I remember when Angel would walk around the house singing that. He'd watch Pokémon and laugh at the Strong Bad emails. Then he got older and started listening to angry rock (as teens are wont to do), but he could still sing every blessed song from "Forever Plaid" and was active in church, praise band, karate, theater, choir, accompanying, piano lessons and anything else he could get his hands on. He dealt with my mother's insanity with such grace and poise that you thought you were dealing with a *much* older kid. I've looked out for him since he was a baby and we never had a feuding stage like the Duke and I did. We've been buddies and have shared a mutual love for bad sci-fi, Little Caesar's, Ben and Jerry's, Thelonius Monk, and Harry Potter. We've talked about *everything*. I talked him through his first few highs school rejections with the female crowd. I listened as he told me all about the new girl he met (last summer) and how *wonderful* she is. Today, it feels like everything went to shit.
It started with me asking how he enjoyed his time at the beach with his girlfriend, her sister, and her sister's boyfriend. To me, this spells disaster or teen pregnancy, but he went and had fun. Then he told me she got a tattoo. I asked what and where. He said a "tribal" with a heart inside it. He said it's "so her." and something she won't regret later. Right. I'm not going to lie. Sometimes, tattoos look trashy. Sometimes, they look interesting. It depends on the person, what they get and where they get them. I wanted to get one, myself. On the the back of my neck. OR on my ankle. There are many innocuous places where one can get a tattoo that renders the tattoo more hippie oriented than trashy. Then he said she got it on her lower back. "lol. i know. tramp stamp."
"hey, you said it. I didn't."
"yeah, but you were thinking it. :-p"
"i was. i wish i wasn't, but you know how i feel about [her]."
The shit really hit the fan, then. I don't like her. I think she's not as smart as him. She wants to go to a community college (ostensibly to save money, but from what I know, her grades aren't stellar) to get a degree in Communication. 'Nuff said. Because of this girl, he's stopped thinking about Eastman or Roosevelt or even UNT. He's considering just going to Texas State. I know several people who went to TS read this blog...so, I'm not demeaning your school in any way. What I AM saying is that for undergrads, it's a party school and it doesn't *begin* to compare with UNT for jazz, Chicago for opportunities or Eastman for prestige. That's what I'm saying. Is that he can do more than what he thinks he can. In the midst of trying to explain why I think he can not only do better than her, but also why he's so fantastic, he said that if I really got to know her, I'd really like her. Which I doubt. He said, "You only met her for 5 minutes." True. And in five minutes I saw that she was flighty, giggly, and a little bit of an airhead. What I've heard of (but not seen) is her demanding nature in getting him to ferry her across the city, encroaching on almost every night with Dad, getting him to pay for everything and essentially owning his soul. That's all I need to know. I also told him that unless he plans to marry her, I have no desire to get to know her better. To which he replied, "that's funny. cause i do."
*long pause* What the fuck do you mean? Are you kidding? You're 17. You've never seen the world. You've never been to college. You've never lived on your own. Hell, you've never lived outside of your parent's house for more than a week. And you're contemplating goddamn marriage??
"Yes. i am. i have to go to work now. love you. bye."
And that was that. What the FUCK is he thinking? Call me absolutely insane and heartless, but I think it's a REALLY bad idea to marry your first boyfriend/girlfriend. Maybe eventually it can work out, but after some personal growth. I think if you don't take time, you'll end up always wondering what's out there. I really can't express strongly enough my disdain for this airhead with a tramp stamp and I can't believe my brother thinks he's in love with her. I'm in absolute shock and even though I planned for this blog not to expose my nasty side as much, here it is. Gross and disgusting. I HATE my brother's girlfriend and I HATE his church...both of them I feel have contributed to his current state of mind.
Speaking of states of mind...since we're being REALLY honest here, my mother is at it again. THIS time, she's going to call the IRS on my grandmother for "illegal activities." After calling CPS on my father for "emotionally abusing" Angel. I'm guessing the FBI will be next. Hopefully, somewhere along the line, the federal government will stop listening to my mother and will tell her to shove off. I drafted a letter basically telling her that I want to be left alone, I'll call on holidays and here are the reasons why I can't stand you right now. Fix them and we'll be okay. Or don't, and you can go fuck yourself.
So, I'm in a good mood right now. Any words of wisdom from anyone who reads this?
*p.s., please don't tell me to try to get to know the g/f. She's dumb as dirt and if you knew her, you'd think so, too.
26.6.08
21.6.08
I don't date Mormons..
...because they don't date me. At the behest of Der Komponist, I shall now share why I hate dating. This will amuse maybe two people and be relevant to absolutely no one...unless you know of a single, relatively attractive STRAIGHT man who is interested in a socially awkward musician. Then, you can have my number.
I do well with dates that aren't dates. Actually, I do *really* well with those. My first non-date date was when I was 17. With Luke. We were singing a duet for our final piano recital as seniors and he offered to "share" some of his voice lessons with me in a town an hour away. I was only allowed to ride with him because he was a PK, homeschooled, and a "good boy." We'd known each other since 6th grade and there had always been that...interest. I agonized for about 15 minutes about what to wear, and opted for a hot Christian boob shirt and jeans (a Christian boob shirt is one that sort of shows cleave, but not completely and still has sleeves and goes beyond the waistband of your pants. I was the only homeschooler I knew that owned one). The first five minutes were awkward, then we discovered a mutual love for a geek-revered show, MST3K . After that, it was gravy...we did the lesson, we explored Las Cruces, and he took me to dinner...at Sonic. It was benign and unplanned and delightful. :) I loved it. Soon after, we dated, much to the anger and repulsion of every girl at his church and in our HS support group. All of our dates and "hang outs" were unofficial until he wrote my father an official letter of intent (this folks, is my background) and asked to take me on a "real" date before I left for college. I tore my closet apart looking for *anything* to wear. After three days, I had THE outfit. He borrowed his grandfather's boat of a car, and took me to the most expensive restaurant in the county. I couldn't eat. I couldn't talk. I couldn't even LOOK at him. All I could think of was that I was absolutely unworthy to be on this date and what did he see in me and how did I end up so stupid and dear GOD which fork should I use and why did this have to be official and what if he wants to get married and do I like him enough to "officially" date him...and so forth. For the entire date. On the drive home, he suggested a movie. I used the age-old cop out "Ummmm...I have a headache. Maybe next time." and was unbelievably relieved to be home, once again. WHY was it so difficult to go on a "real" date with him? I don't know...I think it had something to do with me being in my head too much. Let's look at the other dates that have ended poorly...
Bachelor No. 1 -- We met through a mutual friend...without actually meeting. Through email, phone and AIM. Eventually, we decided to double with said mutual friend and his current girlfriend. I was awkward. I hated the movie we went to. I spilled chinese food on my pristine white blouse with cute cut out sleeves. I could only talk to the mutual friend and his girlfriend. I had nothing to say to the man I had spoken to until 5 in the morning each night for the previous week. I listened to everything he said and I thought about how I could respond...it was like I was on crack. I over analyzed every possible response through a bizarre conversational probability converter. It ultimately failed, because no response seemed worthy and I stayed silent. He didn't call again. When asked "Why?" by the lovely couple, he said, "She didn't talk to me. There was no chemistry in person." Lesson learned: Stop analyzing and talk.
Bachelor No. 2 -- A set up through my boss. Her brother-in-law. He was a manager at Blockbuster. I was a budding opera singer. In an effort to not seem dull and lifeless, I talked about my future potential and my soon-to-happen career. I talked about where I was moving and my plans for the next 10 years. I watched his every move and analyzed how I was coming across and how he was reacting to my smooth conversation skills. I was also coming down with the flu that evening, so I looked flushed and jittery in an effort to keep from vomiting on the table. He never called. When asked "Why?" by his sister-in-law, he said, "She's going places. She's moving. I can't be with someone who's that ambitious." Lesson learned: Stop thinking so much and don't be ambitious.
Bachelor No. 3 -- From a few singing groups I was in, I met this tall, cute man that even my *roommate* thought was attractive. He fell hook, line and sinker...and asked me out shortly after Valentine's Day. I knew exactly what to do. Be honest, but not ambitious; talk, but don't gab; be interested, but not psycho-stalker. Check. We went to a late lunch AND a movie (I didn't cop out AND I went a spy-blow-things-up movie). We talked about family and our pasts and through the afternoon, I began to analyze everything he said, and I realized that he was too...too much of everything I can barely handle in myself. All the things I need to work on with ME, he needed work on, too...motivation, passive-aggressive behavior, mother issues, father issues, self-esteem issues, body image issues. All that to say, I began to see what our dating life would be like, and I saw myself spiraling the drain *with* him. And at that point, I saw myself literally shut-off the attraction switch and I began to see him as an asexual being. No goodbye kiss, no hand holding, no cuddling, no invite up to my apartment. Just a hug. He never asked why *I* cut it off, but if he had, I would say "I'm too analytical and I stopped us before we became a mess together." Lesson learned: Stop thinking so goddamn much.
THIS is why I don't date. Because I am awkward and analytical. A horrible combination...like mixing Percocet and a couple of glasses of wine. Great in theory and funny years down the line, but the effects are immediate -- shame, remorse, not remembering a lot about what's going on, maybe a little vomiting and passing out.
I do well with dates that aren't dates. Actually, I do *really* well with those. My first non-date date was when I was 17. With Luke. We were singing a duet for our final piano recital as seniors and he offered to "share" some of his voice lessons with me in a town an hour away. I was only allowed to ride with him because he was a PK, homeschooled, and a "good boy." We'd known each other since 6th grade and there had always been that...interest. I agonized for about 15 minutes about what to wear, and opted for a hot Christian boob shirt and jeans (a Christian boob shirt is one that sort of shows cleave, but not completely and still has sleeves and goes beyond the waistband of your pants. I was the only homeschooler I knew that owned one). The first five minutes were awkward, then we discovered a mutual love for a geek-revered show, MST3K . After that, it was gravy...we did the lesson, we explored Las Cruces, and he took me to dinner...at Sonic. It was benign and unplanned and delightful. :) I loved it. Soon after, we dated, much to the anger and repulsion of every girl at his church and in our HS support group. All of our dates and "hang outs" were unofficial until he wrote my father an official letter of intent (this folks, is my background) and asked to take me on a "real" date before I left for college. I tore my closet apart looking for *anything* to wear. After three days, I had THE outfit. He borrowed his grandfather's boat of a car, and took me to the most expensive restaurant in the county. I couldn't eat. I couldn't talk. I couldn't even LOOK at him. All I could think of was that I was absolutely unworthy to be on this date and what did he see in me and how did I end up so stupid and dear GOD which fork should I use and why did this have to be official and what if he wants to get married and do I like him enough to "officially" date him...and so forth. For the entire date. On the drive home, he suggested a movie. I used the age-old cop out "Ummmm...I have a headache. Maybe next time." and was unbelievably relieved to be home, once again. WHY was it so difficult to go on a "real" date with him? I don't know...I think it had something to do with me being in my head too much. Let's look at the other dates that have ended poorly...
Bachelor No. 1 -- We met through a mutual friend...without actually meeting. Through email, phone and AIM. Eventually, we decided to double with said mutual friend and his current girlfriend. I was awkward. I hated the movie we went to. I spilled chinese food on my pristine white blouse with cute cut out sleeves. I could only talk to the mutual friend and his girlfriend. I had nothing to say to the man I had spoken to until 5 in the morning each night for the previous week. I listened to everything he said and I thought about how I could respond...it was like I was on crack. I over analyzed every possible response through a bizarre conversational probability converter. It ultimately failed, because no response seemed worthy and I stayed silent. He didn't call again. When asked "Why?" by the lovely couple, he said, "She didn't talk to me. There was no chemistry in person." Lesson learned: Stop analyzing and talk.
Bachelor No. 2 -- A set up through my boss. Her brother-in-law. He was a manager at Blockbuster. I was a budding opera singer. In an effort to not seem dull and lifeless, I talked about my future potential and my soon-to-happen career. I talked about where I was moving and my plans for the next 10 years. I watched his every move and analyzed how I was coming across and how he was reacting to my smooth conversation skills. I was also coming down with the flu that evening, so I looked flushed and jittery in an effort to keep from vomiting on the table. He never called. When asked "Why?" by his sister-in-law, he said, "She's going places. She's moving. I can't be with someone who's that ambitious." Lesson learned: Stop thinking so much and don't be ambitious.
Bachelor No. 3 -- From a few singing groups I was in, I met this tall, cute man that even my *roommate* thought was attractive. He fell hook, line and sinker...and asked me out shortly after Valentine's Day. I knew exactly what to do. Be honest, but not ambitious; talk, but don't gab; be interested, but not psycho-stalker. Check. We went to a late lunch AND a movie (I didn't cop out AND I went a spy-blow-things-up movie). We talked about family and our pasts and through the afternoon, I began to analyze everything he said, and I realized that he was too...too much of everything I can barely handle in myself. All the things I need to work on with ME, he needed work on, too...motivation, passive-aggressive behavior, mother issues, father issues, self-esteem issues, body image issues. All that to say, I began to see what our dating life would be like, and I saw myself spiraling the drain *with* him. And at that point, I saw myself literally shut-off the attraction switch and I began to see him as an asexual being. No goodbye kiss, no hand holding, no cuddling, no invite up to my apartment. Just a hug. He never asked why *I* cut it off, but if he had, I would say "I'm too analytical and I stopped us before we became a mess together." Lesson learned: Stop thinking so goddamn much.
THIS is why I don't date. Because I am awkward and analytical. A horrible combination...like mixing Percocet and a couple of glasses of wine. Great in theory and funny years down the line, but the effects are immediate -- shame, remorse, not remembering a lot about what's going on, maybe a little vomiting and passing out.
20.6.08
And as I looked at your reflection...
I saw my face in the mirror. It's my favorite way to see me. In the rearview mirror, looking at someone in the backseat or catching my co-pilot's eye on some fantastic road trip. Pre-the-why-I-hate-dating post, I think it's time for some of my fond memories of ridiculous road trips to become immortalized by Blogger. Sometimes, I do stupid things when I drive. I take scenic routes that get flooded, I drive through small towns where men in BIG trucks look at me funny, and sometimes, I just need friends to tell me what to do in such a situation.
Last summer, BD and I took a fabulous road trip across the midwest to wind up in the southwest at the mecca for artisans, gays, Rentheads, and all things Native American--Santa Fe. On our way there, we drove through parts of Missouri that I never knew existed. Lebanon. Burbon. St. Cloud. Rolla. But, the kicker to all of these was Eureka, Missouri. As we began to pull through the town, BD saw a sign for a midwest-only treat, White Castle. We were neither high, nor particularly hungry, but he had never had one and absolutely HAD TO, in NO uncertain terms, have a slider before he left the midwest. At the appropriate exit, I pulled off and drove into the parking lot of a very innocuous looking White Castle. We, the fruit and his fly, sauntered into the building, still singing along to Big River (which is our traditional road trip-starting album). Once inside, though, the singing stopped immediately, as we realized that everyone from Bumblefuck, Missouri had come to THIS particular White Castle for Friday night dinner. We were watched from the door to the counter, and I swear that no fewer than five bubbas in John Deere hats (because they drove the dadgum things, not because they shopped at AE) stared my dear boy down because he "ain't from 'round here." We skittered to the counter, and placed our orders with the asexual counter boy. Girl. Boy? The poor baby was *stunning* with great cheekbones, long lashes, wavy hair that was in the unfortunate mullet-style popular with boys at 16 and girls who have no mothers in Southern States. (S)He had a very transgender name...like AJ. Or Stef. Or Sam. Or something that could be *either* gender. The most confusing part was that we felt like we should be polite and use a "sir" or a "ma'am"...but, we *couldn't*. We ordered from the lovely creature, got our burgers and silently walked to the car. Once inside, I locked the doors, and BD looked straight ahead and forcefully said, "DRIVE."
Sometimes, that's all that needs sayin'.
A few years prior to this, Sally and I were going to an artisan's house for New Year's Eve in the middle of farm country, Texas. It was one of those horrendous houses that was off of a dirt road, off of an unmarked paved road, off of a farm road, off the main highway. Needless to say, we got lost. I believe we drove a full ten minutes longer than we should have before we realized we were really lost. I joked about us ending up Deliverance-style at the bottom of some Texas crick somewhere and Sally just smiled and nodded. She hates water. At that point, my headlights caught up with a large oak tree with a noose hanging from a very reachable branch. Sally put her hands on the dashboard and quietly said, "I am black. Turn around. Now." Which I did. I am her human shield while crossing the street ("Please. Just walk. They won't hit you, you're white. Human shield."), but I realized how useless I would be against backwoods bubbas in Nowhere, Texas. We reached our destination, eventually, after a brief stop at the wrong house (where several large men came *outside* from inside an imposing, darkened house, where I can only assume massive amounts of torture and fornication were taking place)...I might have kept going down the wrong road that night, were it not for the sage advice from a friend.
I should always have someone riding with me. It's just safer that way.
Last summer, BD and I took a fabulous road trip across the midwest to wind up in the southwest at the mecca for artisans, gays, Rentheads, and all things Native American--Santa Fe. On our way there, we drove through parts of Missouri that I never knew existed. Lebanon. Burbon. St. Cloud. Rolla. But, the kicker to all of these was Eureka, Missouri. As we began to pull through the town, BD saw a sign for a midwest-only treat, White Castle. We were neither high, nor particularly hungry, but he had never had one and absolutely HAD TO, in NO uncertain terms, have a slider before he left the midwest. At the appropriate exit, I pulled off and drove into the parking lot of a very innocuous looking White Castle. We, the fruit and his fly, sauntered into the building, still singing along to Big River (which is our traditional road trip-starting album). Once inside, though, the singing stopped immediately, as we realized that everyone from Bumblefuck, Missouri had come to THIS particular White Castle for Friday night dinner. We were watched from the door to the counter, and I swear that no fewer than five bubbas in John Deere hats (because they drove the dadgum things, not because they shopped at AE) stared my dear boy down because he "ain't from 'round here." We skittered to the counter, and placed our orders with the asexual counter boy. Girl. Boy? The poor baby was *stunning* with great cheekbones, long lashes, wavy hair that was in the unfortunate mullet-style popular with boys at 16 and girls who have no mothers in Southern States. (S)He had a very transgender name...like AJ. Or Stef. Or Sam. Or something that could be *either* gender. The most confusing part was that we felt like we should be polite and use a "sir" or a "ma'am"...but, we *couldn't*. We ordered from the lovely creature, got our burgers and silently walked to the car. Once inside, I locked the doors, and BD looked straight ahead and forcefully said, "DRIVE."
Sometimes, that's all that needs sayin'.
A few years prior to this, Sally and I were going to an artisan's house for New Year's Eve in the middle of farm country, Texas. It was one of those horrendous houses that was off of a dirt road, off of an unmarked paved road, off of a farm road, off the main highway. Needless to say, we got lost. I believe we drove a full ten minutes longer than we should have before we realized we were really lost. I joked about us ending up Deliverance-style at the bottom of some Texas crick somewhere and Sally just smiled and nodded. She hates water. At that point, my headlights caught up with a large oak tree with a noose hanging from a very reachable branch. Sally put her hands on the dashboard and quietly said, "I am black. Turn around. Now." Which I did. I am her human shield while crossing the street ("Please. Just walk. They won't hit you, you're white. Human shield."), but I realized how useless I would be against backwoods bubbas in Nowhere, Texas. We reached our destination, eventually, after a brief stop at the wrong house (where several large men came *outside* from inside an imposing, darkened house, where I can only assume massive amounts of torture and fornication were taking place)...I might have kept going down the wrong road that night, were it not for the sage advice from a friend.
I should always have someone riding with me. It's just safer that way.
I'm so tired...
But, I did it on purpose. I needed to reset my internal clock. So, somewhere between 3:30-5:15 a.m., I caught some wee catnaps...and beyond that, I've been awake and trying to remain so. I think it's almost time to shower and escape the house and start moving. All day long. Not stopping until bedtime tonight.
I don't know why I'm so reticent to write after I've been away. It's been my downfall with Artist's Way (12-week course in awakening your inner artist) and in the many blogs I've had over the years. It's a weird aversion thing...if I feel self-chided for an absence, I'll just stay away from it. Hence, not calling my teacher yet for a lesson this summer. I've been away so long that I feel awkward starting up again. Sometimes, I just need to make myself do things. I was so good at that in high school...but, maybe after 12 years of being a self-motivated student who helped plan her school day/year/curriculum, I just got tired of it. But, fuck it. It's my *life* now, so it should be a little more important than making sure I read "Johnny Tremain" before any of my Anne books. Shouldn't it? It is. I know it is. I'm just tired of it. *THIS* is why people shouldn't home school their children...in addition to the numerous years in therapy for any religious affiliations to the schooling (did I mention, I ran with that very popular group of home schoolers who believed in arranged marriages?). In any event, I need to grow up, be a big girl and start taking a little more responsibility for m'self.
And by that, I mean...a little less responsibility for my family. I didn't talk to Mom last night about her cell phone "not working" because I *knew* exactly what had happened...it involved Dad and some plan switching and what happened was her own damn fault...and I was not about to get dragged in the middle of another divorce fight. Which was good. Right? Right. I talked to the Duke yesterday. His internship is going well, he got good grades for the semester, and he *hates* Angel's girlfriend as much as I do. Thank GOD. I thought I was the only one who thought she was as dumb as dirt...a bachelor's in communication...with an emphasis in special ed. So she can teach speech in special ed classes. No teaching classes, no master's plans. Just communication. At a community college. Dumb. As. Dirt. Back to the fam...so, I'm trying to take less responsibility for them. It feels like I'm being a bad daughter, but I feel SO much happier when I'm not dragged into family feuds and called for "conference calls" so that "someone knows what's going on" (ummm...you mean, that you're crazy, Mom?). It's a good feeling to not talk to your family, sometimes.
And, as a part of reclaiming my inner artist, I'm finding a particular zen in baking. I don't know why...but, every few days or so, I feel the need to bake something that I've never made before. And they're all turning out relatively well. It makes me feel really good to cook amazing food, but I *really* wish there wasn't some part of me that wished I had a boyfriend who would appreciate it. It's kind of sick. But, I'm sure that's part of the process...being okay with what I do...for ME. Right? Right. Or maybe I really do need to get out there and start dating. I hate dating. Maybe another post this afternoon will describe it as I, in my sleep-deprived delirium begin to get *really* honest.
Shower. Coffee. Breakfast. yay.
I don't know why I'm so reticent to write after I've been away. It's been my downfall with Artist's Way (12-week course in awakening your inner artist) and in the many blogs I've had over the years. It's a weird aversion thing...if I feel self-chided for an absence, I'll just stay away from it. Hence, not calling my teacher yet for a lesson this summer. I've been away so long that I feel awkward starting up again. Sometimes, I just need to make myself do things. I was so good at that in high school...but, maybe after 12 years of being a self-motivated student who helped plan her school day/year/curriculum, I just got tired of it. But, fuck it. It's my *life* now, so it should be a little more important than making sure I read "Johnny Tremain" before any of my Anne books. Shouldn't it? It is. I know it is. I'm just tired of it. *THIS* is why people shouldn't home school their children...in addition to the numerous years in therapy for any religious affiliations to the schooling (did I mention, I ran with that very popular group of home schoolers who believed in arranged marriages?). In any event, I need to grow up, be a big girl and start taking a little more responsibility for m'self.
And by that, I mean...a little less responsibility for my family. I didn't talk to Mom last night about her cell phone "not working" because I *knew* exactly what had happened...it involved Dad and some plan switching and what happened was her own damn fault...and I was not about to get dragged in the middle of another divorce fight. Which was good. Right? Right. I talked to the Duke yesterday. His internship is going well, he got good grades for the semester, and he *hates* Angel's girlfriend as much as I do. Thank GOD. I thought I was the only one who thought she was as dumb as dirt...a bachelor's in communication...with an emphasis in special ed. So she can teach speech in special ed classes. No teaching classes, no master's plans. Just communication. At a community college. Dumb. As. Dirt. Back to the fam...so, I'm trying to take less responsibility for them. It feels like I'm being a bad daughter, but I feel SO much happier when I'm not dragged into family feuds and called for "conference calls" so that "someone knows what's going on" (ummm...you mean, that you're crazy, Mom?). It's a good feeling to not talk to your family, sometimes.
And, as a part of reclaiming my inner artist, I'm finding a particular zen in baking. I don't know why...but, every few days or so, I feel the need to bake something that I've never made before. And they're all turning out relatively well. It makes me feel really good to cook amazing food, but I *really* wish there wasn't some part of me that wished I had a boyfriend who would appreciate it. It's kind of sick. But, I'm sure that's part of the process...being okay with what I do...for ME. Right? Right. Or maybe I really do need to get out there and start dating. I hate dating. Maybe another post this afternoon will describe it as I, in my sleep-deprived delirium begin to get *really* honest.
Shower. Coffee. Breakfast. yay.
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