connection, as I thought they would. I'm still asleep.
You always play and it's always their game.
I keep repeating it aloud: "He doesn't love me;" "He won't love me;" "He doesn't care about me;" "He just wants to use me." I'm reaching for the wire. Where is it? There are so many plugged in; there are so many just laying here. I say it louder. I hear the wire pulse like a heartbeat, my hand was so close to it the whole time. I take it in my hand, and I tug. I'm still dreaming.
I think it's the romanticism...
My head is reeling. There's a connection after all. I was connected to a fantasy. I pull at the wire, which is throbbing in my hands. The connection is stronger than I thought. Why can't I let go? I'm sleeping.
Because you're doing something you love, and I want to help you...
I'm screaming now. The disconnected wires on the floor spark and hiss, threatening burn me, threatening to self-destruct. The wires of past connections are hurting me. It's familiar. I remember. I remember pulling out these wires. I remember why I pulled them out and how long it took to do so. I'm determined to pull this one out quickly, before I'm hurt again, before I'm hurt worse. The wire throbs in my hands inhumanly, ordering me not to touch it, demanding its false connection. I pull as hard as I can, bellowing my mantras: "I won't be hurt again; "I won't be used again." Reality is fading in and out. I don't think I'm asleep anymore. I'm not sure.
You're special...you're different from others...
The wire moves. It is stubborn, reluctant to allow me reality. Its plug clings to the socket, hanging halfway out. It throbs still, and sparks fly out at me, singeing my heart. There's that pain again, brought back anew. I can't touch that wire anymore, but I know reality has shifted enough to normalize. My vision is blurred, but I know what I'm seeing. Where are those wires I tried to sever earlier? I didn't cut all the way through, did I? I feel around blindly, reaching for a memory wire, but I can't find a good one. I'm still dreaming.
I just like her more. We're still friends...
I turn around, and there are his blue eyes; there is his smile. Reality is here, but I am still dreaming. What was I thinking, trying to make that new connection? I forgot what I'd leave behind. I find that wire I was searching for, and the connection is still there, and it's real...it's not what I thought I'd want, but it's there, and it's real. I repair it, and my heart soars again to hear his voice. But I'm still dreaming.
And the man I marry is going to be gentle and kind; he'll have hands as big as dinner plates and arms that reach all the way around me.
I can't touch that false connection yet. It's still throbbing too violently, it'll hurt me too much. I leave it there, half-bemused, as though I'm saving it as an opportunity for later. My heart hurts at that thought. There are his blue eyes again, there is that sadness I know he'd feel if I ever did what I thought. Wires lay all around me, sparking and mocking me with past misdoings. I am sad, though I am mostly repaired. I take the false connection wire in my hand, and each throb makes me feel more shame. Why can't I pull it out? I'm still dreaming. Please wake up...you know reality...you know it's sad, but it's real...please wake up. Wake up.
Wake up.

If you want me for anything, you'll have to love me more than I love you. And that will require some effort on your part. I won't be hurt again.

Wake up.

A heartbreak's worth a thousand slaps.

2006-07-21T23:53:00.000-04:00

It always seems to a be a while before I get the nerve or obligation up to say anything. I keep thinking I don't have an audience and it won't matter, but everytime I check for comments, and I see the date not changing and getting farther and farther from the current date, I know something should go up.

I don't guarantee the "goodness" of this post. I outlined the stuff I want to touch on, just in case I get lost in my own self-pity again, so it may seem a little more rigid and to the point.

First up, I left T-Mobile.
Gasp, shock, oh my god. I'm a terrible person and a horrible failure and what the fuck are you going to do about it? (ooh, look at me, pretending to have a backbone.) See, here's the thing: I hated the job. I hated the namby pamby brainwashing; the taking the blame for the company's or other people's fuckups; being yelled at by complete strangers and told I'm stupid and inadequate and inept and unfit for the position;

(I'll go on in a moment, but let me just interrupt this sentence to touch on that subject. Who the fuck are you, T-mobile customers, to tell anybody on the other end of that phone call to customer service that they are stupid? Fuck you! You know what, America said it best in the song "Riverside": "I said the world don't owe me no living...no, no the world don't owe me no living." The world don't owe you no livin', and by god, neither do those poor people you're berating on the fucking telephone. Even if it hadn't been me getting that abuse, it's fucking ridiculous...sure they're supposed to be customer service, but when they tell you they can only do this much for you, WHY THE FUCK do you insist that they do ten times more just because you fucking say so? You know what? You're fucking dumb. I hate you, T-Mobile customers. May your phones rot your brains till they fall out of your gaping, unwarranted vitriol-spewing, verbal diarrhea belching, skewed idea pushing, asshole mouths. FUCK YOU. I would tell you to think of how it makes the other person feel, but gosh, that whole thinking thing is obviously so hard for you.)

I hated the cellphones; I hated the hours; I hated the rules; I hated my bosses and trainers; I hated what I was becoming. An empty, empty person. It's so fucking stupid to have freaked out that badly over the whole experience, but I felt like, "God, I'll NEVER get out of here. I'm so tired, I'll never get anything done and I'll just be stuck here forever."

I was getting sick every morning, too. I would dry heave and get dizzy and cry and just fucking break down before work. Then I started to get actually puke. I have never been so stressed. I knew I just had to get out somehow...I couldn't wait on finding another job. I called Burkettville up while I was at work on the 18th and begged for my job back. Missy took me back with open arms, and I was more than grateful.

Dave wasn't happy with me. In fact, he was pissed. For about three days, he hardly talked to me. "What part of we can't pay our bills means leaving a ten dollar an hour job for a seven dollar an hour job to you?" he asked. I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I was selfish and thoughtless, but it was done, and I didn't regret it that much. I just...I feel so useless. I know I let him down. I know I did some very bad, very selfish things. What was I supposed to do? I'm twenty-fucking-one...I've got to make some bad decisions sometime. I know where he's coming from...I know it's hard, and I know he resents the fact that I took that opportunity, when it wasn't available to him, but...I don't know. This has all been so hard and I just feel like I have no soft place to fall. I called my mom one more before going into work and I broke down to her, just like I did to everyone else during that time...and she just listened and understood and loved me, and it meant so much. Now I just feel like the world's biggest fuckup. What the fuck's the point? I'm getting all teary and depressed now. He's just going to have to deal with me, that's all. At least the store took me back. A little money is better than none. I'm looking for a closer job, but I'm skeptical of everything right now. I don't want to jump into something that's like or worse than T-Mobile.

We've had some crazy-ass weather lately, or at least the midcoast has. At work on Tuesday, there was a hurricane or tornado or some shit...anyway...it rained like hell, and the wind knocked over trees everywhere. The local sap yard lost 20, count em, 20 maples. Crazy. We stood at the door at work and just watched a huge tree sway in the wind till it fell over and took a power line with it. It was a huge mess just getting home. The road wasn't gray...it was green and brown...completely green and brown...from all the leaves and twigs. 28,000 subscribers lost power from Rockland to Augusta...the store was running on 4 generators. Luckily, we got the power back the next day at 4. The projected date had been rumored as Friday...good lord. It was hectic. The rain and the heat are intense lately.

I don't think I'll be going back to either family reunion too soon. We have the Grinnell and the Upham reunions each year...and both are losing ground in the fun arena fast. The Grinnell reunion was an alright affair, up until the annual auction. There was just too much stuff...I brought too much with me. No one would buy anything. The kicker, though, were the comments made on the garments I had in a box of clothes. "A t-shirt," cried the auctioneer in full dramatic swing, "...a HUGE t-shirt! Look, you could share it with your sister!" I was walking up the hill to put my things in my car when I caught that. I decided to ignore it. I was leaving anyway. But when I came back to say my goodbyes, the entire family had decided that the remaining items were up for grabs, as nobody really seemed to want to pay for them. This included the remainder of my box of clothes. A couple of aunts held up old pajamas and jeans that I still thought were adorable, but I couldn't fit in if I tried. They giggled and guffawed as they splayed them out by the arms and legs. "Why, you could fit all of your kids in this!" they laughed. An otherwise nice time had been essentially ruined. My own family is so thoughtless. The worst part is that these are clothes I wish I could still fit in. They better count their blessings they'll never know the horrors of 200+ pounds.

The Uphams have lost touch, I think. Well, it's not so much the Uphams in charge now, as it is the Ripleys and the Brooks. They ought to just have their own reunion, I think. Leave me out of it. First, they changed the date from the third Sunday of July, as it was traditionally, to the second sunday. This pissed me off because I'd already made plans so far ahead. I was able to just squeeze by to get the time off. When we got there, the lunch was already in full swing, and it was only noon. There wasn't much food at all...a real disappointment for the fat side of the family. The raffles and door prizes were held much too late, and there was far too much self-congratulation on the parts of the officers. Yes, Ripleys and Brooks...we know you're very, very proud of yourselves, now get over yourselves and let others have a good time, please. We didn't even stick around for the auction. It was a poor affair that I wish I hadn't wasted a day on. Oh...and I must note before closing...this shit runs in my gene pool. Please don't breed with me. They had decided on a theme this year and were just so very fucking pleased with themselves, it was just SUCH a good idea (red white and blue. god, what an imagination stretch), that they figured they ought to do it again next year, but with a different theme. "What about Hawaiian?" someone piped up. "Oh, that would be a cute idea," was the general consensus. "We could wear hawaiian shirts and shorts...oh! And we could give out flower leis." To which Dave snickered. "Shut up," I warned. "Come to the family reunion," he quipped with a grin, "and get 'lei'd'." Goddamnit. I'm glad I got the smart genes.

The comic plods along...by my own pace, certainly not Jon's. He knows what the fuck he's doing, and I feel like I'm in the dust...holding him back. He's so patient about it all, I really appreciate it...but I feel so...unready for the real responsibility of it. How am I going to get to a point where I do this on my own? I feel like maybe I should take some more art classes...but...let's not waste money. I'm trying to be patient and just continue at my own pace....maybe this is what he was planning from the beginning...it's all just part of the scheme. I don't know. He does some fantastic composition work, though.

My name is Erin and I'm addicted to comic books. It's becoming a problem. They're too..."cheap", and I think it won't matter much if I just get a couple. I've been so worried about how to pay for my car insurance, and I just dropped 57 dollars in new comic books this week. I have a problem...at least it really does make me happy.

My mom says I look like I lost weight....she needs to eat something and get her senses back. I fucking wish.

Ta ya'll...I'm writing this with my eyes closed right now. It's bedtime.

To you.

2006-05-29T19:58:00.000-04:00

So, I'm gonna be a little bitter, obtuse, and rude.

Fuck you.

Fuck you for pretending that we're just friends.
Fuck you for brushing off my advances.
Fuck you for ever treating me like I was special, and especially for not doing it now.
Fuck you for letting me think anything could be.
Fuck you for your ability to place me behind everything in priority. Why do you get this luxury? Why is it that I must ignore my feelings and hesitations and do whatever it is you want when you want, and you can just come and go as you please? Oh that's right. You're a man. You call the shots, don't you? And I just ought to feel lucky that I get whatever attention you deem appropriate for me at the time. God forbid you do something for my pleasure without thinking of your own.
Fuck you for making me feel guilty about my hatred for the attention other women get, while still ogling and treating them special yourself. Oh, I can't say she's ugly, but you can say she's "pretty"/"easy on the eyes"/"got a great rack"? Where are those compliments to me? Either I'm just supposed to assume the things you think about me, or I'm just not worthy of your admiration.
Fuck you for pretending to listen.
Fuck you for your useless, selfish "advice".
Fuck you and your attitude.
Fuck you for making me ever feel unsafe and uncomfortable to the point where I wonder how and where I can just get away.
Fuck you for never loving me.
Fuck you for never caring about me.
I'm more than what I can offer you, goddamnit.
I deserve that attention, that admiration. I deserve to hear that I'm beautiful, what you admire about me. I deserve to assume that since you don't offer those thoughts, you're thinking other thoughts about me. I deserve better than sheer obligation to keep me sated and quiet. I deserve love.

I feel like if one person appreciated my looks the way I appreciate my significant others', I'd feel better about myself. What's the point in the what if, though? All anybody's ever going to tell me is that it's a notion I need to release myself of, as if my every day wasn't a struggle to do just that, to not feel on the outside, to feel like I'm living, not surviving.

Fuck you for pretending my problems and concerns are insignificant.

I guess I've come to a point where I want them to be straightforward and honest about it all...but I have a feeling that if they were, I wouldn't like it very much.
"How could anybody not love you, Erin?" Fuck you. There've been plenty who haven't, who don't, who won't, who'll pretend just to get something out of me. Fuck you.
Fuck you for pretending I'm normal, and thinking I'm not.

Fuck me.

Fuck me for never seeing the flashing neon signs.
Fuck me for thinking I don't need to change, and the world does.
Fuck me for putting it all on the line.
Fuck me for trusting.
Fuck me for my selfishness.
Fuck me for my lies.
Fuck me for my desperation.
Fuck me for not speaking my mind.
Fuck me for expecting anyone to read my mind.
Fuck me for waiting around.
Fuck me for letting this shit continue.

I'm going to go drown my troubles in pasta. Be honest, would you?

Love Letters

2006-05-04T15:04:00.000-04:00

I just read a book, A Perfect Day for Love Letters, by George Asakura. (it's a comic book)
I don't know if I want volume 2.
The stories are romantically exciting...until the moment the two meet. When they meet, it's always yelling and crying and anger and confusion. I suppose it's a change from the "We were meant for each other" of other love stories, but it just doesn't seem that the two would gravitate toward one another if there was such animosity in their meeting in reality.
Do men even write letters like that? Do men think about women that way, and pine and long for? Or am I just not like other women?
I've always known I'm not. I'm not playing on the same field. They get to exist and be admired and longed for...by somebody in their life. I know I've never been a blip on the radar. Just a last resort. Maybe I was a pleasant surprise, but no one ever thought of me late at night, wishing that I would just look at them. I'm not like other girls.
A big part of my not wanting to read another volume is certainly, inarguably jealousy. I want somebody to want me more than I want them. I want to be a muse to someone. I want somebody to send me cryptic, beautiful, romantic love letters, where their true feelings and desires are revealed.
Any true feelings or desires about me have always been that I would probably be a surprisingly great lay, and they'd love to have the ability to leave it at that. That I was sweet, and would probably be fun to hang out with for a while. Never a muse. Never special enough to deserve better. Never worth an ounce more of effort or attention.

This self-pity isn't healthy, but if feels good to be honest about it, if only to myself. I'm bitter and jealous and upset, and it isn't changing.

It seems that other girls get attention while simply existing, by just being human. That's why I've always felt so distant from it all, why I didn't understand their complaints. I'd give anything just to feel human like that, just to exist and be appreciated for it. That's why I'm so hard on myself. I've got to try harder to be better than them, if not in looks, then in personality, and in desire and talent and stamina and sheer willingness and openmindedness. I beat myself up about making all the effort toward everything but the one thing that would change their minds.

Why can't you just fucking lose weight?
I'm stupid.
I still believe it'll solve all of my problems.

I wouldn't be the same person without all the weight. It makes me think differently, react differently...because I'm seen differently and treated differently. I am different. I'm not like other girls.
But all the same, I'd like to just let go and be nothing but worthless eye candy, since nothing I do is ever better than that. That's what they pine for, fight for, change themselves for...write love letters to. It's not me.

Where are my love letters?
Where is my humanity?

2006-04-29T23:37:00.000-04:00

Tell me what you really think of me.

I don't want to cry, but I don't want to walk on eggshells just wondering if you're mad at me.

I got the job at T-Mobile. I'm looking forward to the benefits and the better pay and the not playing in grease all day long...but I'm not exactly looking forward to the whole experience altogether. I'm nervous, in a childish, selfish sort of way. For the love of God, even if it turns out to be a terrible job, I can't give it up! Dave needs me, and he needs my financial help. Working at the store doesn't allow me the opportunity to help him financially, and it doesn't bring me home everyday. I've got to grow up, stop letting my insecurities about the future hold me back.

I need to curb my online shopping. It could get out of control really quick...God, I'm bad. But I lovvves the books.

I was going to write more, but I'm tired, and the words won't come. More when they do.

Keeping you up-to-date

2006-04-08T14:35:00.000-04:00

So, it's been a little bit.
I always want to write something, but I can never just do it. The words make more sense in my head.

Ordered a bunch of books from Amazon.com, and have discovered the joys of shopping at Marden's. There's nothing like reading a manga that you wouldn't have otherwise picked up because it was only 99 cents. At least my comic fix will become cheaper. I don't know how my bookshelves feel about this addiction, though. I wish there was a way I could safely share these treasures with others, but I've had too many bad experiences with losing movies and books to loan them out freely anymore. Buy your own damn copy. :p

I've gotten in contact with Dee again, but really only briefly. I'm still trying for that job at T-Mobile. I think my chances are better this time, but in a way, I almost don't care. I don't want any job to take over my life and make me forget what I really love, and that's to use my talents. We'll see how it goes. If I don't get it, I've still got the job at Burkettville after all.

I watched my parents' animals this week. I'm so sick of being here. I'm fucking ready to go home RIGHT NOW. Two more days. ugh.

I need a nap. I go back to work in an hour and a half.

Love me

2006-03-21T21:29:00.000-05:00

I'm in a bit of a weird funk right now, emotionally.

I've been having dreams where nothing really happens, but I wake up feeling as though a ton of emotions have swept over me. I feel very dramatic and often very drained. I have this inner sense like I should hold onto, acknowledge, and do something about these unconscious emotions with no symbolic attachments (seriously, my dreams are like, I'm late to work and driving in the rain, and I have to leave the house...nothing major happens). I guess I put too much stock into the significance of dreams. But a big part of me wants some spiritual connection to the supernatural/fantastic, however unreliable. When I was like, 10 or 12 I used to really believe that I was this mystical princess, and that a better, more dramatic, more magical life waited for me at the age of 24. Now, at 21, mired in the realities of payments and problems and no way out, I almost feel embarrassed about convincing myself of the whole thing. I knew, even at that age, that you can't "create" a fate or reality...it happens to you and with you, by what you do, not what you say will happen. But I still want to believe that there's something magical left. I feel, sometimes, like there's a world I'm seeing when I dream...and I come so close to really being there, really being magical, but I'm so aware that I'm dreaming...Ha. We'll see what happens when I turn 24.

I've been revamping our old Windows 95 machine with all its old games. I'm planning on selling it as a kids' game computer, but part of me is having so much fun, I almost don't want to sell it! I had to delete a bunch of old files. I looked back through my old chat records. I'm shaking my head just thinking about it. GOD. goodfuckingLORD...
I was a stupid kid. I have to give myself the benefit of the doubt that I really didn't know better when it came to dealing with men...I have grown up so much. Looking at how I allowed my emotions to be toyed with, manipulated...it breaks my heart all over again...I wish I could go back and show myself the reality of it all...but that is how we learn, I guess. I deleted them.
I hate seeing how desperate I was...and I hate realizing how desperate I still am, just for a little attention, a little unprovoked affection. When I get depressed lately, I hear in my head over and over, "I wish someone would just love me...would love me more than I love them...would tell me I'm beautiful without me asking...I wish I was beautiful...I wish I was loved." I still don't feel loved. I feel like it's all an obligation, and I know that feeling is just my insecurity, but...I still wish. I HATE feeling so dependent on the actions and emotions of others...I wish I could just be satisfied with myself.
So...wah, wah, wah...I need a hug. Anyway...the comic has come to screeching halt as I deal with this crazy depression thing...not that it matters anyway because I again have to wait on Jon...this time he's doing stuff for JLA...I just hope he remembers me when he gets done, 'cause I'd love to get the ball rolling again.
I feel like I've gotten off my track. I've got kind of a headache. I've been bleeding like fucking crazy lately...like, gushing, not to be gross or anything...but...ugh. It's exhausting, and depressing, and I hate it. Tell me again why I can't have a hysterectomy? Perimenopause sounds like it'd be better than this any day...I never used to have cramps either.*sigh*

More soon. I'm feeling unloved now.

Why do you love me?

2006-03-01T20:16:00.000-05:00

I'm going to keep this one short. I've got hiccups and it's cold in here.

But my relationship with Dave is so weird. Everytime I think it's one way, it's another. Unpredictable, I guess you could call it.

Last night, snuggling in the bedroom, we came to the old "Why do you love me" conversation in pillow talk, and Dave said something that really shook me.

"Because you're doing what you want to do. You're doing what you love. And I want to help you do that."

Wow.

Holy shit. Every time I think he's not paying attention and being selfish and never thinking of me, he says weird shit like that, real life-affirming observations.
It made me feel really, really, tremendously good to be told that. Good is putting it lightly.
I feel really geared for this comic. Only a few more scenes, and I'll be ready to call Jon up and ask about another meeting. God, I want to do this. I want to succeed at it, especially because so many people really, truly believe in and love me.

Thank you, Dave. I love you.

Older

2006-02-22T18:16:00.000-05:00

So, yeah. I'm 21 now. Not like anybody gives a shit.

Excuse the 'tude. I'm feeling quite disheartened.

No, really, it was an okay birthday. Tremendously uneventful. I got home early Monday night, and Dave had gotten me a big bunch of roses, all different colors, and a big chocolate cake, so that was super sweet. He had to work the next day (my actual birthday), but that was no big deal since we celebrated before. Before I forget, he got me a gift certificate to the spa for my birthday. Great present. Could use more like that.
So, I was by myself on my birthday and went to the movies, since I could see one free. I saw Date Movie. I don't recommend it. I should know better. I'd seen all the crappy movies they parodied, but they couldn't think far enough outside of the box to parody them in a way I wouldn't expect. The three 12 year-old girls in the theatre enjoyed it. Oh well. It was free. (I considered asking for my money back, just to be a jackass. haha)

So, yeah...nothing much really happened. I called my parents when I got home, then I called Julie...then I went to bed....nothing.
I didn't drink. What an exciting 21 year-old I am.

(Nasty details ahead)
Today was going okay till Dave got up. We tried to fool around on the couch, but I just couldn't get myself into a position that was either comfortable or pleasant for him, and he kept going soft. He was so angry about it, and so impatient with me. I feel...I feel just plain useless. Like, what the hell have I got going for me if I can't do it on a fucking couch? A little piece of me thinks maybe everything was just really too rushed, and he was too impatient, and I was probably bleeding (which grosses him out, but hey what the fuck am I really going to do about that?), but all the same, I feel like a huge burden. It's not often that we just "give up."
The only way I could stop crying was to figure that he was just being impatient, that he's tired and pissed off about something and taking it out on me...though that's no great solace. Is this what it's going to be like for me? Always? Why do I put up with it? God, I'm really upset at myself for not being able to perform, but at the same time, I'm so pissed at him for treating me like that. I deserve patience and understanding...and if I'm not aiming myself right, then work with me for Christ's sake! I wonder how much longer I'm going to make myself go through this. It's not fucking worth it to be in another relationship where I feel inadequate and I walk on eggshells and I change what I want just to be loved. I really hope that's not what this relationship is. I love him, I really do love him. I don't love his attitude or how he treats me sometimes, though.
Sometimes I think that he's embarassed or disgusted with my body, too...What the hell do I do? I wish he could just love me how I am.

So...I'm disheartened. It's not that I'm not happy with my body...I think I could be perfectly content with myself and how I look and who I am...if it weren't for how discontent everyone else is with me. Does anyone have any good links for fat girl support? And I'm not talking weight loss. Fuck you if you offer. I'm talking about a real support system; a resource where women can talk about how their bodies really work, with real terms, not fluffy vague concepts. Not, "Oh, making love is an incredible experience", but rather, "Sometimes, I have difficulty positioning his penis to slide inside of me, so a trick I learned is..." *sigh* Maybe I'm the only one with these problems. maybe I'm just built wrong.

My last post was a bit of a weird and whiny one, and I disabled comments. While I have to reserve a person's right to post anonymously to my blog, since I have done it myself, I can't help but feel peeved there isn't at least a name. Still, I respect your right to be anonymous, "Just a cat lover", and I won't demand that you make yourself known. However, I'm more peeved at content of those posts. I'm very sure you meant well, "Cat Lover", but your tone was patronizing, and just what I was getting at in my last post. I hate to have my problems reduced by the people I complain to. I hate to be told that I'm overreacting, and that it's really nothing; and for you to suggest that really, there's just got to be someone out there that I can turn to is not helping my situation. Now, in rereading your reply, I know very well that you meant well and you just wanted to say something encouraging, but really, tell me something that I don't know. There isn't someone I can turn to because I don't trust people. It's not like there's some one magic person out there who's more special than anyone else and I can trust absolutely everything with. And really, I think I'm coming farther emotionally now more than ever because I can't turn to people. I can't turn to people who will just tell me what I want to hear and pat my head and tell me everything's okay, and just make it go away. Right now, I have to do all of this on my own. I have to come up with my own solutions and deal with my problems and complain to myself. And now I'm just really whining, great. Well, I had a point, but now I've lost it. At any rate, "Cat lover", thanks for the reply, but it's not helping to just reiterate what I hate about how other people treat me. I know I'm smart, and I know I'm worth it, but I don't get treated that way, no matter how I act. I've got to feel out my problems in a different way, and find different solutions. And now that I've gone off on you, I hope you'll still reply if you feel it necessary, maybe with a name? I don't give out this blog address to many people, so I'm concerned that it could float around to those I don't want to see. All in all, thanks for trying, "Cat Lover". I don't mean to single you out, but I had to say something.

I'm continuing to add to my Amazon.com wishlist, only now there are items for the comic production as well. Within this week, I'm going to order a portfolio, so I can store the thumbnail pages from my notebook safely, and keep them in order, so when we sit down to actually draw it on the big paper, it'll go that much more smoothly. I also added Pentel clic erasers, because I'm trying to wean myself from mechanical pencils to actual wood pencils. The mechanical kind I have, though tremendously easy and pretty and mechanical, smudge like the dickens and ruin my hard work. (Stupid leaning hand and my smudginess.) I don't think I need pens yet...I've got quite a few. But all the same, I'll see what Jon recommends for pens (I'm such a brand snob) when we get down to the final product. Let's see...there was something else I wanted to search for and add to my wishlist, but I can't figure out what. Oh wait, there was bathroom rugs and a little towel hamper, but I know that wasn't it either. Still looking, though. God, I wish I had more money...lol
I've really been able to kick myself in the ass with the comic lately, by the way. I'm finally easing up on my thumbnails, so that I can actually get pages done, instead of sitting there, looking at them forelornly because I can't figure out the layout. I'm not sure how exciting the actual comic will be, but I'm really getting into how the story will play out, especially since I now realize that I don't have to cram everything into a few issues. I can give out as much as I want in each issue and just keep it going forever and ever and ever. (though, there is a set end.)

Whew, I'm starting to feel better now that I'm working out these feelings in words. It gets all pent up inside me and it makes my head feel so heavy...I feel like I'll bust. But I feel better, like it's all fallen out of my head on the floor, and now I can just mop it up and move on.
Oh god, I'm making another wishlist for the comic stuff. I love computer organization.
Speaking of organization, wait till you see my latest project. I've been thinking of it for a long while now, but I want to archive all my old doodles in sheet protected binders. I probably won't be able to sort by year and date and that sort of thing, but it will still be much more easily accessible, and organized. Right now, there's a huge box of papers at my parents house that I haven't touched since I set them in there years ago...I can't wait to go through and organize all of them when I have the resources. I can buy boxes of 100 sheets of sheet protectors for like 10-12 dollars on Amazon, so I'll get a bunch of those and start in....oooh, I'm so excited. And there's a couple of shelves empty on my bookcases over here too. I'm gonna be so styling. Now if I could only work out the problem of my "piles" and working out in the living room, when I have this whole room to myself...hmm.

So much to buy, so little money. *sigh* Such is the peril of a shopper. Thank GOD I don't have a credit card. Oh, the damage I could do myself with that.

So now I've ranted a little bit. Sorry for putting you all through that. It just needs to come out somewhere, and this is my space, so this is where I'll do it.
This weekend, my parents are taking me to Bugaboo Creek for dinner. Hurray! I miss Bangor so. I hope to coerce some mall-trolling from my father, 'cause I already know my mom's up for it. Not that I need to spend the money or anything...but it's fun to go.

Happy Birthday to me...I'll drink someday.

Herein lies a lot of pain, frustration, and ill will.

2006-02-14T22:20:00.000-05:00

This disconnect I have is really making itself felt lately.

I don't trust anybody.

For every good friend, for every relative, for every love, I can only see how they can hurt me, how they do hurt me, how they might hurt me, and I feel it so much that I just want to break away from them. I've created this disconnect myself, in trying not to be hurt.
A part of me still wants to hurt, though. It's familiar. It makes me think. It makes me feel something. I hate to think that I crave drama.

I don't trust them. I don't trust you. Everybody makes me hurt, if only by what they may think. It's not just hurt, though...it's this driving, searing pain that wrenches me in an unreachable place, leaves me feeling exhausted and heartbroken and utterly alone.
I'm not even satisfied in the solitude. I need these people I don't trust.
What the fuck is wrong with me?

It's all becoming overwhelming. My head's feeling heavy and my eyes are starting to swim again. I feel like something will snap.
I just want to go to sleep in a very dark room. I want to go to sleep quickly so I don't have time to think about things. I don't want to dream about anything. But then, I always have to wake up.

It drives me crazy that my problems only matter to me.
How much of myself and my time and my heart and my energy have I devoted to these others I seek comfort from?

The problem isn't them, though, I know it's not. It's me.
For all the people in the world who'd do what I think I want them to do, what I think I need, it would never be enough. I'll never trust that completely. I'll never completely connect with somebody.
Of course, that's me for you. All or nothing. All of the time, or it never meant a thing.

I always play the game, but it's always their game. They always win.
What would my game be if I could play it? I'd wrench their heart out too, and not even care. In fact, I'd get pleasure from their pain. It would be horrible, excrutiating, devastating for them, but that's what they'd get...and be happy to have tried.

I'm not a good person.
I hate when they just brush that feeling aside. I tell them, I confess, the truth, and it's nothing to them.
"It's fine."
"You're fine."
"You're just being too hard on yourself."
"I don't expect you to be perfect."
Those things feel good for a second, and then they hurt. Why do I expect myself to be perfect? Who am I trying to be perfect for? Certainly not you, who can't care enough about what's making me sad to not sweep it under the rug and pretend it's not there.
I'm sad. I feel like every time I try to get close to somebody, there are open wounds on me...and the wounds hurt...and I try to show them the wounds...and they say those things and they pat my head and tell me I'm overreacting...but...this is my life. This has been my life. This is me...this is what makes me...how can you just toss it aside like an unimportant detail? How can you not care what I feel about myself, how I see myself because of how everyone else sees me?

I don't want to care. But that's the problem. I do care.
I care about having people around me. I care about being involved in peoples' lives. I care about being more than an object, taking up universal space.

Dr. Phil would blame my weight.
I would blame the world that blames my weight.

How can they laugh at the plight of my gender? To my face? Easily, of course. It doesn't hurt their feelings.

I keep forgetting that fantasies don't come true.
I keep wishing that I was more than I am.

I wish that I deserved what I have.
I wish that I wasn't being settled for.
I wish that I felt some kind of worth.
I wish that I could be thankful for what I have because I should be.

I've turned off comments on this post.
This was just about being fucked up.
Thanks anyway.

Bad girl

2006-02-01T15:44:00.000-05:00

It's been a trying time since I last wrote.
Christmas went alright. I made a table for my parents that was a little more than embarrassing in the final product, but they seem to appreciate it. I got a whole bunch of stuff from everybody, but the more I experience it and think on it, I'd just as soon do away with the whole notion of gift receiving. I generally have a grand ol' time giving gifts to people I'm close to, but I'm increasingly uncomfortable giving gifts to those I hardly know, and receiving gifts from everyone just on the principle of traditional obligation. It's a bunch of shit that I don't need. I appreciate the time and thought and effort of it all...but it just feels awkward to me.
Still working my dead-end job at Burkettville. I love being there, and I hate it. I know I need something better, but it's just so heartbreaking to leave something I've been so committed to for almost three years.
I tried to get a job at T-Mobile, but was shot down in the last run of the race. Dee, a woman who visits the store quite often, mentioned to me that she works at T-Mobile and suggested that I put in an application. The call center is much closer to Albion. The pay would be better. There would be benefits. I figured, what the hell, and went for it. I felt especially confident, knowing that Dee would help me through the process. So, I went in and she gave me a tour of the place, I took the special testing (it was math and typing, nothing major), and had an interview, all in the course of a week. The interviewer told me that I'd hear back from them in 7-10 days, and her utterly perky demeanor had me fooled into thinking the whole thing went well.
I saw Dee the next weekend and happily told her the outcome of my week's worth of efforts and trekking back and forth to the facility. She sadly told me that I was not going to be referred. She had talked to "tanya", the interviewer, and she had refused to divulge an explanation. I was a bit broken-hearted to say the least. Dave's done customer service representation before and told me, "A blind, retarded monkey could do that job." Nothing makes you feel more worthless than when you can't get the job that the blind, retarded monkey was qualified to do. I understand that the whole thing was out of Dee's hands, otherwise she would have hired me on the spot, but the whole thing has left me as crushed as the other 50 interviews I went to this summer, where no one at all would hire me.
I cried in the kitchen the rest of the night. I was lucky I found out after the kitchen was closed so I could just hang my head in the sink and pretend to be busy washing dishes while I was upset. When I finally got home that night, I just felt angry that "tanya" had put on such an accepting, happy face, had lied right to me by telling me that she looked forward to seeing me again, that she had deemed me so unworthy for a job that I was more than qualified to perform. I guess I have a chance to re-apply in three months. I'm hoping that doesn't mean that I have to do all that bullshit all over again, but I guess I will. It's not like I really want the job, I just need what the job has to offer.
The whole experience left me feeling that familiar pang of unworthiness and led me back to the familiar thoughts of submission. I don't understand it really, but when I'm at a low, I just want to feel even lower. I reconnected with someone who shares this passion, and whom I still find very attractive. I didn't do anything harmful, but I'm still not proud of it. I wouldn't appreciate it if Dave did it with someone else, so it is technically cheating.
I'm not proud of it, too, because it goes against so much of what I'm trying to learn about feminism. These strong, feminist women have let go of those notions that they need to be submissive, that it's the only role open to women, and yet I seek it out. It's part of the reason I don't reply to ginmar's blog; how can someone speak against something she actively seeks?
It felt good, though, in the wrenching way that it does. For all my inner struggle and turmoil with even the concept of d/s, it's something that's very natural to me, and is very satisfying in the right experience. I feel so insatiable, like it's so wrong to want it this much and to not be satisfied with what I have. But at the same time, I think I am genuinely sexually frustrated.
I hate only doing it late at night just before we go to sleep. I'm tired then. I want to sleep. I want to fuck in the afternoon, in the morning, when I'm conscious and alert and really enjoy it and don't just want it to be over so I can finally get to sleep. I hate wanting to be dominated so bad, but not liking when Dave does it. Lord knows he means well, but I just can't see him that way. I hate that sometimes, he won't touch my vagina at all, except to be inside me. I hate that it's just fucking over when he comes and that's it, and I take too long and he wants a cigarette, so he's not going to even stick around and help out afterward if I want to come too. I hate feeling like I ought to just be thankful that I'm with somebody. It's not that bad, I know it's not, but it's not really that great either. I feel lost, really unvalued and uncherished, like I've just been settled for. I feel disconnected from everybody in a way that I can't repair. I want to feel special, I want to feel needed, I want to feel like I'm worth everything in the world to somebody, but I fear that I'm not ever going to feel that. I think, in a large part, that I put myself out of the circle I'm so desperate to be in. It's hard to judge whether I'm just being an emotional, self-destroying wreck, or I'm really in a bad place at all. I'm feeling pretty bad right now, but in the same run, I'm feeling slightly justified with all the inner confusion.
Sometimes, in my wildest fantasies, I think I could do it all without anybody. Think of it. I wouldn't have anybody dictating how many cats I can have, where I should put my dripping ice cup, how I sit on the couch, where he puts his jeans, how much of the bed I'm taking up being too much, how I'll understand what responsibility is when I have to pay some bills on my own, how I don't understand what really happens to men and women when couples get divorced, how my notions of feminism and true beauty are radical, when I should do the dishes/laundry/cleaning, what's a good show and a bad one, whether or not I really want children, which frivolous kitchen appliances are really necessary, whether or not I weigh too much, and when and where I have sex. God, when I write it down like this I make it sound like I'm trapped in a loveless marriage of convenience and girl, you better get yourself a hero and get ridda that zero. I'm smarter than that, aren't I? I know when to get out. I'm not trapped by anything. It's not really that bad, and that's why I'm still here, right? There's a lot of inner argument there that I don't want to share because my fingers are tired enough as it is. I love him. It ought to be enough for me to just leave it at that.

My birthday is approaching fast. I'll be hitting the big 2-1...and surprise of all surprises, the party girl doesn't want to party. I just feel worn out, and like I said, disconnected from everybody. Why have all my friends over here when I feel like I'm so far away from them emotionally? That's no kind of fun party. And I love Julie, but I don't even feel like getting together with her. I think I just want to be alone on that day. I wish I could afford to do more, but I think I'll just go out shopping on my own. Maybe not even that. I'll just be by myself, and try to enjoy myself. I think after 21 years, I deserve to appreciate myself a little bit.
I ordered Sailor Moon: The Doom Tree series box set from Amazon yesterday. It was an impulse buy, but I think it will make me feel a little better. I've really forgotten how much I love that show, and how much it empowered me. A little blast from the past can't hurt, right? I made a wishlist on Amazon.com, too, of all the more recent videos (1-10, 14-19) put out by another company. I'd love to get them and have a complete collection through the second season, instead of 10,000 tapes with non-corresponding episodes. Call me a child, if you will, but my inner ten-year-old is really grateful that I'm not denying myself something that has always brought me a lot of joy.

The comic is not going much at all these days. I'm depressed. I have trouble concentrating. There's a plethora of reasons why, but it's just not getting done. I'll try to pull myself out of it because I think this is what I want to do with myself, comics. Wish I knew.

Ginmar has an amazing post up today about "manhaters" and the concepts around male privilege and the reality of women's roles.

More later...or maybe next month. We'll see.

Christmastime is here...and it's getting damn cold.

2005-12-09T02:26:00.000-05:00

I'm finding myself being dragged into MySpace and LiveJournal and all that silly fucking internet fad nonsense. Don't these people know I'm ahead of the trend? I was doing this years ago. Where were they? Not reading my journal/webcomic/profile/etc.
But now I'm being drawn back into it because it's the "cool" thing to do. Damn teenagers and your "cool" things to do. *shakes old lady cane* Mine won't be like everyone else's, damnit! No stupid personality quiz answers, no pleas for readers/popularity/advertisement, no formal updating every week/month/15 minutes. No sir...I will have a boring blog (but not a livejournal...everyone has one of those...go blogger!),a boring MySpace, and a non-updating, never made it past two comics webcomic.
I'm an internet wannabe, who never wants to try. *sigh*
Visit my stupid MySpace thing at www.myspace.com/sweetnfat
But don't you like it, damnit! *shakes cane again* And get off my lawn. Damn teenagers and yer fads.

Christmas is on the way. I was psyched up weeks ago. Now I'm sitting on my hands and getting mad that these presents are taking up so much damn space in my closet. Honestly, I put so much effort and so much thought into peoples' gifts each year. I stress and re-stress and get excited and hope they like it. Then they open it and go "oh. eh. yeah, thanks." I don't even want to try anymore. On top of that, I always expect the same stress from everyone else about my presents and end up utterly disappointed, as no one put any more thought than "What's her name again? Put it on this box and call it good" into my gift. This year, I've resolved that while I'll still get stressed about their presents, I won't expect them to be overjoyed, rather, I'll expect that they'll be tremendously underwhelmed and shove my crappy, albeit well-thought-out gifts to the side. Also, when receiving presents, I shall convince myself that each gift was chosen with the same care and thoughtfulness I afforded their gifts.
Truthfully...I'm realizing more that it's the thought that counts...and getting presents now, while still kind of fun, is mostly just becoming awkward. I'd sooner have the sentiment and spend time with the person, enjoying our bond than get some gift they felt obligated to shove into a box and present me with. Since that whole process is as likely as world peace, I'll smile and keep my crazy suggestions to myself. Remember people, money, while informal and a bit cold, is always a welcome present! heh.
I finally found my old Christmas record too. I'm too lazy to stand up and see what the actual title is, but it's one of those 1960's, big orchestra productions featuring Julie Andrews and a host of other well-known showtuners. It's very over the top cheesy and crazy operatic, but it will be music to wrap presents by tomorrow. That's good enough. I had an opportunity to buy a 10 dollar, 3-disc set, but refused when I saw that Jessica Simpson was a featured "singer." No one ruins a good time like Jessica Simpson.

Please, Jessica. You're rich enough now. You can stop pretending to sing and act and just go be cute and party somewhere. You're single now! You'll love it. Go drink and shack up and be totally un-Christian and forget about your creepy dad and equally annoying sister and get lost in the wilds of Vegas. I don't care what you want to do. Just get the hell out of my media.

Now is about the time of year too, where I have finished my Christmas shopping, have unspent money, and start worrying that I haven't gotten everyone enough gifts. I smartened up a teensy bit this year, though, and totalled my gift spendings thus far. After careful calculations, I have concluded...I'm done. Everyone has enough gifts. Stop looking at me like that! I'm poor! You'll get gifts from your parents!
I also start seeing stuff I want everywhere, but I'm not the kind of person to ask for anything. I'm hoping I can hold out till after the holiday and just get it for myself instead of being disappointed that everybody didn't read my mind and get me that thing. I'm reeeally tempted to order a shitload of manga from Amazon.com right about now...but I worry that if I spend the money now, I'll need it later and regret the comic books. So...I'll just sit here and not get new manga yet. damnit.

I should really get to sleep...but I'm so geared. Damn me and my night owl ways. I could get like, 40 things done, but the boys are asleep. I'm so good at night...why does daytime have to be the time when stuff happens? Oh well. To bed with me.

Check out my fanart appearing soon at Intershadows. It took me fucking forever to finish, still looks crappy, but Kathleen says she likes it, and she's the cool one. So, neat.

"baby, it's cold outside" should not be a national anthem. That is all.

Feeling so much unlike...

2005-12-01T23:23:00.000-05:00

What the fuck is it with this week?
First I get sick...I guess it was allergies. I'm overdue for my annual bout, but still...it came out of the blue and hit me so hard. I had to leave work early on Sunday and work through the sickness Monday. *rolls eyes* Miserable.
I've been depressed all week without being able to pinpoint a rhyme or reason to it. I keep thinking of things I ought to do...sigh...shrug my shoulders...and do nothing but mope.
And Dave's been King Asshole today. Maybe he's just tired. He better get over that tomorrow, 'cause this shit ain't cute, and it's making me feel bad.

I just feel like shit.

I feel like the laziest, stupidest, most worthless person alive right now. (All commenters, please refrain from the obvious "But you're not...we love you" comments. I know this. These are feelings. Can't control them. Logic reasons that these feelings are without reason, I'm just emoting.)

I finally got the meeting with Jon tentatively scheduled...but I'm feeling utterly embarrassed, indeed, ashamed of my lack of knowledge concerning the comic creation process. Shouldn't I know more about this shit...considering I'm trying to do this for a living? ARgh.
I'm wondering what kind of a workload I should really expect of myself....I mean...can I have an inker? Or am I doing this whole damn thing on my own? It's all a question of time, now, I think. Years ago, if I had considered the options in the creation process...how much I'd have to do solo...greater amounts of work would probably have caused me to shy away completely, whereas now, it just means I budget my time further and expect a longer schedule. I don't want to give up on this...I think it could be really fun and worthwhile for me...it's certainly something I've dreamed of...and I really like to think I could change the world...who knows.

Well, right now, my big black baby has decided my arms are his cuddle spot, so I'm cutting this sucker short.
Watch Akazukin Chacha. Too funny.

Sorry?... No more...

2005-11-15T12:00:00.000-05:00

Been a while.
Everytime I sit down and think I know what I'll write, I get lost in the words, or the internet cuts out on me. At any rate, I'm not going to worry about how much I post today or what I talk about...just that I'm posting.

Recently, I've decided, in trying to be a feminist, that when in an argument about sexist behavior or feminist ideals with one of my idiot friends, I will no longer back down. I will now refuse to say I'm sorry. This vow was put to the test the other night, let me tell you. Talking with another idiot Canadian friend online and he laments that his long-distance girlfriend is now dating someone locally while still dating him. Oh, but she's going to break up with local boy and come visit my friend in a couple weeks, no worries. I asked him when he became such a fucking doormat, which I think he sort of resented. (He's the kind of guy who really doesn't want to talk to you unless you're going to hold his hand, sing his praises, and admit what a huge crush you must obviously have on him because he's such a fucking stud-- every time you talk.) He went on to explain that the whole deal is just all his fault, emphasizing how utterly TRAGIC it was that he didn't go see her after two years of online dating (I guess there was a family emergency and he couldn't go see her right off) and how he told her that she should visit him first. Because, of course, nothing says "Yeah, go ahead and cheat on me" like being unavailable to visit someone right this fucking second.
I think he really wanted me to say, "Oh...poor you! You shouldn't believe that! You did absolutely everything you could and your demands aren't too taxing. She's wrong/evil/manipulative/the worst bitch and you're just such a big stud muffin, she doesn't know what she's missing out on." I didn't say that, thankfully. (I could totally see myself 5 years ago spewing that shit, hoping that he'd like me more than her. Thank god for hard-earned sanity.)
Further along in the conversation, he explained how she's coming to visit in a few weeks and they're going to see if it will work out. What a fantastic(ally stupid) idea.
He then basically said, "And we're going to have sex when she comes, no matter what. She wants me bad, I know it, and I'll be damned if I went through two years of a relationship with her and get nothing physical out of it."
At which point, I went utter batshit crazy and said, "You better DAMN sure have her permission."
He said I was being a dick, accusing him of being a rapist. Now, if it were five years ago, a "sorry" would have been the first thing out of me. This time, I replied with, "You're the one who laid that dialogue out. That sounds like sexist, rapist bullshit to me." (ee! pride)
Surprisingly, he didn't put up more of a fight than that, mostly just claiming that, "how dare [I] accuse [him] of that, [I've] known [him] longer than that, better than that, [he'd] never do such a thing."
The last little bit of whining he did was at the end of the conversation, saying "Well, I don't want to talk about this anymore anyway. I said I didn't want to talk about her to begin."
I said, "Alrighty then."
He thanked me for being there for him and for talking to him and for offering advice. "But I'm still pissed about that rapist thing," he quipped.
I didn't say anything and let him stew in his own self-made fury.
"You think I'm an idiot, don't you," was the next challenge.
"Nope, I don't," I replied. At that point, I'd more decided on "moron for trying to goad me into apologizing to you," but I didn't think he was an idiot. The conversation ended there, as he didn't seem to want to talk to me anymore and I wasn't going to offer up anything else.
This was a small, insignificant victory in the long run of things, but I'm still so proud of myself, so emboldened and fierce! It's a really huge step to not offer up so much as a "This is what I believe, but I see where you're coming from" so as not to piss him off. Be damned, world! I will piss you off! I am becoming the feminist I want to be, little by little. I just need to keep reading, keep surrounding myself with feminists, and soon I'll be able to fight the good verbal fight and not even think about men's poor little feelings. After all, they never did think about mine.

I wish I could have had this much of myself years ago, when I was fighting with Rob...to have never said "I'm sorry" to him. He never deserved it. But he's done all the assholish, mentally abusive things that people in emotionally abusive relationships talk about to me. He strung me along for years. He talked about women he liked or was flirting with to me. He always found an argument in everything. He never said he was sorry, even if he was wrong. He chastised my good fortune, or experiences as a normal teenager, simply because he'd never done those things himself. He told me, "You're not like other girls." And for every, "I really like you," there was always a, "But I'd love you if you were [her] or had [her] traits."
I have to stop for a second after writing that one out. It's something I wrote down in Irene's character description regarding her relationship with her boyfriend, Chad. I guess I never thought how much she really is me. While I'm so proud of myself for becoming this strong, feminist woman, a part of me really regrets that I'll never be able to beat Rob down the way he did me. I know, though, that even if I yell at him, even if I get mad at him, even if I scream every honest to god truth I know at him, he won't understand. He's an ignorant, ignorant man. It's not just that he's never been taught any better; he out and out refuses to see things for how they are. Little things like, "Women have faked orgasms during phone sex with you" is an utter revelation for him. He seems to think the whole world revolves around him and his needs and his wants and his desires, everybody else be damned. I remember how upset I was when we would have cyber sex (It was a long time ago) or phone sex and he'd get off, and I'd be sitting there...waiting. And he'd start to end the conversation! Like that was it! I'd say, "But what about me? I want to get off too." And he'd carry on about how he didn't have any energy left, and how could I expect him to do that. Besides, he doesn't want to go down on girls or touch more than their boobs because that's just gross and not something he ever thought he'd have do. At the time I just begrudgingly accepted it, basically reasoning that even if they show it on the porno, it probably didn't happen in real life...and at least he paid attention to me a little. It's not like I needed him to get off. The more I think about it now, though, the more it infuriates me. It's so insensitive. It's so selfish. It's so sexist. It's just downright impolite! He's a bastard.

I'm going to go now, as I don't know what else to say this second. More next month, probably. :p

Holding out for the BIG one...

2005-10-12T21:27:00.000-04:00

I feel lately like my every move is a last minute one, just before I'm to rush into something important and immediate. Something big.

I don't know what, though.
I was thinking today about Peter, and about how far behind I am in the whole process of comic creation. I feel utterly ashamed, lazy, unworthy of this experience...I feel like I'm not moving fast enough. And at the same time, I feel like I might be moving too fast. I feel so lost and, really...I feel kind of terrified. Despite the praises I get from people: from Jon, from Mea, from the readers of Come Together; I have no idea how to make a comic. I feel a lot like I'm setting myself up for something I can't handle, and of course, I don't know how to deal with it. I'm making the excuse in my head that I'm really stuck and I'm waiting on Jon (who is utterly swamped with personal responsibility and Kal-el's latest movie), but really...I'm just scared. I'm scared for one that I'll never get past this point and start really doing this comic and I'll just float in a limbo until I'm broken down enough to have to go get a "real" job and leave this dream behind, and scared also that I'll be too much into it, and not have enough energy left for the rest of my life. I guess I am waiting on Jon. I don't know how this process goes. I want to meet with him, have his attention, and talk with him. I want to hear how it's supposed to be done, and not in silly buzzwords. I want to hear that it's doable, not just a pipe dream we've been kicking around inside of ourselves for almost three years.
I'm ready to get going. I'm ready to start. I'm ready to move faster. I keep having these great comic ideas and revisiting my old ones, but I don't write anything down. I'm afraid I'll push out the good stuff in Peter if I concentrate on something else and let my energies run elsewhere. I want to move faster. The world is light years beyond me. I want to be faster.

In other happenings, I'm feeling an uneasy tension when I come home. Dave is very happy to see me and is very loving and attentive and unjudgemental...but I worry that I seem to surprised at it. Frankly, it really does surprise me. Most of the summer, I felt everything crashing down around me when he gave me so much as a stern look of disapproval. Now kisses and hugs aren't just for goodbyes, and I'm afraid to enjoy them...afraid they won't be there when I get home next week, when I wake up tomorrow.
I finally gave him money, though I feel a bit guilty that I didn't give him more. True, I only make so much, but every purchase for myself beyond gas feels like an unnecessary, selfish expense. I'm sure he doesn't want me to feel that way, but I've contributed so little beyond my stuff and myself being in his way. God, I feel so useless. Sometimes I think being in that Master/Slave relationship I always thought I wanted would make it easier. I'd only have to do so much and if my Master was mad at me, I'd be told...and punished...

This whole feminism thing makes me feel so aware of the world, aware of the things I just let go. I beat myself up for it inside instead of speaking up like I should. I'm such a fucking wuss. I really believe in this stuff, and it's easy enough to berate the discussions with Julie, (I'm sorry, Julie. I keep yelling at you and ranting at you when we get together. Your ideas aren't wrong, I just feel like I can be passionate and be myself and you'll say okay, but I need to give you your opinions too. Sorry!) but I want to be able to make a real point to someone who matters. I want to change Rob. I read Ginmar's posts...I gobble them up voraciously. Everytime she and her audience debate rape, sexism, the Lolita complex...GOD, I just want to show Rob and show him how wrong he is and was and always has been. I don't know why it's so important to me, beyond the fact that I'm always wrong with him. It shouldn't even matter. He's a loser...a 35year-old virgin loser who lives with his parents, doesn't have a job or a girlfriend...and still....it bothers me that I'm still lower than him in his eyes. He's superior to me for whatever reason, and he can claim he's never said that, but it's always been crystal clear in his attitude, and it's always the way he's made me feel.

I'm talking right now with Alex, someone I've known almost as long as Rob online...I still refer to him with Julie as "The Kid." He's talking about going to an anime con and dressing up. It all just makes me want to do it. I feel like such a dork, but at the same time, I know it would make me deliriously happy. *sigh*
When am I just going to suck it up and be myself?

Chilly

2005-09-27T19:37:00.000-04:00

So, that last post was stupid, wasn't it? hahahaa...Lord, I'm dumb. I can't be arsed to just delete it either.

The weather's getting tremendously colder. I'm almost sort of relieved, but I know I'll be sick of it all too soon. The wood in the stove feels good for now, though, and it's nice to snuggle up to Dave under the covers. I wonder how this winter will be, considering how the summer has gone. On one hand, I hope for lots of snow, so there will be snomobilers and such at the store, but on the other hand, I hope it's an "off" sort of winter, not so cold, with not so much snow. I worry about how everyone will pay to heat their homes. We have the little wood stove, but there's still the oil tank we have to fill...there are relatives of mine who rely solely on the oil heat, and won't be able to afford to heat their homes all winter long. I wish Bush and his oil buddies knew who they were affecting and how.

Speaking of cold, I did the photo shoot with Mea. It went alright, but I was freezing! Good lord, it was cold that night. I'm pretty pleased by how everything turned out. It wasn't an awkward situation at all, despite all the potentially awkward factors: Mea and I having gone to high school together, Kal-el's film crew being there spur of the moment, working in a room with glass doors. Ha. It was fun, though. I wore pink, pink, pink. I had my lovely pink pearls, pink panties, pink nails, and pink ribbon...and that was about it. Mea was really great to work for, very enthusiastic about everything. I would have liked to have been even more "model-y", but I wanted to be even a bit modest and not so showy. I'm waiting to find Mea online so I can see about getting the pictures (which apparently I get to use for myself as well). The narcissist in me is utterly ecstatic that I got to be a model. The rest of me is hoping I don't look too obese. I might...but even then I'm still going to love myself. I'm so fabulous. :p I'd love for my pictures to bring some traffic to the site, but I really hope it's not negative traffic. I might post a picture or two...of course, for myself. There are a couple of safe shots.

More later. I'm bored again.

SOS

2005-09-21T22:26:00.000-04:00

Pretend this post didn't happen.
My previous post is up there now.

So...I didn't follow my own old standby rule:
Save Often Stupid.

Basically, two days ago, Blogger ate the lovely post I had written, so I'll sum it up because I'm really sick and tired of repeating it and writing it out over and over again.

I got the job at Tobey's.
I hated the job at Tobey's.
I quit the job at Tobey's.
I'm back at Burkettville General Store.

That's it, short and sweet. I went into more detail, but that detail is lost to the internet now. C'est la vie. If anyone needs that news, they'll ask me.

I'm doing a photo shoot with Mea. I really haven't talked with anyone about this because I don't feel like it. This is something I've always wanted to do, being the both the narcissist and artist that I am. I've always wanted to model. I'm really hoping I'll garner praise from this. That's mostly it. The end. We'll see how it goes tomorrow.

More later.

Yeah...so I'm quiet.

2005-09-20T22:55:00.000-04:00

Been an eventful couple of weeks, I suppose. Let me give it to you in list form:

Got the job at Tobey's.

Immediately hated the job at Tobeys.

Called Burkettville and got my old job back.

Finished out first two weeks at Tobey's and left, squealing tires.

That's sort of true. I didn't show up the last day. Bad on my part, but there wasn't much incentive either.

Got a tremendous bout of allergies, causing me to be sick most of my first week at Tobey's.

Got way too stressed out and missed a deadline for Come Together, of which I'm utterly ashamed.

Am living with my parents on the weekends I work at Burkettville, and with Dave the rest of the week.

Am doing a photo shoot with Mea Saturday.

I'll stop this list shit and get into the nitty gritty. So...Tobey's was an utter bitch to work for. Working there mostly made me realize how much I missed Burkettville. The women at Tobey's were sowhiny. Good fucking Lord. They had machines to do everything for them, and they still bitch all day long.
"Oh my god, I have to chop vegetables." You bitches have a chopper...one push, BAM, you're done. At Burkettville, you chop by hand, even [especially] the onions. Wah.
"We have to make so many pizzas." You have a machine that rolls out the dough for you. Try using a rolling pin on cold doughs that won't stretch. Wah.
"We have to clean this/wrap that/cook this or that." That kitchen was such a fake-o if I ever saw one. A pizza oven, a microwave, and this pretend fryer in a big metal box. Wah, bitches, wah.
And here's where I get whiny. I was there less than two weeks, and they had me opening that deli by myself (at 5:30 in the morning). Cruelty, I tell you. Then, they had the GALL to bitch at me when I didn't do something right, or couldn't get it out there in time. They're all whining they can't get shit done when there are three fucking people in the deli, and then they put a brand new person in there by herself and bitch at her for not being able to do it by herself. Honest to fucking god.
It was the hastiest, rashest decision I've ever made, but I think it was also one of the best, getting out of there. I feel like all the nervousness, all that anxiety and stress, has suddenly had the breaks put on...crashed into a wall even, and now I'm floating in a limbo of sudden happy change. I've turned a deaf ear to things that could concern me in my little bubble, so this week has been sailing right along.

Being back at Burkettville is almost comforting. So little has changed, it's almost like I never left. The locals hardly ask, which makes the transition all the easier, and they don't press into me when I do have to answer them. They accept that "I couldn't find a job and wanted to come back here."
The job seems easier now, too, since I like it for all it's worth.

I'm going to wrap this up because I'm getting bored.

I have a photo shoot with Mea on Saturday. I'm tremendously nervous and excited. I've got to be naked...but I'm going to be photographed. I hope the pictures come out fabulous.

More later...and not so much later as last time.

Job at the End of August

2005-08-28T10:51:00.000-04:00

I’m employed.
Starting Wednesday, I will work at Tobey’s General Store and The Market & Deli. Two stores owned by the same people, and on different days, I’ll work at either one.
It’s some of the best news in weeks, and it gives me both a sense of ease and a sense of dread.
A sense of ease, certainly because it means that I am employed and no one can hold that over my head like something I’ve done wrong; that I will have money (MONEY!) finally and be able to contribute to this house, put away for future bills, and feed my comic addiction; and that I don’t have to take unemployment. (Dave recently asked me to file for unemployment. The first check hasn’t even come, but it’s been a source of great shame to me. I vowed I’d get a job before the first check came, though. And I did. Go with your hunches, folks. It works. I got the job. It makes me feel…slightly better.)
The sense of dread is that new job feeling. I know basically what to expect. This kitchen in this place isn’t much different from Burkettville. But I don’t know what the nitty-gritty will entail. Are they hardasses about taking a break? Is everything I need right around me so I don’t have to scurry across the store and look unprofessional? Are their customers assholes? All things I will find out sure, I think. I start officially Wednesday. It’s only part-time (but more than 20 hours), and the shifts are a bit of a bugger (5:30am to 1pm and 10:30am to 5pm), but it’s a job, and I’m more than willing to do what it takes to keep it. Yeah, let’s see if I keep saying that in three or four weeks, when I’m by myself in that kitchen in the morning. Ah, stop it. I’ve done this crap before, for two years! I know how it’s done; I know how to get it done. It’ll be just fine. The hours are good, though, because I still have most of the day left. Granted, I’ll be tired, but there’s lots of comic time there, so overall, I’m still feeling pretty good about the 5:30-1 shift.

The lack of updates has been due to my increasing stress and inability to form coherent phrases. Maybe I should just post a picture some days. “I don’t have anything useful to say; here’s a pretty picture, love Erin.” Since I still have not yet decided whether I’d like an audience, it’d basically be like…posting to myself. So, yeah, until I get people reading this and don’t actually care what they think, I’ll just save myself the ‘tarded notion that I even need to post at all.

My friend Philip sent me the newest Harry Potter book. I feel very bad allowing him to send me something that expensive, but I needed to read that damn book. And read it, I did. It took me three days. I could’ve done better than that, but I was reading for comprehension, not speed. Amazing story, let me tell you. Unfortunately, some idiots out in cyberspace think it’s funny to ruin the end, even when they haven’t read the damn thing themselves. How disappointing. But still, it was an amazing turn of events, the ending. I won’t post it on here because I respect that other people haven’t yet read the book and don’t want it ruined for themselves. To think, I waited so long to venture online too, for fear of having the secrets thrust into my face. Stacy, you’re an idiot.
At any rate, I just don’t know how J.K. Rowling does it. She keeps the story so engaging through the entire book, fuck, through the entire series, without ever missing a beat. I love seeing fan art of Harry Potter, especially from Makani. She’s such an amazing artist. I’m completely jealous. But if anyone should do Harry Potter fan art, it’s her. She ought to do an entire animated series! She’s fantastic.

ComeTogether is still pretty empty and echoing, but we’re holding out hope for it. I came up with a few new comic ideas, but I wonder how well they’ll go over with Mea. I still hate this thing of trying not to step on toes. I just want to be able to say something, and not feel like I’m about to be censored. It’s the stupidest little shit I worry about too. I keep trying to keep it all safe and fluffy, and I just don’t want to be safe and fluffy. I really want to break out in this comic and ask the questions that need to be asked…get people thinking about this stuff for once, instead of just sitting idly by and contributing nothing but innocent, harmless shit so the masses won’t be offended. Fuck you, masses! It’s my damn comic. I’m going to be as nasty as I want to be, offend you, and feel good doing it.
I’ve come to a bit better terms with Mea. He’s just trying to put something out there. I think he’s trying to cater to too many people, instead of just letting things ride, but he’s still trying. I have to give him credit for working so hard at it.
I’ve got to do some hi-resolution scans of my art at some point, too. I want to be part of the merchandise scheme. I’m not sure how well my comics and artwork will translate to T-shirts and mouse pads, but I guess I’ll find out. I still want to bounce around the room, thinking of my images being on merchandise.

Peter is waiting on Jon’s read of the synopsis. I feel like such a cop-out with the way I wrote it. I’m all detailed in the beginning, but leave the middle and ending out in outer space and just throw my hands up and say, “I need help.” But I do need help. I’m stuck. It sounds like Jon and I won’t have a face-to-face meeting for a while. I hope I didn’t sound like a big ol’ demanding jerk on the phone. That wasn’t what I was going for. I put on my pleasant voice and face and everything.

The first thing I’m going to do when I get a paycheck is fill my gas tank. And at $2.59 a gallon, that might be the only thing I do when I get a paycheck. Kidding aside though, next is a haircut. Then, I’ll pay off my tab at Burkettville, and pay my parents back. Finally, I will plan a luxuriously fun and expensive spa and shopping day with Julie, my bestest friend in the whole wide world. The more I go along, the more I realize she’s my best friend, too. She’s genuine, kind, and fun to be with. Fuck Alissa, Crystal, Brandy, and Aurora. Those bitches couldn’t keep themselves together with duct tape. There will be a later rant on Alissa too. Alissa and Rob, the symbols of the evils of Man.

And now, to try and post this.

Jobless in August

2005-08-10T18:59:00.000-04:00

I had an interview today, and another one is lined up for tomorrow. I feel like I'm getting closer to employment. I just wish I wouldn't have had to wait so long. Being poor and needy is the worst.
The interview was at a chiropractic office, and I think the interview went alright. It wasn't much, that's for sure. There was no application filling, no buzzwords; the woman was very plain, pleasant and concise. The office needs a part-time receptionist who can be cheery and pleasant for the patients. Oh please, please hire me. I can totally do that. The part-time hours are set up pretty fucking awesome too, but I can't get ahead of myself. If I start imagining myself in the job, I'll definitely never get it. It would be a really great position to have, so I really want them to call me.
Tomorrow's interview is with Banker's Life. Apparently, it's an organization that helps senior citizens with retirement issues. I'll do my best. It's a job, after all...and it would be a weekend-off, title-having kind of job too. I think I'd kind of like one of those.
The title of this post may be null and void soon, who knows. Here's to hoping.

I talked with Mea a bit last week, and the more I talk with him, the more I feel like all the anxiety and left out feelings are in my head. Thankfully, he was very receptive of this month's comic. It was my easiest comic yet. I'd love to get into a pattern where I could do comics like that...just pump 'em out like it was no big deal and hand them in early. I have yet to hear from him about the columns and sketch I sent and their appropriateness.
I mentioned to him that he's more than welcome to use my images in merchandise and banners, and he seemed elated, as though the thought hadn't crossed his mind. He said he'd worked out a reiumbursement/royalty kind of deal, and I said not to worry about it. I sort of mean that, too. I mean, it'd be really neat to get money from this, but it's not why I'm doing it at all. I want to make statements, and get my messages heard, and change the fucking world! One porn comic at a time. I think it'd be really neat just to see my images on stuff. I'd want tons of it, even if the shirts didn't fit.

Peter is at a standstill. I've written a bit more on him, but I'm stuck in that I'm coming to a point where I need to organize myself so everything can flow and I'm not just repeating myself. However, I don't know how, or really want to do that. I've got to kick myself in the ass to do it, though. I need to have a meeting with Jon soon, and I don't want to have the meeting until I've got the story better lined out. I mean, I could just throw my hands up now and say, "Jon, come help me!", but I know I can do better than that. I want our next meeting to be a crucial one, where we really get the ball rolling, and get this thing started.
God, I'm so worried about working with Jon, too. I feel like I just can't do this without him, but he's always got so much on his plate. I don't want to be just another obligation for him. I feel so honored, though, that he even considers working with me. That's something that really keeps me going. Whenever I think my art is the crappiest in the world,(nearly everyday) I remember that he ASKED me to do a comic with him and that he loves the idea of Peter. He's been in the business. I'd like to think he knows what he's talking about.
Another source of inspiration recently has been the new magazine put out by Tokyopop, Takuhai. I was really surprised by how well-put together this free magazine was, even if I didn't agree with all of it. Their approach was great, showing little tiny bits of manga and giving insider info on each title. I wish they'd focus less on "manga" coming from America, Europe, and Korea, and more on real, Japanese Manga. I'm a stickler for accuracy in this fandom, and I'm also an incredible fucking snob about it. It's not manga if it's from another country. It's in manga style. Manga comes from fucking Japan, you half-wits; stop trying to write the rules just because you translate the shit. But in all that, I feel like I could do it, too. They rave and rave over the crappiest of American wannabe manga. It makes me feel like maybe I could do this and have a fanbase too. I won't be called a manga-ka, though. That'd just be wrong. I do it in a manga-esque style, and hardly then. I'm such a bitch.
With the way TokyoPop is such a whore for all its crappy titles, I almost want to bring Peter to them. But on the other hand, I know how I feel about them. They are whores. They're whores who think they define the genre because they're the ones putting it out. They're whores who saturate the market with crappy titles with no remorse. ("But Billy on our staff likes it!") They're whores who do sloppy editing and page layouts. (Have you seen the typos in GTO? Good lord.) They're whores who give a bad name to manga fans by catering to the idiots who'll buy the merchandise and drool over the swag, not the real fans who see the manga for its depth or humor or fantastic art or characters. No, we have to deal with the shonen ai fangirls who only like the subject because Tokyopop told them that's what girls do. So then they buy everything that might even possibly be shonen ai and fawn over it, never stopping to think about whether or not they really like it. I mean...why should girls have to fawn over gay men stories? I like gay men, but I also see them as competition. No thank you, TokyoPop. Fool me once, shame on you. So, I don't like Tokyopop. They won't be getting my stuff too soon. I want to go to a publisher like Marvel or Dark Horse, one of the big American companies. My chances with them will be less, I think, but I'd sooner reach the American audience, rather than the Tokyopop manga audience.

Alright. Enough blathering about TokyoPop. I'm getting pissed off.
And now I'm cold.
Later tonight, I may rant about thinness and how I hate it. Tune in to see.

In the Mail

2005-08-03T00:51:00.000-04:00

The job hunt goes miserably.
I sent out three applications in the mail today, and many more through email. My fingers are crossed.
I had a strange interview yesterday at a place that I really don't want a job at. The ad in the paper said,

ASSEMBLY AND GENERAL HELP
Start Immediately...
1st 100 CALLERS
$400/wk To Start

Apparently, 100 people is an awful lot. They seem to have been taking those calls all day. And there were a bunch of people in the lobby. The marble-mouthed receptionist that answered my call that morning told me that there were service representative positions available, as well as the assembly jobs. The $400 dollars was what caught my eye. She blurted out the place and told me to dress appropriately. As if someone would show up dressed innappropriately for a job interview. The interview was a bit of a bust anyway, I suppose. I was the only one who showed up with a resume, so apparently, I looked "really good", but not good enough to hire on the spot.
It's just as well though. The place seemed awfully spotty to me. If they do end up calling me for a second interview, I'm going to decline. I got bad vibes from that place, ones I still can't shake. I guess I'm not as desperate for a job as I thought I was.

Ken and his father stayed the night on Saturday. I busted my butt cooking for them, and they seemed to appreciate it, so all was well. I think it was a little awkward having them over. Dave and Doug went rafting, so I was entertaining Scott and Ken by myself. Then when Dave and Doug got home, I didn't quite know how to act around all of them. I wanted to love on Dave, but I didn't want to ignore my guests. They seemed to make themselves at home, though, and just sort of enjoy being out of their lives, if only for a minute. I'm glad to give them that much. They were a lot of fun to hang out with, and just shoot the shit. Ken seems to be gaining some self-confidence, and his dad is certainly helping him a lot by being there for him as a voice of reason. I just hope Ken continues to do well for himself. If it means leaving Alissa, I hope he does that. She's such a pain in the ass. I can't help but feel utterly jealous of her and all that she's got, but then again, I don't want to be her for a second. For all the "friends" she thinks she has, no one takes her seriously. And no one's as enamored of her "motherly" traits as she lets on. I just wonder who she'll go out with after Ken.

I'm going through major mood swings from stress. It feels like if I let my guard down for a second, anything good I've got now will come crashing down and kill me. I want a job, but a good job, and I'm so afraid that Dave is upset with me.

Speaking of which, we had a long talk a bit ago. I found out a few things that I don't know how to deal with. The biggest discovery is that he isn't as comfortable with my body as I thought he was. I guess I understand, but I can't help but feel hurt and a bit lost as to what to do. I guess it comes down to the fact that I need help. I don't want to change, but I need to. I wish he didn't feel that way about me.

I said the world don't owe me no living

2005-07-28T01:30:00.000-04:00

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

2005-07-25T20:44:00.000-04:00

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

2005-07-24T23:02:00.000-04:00

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

2005-07-23T01:59:00.000-04:00

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

2005-07-21T19:37:00.000-04:00

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...

2005-07-21T02:41:00.000-04:00

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

2005-07-20T20:44:00.000-04:00

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.

2005-07-17T22:31:00.000-04:00

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.

2005-07-16T02:54:00.000-04:00

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

2005-07-16T00:29:00.000-04:00

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

2005-07-15T17:05:00.000-04:00

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

2005-07-14T22:05:00.000-04:00

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.

2005-07-10T21:59:00.000-04:00

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.

2005-07-09T00:15:00.000-04:00

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.

No justice

2005-06-30T00:43:00.000-04:00

I took a couple minutes to watch some of my animini DVDs today, the ones I had corresponding manga for, anyway. All I can do is shake my head. I used to be such an anime fan, anything would please me. Now, everything disappoints me. Why is this? What am I expecting from these shows that is so glorious and foolproof that I'm not receiving? I guess I just feel that most of the anime created and shown today caters to the flybynight fans who heard anime is the new cool thing to like and plaster themselves in its merchandise, and it hurts me. It hurts me to see that there are fans; jerky, opinionated, social outcast fans who gobble up every little stupid tidbit of Japanese animation out there and call it utter brilliance simply because it's anime. I happen to be quite a bit more picky. Tenchi Muyo!, Love Hina, Hellsing, Inuyasha, Case Closed, Fooly Cooly are just a few of the anime I truly dislike. There are HUGE fanbases for all of these shows (maybe not case closed, but it was dumb enough to make the short list) and why? Tenchi Muyo and Love Hina are essentially the same show, but one has more scifi elements, and neither has any taste, tact or accuracy. Hellsing is crude, violent, and far too slow to be any bit interesting (Can't believe I bought this!). Inuyasha is one of Rumiko Takahashi's poorest storylines, in my opinion, but I've never been one for her action stories. I got really bored with Ranma 1/2, whereas everyone else praises it like the Bible. And Fooly Cooly. BAH! Fucking stupid show. I loved the soundtrack, and the animation and visuals were kind of neat...but STUPID! Argh.
Anyway...these manga are great reads: funny, consistently interesting and engaging. Their corresponding anime series, however, are utterly shoddy. Let's take Azumanga Daioh first. The manga is both painfully and thankfully short. I wish it couldve gone on for more misadventures, but as a reader, it's nice to know there's an end in sight. I'm sure Mr. Azuma has more manga tricks up his sleeve, so the end of Azumanga Daioh was only slightly wincing. It was quirky and the characters were of their own. When translated to the screen, however, they become stereotypical and boring. All the zaniness seems transcribed from anime predecessors, if not just thrown together and called funny.
All of the characters are watered down versions of their manga selves, their personalities thrown to you within the first thirty-minute episode, with explanation, leaving no imaginative questions about them to regard. Some of the greatest parts of the manga series were Sakaki's mysteriously cool nature and hidden love of all things cute; Kaorin's budding crush on Sakaki; Chiyo-chan's growing awareness of herself; Yomi's "I'm not one of them" attitude, while remaining just as silly; Yukari's constant foolishness; Tomo's attention-grabbing nature; and poor Osaka's personality is torn to shreds by a stupid accent. I guess I can't blame them too badly on Osaka. The translation to English can be interpreted in many different ways, but the voice acting on the first episode gives no hint of how spacy, silly, and unique Osaka really is. I hate that the anime has a feel that everyone has to be in her "proper place", like we have to have them all figured out. It's such a funny, well-done manga series. The anime just hacks into "Haha! Hey, you find this funny, right? Haha funny!"
Also on my list is Cromartie High School. Before I start raving about the manga, I'll say this of the anime: It is one of the laziest I've ever seen. Any good part of the manga is simply explained away in a marketing technique. "If you really want to hear that story so much, go read the manga." Fuck you! Show me the good stuff! If Azumanga Daioh's characters are watered-down and handed to you on a stupid platter, Cromartie High School's are liquified and sent speeding past the screen in a blaze of "Wait, didn't that happen differently...and more funnily in the manga?" The sequence of events is unecessarily out of order, the events shown are cut to ribbons, and the entire first volume of the manga is shown within minutes. 25 to be exact. What the hell? Space it out, fellas. It's funny that way.
Now I'll rave about it. Good lord, this is a funny manga. The style is so obscure and dated, like a manga from the 70's or something. The idea of a school full of punks is hilarious. I just love the little nonsequiter things, like the really bad thing Kamiyama did once, Freddie, etc. The anime really does this one no justice. It's meant to be played out, and utterly stupid, and overly complicated and foolish. I weep for this one, honestly. I'm looking quite forward to the next volume of the comic, but I won't be looking at the anime twice.

Enough about anime. Japan needs to get its act together.
I'm looking at Abba sites now and am just amazed. I wish so much that I could find more Abba records and merchandise (dolls or puzzles or magazines or something!) and feel a little bit like I hadn't missed out on the whole thing. To think, had I been born when my parents were married, I would have been of an age to enjoy ABBA. C'est la vie, I suppose. I love them now. I wish too, that I could meet them. There's such a different kind of glamor to them, as a group. They're not the club-hopping, chain-smoking groups of today. They made gloriously sugary music, took pictures in the sunshine outdoors, smiled at fans...I'm sure they wouldn't be the same kind of band today, what with all the nonsense behind fame and paparazzi, and vast, unearned wealth. But in their time, it seems they were awesome. I'll look for more records soon, and cherish them as I cherish all my records...pieces of a not too distant past. I know the technology isn't as good, but I like it all the same. It's very special to me, to have such an appreciation for things of days gone by, like records and magazines. Ahhh, ABBA...I love you guys.

Tonight's hot, lonely and indecisive. There. I posted.
Goodnight.

Fucking around with the details

2005-06-29T14:29:00.000-04:00

Actual post later. Right now, I want to try a few things.

It's that denial, too, that leads people to bitch at women for 'playing games' when what they're doing is trying not to get hurt yet again. We're talking on the previous post about how men complain about women using sex as a weapon when in fact it's soemthing entirely different. This is one I don't get at all. Have a fight, then fuck? It doesn't work that way. Call her names, tell her she's awful--then expect her to fuck you? Who's playing games here or not? She feels awful, and you don't care. In fact, does her feeling awful make you feel better? More in control? And manipulating her is just icing on the cake. But then you get to turn around and she's the manipulative one. Not only are they good guys, but they're the victims of those game-playing women. None of them much seem to care that they're creating games and stacking the deck. There's that denial again. --from Ginmar's Livejournal, which has a great discussion on Rape Culture today.

Days without a post.

2005-06-27T20:49:00.000-04:00

In knowing that no one reads this, I feel pretty comfortable not posting anything, just letting this blog rot in amongst the millions of blogs out there. Then I see my friends' blogs and all their stupid little posts, and I instinctively want to one-up them because it's no effort for me.

I'm a bitch not too deep down.

I've been reading this really fantastic blog lately, by a woman named Gin Marie. She's this brilliant militant feminist who just speaks her mind, makes a lot of sense, and doesn't put up with any shit. After that Women Studies course I took, it's really great to hear these arguments all around me for women's rights. So many women in the class didn't speak up, and they should have. I guess they were just worried about their answers not sounding feminist enough. (As if that should be a problem for them! Open up your mind a little bit and learn about these things you're throwing away to tradition.) I've actually been reading quite a few blogs lately, which is really odd, considering I never thought I would read blogs in this manner.
There's Esther, a girl I went to school with. She's quite the poser and I think she fears greatly that anyone find out she's faking it. Honey, we know. You can cut the shit now.
There's Will, a guy I met online. He's really infuriating sometimes. I hate his machismo attitude. He seems to think it's a really great quality, being all "manly" and such, when really, he just comes off as a braggart and a chauvenist(?){As if I forgot how to spell that and am too lazy to check! but i am.}pig who's totally full of himself. I really like him in person. We went to the movies once, and he came to see me in a play, and he was really genuinely nice and carried on a great conversation. But the way he conducts himself online, he makes it sound as though women serve only as potential sexual encounters to him, like unless he could fuck you, you're not really all worth the time. I wish he'd grow out of this. He's a really nice guy, especially without all the machismo. (I wish I knew a better way to say that)
There's James, another of my internet buddies. He hasn't posted in a long while...I wonder if he's okay. I miss him. He's been a really good friend for a long while, and I hope he knows I've always appreciated his kindness and willingness to listen. Last I knew, he'd found a girlfriend and was seeming pretty happy. Good for him! I just hope he comes back to writing his blog...
Everybody seems to have a Livejournal. I'm the only loser around using Blogger. It serves my purposes, though. Maybe not the only loser.
There is John Goldfine, my English 101 teacher at Eastern Maine Community College. I don't really agree with his philosophies all the time. I think I just read his blog because I enjoy that ability to basically stalk people I know. I like to get inside peoples' heads without them knowing I'm there. Like I said, a bitch not so deep down. Crazy.
I read the blog of Patton Oswalt, one of today's funniest comedians. I wrote an email to him once, and he wrote back personally. I thought that was fucking awesome. I think he is fucking awesome. I wish he'd come to my house and I could feed him cookies and fried food and hear him rant about geeky things. That'd get me all wet. Seriously, it would. I LOVE geeks, especially comic geeks. *swoon*
Finally, I pretty much read/stalk Stacy Pease, a girl I went to school with and didn't talk to for years. Will told me he was considering dating her, he'd met her online. I was taken aback. I couldn't believe she had an online life, or any at all. As I read her back posts, I began to feel for her a little bit. I recently saw her at my sister's graduation, and realized she hadn't actually changed any. Yikes, man. She thought I was avoiding her, but I really wasn't. I wanted to know if she'd changed. I don't think I'm better than her, I just think she's embarrassing sometimes. She really needs to grow up a bit. I'd like to think I could help her there. What I feel is so ungodly tragic is her self-image. I'd really like to show her that she's not as worthless as she lets herself believe she is. We, as women, don't need men to complete our lives, and it's perfectly okay. Is that such a hard conclusion to come to?

So, I'm a blog reader now. Weird. I always thought it was a little too, "Lookit me!" A lot of these blogs are just friends or people I know, but I find that some of these blogs I read bring up great discussions and the replies offer tremendously entertaining arguments. It gets me really fired up. The days of private journals as a trend are past. Now, everyone wants to be a sort of online Anne Frank and have their journals discovered (albeit without the horror, tragedy and death), and told their daily thoughts are deeply profound. I'm guilty of it too, I know I am, but I'm slowly facing the reality that nobody reads anything I put out there, and it's perfectly okay to be unseen among the internet masses. For every "Star Wars Kid" or "Sluggy Freelance", there's 10 million unseen gems. (And 9 billion posers wishing someone would say, "ur teh kewl!")

So Dave and I threw a huge housewarming party last weekend. 46 people came, out of the 50-60 we invited. A VERY nice turnout. We got a few nice gifts, a few questionable ones, and some money. I was glad to have a party again. Been so long, since I had one! All of my core friends showed up, especially since they saw "BYOB" on the invites. Absentees were Aurora and Dana, but their loss. It was a nice time to catch up with everyone. The Bogs and Mea even showed up! It meant so much to me for them to be there.
The party was a wild one. Just about everybody was drinking something. Crystal got pretty smashed and had to be carried in and set on the bed. Shane was adorable, if a bit standoffish. Julie was boisterous and fun. Alissa was...well, I didn't really talk with her a lot. Brandy and Ken were a lot of fun. Ken lamented his relationship troubles, and we all sneaked out to the mailbox to smoke so Alissa wouldn't see. It was great, just being out there with them. I wish we could more often. Esther hasn't changed any. She was the biggest bitch of the night. Congrats, Esther. That's quite a title to earn.

Come Together is coming together, slowly but surely. My comics are up, as well as a column I wrote in conjuction with the first comic. I really hope to get five comics done this next month, to be four months ahead, so I can plug at getting a job and writing more on Peter. Apparently, my comics are being well-received, but I see no indication of this. C'est la vie. I can't expect immediate results all the time, can I? Visit the site! Tell your friends!

Yeah right, nobody reads this fucking thing.

Ah, glorious summer. Hot, I love you.
Till next time.

Passing around the site address

2005-06-13T01:46:00.000-04:00

My god, time passes so quickly.
I got my comics done well ahead of the site opening, go me. I even wrote a column piece for my premier. I wish I could make it a huge celebration, but I guess I'll just have to be proud of myself. Doing a porn comic isn't exactly something my parents would be ecstatic to discuss with the neighbors.
So the site is called Come Together. I think the title is fucking fantastic. Go Mea. The site design is so professional. And I love the emblem...with the hand and the apple. Fucking great! So iconic and crisp.
I'm totally proud of my column. I often get lost in my own train of thought, but I think I got a few important points across. I talked about mainstream pornography and its bad influences on our culture and sexual understanding. I really look forward to discussing this topic with readers. I'm excited about what I'll bring up in the future too. In a way, I want people to admire what I say, but in a much bigger way, I want people to change their perceptions of sexuality. I wonder how well I'll do that. What have I gotten myself into.
Party in 5 days. The house is looking great. I've been scrubbing my ass off. I hope Dave appreciates it.
I started writing again on Peter the Modern Vampire...now all I have to do is keep writing. I feel so bad for putting him aside while I worked on the sex comic, but it had to be done. And he's still there and still just as fresh.

It's hot.
I love it hot.
Till next time.
http://www.cometogether.be

Jem Goes Gold

2005-05-28T01:36:00.000-04:00

I don't get it.
I love Jem. Yet, it seems like Jem, as a commercial product stands for many things I stand against. Why, then, does this now ancient cartoon continue to pique my interest and inspire me anew?
Jem is a skinny, spoiled, entitled girl. Her group of friends are the Asian chick, the black chick, the Hispanic chick, and the redhead...seemingly chosen as an opportunity to attract certain female audiences. The whole show was made to sell the dolls.
And still I love it! Damnit. The music is catchy, if not utterly brilliant. The animation is fun and the characters are campy and oddly identifiable. I love that there's still such a huge fanbase for this show...but I almost hope no one brings it back commercially. I tend to like things that no one else likes mostly because no one else does. Might ruin it for me.

Now before this falls out of my train of thought, doing this sex comic for Mea is taking a toll on me.

I'm totally horny.

No, seriously. I can't draw a panel without thinking, "Hm...how long would it take me to look at porn and cum?" Agh! That's supposed to be what I'm trying to change. *stabs self with fork* Maybe I can change the world...forget myself. I hope other people find all this as stimulating. It's not that I want to deter anyone from masturbation, I just want to be able to get something done without distracting myself with masturbation. I can't wait till I can start passing around the site address...I'm going to feel so proud.
And exhausted. Holy Christ, I love orgasms.

On a final note, favorite Jem songs:
Who is He Kissing
Jem Goes Gold
Glitter n' Gold Theme
Jem Girl Theme
Depends on the Mood I'm In
Twilight in Paris
We Can Change It
Time is Runnin' Out
Last Laugh
Truly Outrageous
Back in Shape [oh my god, I don't really like an aerobic song, do I? damn you Jem]
Gettin' Down to Business
Deception

And there are so many more I haven't heard...
back to the sketchbook...orgasm count: 2

Paper Mario burns my eyes --- in a cute way

2005-05-23T23:13:00.000-04:00

So the new job search isn't going quite as well as planned.
Here's to hoping, though.

I managed to limp out of UMA, apparently, without failing too miserably. I still hate college. I shouldn't have to feel THAT dumb. Lord.

In good news, I'm planning a housewarming party June 18th. http://uninets.net/~adamsd/index.htm I'm looking so forward to it. I haven't had a party in too long. I've almost forgotten how fun they can be.

I volunteered to help with a friend's project...a new site. He wants me to do some artwork and such. I've got some stuff nearly completed, more than I told him I'd do, and I'm glad...I just worry that it's not up to par. Though, in the same breath that I say I worry, I also say I'm going to give myself a little leeway here. I am a starting artist. It's the message that's important, not the art. Most people tend to like my art, if just for the concept anyway. Give it time, I say.

Bleeding sucks. Especially for a year and...oh look, a half.
My studio is looking great.
Till next time...leave me comments.

Don't touch that.

2005-05-14T23:07:00.000-04:00

Last day of work at the BGS.

I think I'll miss it.

I won't miss the pissant people, but I'll miss the pissy little dramas that are so funny to look back on now. I like when I realize I have the ability to step back and look at myself objectively. I've come a long way from my high school days, I think.

This link is to my final project in CIS 131. Apparently, the account won't last long, so I'll rehost it somewhere else. I created a ficticious company for the project, as if I were going to approach doing an art commission site. If I really were, I would do it much differently. All in all, I'm pretty proud of all the art and smart html styling I did. I did all the art and coding on that site. Go me.

Many more projects to come. I'm quite excited.

I wrote a reply to someone's webjournal posting today. I haven't talked to her more than a few sentences since the 8th grade. The whole thing was quite stalker-ish of me, but that's the beauty of the internet. Anonymity is the name of the game. I don't know if she'll figure out it was me or follow the link or what. I've been considering the whole situation for a while now. I feel increasingly remorseful of how I treated her, though, I believe things happen for a reason. I think there's a reason the remorse didn't hit me till now. Time will only tell what may come of this. Maybe I'll apologize, or maybe I won't need to.

Moving sucks.
Here's to change.

Stop whining.

2005-05-09T21:29:00.000-04:00

I can't seem to keep a coherent thought stream when I attempt to write in this thing. I think I've got brilliant things to say about whatever I'm thinking about, and I think myself in circles. This is why I just usually shut up while I'm behind.

I'm so old and boring. Seriously. I blasted Jim Croce's "Time in a Bottle", and turned off the radio when some recent song from Kelly Clarkson came on. I'm just not like people my age. They tend to make me real mad. There was a girl in my Women's Studies class who was as typically 20 as she could possibly be. Piercings everywhere from her high school days, and a "imma rebull" (read: I'm a rebel) attitude. Ugh. She has to CONSTANTLY remind everyone how "unique" she is, and how she's not like other people. Funny. I saw about thirty some-odd people just like you walk down the hall thirty minutes ago. Nice try, Leah. stupid.

S'far as that Kelly Clarkson thing goes, I just don't like today's music. It's so insipid...much like Leah, it seems like everyone's claiming to be "unique", when really, they're all copies of one another. I hate pop. Hate it.
I used to really like it, I think. But these pop idol wars started between girls that REALLY DO LOOK THE SAME. (read: fuck you britney spears, christina aguilera, jessica simpson, etc) Not one of them has an iota of talent, don't kid yourself. They sound like every other girl I pass that sings to herself, and used to be in chorus. The only difference is that these girls were thrust in front of cameras and saw an opportunity to shake their little bottoms and giggle and flirt. Put out=money, I guess. And Jessica Simpson, you're not fooling anyone. You're an idiot. I'm babbling now. I just get so irate when people tell me to ignore things like this. I would, but they're fucking EVERYWHERE! On my tv, radio, magazines, internet...I can't fucking escape it. I can't wait for the next wave of popularity. I hope it's fat and kind, not thin and utterly obnoxious.
I mean...
No, that's what I mean.

To Change

2005-05-05T21:56:00.000-04:00

Last night I packed.
Today I packed.
I packed away things I hadn't seen in years, and yet still treasure so immensely. Notes, letters, drawings, scribbles of all sorts; I found so much.

First, I found things from high school. I laughed, reminiscing events from those days that really aren't that far behind me. I've only been out of high school two years. Nonetheless, I love looking at how quickly my art progressed in that time. I drew all over everything. :p

Looking further in my mass of junk, I found treasures from elementary school. I found class pictures, comic book plans, crappy drawings of all sorts, letters from camp. Ah, such rough times.

I then found the jackpot: items from my middle school days. I don't really even remember middle school. I remember hating it a whole lot, but I don't remember what happened. The stuff I found from middle school is so great, though. My drawings, my writing, my outlook on life all changed so drastically, and I could see all this unfold from the notes I wrote and the drawings I did. My best friend, Emily, had moved away. She was the BEST artist in the world. I wanted to be just like her. I remember following everything she did so loyally in grade school...and when she was gone in middle school, I remember feeling so lost. I still had my other best friend, Peter, but he was a boy, and what do boys know about everything I needed to talk about? I made other friends: Esther, Julie, Mary. I found, though, that I wasn't following them. I was more leading the group. I remember this because it continued through high school, but I could see it in the pictures we took, in the notes I wrote.

I felt overwhelmingly nostalgic looking at all these things, but what I felt even more was that this move will be good for me. It's time to move away. It's time for yet another change.
Here's to change.

And I still hate iTunes.

So, I ought to go to bed, but...

2005-04-30T23:19:00.000-04:00

I keep thinking about how I'm moving soon, and how much work I have to get done for school and all, and how I haven't written for myself in...a long time.
I finished writing a paper earlier tonight for my Women's Studies class. It wasn't anything spectacular. A reaction to a group project that served as the group paper, nothing much. But I haven't actually written a paper in so long that I found myself amazed at how I was constructing sentences, and everything just flowed, and how I could use the grammar and vocabulary that I'd tucked away somewhere when I decided I needed to concentrate on working at the local convenience store to pay for this mess of bullshit they call college instead of furthering my abilities. It's ironic, I suppose, that I went to college to learn more, and ended up shutting down and refusing to learn anything in case it was unnecessary to whatever stupid course I was taking at the time. College isn't for everyone. Don't let anyone fool you.
I'm ready to be done with it, but I'm far too lazy to be ready to do the work included with it. I just get so nervous that I won't get the work done. I've been getting so nervous lately that I'm nauseous and dizzy and scared for no reason. But I'm pressing ahead, determined to get every project on my plate done, every paper written. Only two more weeks, and then I move out. Who knows what stress awaits me then.
Times change.
Here's to change.

And better posts.