Bla Bla Bla, Boring Stuff.

Well I am not itching in my skin tonight.
Not thinking "then what" like usual, at least not much. I am pretty content.
I talked a lot about relationships and whatnot with Kerry and can't tell you much of what was said but I left feeling pretty mellow about the whole deal.
So where does that leave us here?
My life, my day... okay, went by SJ to pick up a book- literally in and out.
Then, I went down to LR as previously mentioned.
Back to the house briefly to change clothes- because I can- and then to Kerry's.
To placate my guilt about parking in a tow zone, I got a bagel from the bagel shop so at least I was actually a customer.
Back to the house, read most of the book I picked up, went on a drive. Here I am.
Wow, I really don't have anything at all to write about... sorry, you guys.

Robert - A Farewell

You all remember Robert?
Well, today was his last day working for my mama and papa. In his honor, I quietly made my way to LR, stopping off to buy him a card. The front said "Thank You" quite simply and the inside was blank. I filled it with something along the lines of:
"Hey Robert, sorry I didn't have time to come in and say goodbye properly. You have been absolutely wonderful to spend Wednesday afternoons with and, in my opinion, you cannot be replaced. Good luck with everything- I really mean that. You will be missed by three generations and you always know where to find us. Sincerely, Kelly (the blonde kid)."
As you might have picked up from the contents, I had no intention of presenting it in person. I had planned to leave it on the windshield of his car.
However, there was a little problem- I was not totally sure what his car looked like. I did a thorough run down of the entire apartment complex parking lot. Upon finding no canidate that fit all the information I had, I drove off. I got half way back to the freeway before realizing I couldn't let it end like that. I drove all the way back and parked. I found a car that, in my opinion, was the closest match, put the card under the windshield wiper, and drove home not knowing whose car I left my sentiments on.
Great. Go about my day, go see Kerry- she was there this time- and come home.
It was the right car. It was the right car! IT WAS THE RIGHT CAR!!!
This guy has been so fucking nice, all the fucking time, and he got the card. He got the card! HE GOT THE CARD!!!
I am so happy.
Turns out, he loved the card. He called my grandparents from his cell phone- no one knew what I had done- and told them to tell me thanks, that he is horrible with goodbyes, that he left in a hurry to avoid crying, that the card touched him. HE GOT THE CARD!!!
My mama, when relaying the message, got a little choked up herself.
IT WAS THE RIGHT CAR! HE GOT THE CARD! He knows that we love him, Lord do we love him. That he has been absolutely wonderful, that he is absolutely wonderful, always.
I am so glad he got the fucking card. I am so pleased because those are things that he needs to know, that after however many months of working 8 hours a day for a family... he deserves to know. And I suck at goodbyes too, if I had to say everything I wrote, it would never have happened. It almost didn't happen because I was afraid to risk leaving some sentimental card on a random, elderly person's car.
Risk. Paid. Off.
I realize that I am able to convey, in writing, the deed that I have done. What I am not capable of conveying is Robert- why I would drive 15 miles one-way to put a card on a random car. That is kind of description loses meaning in translation, in being read by someone who doesn't know the whole fact, the person.
I am very happy I went back, very happy that there was someone worth going back for.
And may things always work out in his favor, no matter how long it takes...
Thanks, Robert.
The end, my farewell. Oddly, I somehow don't consider it to be over.

Quote from Jane Eyre

"As to the mouth, it delights at times in laughter; it is disposed to impart all that the brain conceives, though, I dare say, it would be silent on much the heart experiences. Mobile and flexible, it was never inteded to be compressed in the eternal silence of solitude; it is a mouth which should speak much and smile often, and have human affection for its interlocutor."
- Rochester from "Jane Eyre"

I will tell you some things that happened last night which I thought were resolved and, therefore, did not post about when I wrote "Future of an Ego".
It goes like this: probably about 11 pm, I was sitting outside smoking a cigarette with all the outdoor lights off, which is normal for me.
I hear a car stop right outside the other side of the fence. Immediately I think that TGJ might be randomly leaving things at my house again. I drop the cigarette on the ground and sit extremely still. A girl gets out of the car and, still speaking to other people in the car, starts going in the bushes. In a matter of seconds she starts back towards the car saying "I dropped it, drive. I dropped it, drive" and there is a some giggling before the car peels off.
I pick up the cigarette off the ground and engage in a few more moments of peaceful smoking, contemplating what just happened and what the fuck had been deposited in the bushes. After a few moments, I start hearing voices getting closer- my guess is that the car had parked along the street a ways down and the occupants were now coming back- perhaps the drop off was not satisfactory and they needed to fix it, I don't know. At that point I put out my cigarette, gathered my chicken nuggets that were sitting warmed on the kitchen counter, and swooped up the stairs, sitting down in the floor of my room. First thing I do- text TGJ and very simply saying "where are you?"
Probably 20 seconds after the message was sent, I heard a girl's voice yell in the street outside my window, "GOD KELLY".
Fuck. That's what I was afraid of. N came from another room quickly and after seeing me sitting on the floor, figured something odd was going on. When I relayed a short summary of the events, she said we should go outside and look around. To this I replied by staying completely stationary and commenting something like "there is no fucking way I am going out there."
Of course, you all know that I have some very large paranoia issues. Nonetheless, I am not fucking stupid and being pretty damn sure about what I heard, I was not keen on exploring the outdoors.
When N left and I heard the front door shut, I quickly got dressed. Jeans, Alaska tee-shirt, Denim Jacket, Sandals. I rushed down the stairs making to avoid all the windows possible and glaring darkly out any that I could not escape. I put on a hat, took my cell phone from the island, grabbed my purse, digging through its contents for my keys, and I was set.
N came back in, verified that I wasn't making any rash decision to pop up at someone's residence and start a fight- if you knew more of my past, you would know this isn't an extreme query- and upon finding out that I was merely going for a drive to get out of the house, she relinquished a fearful expression to one of mild concern.
I left and drove, not very far or for very long, but enough to listen to a few songs.
I came back and N told me that she thought I was perhaps being paranoid, that none of the events had anything to do with me, that it was probably the neighbors picking up one of their belongings out of our bushes, that it was another lady who was screaming at her kids.
Yea, okay, I get it. You are probably right.
Wrong.
Today I took to my bed for a few hours in the afternoon. The batteries in my TV remote control died and I guess I was too lazy to do anything about it or about anything else. I laid around. Until the doorbell rang. N answered it and I leaned over the tower only to hear tidbits.
It was the neighbor's kids saying that they had left something in our bushes and now it is gone, do we know what happened to it?
No we don't. And it wasn't you guys who came and picked it up last night?
No it wasn't.
Well... Kelly said she heard...
Tell me again how paranoid I am, tell me.
My hypothesis? They have started having parties again at our neighborhood pool. There are several clans of kids that I knew in the past that would probably rob toys out of bushes if they thought it would get a rise out of me. Anyways, if at one of these parties, obviously a person would have access to the neighborhood. These people know were I live and have displayed tendencies towards destruction of property.
Fortunately, no one except TGJ knows about Layla. If anyone knew about Layla... the select bunch might do to her what they did to our front door a few years ago. We are not a loving group and we don't think fondly towards each other. N had a good point, bringing up that it has been almost 2 years since any major disturbance at the house. I don't care.
By the way, I was living in another room on the side of the house when I knew these people. TGJ is the only person who knows about the renovation and subsequent switch. When the girl was yelling, she was yelling at the side of the house, my old room, rather than the front of the house where I currently reside.
Hmph.
We shall see. Today is Memorial Day and if there are anymore oddities that occur, I will update you sooner.

Future of an Ego

In right conscience, I cannot continue to flirt with you.
I am sorry but I have seen the future. I have always been slightly prone to psychic powers, lottery numbers and such- in fact, for a while some very nice people at a fortune cookie company were going through a massive drought of ideas and employed me.
Great people, absolutely fantastic beef and broccoli.
But anyway, I have seen the future and cannot continue on like this. It is truly horrible, I don't know if I can even bring myself to describe what all I saw. Well, perhaps just the broad strokes.
Because of my suggestive behavior... oh Lord, I don't know if I can talk about this... you had a terrible accident. It was horrible, truly horrible.
Apparently your ego finally could not be contained anymore. Without any warning, your head began to swell and finally spun off, heading promptly into another galaxy.
Well, as you can imagine, there were girls all around when this happened- hiding in the bushes with binoculars and, oh, give me a moment... I'm sorry this is all very difficult for me to think about.
Deep breath... Okay, so after only a few seconds headless, your body collapsed onto the grass and at least 30 girls began leaping out of the bushes, leaving behind their binoculars- they were very expensive looking binoculars- and anyway they started to pounce on you- your poor lifeless body.
They were like rabid animals, I tell you- they would claw at each other and, after the police came and broke everything up, there were clumps of hair all over the place. It was actually pretty funny- all these half-bald girls being shipped off in police cars.
Oh, the poor police. I know 4 of them had to be taken to St. Mary's hospital for treatment and one other was in Intensive Care at Hoag's Hospital for over a week. He made it though- I sent his wife a card on your behalf. Boy was she ever pissed at you, even though everyone knew that you were a goner at that point, you should have seen how beat up that police officer was. It is amazing he survived and the newspaper said there were at least 2 full-length fingernails in his jugular. Oh, it was really horrible.
After that, things just got worse because of the news coverage. Now all those girls were coming in from all over the country, everyone knew the story.
LAX was on lockdown for 3 days because an entire clan of girls was found to be a hazard to the community, so they wouldn't let them leave the airport. It was horrible, absolutely horrible.
And you, poor you. We had to transfer your body 8 times- first from the hospital to a mortuary but then that place, Allen Family Mortuary, got broken into and busted up pretty bad- all the windows were broken and the hinges on all of the caskets had been removed, your name was written in lipstick they used on Mrs. Buesy, she died the day before and her casket was all torn apart, the day before her wake. Oh, that family was livid.
Needless to say, Allen Family Mortuary decided they didn't have the insurance plan to keep you around, so we moved you to another place. But the same thing kept happening; every Juvenile Prison facility was filled to the brink.
So finally... Oh, please don't get mad, we did the only thing we could think to do... we rented you this room at Motel 6, it overlooked the pool and it was a really nice pool, because no one would think to look there and no other mortuary would take you. But we got you this room and Allen Family Mortuary let us keep the casket for free on account of us getting you out of there so quickly.
But so we had to think of what the hell to do because eventually someone would find out and also, it had been a few days and you didn't smell all that good but we got a lot of other free stuff from Allen Family Mortuary to help keep things on the low till we got our options worked out.
So we decided on a really peaceful cemetery but to make sure you were left alone, we told the newspapers that we had you cremated and when we would be releasing your ashes into the ocean- we figured you would like the idea about the ocean.
But, oh, I will never forgive myself. It was absolutely horrible, absolutely horrible. I can't even think of how many girls drown in the Pacific that day, Orange County morgues started to fill up- some were so young, they didn't know how to swim and others just clawed at each other till they finally couldn't keep above water. It was dreadful, just dreadful.
We thought that was the end because most everyone expect us figured that you were floating out in the Pacific- seagulls and fish alike were washing up on shore, entangled in bras and panties. A few species made the endangered list and the beach where we went to release your ashes was finally shut down from the public.
Police had barricades and all, but girls kept sneaking on the premises and the women's prisons didn't have any room from the first batch with the binoculars, so finally they just let it go. Coast guard still did some security and the ones who were arrested did community service cleaning the beaches so I guess it all worked out.
Yea, so we thought that was it and we got you all situated in that really peaceful cemetery I told you about before but... Some of the more intelligent girls had been doing surveillance work on you, probably even before you keeled over, and they started showing up a couple days after we got you all comfortable- we visited you every day and had a this auto shop do your tombstone custom, in all chrome and it said "Ladies Man" and it was very nice, and we had fresh flowers for you every day. And things were nice and quiet for those few days.
But then the call came from the guy who takes care of the cemetery- he lives like right next to it and isn't creepy like you would expect someone who lives next to a cemetery to be. Anyway, he called and said there was a mob of girls and said it was a good thing we put in the whole electric field as a security option on your casket because the girls had started digging.
The first leg went out like a light, one after the other- you would think when the first got electrocuted, they would start dispersing. The second batch did the same thing but all of them had these professional shirts made that said, in real big letters across the front, "BURY ME NEXT TO THE LADIES MAN".
So eventually the guy who takes care of the cemetery was able to convert one or two of your fall out girls to some weird religion and they took off to, as the letter said, "live as the Amish live, love as the Amish love."
But I still felt like really bad for everything and, you know, my whole part in this thing so I learned some Martial Arts from, get this, Terry Allen- you know, the Allen Family Mortuary- and started my own business around graveyard security, and it turned out, if you don't mind me saying, to be a pretty lucritive business.
I mean, people were really worried about the safety of their, you know, deceased loved ones because the would thing made the news on KCAL. They kept live coverage for a while but one of the reporters got hurt pretty bad during the 7th batch of diggers- they took her to St. Mary's too and she's fine, actually turned pretty heavily in to religion.
She is still on TV but as a spokesperson or something, late at night, hosts telathons too. Really pretty lady, aside the whole eye patch.
Everything turned out all right in the end- we turned up the voltage on your casket a couple of times but it all worked out and girls figured out to keep their distance.
Its kind of funny actually because the girls with the tee shirts on, the 2nd batch, all got their wish to be buried next to you, all in this nice long row. Its really nice and FARK covered the story when they found out that all the tombstones say "I LOVE THE LADIES MAN".
Yea, I guess it all turned out okay.

Does Everyone Remember CJ?

Well, at this moment, CJ is freaking out because there are fireworks going off somewhere in another zipcode. Shortly he will be attempting to climb in my shower, creating a little puddle from panting compulsively, and climbing under the desk while I try to type. Thanks, Disneyland, for turning my dog into a fucking lunatic.

Note to Self Revised and Written Post from Yesterday

Revised Note to Self:
Good Lord boy, harness your vanity. One kiss, ten, a hundred would not harm me. But slander of my name, in a moment, could alleviate even the strongest urges to pursue such action. That is aside the possible harm to another person- should some girl have no knowledge of this, wishing to solely obtain you, your mind, your heart, or perhaps only your mouth. I would gladly protect my name and any other party by restraining myself, just as I have done in the past when there has been the threat of injury. I can refrain from rash actions, verbal or other. But be aware that one kiss would not cause me pain- it is the assumptions, the irreverent words that are produced to advance one's ego, and therefore the lack of good intent that will bring resentment. Keep your vanity in check as I will keep my spirit, my will, and all other parts of me capable of causing a misrepresentation.


----
I have remained solo this long and, upon careful contemplation, I feel only the minimum of qualms continuing on this way. There is the desire in me, much like a toddler, to possess what I see- to keep it and play with it. Such is my way- to pull something close, examine it at length, tinker with it whether a good choice or not.
This is wrong, sad, a habit.
I suppose I am writing this to justify a course of action, to see if I should scold or reward my behavior thus far. Also, I need to figure out how I truly feel. I will not claim infatuation if it is not true.
My mind. My humor. Two of my most important attributes. If these two remain untapped, I cannot claim even the most vague attraction at this point.
It is settled then? In short, I suppose. Enjoyment of company and fonly remembering my days of celestial power.
So what is this all about? This is about convincing myself that playing games is inappropriate. Writing this, to me, is the equivalent of Jane Eyre drawing her portrait and that of Miss Ingram. It is a method of checking myself, it is highly effective even if only for a moment.

I am tinkering on the edge of disgust. Now, before I make any stupid remarks, I shall spill my mind here.
Having or even faking an attraction would be a simple enough feat for me and probably anyone. Last night I wrote that the more I know about someone, the more I like. Well, sometimes there is room for mistakes.
Sometimes I find or figure something out that must be appeased by further information.
Let me give you an example as addressed to the antagonist.
It would be easy enough for me to flirt and discuss at length desires, real or fake, with someone. However, without the backing of true interest it is nearly impossible for me to subject myself to the type of slander being displayed towards other women who expose themselves as having a possible interest.
It is, to me, unappealing to hear women spoken of as chicklets. I feel no need to caress an ego so already massive as to fill up my inbox with its own praise at the expense of others.
What I mean is, if you constantly refer to all the girls that have such crushes on you, who want to molest you, and who you beat off with a stick, you have commited some felony errors.
a) You expose at length the degree to which your ego has formed itself
b) You show that you are likely to misinterpret my own actions to form such an opinion of my, counter to what is the truth
c) You sacrafice many of the qualities I found attractive, even as in a friend. The qualities that kept me in a large circular motion returning to this person... they have been gradually dissolving.

I truly believe I am something.

Romantic Evaluation and Assessment

Would you accept a kiss from this person should he attempt?
Majority of the time- no. There are specifics, though, as in any experiment which can sway my response.
We know I have my weaknesses romantically. I shall tell you some of them now.
Names: I love it when people call me by my name- it can hardly be beat. But I also like being called "girl" for reasons that have a lifetime of backing. It is just a name I have been brought up to appreciate as affectionate. These two are a good place to start if you are attempting to swoon me.
Knowledge: upon reading that word you probably think I want a love interest who is educated. No- that is not what that refers to. I like to have a base knowledge of a person and for them to have the same about me. Its a thing and absolutely grounded in responsibility in addition to being a weakness. The more I know, the more I like.
Like: you have to fucking like me. Shit. I am not stupid by default. This isn't a weakness, it is a fucking obligation.
---
Actually, I am done talking about this. It is becoming such a mindset, such an all-encompassing game.
At the base of the problem is that I could validate continuing this path if I had an emotional backing. That is, if there were an emotional attachment, a true desire to have a relationship with this person, I could allow myself to continue without such strict dissaproval.
But I don't know that I want to assess this. I guess I could just continue my vertigo until someone else makes the choice for me.
No. I must assess this. I must look at what my attraction is, the extent of it, the reality of it even though I know it will cause me to check myself harshly in the near future.
I question whether I am attracted to anyone in a romantic sense. Then again, I do not allow myself to have many choices.
Okay, that method won't work. Let's try looking at the usual tell-tale signs. Are you ready? This part will be enjoyable for you. Questions will require a rating system of 1 to 10: 1 being notta and 10 being extreme, applied to each question individually.

• Do you feel jealousy when the subject of other women is discussed? If so, please rate: One- jealousy occurs in such a dim and rare form, I almost declined to mention it. However, I can see that it could grow if given the opportunity, as could anything I suppose. For that reason, I will raise my rating to a 2 and feel completely ashamed.
• Do you feel the desire to flirt? If so, please rate: Eight- but really, you can't read way too much into this. My desire to flirt is not a good tool for determining true romantic inclination. Nonetheless, I will admit that I do succumb to such desires and give an 8. This sucks already.
• Aside sexually, is there a connection in other areas of your lives? A true connection, as in that of similar interests, very rarely. I think that there is a connection in the fact that we are fellow human beings. But as for are recreational activities, there is only the occasion common ground. On that grounds I would give a 2 however I must factor in humor before giving my final score. He makes me laugh often and also, unintentionally, makes me feel that my own humor is something to be treasured. For this reason, I have to bump my score up to a 6. Yea, this sucks alright.
• Sexually, do you feel tension? If so, please rate: this was a horrible idea. Please remember that I have not had sex in about 2 years and have not even kissed someone in nearly that long. So OF COURSE I HAVE FUCKING SEXUAL TENSION, but this evaluation is made over that caused by course of my contact with this particular party. It is hard to separate what is caused by lack-of and that caused by an attraction, really hard actually. Oh shit, I can't answer this. This could be the dealbreaker. When contemplating, the entire thing is dissolving away. I will come back to this one.
• Do you have and express an interest in this person as a whole? If so, please rate the level of interest: Yes, I have and express my interest. I go to him, I continue going to him, I am interested in knowing what he is thinking, I will partake in his expeditions and will do so without feeling regret or embarassment. So there you go assholes, I am redeeming myself. 8.
• Does this person have and express an interest in you as a whole? If so, please rate the level of interest: Shit and here I go dissecting it all again. No, he doesn't have an interest in me as a whole. No, he doesn't have an interest in how my day went, in how I am feeling. No, he has very little visable interest in what I enjoy doing or even what it is I do. Wait- he may very well have an interest but this is factored on what shows. So no, he does not express an interest in me as a whole, no. But there are moments, such as kind messages and other expressions of good intent that will placate any resentment. He does what he can and what is necessary to keep me smiling when I am around. Fuck. 3.
• In the case of an emergency, physically or emotionally, could you count on this person's presence? If so, please rate the reliability: Abso-fucking-lutely. If there is one thing I cannot slam him on ever, that would be it. When I found out my father had cancer, I called him and he came right away. That holds massive weight with me. And I believe that if I told him I needed someone, that I was having a difficult day for whatever reason, he would abide by his basic moral code and provide support for me, regardless of how trivial my delimma. 9.
• In the case of an emergency, physically or emotionally, could this person count on your presence? If so, please rate reliability: Abso-fucking-lutely. It is default that I respond as a shoulder and ear for people I hold in value for whatever reason and to whatever extent. Yes. 9 1/2.
• As of this very moment, do you feel this person would make a good significant other? If so, please rate: Fuck me. No, I don't think he would make a good significant other. To be honest, I don't know what the hell I am thinking with this whole thing. No. He would not purely because he has almost no interest in me in the areas that I feel are most important. He makes me laugh and likes making me laugh, but pursuing an attraction would be giving myself over to slander. End of story, 1.
• Do you feel you would make a good significant other for this person? If so, please rate: I think I would be the same with him as with anyone else in the fucking universe. I am pretty devoted and caring but also get pissed off easily. Nonetheless, I think I have a lot to offer and, more importantly, a lot I am willing to offer. 4.
• Does it make you happy when this person calls? If so, please rate: Ugh. Yes, it makes me happy to know that he hasn't disappeared off the face of the earth. It makes me happy that he cares enough to call. HOWEVER... these questions suck. I think I would have the same level of happiness, of attraction, of sexual tension with a lot of people and I don't feel this is accurate enough. But yes, I am happy when he calls. 7 1/2.

Crowded House and Dress Up

Layla is back home and all fixed. Actually, I am going to tell you the truth- I am feeling pretty damn good at the moment. Not just because I have my truck back.
In the early evening I played dress up. With Crowded House on in the background, I walked around feeling sexy and completely good with myself. Sort of like "oh yea this is why we are still doing this whole thing" because I was impressed. I was impressed at the lack of knowledge I have about myself in the sense that I am usually a fair degree of down about my body.
You are probably thinking that I was walking around in tiny skirts and push-up bras. I hate to tell you but that is not my style. Lord am I proud of my style right now. I am proud of my jewelry, I am proud of my clothes, I am proud of my hair, I am proud of my hips, I am proud of my smile- I look in the mirror and think 'i could really be a writer. i think i could really do this' not because I think I am attractive but because I think I have something firmly grounded to offer and it is not at all related to appearance. Though I will tell you straight out how pleased I am to not feel disgusted with myself, how absolutely wonderful it is to think that the smile I possess, the body I possess, is abso-fucking-lutely fine with me.
I am really doing well at the moment. I am good with me, with what I see, with the prospect of getting older, with the prospect of being out there.
That is my post. Now I am going to return to my Crowded House and dress up in case I change my mind tomorrow.

Night Camp III

Okay Kiddos, another installment of Night Camp for your vast enjoyment or criticism.
This one is brief so hold on to your hats.
I waited until it was near dark, realizing I could have left earlier but not feeling comfortable on the whole with my appearance until the sun had hid itself.
Attire: favorite jeans, worn blue vintage shirt with "Take Me Back to Jamaica" on it in tan, gray jacket, tan knit hat. Ready to emerge, I suppose.
Tonight I was going to the same night camp location as usual- TGJ works at a store there and we had discussed prior my visitation.
Got in the Eep because my truck was just too damn silly to drive in, decided to take the long way around town so that all my shit can kick up. Call him, say I am leaving and heading that way. Get a few miles and realize I left my license at home. Shit.
Drive back to the house laughing at myself along the way, get the license, leave again- take the freeway this time.
Exit on the appropriate exit and start making my way through the maze of parking lots. No matter how simple this location actually is, I get fucked in the parking lot somehow everytime. I can never find my way directly to where I want to be.
Finally make my way to the parking garage. Full- all three levels. Fuck. I figured this much. Drive around the levels, stalking families to see if they are leaving, finally get lucky finding a really nice family that give me their parking place. Emerge.
Call TGJ who tells me to come to his work and get him. Okay. How the fuck is it that no matter where I park, no matter what I do, I am always on the opposite side of the night camp location than where I should be. Damn.
On my way to his work, I pass a couple and hear one of them laughing say, "did you see that?"
Both are giggling and conversing in hushed tones so I flat as turn around and say "is it me?" to which they reply, earnestly "no no no, there was a lady back there that had something on her butt" and I say "just checking, if there was something wrong i would want to know about it now." and they say "no no, your ass is fine." and I say "ok can never be too careful," turned and kept walking.
I am pretty sure that when I was passing a group of teenagers, one of them shouted "my friend likes you" to which I pretended to be infinitely fascinated with removing something from my purse, kept walking.
Get there. He sees me. Goes into the back to grab his jacket while I survey the video games for sale. Hmm.
He comes, we leave. I keep myself well hidden under my knit hat. That's fine, he doesn't realize that it is out of the ordinary for me to be this closed up.
Bookstore- I remove myself calmly and ride up the escalator, straight to the "Fiction and Literature" section because that is where I always go to. He comes and sneaks up on me while I am looking for "Kesselring- Arsenic and Old Lace". I lose focus and quickly give up. Not before he leans himself against a bookshelf and tells me the story of a particular time when something very interesting happened concerning himself and an interesting fellow who commented ere long on his positioning next to a comedically titled book. I grab his hand, pull him up off the bookshelf and we walk on among the rows of literature.
I must say the crowning point of my celestial playtime was the escalator down. He was 2 steps in front of me and we were talking and I said, "this is one of the few times I will ever be taller than you. Stand up straight, I want to soak it in." To which he stood straight momentarily before jumping 2 steps behind me to promote himself again. Here I rallied to regain my position but he blocked my attempts. When I tried to slip under his arm, he remained strong enough that I came close to admitting defeat but, in the end, did not have to as we reach the end of our ride just about that time.
Just outside the bookstore, he purchased himself a stuffed panda.
"Its so cute!" with much enthusiasm, "don't you think its cute?"
I turned the panda my direction to survey it... here the real Kelly reared her head.
"Its cute in a sort of Down Syndrome kind of way," and that was the damn truth.
He adamently denied my claim and I adamently thought inwardly that this stuffed panda had an extra chromosone. What could I do?
We walked on and he begin mentioning that he was going to give this panda to someone but he didn't know who yet; someone that would appreciate its cuteness.
Obviously, in my reality, I was out of the running for a gift panda but I picked up he expected me to nominate myself.
Ha. I begin to drop names of the main male figures I had met in his life- 2 of his old friends and his roommate. To all three, he declined giving me a particular reason each time.
At that point we had walked the farthest possible point from my vehicle to which I commented openly. He had taken me to the theater 'to relive the star wars days'. Okay, I'm fine with that. He told me more vivid stories about driving up to a beach city to visit a girl, going to see star wars, and getting in a massive light saber fight. I laughed, truly, because I just can't fucking help it.
Are you bored yet? Oh, I know you are. I know what you are wanting to read about. You don't care about the stories, the walking, the panda. That is not the "what happened" you want answered. Well, you will get your wish because work breaks don't last forever.
On our way back to the same area code I parked the Eep in, he mentioned having tons of girls under the age of 15 who have a crush on him. To which I replied, meanly perhaps, that he was lucky to have me around.
"Why?"
"Because I am older than 15 and do not have a crush on you."
I laughed and somewhere around this time he said that he could perceive a crush anywhere. I asked if his sister had a crush on his roommate. He said no. I asked what it is he perceives from me. He said that I have a fascination with his weirdness and nothing beyond that. I said that he has a fascination with me sexually but nothing beyond that.
Keep in mind that as this conversation is occuring, we are walking through this massive open air, at night time, with bundles of people walking around in fucking jet streams. So sometimes we had to yell, sometimes we were pushed apart in the crowds, and other times we were pushed together.
When I said that about a sexual fascination he replied something to the extent of that he has much more than that for me, but a sexual fascination is definitely in there. I laughed.
But that is where, my friends, the story of us ends.
We departed near the parking garage, said our goodbyes which are always unsatisfying for me, and went our separate ways.
On the way to my car, people kept driving up asking if I was leaving where was I parked could I show them, to which I denied that I was leaving at the moment. I didn't want the rush of having someone waiting on me and I didn't want the embarassment of someone noticing that my temperature was rising quite suddenly.
To the second story, to the car where I flagged down a family in a minivan and told them to follow me because I was leaving.
Got in the car, cranked up the air conditioner, tore the hat off my head, backed out, and was soon away from the parking garage. Eep is a million times easier to park than my truck and Eep is very quick.
Listening to Karma Police and messing up my long sweaty hair. I was good, and good was fine with me. I listened to my the CD that I burnt for N and that she, happily for us both, listens to and enjoys.
I came home and that is where I will stop for now because I need to get dressed and pick up my truck from Goodyear. Today is Saturday, the day I spend in LR. Wish me luck.
Definitely writing later- there is a little more to the story.
--------
Okay, the tire needs to be replaced so the truck isn't ready yet. Thus I have a little more time to continue on the above post.
I parked and walking up to the house, wiped the eyeliner from my eyes. I ran upstairs, changed out of my favorite jeans, tossed up my hair, washed the makeup off my face, and felt infinitely relieved to find that the girl in the mirror was more than satisfactory. Unusual in beauty if beauty is present at all but to me, she is more than satisfactory; she is close to the bone and I find her most attractive when others probably find her least.
Heading back downstairs, I took a muffin off the stove and settled into a kitchen chair with the intention of texting my night camp companion. The message said, in essence if not exactly:
"Thanks you made me laugh. A fascination with your weirdness, lol, you can't read me well at all nor will I with you."
And then I retired outside momentarily. When I returned, his reply said:
"If I can't read you that well, then tell me how you feel."
Here I cannot lie- I smiled. I flat ass smiled. He had finally hit it home. I expressed this to him by saying:
"That is one of the best questions you have ever asked me."
In response, he repeated his plea: "will you please tell me how you feel"
"I feel that I am not merely fascinated with your weirdness and I am very on gaurd with you but don't misread that as any more than a vague answer. Now you tell me something or I will say nothing more."
Hmph. Now we are quickly getting to the root of the problem and I will have to assess my choice of words swiftly and carefully. But first it is his turn which will decide the fate of my next message.
"I honestly don't know with you because the old feeling never left me but there are new friendly ones and uh next subject."
Now I am a female but in addition I am prone to paranoia so stick with me on this. When I was in rehab, on of the counselers said that the word "but" erases everything that came before it.
I tend to believe that is true, thus limiting my use of the word when possible. Let's dissect the new meaning of that message before tramping on to the next round of texting: there are new friendly feelings. That is how I am proceeding from this point on until further notice. He does not know that I know everything about 'the old feeling' has been deleted from conversation.
But regardless, I cannot avoid saying what is really going through my head:
"That is the problem... there is this whole girl you were attracted to and I don't know if you actually care for me or if it would be finishing what you started."
Bam. Full-frontal honesty. But he is not stupid and knew exactly how to respond. Ere long he issued this statement:
"It is you, trust me"
And I smiled because that is what I wanted to hear, even if it is not true, I don't actually believe it, or he didn't actually mean it. When he keeps calm, he can issue replies so sound that they cannot be trashed for structure or dishonesty, at least not by me.
In response to his perfect performance, I convinced myself to lighten up and drop the subject, which I did promptly, inserting the celestial being in my place:
"Lol, I really didn't mean to put you on the spot. Ei ei ei. Hey but you started this round and the whole point was that I liked visiting you. I am laughing rather spasmatically. This is nuts- what the hell am I thinking?"
I know you read that and go: who is that person? that is not our sarcastic, deeply darkly fucked up kelly. where is are kelly? what the fuck?
Calm down, reader. This is the reward system I have learned to use with him. I play happy go lucky when he plays the romantic. It works out for us both. He knows nothing of my writing, of my life and truthfully, I know very little about his. This is a very shallow arrangement as of this moment.
Nonetheless, there was one final message:
"I'm gald your laughing and I didn't feel on the spot. I love seeing you."
Redeemed. I am a complete sucker for bullshit. I will bask in the attention while I can, smile in a demented fashion to myself momentarily, and then tear all romantic notions to absolute shreds on this blog.
Ta-da!
That, my friends, is the Kelly you know and love.
----

Scenario: Turn Ons.

Sitting outside: backyard, night time. Clouds completely blanket the sky, trapping lights from the residential neighborhoods into a peach haze.
"Hey," he says examining the sky
"Yea?" i reply, curled up in an outdoor chair, examining my smoke fading into the sky.
"What turns you on?"
Flicking the ashes, "Right now?" watching the cigarette.
"Yea, right now."
"It changes, ya know. At this very moment..." a pause, gazing up from the lit cigarette to the sky and then flicking the infant ashes off again. "Right now, to be pushed up against a wall and kissed. But not right away. I mean, pushed against a wall and then a second of restraint, soul gazing of sorts into my eyes, and then kiss. Slowly for a few seconds. Then another second of restraint. Not so much about the soul gazing, just anticipation I guess. And another kiss but harder this time... but we are getting caught in the details now, eh?"
"Huh," retorted in the affirmative meaning 'i suppose so,' slightly amazed but glad to have asked.
"I like the ocean, ya know? Like waves- high tide, low tide, spring tide, neap tide. Waves."
"Huh," still a little awestruck.
"I don't know. The ocean is like perfect for that whole metaphor, huh? Well, I mean, I think so. Sort of silent but quick, rushing up and then moving back down. Then a crash," flicking ashes, taking another drag and releasing, "and then rushing up again. I don't know- not so much as a whole, but all the pieces are good for that whole metaphor, huh?" taking another drag.
"Huh," reflecting over the high tide of words, crashing to the surface and then retracting back, curling up into a chair, taking another drag.

Celestial

I will go take pictures of my truck here in a while. I look pretty damn crappy today, I can't believe I am considering going for another round of night camp.
Last night it clicked. By clicked I mean that I was the girl he wanted me to be and he reacted with enthusiasm and prompt responses. Tonight, I have signed on to visit him at work if I can rally my appearance and spirit.
I am worthwhile company as long as I can remain as much like my old self as possible. That is, I leave my intellectual suffering and isolation methods at the door, instead wearing a hyper more child-like side. Which is fine, great. I know this game sounds... not fun, right? Because I am not rewarded for being who I really am, right?
Well, you have to remember that I see this person probably once a week, sometimes I don't see him for months. This isn't a full time acting gig. Besides that, I like role playing and it is not like this person is completely opposite from me, something I despise. Alas, I remember that she was loved and accepted, that she was cooky and pleasant. That I do remember. Those aspects I remember fondly while others, the drugs, lies, and sex- that I simply do not remember at all.
Mostly by choice but other times just because cold denial has frozen the memories deep beneath any tangible surface. The longer I remain sober, the further under the surface the memories become until finally, when looking into my face, my eyes, speaking with me, you can find no reminisce of them. That is what I believe at least.
So role playing is great in its fractional existence but it will never eclipse my personal pleasures that can only be received in full I am completely myself.
It is massively interesting to watch the different reactions you receive by playing different parts. If only you could see the continuity of responsiveness handed to me when I played the happy, cooky girl it would become abundantly clear why this project could be viewed as research. But what is more fascinating than his eager attention when I am that person is that during those times, I feel absolutely satisfied with no attention at all. It is a good place mentally, self-resilience, self-satisfaction, seems to just be present.
You are probably wondering how this girl that I am going to be playing is different from the current me. Well, you know that in all reality, she is not. Her behaviors mimic that of myself at a younger age, though not necessarily limited to the years of drug use.
She does not cuss to the vast fucking extent I do.
She prefers clean, goofy amusement.
Hmm... the point is that she is a star, more so than I who would be very much pleased to sit by myself in my house, read, smoke, and write days on end- as you well know. Where I would prefer to be introspective, she is most definitely not.
She is a star, quite the little star. There is a fascination with the heat and light produced, the millions of little molecules bouncing around, melding together chemically all producing a gravitational pull that is remarkable to the person who is writing this right now- the person who will go off and fill those shoes this evening.
She is infinitely interesting to watch, if not to listen to, though there may be no great beauty she does radiate something, some element that can holds power.
Amazingly, she is mostly easy to play so long as I do not do so often, exhaust my resources- collapse and explode, you might say. It has happened before.
Tonight I have the benefit of a good mood and excellent weather to assist me in my portrayal of a celestial body.
Let us hope that appearance and spirit do not fail me. I will find it most intriguing to continue my research- I shouldn't call it that.
Marilyn Monroe believed that men only like a happy girl. I presently concur.

Idle Time and Wasted Time.

Shit! I totally forgot to mention the fact that D, N, and I will be going on a four day cruise at the end of November.
Well, shithead, why are you telling about it now?
Because, damn it, this is a big deal. The room has a fucking balcony. It will be 10 days after my 2 year anniversary. It is just the three of us- the first cruise we have all gone on together. Kiss my ass- I will be talking about it for the next 6 months if it pleases me to do so.
Tomorrow: N will come home for lunch and we will deposit Layla at the Goodyear place to get her tire repaired. I will drop N back off at work and take "eep" for the afternoon.
--
TO DO LIST- yes, I have shit to do.
First and foremost for furthering my academic achievements- Arsenic and Old Lace needs to be purchased at a bookstore.
Next, second, and probably last- must get a card for Robert; his last day with mama and papa is Tuesday. Very sad, great guy, must get card.
----
It is time I say something about... well... time.
I am glad I have it, a lot of it, undoubtedly too much of it. At the current point, I have that luxury of having the ability to indulge in whatever luxury I want for however long I want. Nice, eh? Well, I know that people get caught up in thinking that the less time you have to spare, the more you are getting done or something along those macho-workacoholic-bullshit lines. I guess, like everything, there is some truth in that.
But, I enjoy having time to enjoy having absolutely nothing to do.
You didn't think I would make this simple, did you? No no, you silly reader.
As it stands, I have time to cater to the wants and needs of people should they call on me. I am willing to do this, I have the time to do this. It is fucking fantastic for the most part.
I like that. I get off on that. I sometimes forget how fucking fantastic it is.
I notice, as we have and will continue to get older, that the process, the concept, the addiction of filling up time in advance, of putting the modern calendar to use, of doing all those adult-like busy things that are necessary to feel like a grown-up... it becomes more and more common.
What I am trying to say is that I like, up until the last moment, questioning what it is I want to do with my day. I like that if my mood changes, if I start feeling ill, if I want to go swimming, if I want to go to Utah, I can fucking do it. Right up until the very moment that the current moment becomes past. I can do whatever I want.
Perhaps that isn't freedom- maybe it is just being lazy, being childlike, being bored, being boring.
So be it, I will be a lazy child who is bored and boring. If it makes me happy, as it makes other people happy to fill up their schedules like preparing to drink from the Holy Grail, so fucking be it.
Fortunately, we are all on our own time- we can all spend it in our different ways, with different people, at different places. No problem. You do your thing, I'll do mine.
This, right here, is my thing, my time. And my time says that if you call me right now, crying or laughing, you wish my presence in person or by voice, it is yours- without question, without having to examine my calendar, pencil you in for a later date. No. Right now, this moment, I am yours. It can be hard to digest that other people do not find idle time a luxury because that is what it is to me- to walk around the house singing, smoking, laughing, ranting, writing, reading. Yes, that is a luxury. To spend 6 minutes or 60 minutes getting ready, that does indeed please me. To make breakfast, watch the news, and do so without a pressing agenda, for the most part it satisfies me.
There are times, I will not lie, that I feel a stab of insignificance, boredom, loneliness which push me into viewing idle time, down time, as wasted time. Perhaps it is. Of course, at some point, idle time becomes wasted time. There is no doubt about that. However, my time is not idle if I am doing something that at the moment or forever is worthwhile- after all, are not the things penciled so diligently into a schedule mostly of short-term satisfaction? In other words, if I am writing, reading, ranting, singing, smoking, and finding these behaviors rewarding whether mentally, spiritually, or any other "ally"... is not that time spent as wonderfully placed as those purchased or penciled days, weeks, months, years in advance? I believe so, in my time they are.
As for the stabs of insignificance, boredom, and loneliness which surface however often... for now, however long that is, I have all the time in the world to prevail over such obstacles. And as moments pass, a spontaneous development might spark an entirely new perspective on time. As I continue to get older, I might find it more rewarding to fill up my datebook than to sing in the shower- so be it. That is time that has yet to come, time I do not claim to own, time that will spark its own moments of mixed emotion, triumphs and changes. That time will decide for itself and up until the very last moment that it arrives, I will be contemplating whether I want to make muffins or drive to Utah.
Its my choice. Its my time. This is my view as of this moment.

Flat.

My life. Oh, my life.
Today: May 26, 2005.
Got up and had some muffins, imagine that. Took a shower because I convinced myself to- listened to BTE and had quite a good time.
Got my shit together, went to SJ very briefly. Went, sat, worked for about 30 minutes, left. As I was doing so, I talked to K and told her to let me know if she needed a ride next week- she was waiting to be picked up.
Went home, started to read Great Expectations, realized how long it is and said "fuck".
Went to the bookstore with my list of books to buy, couldn't find them, didn't try too hard, started to overheat, left.
Came home. Talked about getting together with TGJ, took shower to smell appropriate, changed mind at last minute, got dressed.
Headed to LR, good drive, most enjoyable. Spent some time smoking cigarettes with Mama and Papa- mama told me some stories I had never heard before. I reacted with true enthusiasm.
Left there after about 90 minutes. Drove home. Still a pleasant drive.
Here we go:
Exit off of the 5, start getting uncomfortable at the stoplight- somewhere between the sun being at a good evening angle to make me squint and look crappy and the lady in a old, small, red car looking at me- I believe- from behind sunglasses in a displeasing way to make me fidget in my truck.
Okay, great. Light changes, make left turn into number 3 lane- swing far out for dramatic effect if not totally necessary.
Note to self that the road is particularly bumpy. Still no worries. Finish the turn, take my lane behind the red car, road does not even out as it should normally do after I take that corner. Shit. Something bad is happening.
Wait: you should know that in these situations I never fucking panic. I cuss a whole hell of a lot but I never really truly panic. Adrenaline kicks in quietly and swiftly, no problem, I'm on it.
Okay, so it becomes difficult but not impossible to navigate the truck.
Still totally sane, the first reaction is that my tie rod might have finally unfastened itself enough to make my tire loose- the pull of the truck to the passenger side would indicate that as a valid possibility. However because of the vivacity of the motion, I couldn't allow myself to continue driving the rest of the way home.
Because of the swiftness that the motion started, the tie rod theory was thrown out. The only other option that came to mind was a flat tire. I knew if that were the case it would be on the passenger side- at least the one that was causing me trouble. How many tires was not calculated. How could it be? I don't know shit about flats or driving with one.
Okay. Took quick right turn into a residential neighborhood. No problem. For some reason beyond my understanding, Layla drove well even under the circumstances.
Guess what? Flat tire! Passenger side, rear. No big deal. I was in a damn good mood or at least one permitting me to be comedic. Great. Call N, she says she will come soon.
Call AAA, answer all of the questions necessary and joke with the lady. Give my location and the location I want the truck towed. All figured out. Perfect. Thank God for obsessive compulsive record keeping.
(aside the whole not having my membership card, dumbass)
Tow truck is on its way, be there within thirty minutes. N is on her way, be there in 10 minutes. What am I supposed to do? I sit there, call TGJ and joke around for a while about my predicament. N comes, I get off the phone. We joke around until the tow guy comes. He comes and is totally willing to joke with us. Basically saying 'oh we don't need to tow it, the spare will fit even with the other tires'. Great. He does it, quickly.
Over.
I drive home in my totally defiled truck. Hmph. But still, my humor is intacted to the last drop.
Wonderful.
That is my evening. I am going to shower now. Better details later.

Muffins

1:30-something in the morning I took a drag of my cigarette.
"Can you feel?" I asked myself while pressing the cold soda can to my face; my forehead then my cheeks, my lips. Dim feeling progressed- tired significantly by body rather than mind.
"You just made cupcakes?" I asked with an air of sarcastic disbelief.
"Muffins." replied cooly, taking another drag of my cigarette. "Muffins," repeated in the same matter-of-fact, subdued tone.
And it was true. When I walked back into the house, it smelled of blueberry muffins still warm out of the oven.
"Muffins?" still not quite believing.
"Muffins," retorted with conviction.
They are good too. I couldn't sleep, wouldn't sleep. Went downstairs with the sole intention of making muffins. In the kitchen, turned the TV to CNN and mixed the carb-smart muffin mix. Popped it in the oven- 15 to 17 minutes in a 400 degree oven (or until golden brown)- started the dishwasher, and looked at some work related stuff. "Must get ass in gear, academic year is almost over," and I agree. 15 to 17 minutes were over quickly- muffins put on stove to cool, I retire for a cigarette. It is enjoyable.
Come in, cover my muffins, take two, realize the oddity that is my behavior, and set upstairs to write a brief post.
I will dream particularly potent dreams tonight and for the next few nights. Hopefully I will find something soothing to watch before I drift to sleep.
Goodnight.
-K

Nicole.

Well hello there. I am sure you are wondering how I spent my day? No? Then read someone else's blog.
Truth be told, I don't know exactly how I spent my fucking day. I had to completely redo the "Poster Child" card because of some freak accident that erased it. That fucking sucked.
So I did that and some other random "let's waste time" kind of crap.
Ha great! Coffee in hand, finished getting ready, made an apperance in class briefly because today was Wednesday, also known as the day I go to LR, also known as grocery day. It is recognized as such for miles around... or wherever I am expected to appear for the greater good of education or the like.
Great.
So somewhere along the way I started thinking of a former friend of mine which, over the course of the day, turned into an absolute obsession (imagine that) and has continued as such, quickly fading now, till the present.
But, nonetheless, I decided to attempt contact with this friend- let the fun begin!
Her name- yes it is a female- is Nicole. She, like TGJ, was one of the people that I hung out with that my regular group said
"oh i can't believe you hang out with that person they are so not cool why are you making us hang out with that person are you going to pick up the phone when that person calls holy shit are you calling that person that is so not cool"
Starting to get a picture of my regular group? (which, bytheway, consisted primarily of 2 girls, interlocking with myself and picking up random but goodlooking drifters like fucking barnacles.)
Since the time of my "regular group" I have severed ties with the two girls and all our barnacle "friends" with the exception of, you guessed it, the uncool barnacles.
This sub-group which was connected primarily, if not totally, by my association contained Davis, TGJ, and Nicole- all three of whom do I still make occasional attempts at contact.
There you have it. That brings you up to speed on the food chain.
Nicole- met by accident, actually, while visiting TGJ at his former job- a movie theater. I don't make this shit up. Ah yes, the movie theater. The regular group voiced their objections to the movie theater without fail, every damn time it was brought up. They were muted when asked if they had any other likely destination to spend the evening.
No one could deny the perks of our little movie theater visits- we got in free, could lounge around and have plastic cup after plastic cup of soda, many accessible places nearby to get high, nice subtle lighting in the evenings, and we could fuck with the people who came to actually watch movies. What an idea.
Holy shit! I just remembered the occasion by which I met nicole.
Fuck, this one is good and it will give you a good sense of our group dynamic.
Holy shit, this one is damn good.
--
Before I start: the two girls I am talking about are R. and Staz.
The three of us are on one of our little adventures to the movie theater when
BAM
R. finds out, oh shoot, she has started her period. I became aware of this fact and immediately started the great tampon hunt. The tampon machine in the theater bathroom was broken I think. No matter, off we go.
First, we or more accurately I with the others giggling, walked promptly up to all the females in the lobby asking if they had a tampon. Negative. But we got a quarter.
We leave the theater and walk over to the Mexican restraunt where I go into the bathroom to find, alas, they are out of tampons as well.
Fuck. After more questioning of females, we return to the theater- somewhere along the way we picked up Nicole- she was at the theater to visit TGJ, who she had a long time crush on. Oh man, you would not believe the drama that ensued.
Cutting a long story short, Nicole helps us on the great tampon hunt, eventually ending in the dismantling of the tampon machine in the theater women's bathroom.
We took all the quarters, walked across the street to a gas station, and bought an entire box of tampons- I think that is how the story ends... we were successful.
And I picked up a new friend. Nicole.
I am pretty sure I was high that night and I am pretty sure when Nicole first saw me she was enamored or something very like it. That is not a pure cry of vanity- I was a very interesting and attractive person, in the eyes of other people, when I was high. I was hyper, outgoing, honest, smiley, a high degree of amusing, and extremely flirtatious. I banked on knowledge of men and a mysterious intelligence on drugs. Aside that, at the time I felt I was God. I had two girls around me that were willing to testify that, yes, I was god and that, yes, they were too.
So when I say enamored at first sight, it is not too presumsuous. I was not like anything or anyone else and I was not shy. Imagine seeing a me walking up to people in a theater asking for tampons, without hesitation or embarassment, and being tailed by two giggling girls enjoying it all very much.
From all outside views, I could do no wrong- my God, she is getting away with it- and eccentric ideas were helpful too for my mystery.
Nicole played along on our little tampon hunt. While my two friends dismantled the tampon machine, I began "getting to know" Nicole from my little sink-top thrown- she was torn as to where she should place her attention but she answered my questions well enough- what she said or I said, I don't fucking remember anymore.
There you have my cake. Let me share with you the icing.
I mentioned that Nicole was at the theater to visit TGJ, whom she had a huge and very schoolgirl crush on. Thus, when seeing TGJ's infatuation for me- if you want to call it that- it probably clicked to her that she should attempt to be as similar to me as possible.
Thus, my first and only apprentice. I liked her then and I definitely liked to be revered such as I was. Icing mother fuckers.
I can't remember at the moment how she became a regular but I am aware that it was against the wishes of R and Staz who did not like or approve of this new addition.
God, I can't believe it was the fucking tampon hunt where we first met. Damn.
----
Sorry, I didn't mean to go into all of that. Well, so today I found that Nicole is unlisted. I searched for her online and got nothing. I began to comb my journals when I decided better and went to LR. While sitting there watching Gilmore Girls, I entertained the idea that perhaps ESP might intice her to call me. Didn't hold water.
Eventually, I gave in an ate sushi.
The hunt was not over for long- upon returning home I put together a time frame for the last communication I received from her- I was in Arkansas when she sent me a text message.
Thus, I dug up my cell phone records from February but because the message was incoming, I could not learn the phone number. I rescued two numbers from the same time period that I was unfamiliar with and could perhaps be of use.
I stuck the piece of paper in my purse and went for a drive.
Please note that three days a week I go to S.J. which is right the fuck next to Nicole's "educational facility". I am aware of this fact. And because, three days a week, I show up at the same time as their lunch, I do in fact note faces in the crowd incase.
Tonight on my drive, I came near SJ, driving past the old theater, the mexican restraunt, the gas station, incase. Nothing.
One of the numbers has been exhausted from the search- turns out, it was D's phone.
Then there is the other phone number which I have yet to call and probably will not call- its not the one I am looking for, I know.
I question what I would say if I were to see her again though I can develop scenarios, as you know, which will hold me over for another 2 years. That I am sure.

Bunny Suit Dream + Therapist No Show.

I will start with my dream from last night:
----
I guess we all had our special powers or maybe just our eccentric tidbits. There were three guys and maybe 4 girls, including me.
One of the guys was involved in the military and possibly had a problem with blacking out. He was very involved with the group, nonetheless.
The second guy I saw the most of. He dressed up in an entirely black bunny suit with a pouch in the front where he kept tiny green marshmellows he loved.
The third guy I saw pretty much nothing of but I know he was the "head haunco" if there was one.
The girls where all just girls. They had there special powers though- one, that I remember, had some control over producing ice, snow, and the like. You get an idea of how fucked up my dreams are.
--
First from the military guy's perspective: he is performing a raid at some tropical beach cabana, right off the water. It is daytime and the light floods into the apartment, more like a hotel room. A woman is sitting up, frightened as hell, on the pull out bed. Our military guy is yelling at her. We get the notion that there is also a small child in another room.
Our military guy is interrogating, more or less, the woman on the bed but she speaks a limited amount of English. When he asks her something about running on the beach, she suddenly changes her expression to a hesitant confusion. We understand that she does not know why this man is talking about a beach. She formulates a response that, if spoken perfectly and calmly, would resemble this: we are not by the beach. there is no beach within hundreds of miles. you are currently in a landlocked country.
The daylight overwhelms. Our military guy begins coming to, laying on the now empty pull out bed, looking up at the popcorn ceiling and cheap fan. Our two other male friends come and lean over him, commenting on his state. Pulling off the head of the bunny costume and tucking it under one arm, going for the green marshmellows, the guy says 'we almost lost him on that one'. They begin to move him on a makeshift stretcher towards the door. As he glides closer, the daylight once again overwhelms.
--
Second: the group has apparently split up, though not on unfriendly terms. After our military guy died, the impression is that the two other guys dissapeared, ran off without a word. The girls remain close, all working together on... a TV show? I think, something along those lines.
I must have moved out of town, returning via airplane. Unsure of how much time has passed. But when the group split up and the boys dissapeared, I had a friend who works in a costume shop keep a lookout for a black bunny suit. After all this time, he called to inform me that one had just come in and 'would I like to claim it?'
Yes. I am in a hurry through the airport. The costume shop, if that's what it is, is actually a warehouse- piles and piles, rows and rows of costumes and the like.
After manueveuring over a wall of clothes and continuing on, I wait while he finds the goods.
Ere long, he throws me a piece of blue foam padding. 'This is it?'
No.
He throws me the stomach part of the costume, commenting that the previous owner 'lovvved marshmellows'.
He is not yet aware that I know who the previous owner was.
He continues to throw pieces of the costume, eventually getting to the head.
'And this must have been where he drank that bottle of mortality'
Click. In the dream, the bottle of mortality was an actual bottle of some substance which my friend had drunk with the intention of poisoning himself, so I understand from my reaction. It worked, thus the bunny suit was now in this warehouse and my possession shortly.
Next scene, the other girls become aware of what goods I have and at least one decides to square off with me in a dark parking lot, in front of their house, I believe.
Ring. I wake up.
---
What beats that? Nothing. I think that the complexity and composition is what gets me- I see the different scenes from different people's perspectives and most of the time not from behind my own eyes- omniscent- though perhaps following my actions and reactions heavily for narration purposes.
Well, that being said, how are you today?
I am doing well. The morning was BLAH. I took N to lunch and we discussed my dream, above, her work, etc. I waited at the house working on a card version of the "Poster Child" picture as seen here and other such unfortunate random crapshoots. Then the maids came and I took leave, driving driving driving, as always. This time I went to the beach and got out of my vehicle, attempting to read "Great Expectations" but I was unable to concentrate for long. Shortly after sitting down I went back to the truck, got my plastic bag full of clothes, and changed in the women's bathroom. WHY you ask? Because I was sandy. But WHY you ask? Because I was curious if I would actually do it. But WHY did you have a bag full of clothes in your truck? Oh! Good question.
After leaving the beach I went directly to Kerry's- that's right, my therapist's office is right on PCH, therefore damn close to the beach. Ah, you have to love southern California.
Right so, I go to Kerry's and have a mini fiasco when my paranoia kicks in.
--
Paranoia kick of the day: Fear that my truck was going to get towed from the bagel shop parking lot because I was not a customer. If the bagel shop was open, I would have been a customer, no shit. So that was what I got paranoid about today.
--
I arrive at the outside the office, evading my mini fiasco, at 5:15-ish. When 6:05 rolls around and there is still no therapist in sight, I book it.
At about 5:50 another girl showed up and I heard her on the phone with some dude she was pissed at because they 'used to hang out like every day' but now since he's 'had a girlfriend or ya know liked a girl' all of a sudden there is 'no time for hailey' and it sucks 'because you were becoming like a good friend' and since everyone knows you see 'a good friend like at leeassst once a week' so its only fair that he should 'make an effort'.
And in the end, he agreed and she said she would make and effort too if he did and they said 'okay bye' all cute and happy and I felt totally uninvolved. However, easedropping did get me to stand there an extra however many minutes that whole thing took.
Yes but then I left and took the main streets home, getting most of the way before the phone rang. Unfortunately, I was in the middle of a mopey Radiohead song I didn't want to listen to anyway so I answered.
'What time was I suppose to see you?' ... aware that she already knows, I say the answer anyway.
'I feel so bad' ... and I feel hungry, I'd like to wash my face, I smell like salt water, and I think I am really tired too. None of these things did I say though a few were probably expressed in my primarily flat voice. It happens, its okay, it happens, not a problem.
'Are you availible next Tuesday?' ... plans for next tuesday made, noted, can I go to sleep now?
'But wait. I have to know how the wedding went' ... didn't happen, we'll talk about it next tuesday, goodbye.
'Ah, You're gonna make me suffer till next Tuesday?' ... yes, next Tuesday, goodnight.
Please note that I had been standing for 45 minutes.
I get home. I am tired. I am hungry.
So I say in my primarily flat voice: if I lay real still and talk real nice and look real pretty will somebody get me something to eat?
Affirmative. I eat. I feel better. I shower. I go on another drive.

Scenario: Jamaica.

Ere long we sit in silence. At the end of which, he says:
"Kel, I am thinking about leaving tonight and going to Jamaica," glancing sideways to gauge my response.
"Well, I will fund your trip to the best of my ability," I say getting my wallet out of my purse. "A dollar," handing him the money, "as long as you promise to spend it only on what you need- cottage cheese and such."
He laughs and looks straight forward again, not taking the money and I slacken my arm.
"Kel, I am thinking about leaving tonight and going to Jamaica. What do you think?"
I reach in my wallet and get out another dollar bill.
"I think that the more valuable questions you ask, the more valuable responses you will get. Ask on because you are quite too vague," I say handing him the money.
He smiles, takes the money and ponders it for a moment.
"Kel, I am thinking about leaving tonight and going to Jamaica. Do you think I would make it?"
"I have no doubt."
"Well?" he says gesturing at my wallet.
"Ha! That was not a valuable question, you did not receive a valuable response, and I have but a limited amount of money. As limited, persay, as your time if you are to leave tonight for Jamaica."
He laughs and looks straight forward again.
"Kel, if I leave tonight and go to Jamaica, would you ever speak to me again?" he says and looks promptly at my wallet.
"That was so stupid I will give you no answer and take back a dollar."
He laughs, gets out his wallet and gives me a dollar in quarters without putting up my cash. I try to conceal a laugh.
"Kel, what would you really think about me leaving tonight for Jamaica?" he asks- a real question by his tone and intense gazing at the air straight before him.
Playing with the coins in my hand,
"I would think nothing of it, if that is what you decided you want to do. I would not think it odd, if that were the case. Perhaps sudden but such are the events that hold the most gravity. I would hope you'd intend on keeping me posted in case you fall dead of a tropical disease or something like that..." putting all coins on the ground next to him which he notes out of the corner of his eye before snatching full attention back to the air.
"Kel?"
"Yeessss."
"What are you thinking about?" I smile and reach for my wallet, pulling out a ten dollar bill, placing it on the ground, and weighting it down with the loose quarters.
"I think," with a short pause, "that if you catch sight of this money, you will leave me bankrupt."
He smirks towards the air. I do the same. "I think that Jamaica is supposed to be very beautiful."
"Kel?"
"Yeessss?"
"I'm not going to Jamaica tonight."
"Okay," wiping my hands on my knees and turning to him, "how about tomorrow?"
"Utah..." He pauses momentarily. "Right, Kel?" he smiles.
"Right." I smile.
He gives me my twelve dollars in cash and I give him his dollar in change.

Poster Child: My Charitable Contribution

The most unflattering and modest piece you will get out of me.

While You Were Here.

After You'd Gone.

Back in the Day

Back in the Day II

Good morning. Shall I tell you how the evening ended?
I think you will find it most amusing. I shall quote us both.
First a review. My first comment which spouted this controversy:
"Ok sir. You tease me by telling me only in retrospect that u want to kiss me. If I had half my brain and u an air of sincerity u would have what it is u say u want."
After a long time of mulling that over, he replied:
"Well what exactly is it I say I want... I haven't said I want a girlfriend. I havent technically said I wanted to kiss u only that I did..."
This is where it gets amusing. I turn the tables by replying:
"Lord boy, I am not talking about being your girlfriend. Good lord. That isn't what this is about and I'm actually sorry u thought that. Is that what is going through your head? Shit, nevermind. All this got taken wrong."
Well its the truth- you all know that. I have said it on this blog many times.
"Yes it did I musunderstood u earlier. No I didn't think u meant bout being my girlfriend or anything I just... next subject."
The fucking end. Once again I have slipped through the cracks.
Now, this conversation I have put up here so that it will be dually noted my intentions once again. I do not want to be anyone's girlfriend. I do not want to date. I want to read my books and lay on my couch and tan in my backyard and drive in the evenings. Whether I do that with or without the knowledge that someone likes me romantically, it doesn't matter.
I find it most amusing to probe the intentions and thoughts of other people. I can't help it... okay, I could help it but why would I want to? I stop short of flat out manipulation everytime, without fail. Besides, it is quite clear to me he intends to mess with me just as much as I mess with him, though in a very different way.
Ah. The only reason I would feel I have said anything wrong is if it was taken as such. My meaning is as clear as I can make it with the words I know. I do feel it is cruel to tell me only in retrospect of urges to kiss me, however safe it makes someone feel to do that.
I wish I could give you a better picture of this whole "thing" because there are facts that would be beneficial. Truth being, I don't remember a large percentage of this "thing" because it was back in the day...
However I can tell you this- we have never kissed. All his attempts have been in vain, thus his ability to remain in my life after all others were shipped off. Shall I give you a picture of me "back in the day"????
Yes, I think so... No, nevermind. My better judgement kicked in.
I shouldn't be looking through these pictures... most of them are gone, somewhere, I don't know where. The ones that still exist are mainly in the scrapbook... I question how appropriate it would be to put those pages up here.

I would like to, because it is my style, be reeling right now with emotion, fear, regret over what I have messaged this evening.
I am not. I do not feel those things.
What I said, tonight, is the truth and above that, only words. If it is misinterpreted, I will not lie- I believe it would be merely an easy reason to run.
Because, in fact, the words themselves are not negative. They are factual. So if, in turn, this leads to the end of all conversations, I will not see it as anything other than what it is- a good reason, a good place, a good excuse came about that would guiltlessly lead to such a departure.
Be sure that is how I would view it. That is how it is. Though in the past, in these past few weeks, you have seen me drive aimlessly with fear that my actions or words have been mistaken and a large hammer will strike down without mercy should I not make things right.
No. Not tonight.
I dreamt last night that in a blackout, I wrote all of these horrible things about TGJ on post-it notes, plastic cups, etc. The party was out of town so I had no reason to believe my words would be reviewed. Unfortunately, they were because TGJ or at least some of his friends were at the party. Thus, he ended all communication quite cruelly.
Upon waking, I messaged him to apologize because I have learned to prevent dreams from returning, I must make right or discuss what has occurred.
No. Not tonight. That is it. I have done enough time feeling shame, guilt, and whatever else. I have done it awake and I have done it asleep.
Like usual, I do not wish you to take what I am writing to the extreme: if I do something or have done something that truly warrants an apology, I will gladly give it with all of the sincerity I hold for such occasions. This is not one of them. Nothing I have said do I feel guilt about and to attempt to make me would be, by me, interpreted as mean.
Perhaps I have not made my intentions clear. If asked, I will most definitely make my intentions clear, to the best of my ability and with the same vocabulary I use to mark my contempt. So be it. Ask me. I will tell you.
I do not wish to be your girlfriend, let me say that first. I do not wish do be anyone's girlfriend. I have remained single this long because I have chose to do so, just as I have chose to stay alone in most aspects of my life.
That is the truth- I do not wish to date you, I do not wish to own you, I do not wish you to believe these things. I am interested, at this point, in your intentions. I am thoroughly intrigued and if you can come up with a magnificent plot, I shall play a character. This is how it would be with any person you set before me, or at least most. (Laughs)
Okay, so now we have that down: I do not wish to date you.
I am just completely interested in your intentions- whether they lead to hypocrisy, what the entail, etc.
This is the part where I question my urge to check my cell. No- this needs to be done. At least if I bend backwards or forwards or anyway at all, this will be here in writing.
If you are looking for a reason, a way, an excuse to run- take it, this is an excellent opportunity. Once again we will have preserved this in time and can return to it a few months down the road. That is what we both want, isn't it? Seriously now, let's be honest.

I must post something... just because.
Well, I have pushed things to the brink and am waiting on a response which I will receive now because I have specifically requested it.
In the meantime, I will create a post. The day was completely uneventful- worked around the house, went on a drive with N to PCH, and then to Costa Mesa to order a new and larger lift chair for my papa.
There you have it. D is out of town since last Friday. Sorry I am waiting for a response- not with emotion or even curiousity. Just bored and seeing where I can put on my best kitten face and bat the ball of yarn... ugh.
Remember- Kerry on Tuesday. Things are better though. My sanity is intact. It is mainly just prolonged minute suffering inflicted on me and the other party.
Okay. I am going to go have a cigarette and come back later.
Wish me luck.

Why its Hard to Forget the Beach.

Me and Davis + The Old Gang at Our Regular Spot

4 Days: from 1-21-2003

4 days, Kerri, I have been in these pajamas, way above the rest of the world, circulating in some strange way. Looking down I see myself in shame. What has a girl who has the world to hate? What has the girl who has the world to be ashamed of? What has the girl who has the world come to hate about her life? On the forth day, I claimed my bed my only friend in war. Showered once in this period of time, washed my hair twice. Some things you just can’t stand. Dirty hair makes me feel ridiculous. Thoughts of suicide float in and out briefly and not seriously, but there none the less. Other thoughts float in and out too. Will I have a baby? Will I be famous? Will I die young? Will I love him? I remember the other night, when I was doing the splits. Sometimes I’m so sure I have something that no one else will. Its in my eyes, the profile of my face, something like that. And so on, and so forth. Will I go to school? Will I be a house wife? After all this evolution, have we really evolved at all? I half open my eyes and look out, 4 days later, and I see that I have not changed though my hair looks longer. What is important to tell? I tap the keys and tell you how I feel and you will question me, no doubt, and I will wander back into this world. I sometimes wonder if it not this house that is making me feel claustrophobic because I have, I’m sure, been in smaller areas before. But after these 4 days, I need to get out. I felt it coming on and said “I need to run away again,” but I have no will to head somewhere aside on this too familiar pillow. I don’t think the material has been washed in a year, and maybe neither have I, for I still feel the recognitions of the people long gone. I could conquer this world barefoot, should the time be right. After 4 days, here I sit, faded, showered once more, and spit out to think. Looking for a way to escape but yet, at the same time, claw myself in. I’m hesitant, very hesitant. “Lock me up, for I’m not leaving this bed. Not now, not ever, not even if I should choose to go away”. Even in my will to go away, I have locked myself up. And I, oh god, and I. What the hell is there to say about me that hasn’t been said a million times before? Concentrating too hard or not at all. I lay on my floor last night talking to someone that I feel I hardly know and I say “I am afraid to love, for it once almost killed me,” and I say “Why are you laying on this floor with me,” and I say “Who would fall in love with me?” to which he replies something to the extent of, given time, maybe him. If only, but that is the only thing I have to say.

Untitled: 10-10-2002

Middle-class, white girl with deep brown eyes, she was raised in Fayetteville, Arkansas, the heart of the south, in cold and heat, the humidity opening up like a mouth into her mind. Homesick had been a word, something that she thought would be interesting to experience, but the ache went beyond now. She longed for everything that there once was but may never be again; to sit, as she did as a child, in a graveyard roadside feeding ducks at a small pond. She begged her heart to forget the rises and falls, the childhood that had spit her out in California. There was nothing in California anymore, or so she felt, so she resorted to remembering the warmth and friendship she had back home.
‘Back Home’ echoes emptily. Whenever you are one place, you most assuredly want to be in another. So there is no home, of at least not for any reasonable amount of time. ‘I want to lie in my bed, even if that is where I shall most definitely die if I was to stay for too long because here I would die of loneliness and there, I would die of insanity’. I can’t myself, she said. I can’t see my way, she replied.
Whenever in Arkansas, the humidity would drive her to do crazy things. The fact that it was her home was little help to the foreign sin she had picked up after her departure. In California, though there was no will to do anything bad, or anything well. There was only an aching, perhaps from not eating, that progressed ill she was stopped dead in her tracks.
God, your mind will play such evil tricks on you sometimes. There is just too much goddamn blue in California. I’m all too sure that I will be the end of me. At this point, I am okay, I can go on. But I can see that sometimes there will be a dry blue cold that cracks me open and I will just let it. I will surrender my life. I know I wanted to know what is was like to be inside my mind, to see what it was like to die. I know that I pushed till I fell over and broke down. I don’t want to do it again. I don’t want to know.

Quotes From Across My Eras

I have made the mistake of looking into my old journals. I will tell you why right now.
You know what, there isn't any valid excuse. Basically I was wondering who it is that TGJ was so infatuated with because I have very little want or need or ability to remember that part of my past. Where would be the best place for me to conduct my research? My journals, of course. Since this blog was not in existence during that period and my old online journal was wiped clean when I got sober, there weren't any other ways.
Here we go. I begin by reading what it is I have at the ready- loose or undated journal entries that are filed, saved from former computers, etc. There wasn't much. So we (N and I) wrangled my box of recent journals (past 5 years) with some difficulty from the storage unit.
Right, now you are up to date. My past can be divided up into eras, I suppose, always with the current being unidentified. But I really shouldn't get into all of that.
Okay, so, where does that leave us?
When I first moved to California, I was in a really fucked up mental state, let's say. Ironically, the journals from that period are some of the most astounding work I have done to date, taking into consideration how young I was. To me, at least.
It makes the most out of language and imagery. It hasn't aged to me.
Then we come about, very quickly, to my drug using era. Not so ironically, during this period marks some of my absolute worst writing.
But wait: in a very brief interval that separates the new resident and drug eras, there is an era completely devoted to TBJ. Writings from that era are about romance and full of delusions and are very tragic to read.
Then we get to here, now. And what do you find? I have settled into a very factual, quite cynical style.
--
Right, now you know about my eras, congradulations. That is not what this post is about. This post is about the reactions that I have from reading those journals.
This is the reaction I have: I am sorry that I devoted such a religious amount of time to the various undertakings that were marked in each of these eras.
---
What am I trying to tell you?
I am trying to tell you that I sacraficed being a people-person, being hyper, being crazy for the life I live now.
Sorry if this is incoherent- I just fucked up this post.
But now, I am going to give you some quotes.
You try and determine the era: drug era, mental era, or romance era.
Those are your choices for now.
---
2-20-2003
"I've gotten used to the fact that my life is cigarettes and boys. The guys I see aren't boyfriends, they are "the guy I'm sleeping with" for I have lost all self-respect and we maintain our 2 individual worlds."
--
3-01-2003
"I was bad, but I'm pretty sure we can pretty much get over it."
--
9-06-2001
"Desolated now, but then I had just found love, and everything was momentarily silenced. So I am on my knees now, wanting you to touch my head and send me off with a nod and smile, to wrestle the world, only to return again."
--
10-10-2002
"I want to lie in my bed, even if that is where I shall most definitely die if I was to stay for too long because here I would die of loneliness and there I would die of insanity."
--
1-21-2003
"I lay on my floor last night talking to someone that I feel I hardly know and I say "I'm afriad to love, for it once almost killed me," and I say "Why are you laying on this floor with me," and I say "Who would fall in love with me," to which he replies something to the extent of given time, maybe him. If only, but that is the only thing I have to say."
--

This is a Photo Story About Me.

These are My Eyes.

This is the Girl Who People Fall in Love With...

...And This is the Girl I am Most Often.

This is Where My Mind Runs to When Restless...

...And This is My Mind at Peace.

This is My Only Brother...

...Who is Rarely Remembered as My Hero.

This is My True Best Friend.

This is a Genuine Portrait of My Grandparents, the People I will Gladly Drive Miles to See.

This is My Momma...

...The Woman I Strive to Make Proud, The Woman I Cherish.

This is My Dad.

...The Photographer, The Free Soul, The Benchmark for All Men to Meet,

...and the Man I Love.

And This... Is the House I Have Always Wanted to Grow Old In.

Packages on Anniversary.

Today is my 19 month anniversary.
In addition I received the two packages from my dad. I will post about it some other time.
More later.
By the way I read the post from last night and did not feel guilty in the least. Actually, I kind of liked it- compared to many of the other posts it had good format.
At least something good might come out of this whole saga.
Speaking of which, there has been no communication today. For most of the afternoon I fucked around cleaning the medium format camera my dad sent, complete with all the lenses, camera bags, light meter, photography books, etc. You name it- anything a professional photographer would have for one of his most expensive cameras- it is currently in my possession.
I love it, I really do. I have never seen so many color filters in my life.
And then there is Simone, who has been with my father for at least two decades. Obviously, his upcoming marriage has forced them to part. Such as it is, she will now grace my bedroom with the appreciation a beuatiful woman deserves.

Simone...

Simone

Nightcamp II: Click for Link to Lyrics

What Time Is It, Kiddies??
That's right! Its camp time!!!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOMMA!
--
Another episode of nightcamp this evening.
First let me tell you that it almost didn't happen. With his prior consent, I set out in that general direction, calling to confirm our plans. He did not answer. So, from 8:00-8:30 pm I drove around as I would normally be doing during that time, barring the idea, quite successfully, that he would return my call. Though I must say, even in that period I was never resented the idea that I would drive around aimlessly then go home- I do it quite a bit.
Earlier in the day we had played our usual text games- ping-ponging the stupidest comments that even a 12-year-old would refrain from using. After our morning make-up session where I did my earnest apologizing for calling commenting on his marital status ("I have a hard time trusting people"), we kept an open line of communication; mainly on driving carefully, proposing to a girl who likes videogames, and my shock that he didn't make the news at the VG-Expo.
During this tag-your-it session, we failed to eliminate the flirting- would it be fun otherwise?
I said to tell me if he wants or needs me. He said he always wants and needs me, etc. I said I want and need him (kiss my ass- yes, I did it) and to call on me. He said its my turn to call on him. I did. Meanwhile, I held a considerable
Thus, Nightcamp.
See how fucked up this whole thing is? Don't deny it, I know, but it gets worse.
Nightcamp. 8:45pm
I am navigating the parking garage which I find oddly attractive though completely annoying (its a pattern), probably not looking very hard for a parking place (again, aimless driving? I'm in), but one happened to open up- Red Mustang Convertible- tan top, 2003 probably.
So I took it, called TGJ and he told me to walk to the theatre to meet him.
Let me paint a picture for you: this mall covers approximately 805,000 square feet.
I was told to walk from one end of the mall to the other in order to go and stand in line with someone, when I knew (he didn't) that I would have no problem with driving off into the darkness.
But I didn't mind, so I went. Upon arriving it was an interesting scene.
I have to say that most people on seeing all of these people waiting the night before to get good seats to Star Wars, quite a few in costumes and with light sabers... well, they might call it a very odd sight. The only things I found abnormal on the scene as oppose to this same location on another night:
a) The Costumes: mainly light sabers cause the difference- though they sell lightsticks so, hell, its not a huge leap.
b) Universal: that you have all these people standing around in the vacinity who are there for the same reason- Star Wars.
(That is beside the point, sorry.)
So I go and find him- still in his same costume consisting of an all black ninja costume with the addition of an oversized black cape and the impressive (expensive) light saber.
-He works, he can afford it. Let him fuck with his money how he pleases- I will say that much in his defense. -
Obviously, you could expect that he is distracted. You could also expect that I am sort of the odd man on campus. Those two together means that he is chatting away while I am standing by myself looking like a dipshit. Such is my luck, such is my choice.
In spite of this dipshitedness, I stayed.
-Timeout: you must be thinking that I really like this boy, isn't that right? Well, look at it like this- my other options for the evening were comfortable and normal. Tonight, I opted for the unusual and uncomfortable.-
Eventually he wrangled himself from the crowd to shower me briefly with forced attention. Therefore, for the sake of accuracy, it was more like spitting than showering.
Which was ample enough to secure my presence for another 15 minutes at least.
This is what TGJ has been doing for the past 4 days, I have to remind you. He has been camping out in this mall. Well, this is just great material.
So yes- volumes of people in jousting and conversing, some in costume, all in good spirits.
No complaints. He asks me if I want to see what he has really been doing for the past 4 days. I say yes of course because I am so thoroughly amused it is just astonishing.
He runs off and begins approaching people to joust.
Eventually I have been coaxed into sitting on the pavement outside of the theatre where his group is stationed.
Oh, I should mention that during the brief spitting sessions there is a consistent thread of advances- of our very 12-year-old nature. Tonight, I did not respond.
Nonetheless, we took refuge on the pavement in the small group which I was able to stay detatched from out of fear rather than lack of interest.
TGJ, laying with his head on my leg, questioned me on 'why I am so quiet when we are around other people'. I will address that directly now.
I am quiet when we are around other people because it is my nature. If that is displeasing I can spit out my default sarcasm, though I think they would probably find more offense there than if I was silent. Aside that, I know nothing of the subjects that interest this group or at least those that are currently discussed. From here, I can either spout ignorance and look like an asshole or shut up and try to absorb something. Choices are simple. Logic is simple. My knowledge is simple too. Fortunately all of the things I am uneducated on seem to be in vast supply from my company. Circle of life, assholes.
There was a few minutes of unease when I saw TGJ's eyes, fearing that he was on drugs, but was subdued the 'lack of sleep' thing.
Uhh... well, I guess that is all I can tell. Because of how long and in-depth these posts are, I am beginning to feel guilty. Thus, I am stopping here rather than telling about the group.
I kept my hat on in conversing with him and his group. I left, walked by myself the long way around the perimeter of the mall, to my truck- which took longer and was less satisfying than I had thought.
I was restless on the way home though without emotions. Fucking with the music for something that would click, make me feel. Nothing worked. Fuck CDS. Close to home, I resorted to the radio. What song should start playing at just that moment? Mr. Roboto of course.
A clever little piece of irony.
Lyrics will follow- you will see why I find it so amusing.

Importance of Oddities and Words

Do you all remember in one of my posts from yesterday (or something like that) called about various scenarios?? You do! Oh Good.
Do you remember the very very first part, you know, about groupies and wives and cab drivers? Yes! Oh Great.
Well, apparently the recepient of that text message took offense and I was awakened at 8:30 this morning to hear about it... read about it, actually.
The whole thing is cleared up, I felt very little guilt though it is depressing to realize how few people have the same sense of humor that I seem to possess. Or, for that matter, the ability to interpret things that are supposed to be jokes. Obviously, they aren't that funny... fuck man, I thought it was witty, enough so to put it on my blog.
Wait, that doesn't say much.
Anyway I did my best reassuring and apologetic act and he did his best "buh buh but don't you truusst me??" act and everything blew over.
Which brings me to this point: I don't have a fucking point. I have a bad mouth and a life, however insignificant (my life, not my mouth), and some version of a presentable character (though I can't say much for my face) that I would like to be recognized.
As fun as this has all been, there is no personal attachment when can justify all of this as more than a game- at least thus far. I will say this again and again; if there was some knowledge or interest in knowledge about ME as a PERSON, I would willingly give the rest of my brain and a portion of my heart. Now, only the most trivial but still vital brain cells are participating.
The rest lay in wait for someone who will speak to ME.
Do not misinterpret what I am saying- I can keep going and going until the end of my days with this current arrangement. The selected brain cells are glad to participate but it needs to be viewed as what it really is. For this purpose, this person, a part of my brain is engaged, a part of my emotions are engaged, etc. But this does not satisfy me completely. This is not it for me- not the beginning, end, or middle of what I am looking for. There are still more vital pieces of me, untapped by this, that are getting ancy.
Should he suddenly express and interest in me and what I like, what I am, what all is in there that he has yet to see... then those pieces laying in wait might be exercised by mere discussion, even with a lack of common ground- that they are shown as part of me that is indispensible, however trivial or controversial, they are there.
This isn't turning out how I wanted it to. Let's try again.
------
It could be that what is showing as of now is all that will ever be in this whole mess- I will play the part of a listener, a giggling girl, a flirt, a concerned presence, etc.
It could be that the other parts of my personality are simply irrelevant, only complicating matters.
I could be satisfied with this arrangement, as is. To play all those roles is good, a pleasure for the right company.
But I stress that my satisfaction with playing this role does not mean I value the other pieces of my personality, other skills any less.
On the contrary- these aspects in my personality become more engraved, more loved by their absence in my relationships. They become a sound fact, a difference, a stronghold.
I am sarcastic- if I were to express that solely on here because the entire world rebuked me for it, so be it. That is exactly what I would do and cherish its individuality, look at whoever or whatever brought it out of me and enjoyed it with a very loving eye.
Because there are oddities, eccentric habits, etc. that I possess but they are me and will continue to be me. The more oddities that a person sees in me, enjoys or even merely aknowledges in me, that much more power to them. The one, someday, allows themselves to see all the pieces will have my mind in full.
Until then, you get from me exactly what you ask. You ask me to listen, I will. You ask me to talk, I will. You ask me to paint your portrait, your a fucking idiot who doesn't know I can't create art worth shit.
--
My forte, I truly pray, is words.
This is what I bank on.
To rant, to rave, to live, to die in words. I respect them and the works they create with impressive gravity. They are an emotion, a place in time that could otherwise be discarded forever. Whether or not I have anything truly important to say, that needs to be marked in time- probably not.
But if you agree with the above sentence, remember one small detail: we are talking about my time, where my words and emotions hold weight. They are important to me, even if only to call them trash at a later date. The more I experience, the more I produce, the more likely I am to have something truly important to say that needs to be marked in time.
And in my time, on my blog, in my words- this is The End of the post.
Goodnight.

Key Facts

Full Title:

Author: Kelly Stuart

Type of Work: multiple short stories

Genre: Coming of Age, Dystopia

Time and Place Written: Purple Office, California 2005

Narrator: Your's Truly

Climax: Distraught narrator drives aimlessly after misinterpreting indifference as anger, exhausting herself emotionally

Protagonist: Miss Stuart (sane)

Antagonist: TGJ, Miss Stuart (rash)

Setting (Time): Beginning in 2002 and leading to present day 2005

Setting (Place): Southern California "camp" locations

Point of View: 1st person- narrator

Falling Action:
a) narrator, finding that she is not despised, starts once again in the behaviors leading to her newly-conquered exhaustion
b) after a brief phone conversation, the narrator is left emotionless- the spell is broken and planning ceases.

Tense: past- events are told after they occur

Foreshadowing:

Tone: Various- mysterious, comedic, romantic (in very controlled doses), ironic, juvenile, satirical

Theme(s):
a) Individuality:
- In all aspects, individuality maintains importance if nothing else, as a guide through trial and action.
-Defects must be present for the survival of individuality
- Never desert your own individuality for the pursuit of another's.

Symbols: Driving

Faded Luck

Laid to Rest and Rot in Peace as of Today.

Not So Good Hygiene

Messy Mistress: My Favorite Lipstick.

Write it in Red

Motto of the Day.

I feel better today. Still a little restless but not nearly as captivated. I donated 30 minutes of the afternoon to Pink Floyd, playing with make up (specifically this dark red lipstick I wear only in the presence of my reflection), and trying on various underused sexy pieces in my wardrobe.
Presently I am dressed in all white, the makeup was wiped away earlier.
--

Moderate, Bitch.

Let's simplify, if we can. Just because this is driving me nuts and it shouldn't be and I know that and whatnot...
Here we go- time for the fun!
In essence, my therapist has a full schedule and I thought my patience would hold for a week but its looking like that won't happen.
Don't worry, Kerry- I will need professional help too. I was never a terrific do-it-yourself kind of girl.
My life. Isn't that what this whole blog is about? I feel okay, good even, when I am posting or editing here. It is a sancuary for all those lost braincells, I suppose. May they rest in peace and have there 15 minutes of fame.
That isn't what I want to write about.
We have a serious problem here, don't we?
This is a sign of worse issues that will only keep recurring throughout my life, isn't it?
So what is this problem??
I have this friend that I can't get out of my head. There is no physical attraction. There is no interest in our real lives, our real personalities- or maybe just no interest in my personality. He makes me laugh, granted and seems to be reliable in the case of a devastating emergency.
Okay, Kel, What's The Fucking Problem?
I am starting to like this person less and less, starting to lose appreciation for the time we spend together. I have ceased asking questions about his well-being, posing an interest in his life whether or not he has any interest in mine. I have started to mirror the lack of personal participation he is becoming infamous for. I have stopped being what could be considered a reliable friend. I am moving into the phase where the sole purpose of the relationship is to keep the relationship going.
I am not sure what "friendship" is- perhaps I am a little displeased with myself for my actions which seem, in light of what I already wrote, ungrounded and undignified.
I am losing sight of the reality of this all. It has become an all inclusive project, like staying up all damn night and having odd thoughts stick and stick in your head until you get enough sleep to wipe them out.
I am feeling like there is something in his happiness I should take, adapt, something. I am feeling like maybe my life, the one that works for me, quiet and lonely and all, is not satisfying to me anymore.
That is not, in actuality, true.
There is something pretty and hypnotizing about nightlife, laughing with people, and having someone look at you with the kind of eyes I rarely receive anymore.
Problem being, all of it is wrong in varying degrees of awful.
First, none of it is awful- it is all quite amusing and I have that idea in the back of my head that will continue to resurface:
"I can make this work"
Or maybe I can't- for me.
Second, I like to read and think and speak, mostly in tainted spells but nonetheless, it is me. I cannot trash them. They are good people, all of them, making this more difficult to formulate.
WAIT: STOP
The whole point wasn't to completely obliterate this in analyzing it.
What was the point, missy?
The point is and always has to be: moderate. MOD-ER-FUCKIN-ATE.
--
Moderate: adj.
1) Being within reasonable limits; not excessive or extreme: a moderate price.
2) Not violent or subject to extremes; mild or calm; temperate: a moderate climate.
3) a. Of medium or average quantity or extent.
b. Of limited or average quality; mediocre.
4) Opposed to radical or extreme views or measures, especially in politics or religion. n.
--
Isn't that what this has all been about, babe? Moderation.
Yes, don't lie now. That is what it has all been about.
Moderation in speech, thought, actions. To abstain, however painfully, for as long as is required to check your self.
This academic year is ending soon- you are free to go to Arkansas, if you please.
But think carefully, my dear, of the importance... of finding perspective while remaining in the same timezone. You will not always have the luxury of romping across the continent. However, you will always have the burden of unwanted difficulties.

Maybe I should draw a picture... would you guys like that? I can draw a picture for you.
I have this hestitation that revolves around the idea that someone will sneak upon this and find me out, my weird theraputic methods and cooky use of repetition- the least of my worries.
I will draw you a picture. A small one.
--
Intermission
--
On another occasion. At that time I will try again to simplify. Someone is waiting for the computer now.

Scenarios: Relationships

Some more scenarios for you all.
----
Me: For all I know you have a girl, 2 wives, 5 groupies, 8 rapists, and a female cab driver you like to have sex with on Tuesdays at 7am.
--
Her: You like him.
Me: How can I?
Her: Don't ask me how, ask you how.
Me: No, he is the exact opposite of every boy I have ever been attracted to.
Her: Yes, and you are the exact opposite of the girl who was attracted to those boys.
Me: That's very funny- cute. No really, I mean it you asshole.
Her: Just trying to be helpful.
---
I am rather tired from doing very little today. Last night I ran, though, for quite some time. But we aren't going to talk about last night, are we? Nope.
Today, on my way back from the storage unit I took those games to TGJ at the nightcamp location.
There is no classy way of putting this- I freaked when he left without a word from the driver's side window and a sort of mislaid grimace. I thought 'that is it. I have really upset him, that is it.'
Alas, after over an hour of freaking out, I messaged him the following-
"sorry if i upset you. please do not feel inclined to reply. later."
I felt like shit.
And its true. But only hours after this feeling, wrenching due to my unbecoming displays of flirtatious behavior, the games began again. I am feeling sick.
A kick of intelligence has yet to halt me and I have yet to slam him on this blog to produce an equal effect.
This is bad. This is very bad.
While I was waiting, pondering, misinterpretting expressions and conversations, a scenario appeared.
--
Me: (arms hugging her knees as she digs her toes into the sand) it might not make sense, I know. But really, you mean a lot to me and I really thought, scary as it is, the only way I would be able to keep you around is if you were attracted to me (eyes drifting further away from the land, further into the horizon). That's all I've ever known. This is good though- this makes that void that we don't play all those games, it can be cut out of the picture completely. (nodding head gently with the words) This is good. MAN! (Tilting head back to survey the sky, loosening limbs, gently falling with her back on the sand) It has been so long. (with force, removing her eyes from the sky and setting them adamently on the pair of eyes watching her throughout this conversation, the only other person on the beach) WHO are you? May I ask, sitting here with me tonight. Why have you been a phantom for so long? in the rafters (reverting back to the blue overhead), hiding in the sky. (Flicks eyes back to the company) I see what you are thinking- take refuge, you are not the sole survivor of my wrath, I promise.
(Friend's eyes search the beach for survivors) Smartass.
She will be fine tonight- she will sleep alone, for pleasure.
----
I will be back, of that I am sure.
This must end. I must retract my last statement and stoop away in noble defeat.
What I think he wants- for me to be kind and cute and quiet, him to sweep me off my feet and I to swoon in delight.
My romantic nature rivals if not triumphs over his.
There will be no swooning, there will be no fall.
I wish nothing of the sort, unless it would help me preserve my fated, fucked up friendship for another night.
To be pleasantly surprised, you cannot offer me that. To be an equal, treated as an equal, I don't believe you see me as one. To know me, to deserve me, to truly want me in any mental sense, you will not offer me that, you cannot offer me that and you have no intentions of trying to offer me that.
I can't get my head wrapped around this thing... not to satisfy myself.
We shall see. I will be back again tonight, probably.
This blog is a safehold.

(Un)Conditional Love

I want these games out of my house, out of my control.
I don't want this to rock my existence anymore, my world of vague pleasures and vague pains.
I don't want this hanging over my head, in my head, around my head, tilting my head into some weird reflective pond.
I want the freedom to do nothing, in peace, without hoping waiting wondering and trying not to hope wait and wonder.
Simplicity. Easy to lose sight of it in indecision and planning.
Planning sucks. Planning is what I do. Planning is what gets the time flowing faster. Planning is taking my energy. Planning is taking my sanity.
So take them, tell me where to ditch them. Takes these from my possession so it is no longer around my neck, curious, easily misled little neck.
I'll leave this concept on your porch, deliver it to you however many miles away, rent a lock box and throw you the key.
Whatever you say, whatever is easiest for you.
What is easiest for me? To not plan on you, on this. To not dream about this whole thing anymore.
Its not a mess, I know. Its in my head, I know. But I don't want these, this anymore.
I don't want to flirt, I don't want to fight, I don't want to plan- not on this, not on you.
I don't want my head to create scenarios, not over you.
I don't want this to rock my existence anymore.
--
A good person, yes of course. I am not callous enough to take down all the things you've done right.
But I have made a mistake- in stretching myself too thin, in thinking I could really push this to the brink of something "more"
More, always more.
That was a mistake but the only way I could conjure to keep you coming back.
And now, against all probability, against all progress, against all stupidity, I take it back.
You take yours back too- these games, this idea. Its all yours now.
Sorry about that, really I am. I could have sworn the idea was noble, I'm still noble, that life is constant, consistant.
But alas, it is not. Nor am I.
It must always progress or it will perish.
Dissolve now to a safe distance. Then the game will lie in wait, preserved.
Each time learn a new trick. Each time see a new face. That is, same face different view, different expression.
Unless just maybe I can get my head right. Just maybe I won't freak myself out. Just maybe I want to have my existence rocked. In small doses, of course. There are always conditions, of course.
My conditions are as follows.
Let me not regret my actions. Let me be true to myself. Let me keep a steady sight. Let it never eclipse my self-respect. Let it never hold me down. Let this life never hold me down.
Let this life never hold me down.
Don't let this life hold you down.
I won't let this life hold me down.
Let my smile always be real. Let my smile reign often. Let my heart and core be honest till the last breath. Let my heart remain intact. Let viture try harder things. Let no attempts be in vain though perhaps only to learn. Let me learn. Let me hear. Let me be heard. Let me say less of what I don't mean. Let my eyes be alive.
Let my last breath be as satisfying as the first. Let the few real people of my knowledge be happy and at the forefront of my thoughts.
Let me think. Let me read. Let me write.
Let me love you, dad. It's so so slow, I know- two steps forward one step back. But I do love you. Let them be patient, let them be constant. Let my drama be balanced by greatness.
Be patient, be constant and I will be great, I promise you that.
Let me growl, yell, rant, cuss while my childhood still allows me to do so. Let me show you the worth. Let me make you proud.
I want to make you proud.
Let my maturity, very gradually, make my harsh words invalid. Let me grow older. Let me be hesitant to jump in the water.
Let me make amends. I will, I promise you that.
Wait. Let me wait. Wait for me. Wait with me. Wait for nothing. Never wait on me.
Let me contradict myself. Let me laugh at it later.
Let me appreciate you how I can. Let me give you what gifts I can.
Let me love you. Let me let you love me.
La.
Let you always be content. Let you be restless in turn. Let you take pain in stride. Let you smile.
Let you be great. Let this never be truly over. Let the rain never be stifling. Let each grain of sand be a story. Let it be a challenge. Let it always be a pleasure. Let you learn. Let you love.
Let time send you sailing away with your passions. Likewise, always be true to your soul.
Let distance never be sad a fate- let it never ruin love, let it never ruin friendship.
Let this soften the fall, again and again.
Let me write to you- you I underestimated, you who love the people I love, you who are the people I love, you whose blood I share, you I grew up with, you I am growing with, you who have softened my falls again and again, you who deserves my thanks, you who deserves my apologies, you who stayed as my family when you could have should have departed, you who prayed from a safe distance, on and on,
You who I have yet to find, yet to know.
You who I have always found, I have always known.
Let my thanks never be in short supply, my heart ever locked away for long, my line never dead, the laughter never false. Let it be possible for you to feel the same.
I love you. I do I do.
I will make you proud, I will make amends- my promises.
In time. All in time.
Have strong faith in whatever you have faith in.

Buon Pomeriggio,
-K

And Then What?

I will say this now because I know how much enjoyment you will get from watching me contradict myself later...
I can't wait for summer. I can't wait to bolt into the airport and fly my ass to Arkansas. It isn't a matter of running away- it is a matter of gaining perspective, limiting itiotic actions.
I can't wait. I want to set the date, buy the ticket, and have the sense of relief that will follow for the next month. Certainly, I will change my mind, I will come to dread Arkansas and the summer for one reason or another.
For now, I can't wait.
I have a call into Kerri because this feeling, this situation that I am creating for myself, cannot continue. It is just too much- a burden that haunts my dreams and is making me sick over someone or something that just really does not matter, does not suit me in the slightest.
I want to lay my head in another state. I see College Avenue, by the old hospital. I feel the humidity and heat. I see my employment in the cold office that belongs to my father, the living room at MB's house, Kristin maybe.
I want to set the date, get it in writing, print out my ticket and sit with my bags packed for a month. I get like this sometimes, you know. It doesn't mean anything. I will be over it soon.
My brother turned 21 yesterday. For the first time in his life, he is living alone- in a townhouse. It has been a big reality for both him and my father, a bittersweet change.
He works two jobs now- one as a janitor for the car dealership and another at a movie theater. This theater I have gone to all my life- small, everything crimson, old comparitively. So weird to put his face behind the concession stand there. Full circle, I guess.
I don't think much about the people when I have visions of going to Arkansas, when the urgency appears. Mainly it is places, conveniently absent of obligation.
--
Today I drove to the beach- down for miles along the coast highway, down to the first beach we ever went to after moving to California. The parking lot was full because it was the perfect day for the beach, but driving the distance and seeing the waves was enough for me. I headed inland again just like that.
Because I can.
--
I have an ever present question that is lodged in my brain, waiting for an appropriate occasion to be produced: what are your intentions towards me?
But even worse and more mysterious a question that has yet to been asked or answered: what are my intentions towards you?
There is a big, huge, major fault in my ability to have normal relationships (another one): it becomes not about the time spent with a person but merely the act of furthering the relationship, keeping things going- its horrible, really. All emotions are produced by keeping the wheels turning. Its really sick. I can't describe it very well. Maybe its a gender thing.
Think: like reading a story book to a child- instead of seeing the magic in what is happening, the child continually asks "then what? what happens next?"
Eventually, you run out of pages and there is nothing "next," any rewards in the time spent are lost by the emptiness of not having a next high.
That has always been a problem, not only in relationships but a key quality in my addictions. That's right, plural.
And then what? Yes, this is good but it will end soon and then where will I be.
--
Eliza Doolittle- I sold flowers; I didn't sell myself. Now you've made a lady of me, I'm not fit to sell anything else.
--

One of the Fountains at NightCamp Location

Night Camp Location in the Day

My Nightcamp Location

The Ferris Wheel

Nightcamp.

Another episode of Daycamp today, actaully night camp if you want to be specific. I made it a point to be preoccupied until the sun when down. Maybe I am more superstitious than I thought.
Anyway, the afternoon was spent with mama and papa, as usual, in LR. Uneventful- I read a lot of the time and my head wasn't quite right to be social.
Came home, took a shower, and decided to meet up with TGJ.
Let the fun begin.
First off, it was a nightmare to find parking. I am not big on parking lots, since the minivan incident especially. This is a very popular open-air mall so parking sucked. Next, it is the weekend that Star Wars tickets go on sale, so parking sucked.
Nonetheless, I was patient and just fucking lucky, finally getting a damn parking place. I called and TGJ, along with his friend Ted, came to get me. While waiting I stared at the ferris wheel which is amazingly lit up at night... crazy, huh- picture will follow. Really pretty and stuffed some nicotene gum in my mouth. By the time they got to me, I was practically numb- figuratively, I guess.
TGJ was dressed in his all black outfit and had a cape on- obviously a star wars fan- and had a pretty impressive light saber with him. Ted is younger than TGJ and I but he was nice and rather funny so I let that slide.
"So you had trouble parking?"
"Yea, I had to really weigh if you were worth all the trouble."
"Well, I am glad you decided I am"
"I didn't, but a parking place opened up."
So is a good example of our relationship.
I walked a few feet behind them for the first little while; they assumed I was embarrassed, which I wasn't- I was entirely amused. In actuality, I kept stepping on his cape and was afraid I would take us both down in one swoop. I hung back and most delightfully, they kept attention shooting back at me, slowing down, making a space between them for me to walk, asking me questions. Most impressive. They were worried that I would wander away and get kidnapped, prehaps.
We stopped at an ice cream place right after I arrived. They got ice cream- I was allowed leave when I promised to eat some of TGJ's icecream- and we sat at a table outside. I mainly asked questions when the opportunity arised, mainly sitting laughing and giggling at the appropriate intervals. At that point I think I was almost completely numb. I stuck a few bites of ice cream down my throat, narrowly passing the wad of nicotene gum, whenever it was adamently suggested I do so.
I must tell you one thing... TGJ is very much a good person and excellent with kids I found out tonight. He had his impressive light saber (LS from now on), as previously mentioned, which attracted a shitload of attention. Grandmothers, kids, teenagers, etc- you name it, they took interest in this thing. Well, there was a group of kids Asian kids- five, six, seven maybe- had these little plastic LSs and were trying to get TGJ's attention. Alas, he stood up, turned on his LS in a dramatic fashion and began a duel with three of the kids. He let them win, which impressed me. He was always willing to pause and talk about his costume, LS, in a very friendly fashion.
So there you have it.
We departed from our little table and wandered aimlessly across the open air mall- a very large area. There was a lot of attention, a lot of people, and a lot of comments- none of which phased me much. As I am becoming famous for in such situations, I appeared to the public spectacularly mellow, subdued you might say. I was for the time. We passed people, of course, and stores, of course, and it was a great temperature. There are stars on the pavement that light up and it was all just very nice. We passed a latin-inspired, tasteful salsa type band playing by one of the long outdoor fountains- the TGJ said they sucked and I hit him in disagreement.
All was well- we saw some of Ted's friends- all full of the innocent youth that is so cute and distant to me. I commented to TGJ that we are old. He agreed but replied that he acts like a 12 year old. Ted and I both concurred.
Sit started to hit the fan, for me, on the way back. My body temperature began to rise unaccountably. We entered a book store and bolted to the women's bathroom, toweling myself with toiletpaper in one of the stahls. Realizing my success would be limited, I retired to washing my hands and taking stock in the mirror, quickly heading to the Fiction Literature section, away from where I thought my two companions would be. Moving helped; being in motion cooled me. There was little I could do, though, in reality. I deserted my charcol jacket and was left in only a thin tissue tee which I knew I had to be careful in- any excess sweating would soak right through and I would be flat ass fucked, so very publicly- which I didn't mind because I could avoid faces and move through the crowd without losing face. But among my escorts, it would be aggrevating, watching them watch something change in me and the strange effects.
The Asian kids were in the bookstore and recognized me, though I was alone looking at copies of Brave New World with a limited investment. Not Important.
I got the idea from them, though, to play a sort of hide-and-seek with my ushers- as I could see one of them drenched in the black cloak and sulking in a chair across the room. The other one was missing. They found me quickly and we headed downstairs. I had discovered an important piece of information- if I walked away they would, in fact, follow. We left the bookstore.
My overheating fiasco continued, mostly with minor outward signs, on the way to get Ted something to eat- Ted gets hungry, you know. They couldn't understand why I wouldn't stand inside the pretzel shop or even sit down with them to eat and talk for long, why I was wandering back and forth among a 30 foot area. TGJ was upset, chasing after me in fear that I was about to leave him or something was wrong with me- I don't know, maybe just the fear that I really would get kidnapped or lost in the crowd. Finally I admitted I was really hot. By that time, I had already made the mistake of pleading I would be leaving soon.
So it goes.
TGJ had yet to transport his tent to the site of where he will camp out tonight, waiting at the mall to get superb tickets to Star Wars, of course. I offered to give them a ride on my way out.
Hurrah for Kelly!
And we were off for the three-story parking structure. There was time to spare.
So once on top, they sat on the tonneau cover, jousted with each other and told stories. I stood leaning against the side... even though, I will admit, I would have liked to have gotten up there. I couldn't- I wasn't sure my temperature would again rise and I would be thoroughly and closely embarrassed. Better safe than sorry.
Among their conversing with each other, TGJ shot a quick glance at me and said "I want to have sex with you" returning immediately to his conversation. He always hits on me and I probably always hit on him so this is not a big deal, truly. A few minutes later he shot another quick glance at me and said "I still do." He returned, yet again, to his previous subject.
After the lull, everyone piled in my black beauty and we wheeled out of the parking structure, after a very long time. At this point, TGJ had decided to stick Ted between us which I thought was very odd.
Then ending is rather anti-climactic. We drove to the other side of the mall, TGJ got out, then Ted got out, the door shut and that was that.
I was kind of pissed because I like a good ending. So fucking shoot me.
Turned up the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and took surface streets home even though the freeway was closer and faster.
Got home, parked, opened the door and saw, laying in the floor, a bag full of games that had fallen out of TGJ's camping bag. Hmph.
Messaged him saying basically saying "Got your shit- if you want it I will bring it, tell me quickly" with a dose of "Had fun, sorry if I was quiet" (which was a big concern of his "why are you so quiet, no seriously, what's up?" and absolutely nothing- the less I say, the less I regret saying, its a fucking fact.) Because I like a good ending- so fucking shoot me.
He didn't reply and when 10:30 passed, I said fuck it and started on my way cleaning and whatnot. Since, he has replied and I haven't looked at the message yet.
I'm not sure I care that much.
Anyway, that was my evening and I was quite proud of myself for going, staying, being vulerable to public opinion in such a way, and really enjoying the cooky and pleasant nature of my company.
Now though, I am tired and going to sleep.
Glad to have somewhere to post.

Daycamp

Today I hung out with TGJ pretty much all afternoon. What is there to say?
We got ice cream and whatnot and drove around in my truck, finally landing late in the afternoon at his house to play video games. I sucked. Pretty damn bad.
And that is it. I have forced this relationship to run a particular course, the only course that I actually know how to funnel this type of relationship (aka. male and female).
I have pushed things to there limits and even upon starting up my truck realize the complete and true world I have is totally seperate from the one I live in during the time we spend together.
What are you saying, Kel?
Basically this- the faults in our realtionship- the fundamental differences in characters, his disconcern with who I am, etc- are still alive and thriving, though can be almost obliterated when we hang out. They do not haunt me afterwards because I have yet to do anything that would cross my ever left-leaning boundaries and give me impending shame.
Last time we hung out, I was displeased that there was no connection when I knew the potential was strong. This time, there was a connection for almost the entire time but our lives apart are so different and well incorporated into our beings that it is ridiculous to fuck around with the idea that anything could ever develop, even a long-lasting and constant friendship.
I am unable to, because of my former conditioning and lack of knowledge, create a male-female relaitonship that is purely, 100% a friendship. Likewise, I have yet to meet a man, boy, child who is able to see me on a regular basis and connect during that time without incorporation of a sexual tension- aka. flirting- which is too bad. It just isn't something I am capable of or maybe I just flat-ass don't want that. The more mental and emotional muscles I can stretch at one time, the better, so it seems...
It is, you could say, like daycamp. You get sent off to play games and whatnot in a childlike setting and then, at the end of the day, get spat back up into your real world. For me, my real world is a far cry from daycamp. For him, they are very near.
Then there is this complete lack of impending emotions after daycamp. Whereas, in the past it was a big emotional- the ulcer thing- struggle, I guess.
So there that is. Here is who I am and apart, in truth with my loneliness, solitude, whatever... I have grown to appreciate that at least, the characteristics I display are the true, unstifled and unruffled personality I possess. I like that. I respect that. I do not intend on sacrificing it willingly to go play red rover with TGJ.
So truly, I do not want him to dissapear for ever ever ever. But, I would not mind the fading into a distant constellation for a while so that we can preserve this game and play it again and again, as we have done successfully and to a specific point over and over for almost 3 years.
I admit, at least for this moment, it is just a scenerio, a daycamp. I admit that my character, independence, and self-respect have more validity to me than the most extreme passion, rage, etc. My ramblings may not express it all the time, but those things are important and need to remain intact. That being said, there are the particular mental and emotional muscles, as stated before, that I must exercise occasionally- flirting being one of them. I need to know that I am still able to do this...
These things, upon a true dive into a relationship with TGJ, even friendship, could be sacrificed, buried, or ignored. This, to me, is not an opition. Thus, the reality is that a distant constellation and the occasional daycamp is the most extreme this will ever go to.

Dreams: Motherhood and Jane

Tonight, I don't go to sleep to dream.
Davis, Jane Eyre, my own kids... running uncontrolably in a different shades of vividness, only little do I know (remember, recall) of what has been playing in that head of mine. Even now, my body temperature defies me, beginning to rise at the mention. And truly, I have woken in a strange heat, wrapped in that fucking down comforter. So little do I know and remember, of that I am sure.
How do you describe dreams, really?
I had a baby boy. In the alotted time necessary for creating another lifeform, I had a second boy. The problem was simple- in two years, I had only slept with one man and with that man, only once. So, we have a little dilemma, don't we? I was pissed or something like that because I wanted to know just what this man had done to me that was causing me to have children without having sex.
Explain, won't you honey, what the fuck is wrong with me and how the fuck you caused it? Please, I'm all ears.
So that was it. Don't get me wrong- I loved the boys. But I was really, not concerned so much as, intriguingly pissed at what had occured to produce this weird bullshit. Then wondering, I'm sure, how many more children I would have.
But more front and center was the question of whether this man- one man, one occasion, one time, in two years (which meant, in effect, any sexual sins had been lifted from my past- a virgin, reborn)- had done something to me, drugged me into a coma or something, because the pieces didn't add up and I wanted to know what I missed- obviously something that happened when I was unconscious, correct?
And in my dream I was saying:
See, and this is why I don't drink, I don't do drugs, so I don't fall asleep and let some fucker knock me up from now till kingdom come. So please, to the best of my recollection or common, acquired sense, I did no drugs or drinking unless such activity had the ability to wipe a clean slate of my memory.
If this had happened, if I had taken some drugs that caused all the previously mentioned to occur, right at that moment in the dream, partial memory of the activities would be taking place, all coming back in little colorful, shameful shardes. That is where we are at in this dream.
I have two fucking kids- great, I'm on it. That isn't why I am coming to you angry. I want to know, right now, what happened. I want to know if there is something I should be ashamed about, if there is something I did to myself or if I should just start getting some major vengence brewing. Because if there is something that, upon my death, is going to haunt me into the next world, you better be damn sure I want to hear about it now.
If not, I want to hear what you and whoever, whatever else did so that in the next life and the next and the next and the next... I can speak to the manager and expect your company roasting marshmellows in hell. Yes, I said it asshole. When you have two fucking kids without a proper fucking date and definitely without scientific explanation, then you might have some fucking clue.
The End.
I would rather be, let's say, shopping at a mall, in a town, in a state, on a planet where everything, in some way or another, revolves around Jane Eyre or a comprehensive memorization of the literature without having actually absorbed, pictured, read, enjoyed anything that had been expressed.
Yes, I would rather be there than trying to explain to my bastard children what the fuck mommy is crying about.
(okay, that was too much- I never cried.)

That's me. Happy Mother's Day. Please, children, don't cry.

Yours truly looking quite mentally impaired.

The Star of India from lower deck of Surprise

The Surprise... no, that's the name of the ship. Does she look familiar? Well, that is because she is the ship from "Master and Commander". See what you learn when your step-daddy has interesting hobbies?

Mother's Day at Maritime... and a Quote

Yesterday my mum, my step dad, and I went down to San Diego to the Maritime Museum. By "going down" I mean that we took the train which is a treat in itself; it runs along the Pacific a good portion of the way, only vering inland for the concrete stops.
Pictures are included above.

For now, a quote from Brave New World by Aldous Huxley:
Feeling lurks in that interval between desire and its consummation.

Breaking It Off With Adulthood.

How long do I have left of this? It is so close to time that I comply entirely with the system, get a job, pay bills, move out, etc.
How much longer can I sit here and post without a care in the world?
How much longer can I think to myself: I have enough money, I have a car, I could leave town right now, get on the road and head whatever direction I want.
A source of freedom so pure and easy that it is almost always overlooked until the day it fails to come to class- freedom itself takes the money, the time and hits the open road leaving only the memory of what it was like and the single word:

damn.

That is where I am at right now. Wondering where my childhood went- what? you mean its over? yes, i know i wanted it to be over for a real real long time. yes, i know that i complained a lot. yes, i know i cussed and wanted it to be over and through myself into adulthood as fast as i fucking could. what do you mean? it did what? my childhood is where? las vegas? what the fuck is my childhood doing in las vegas? yes, i knew i was broke but i thought it was because of my freedom. las-fucking-vegas? what hotel? find out the fucking phone number and get that little bastard on the phone... what? it took my phone??? this is fucking bullshit. damn it damn it damn it. well hey, let me use your phone. please. you have to go to work? real quick, please. damn it, i know you don't have time, i don't have time and i can't get a hold of my fucking childhood. damn it. somebody, please, i need to borrow a phone. no, its not long distance. where the fuck am i calling in las vegas? wait, on your way to work can you please please please call adulthood and say i really can't make it, i've come down with a cold, it seems very serious. no, it is very contagious and that the relationship really wasn't working out anyway. asks if this is because of childhood? always like that asshole to blame it on someone else, try and deny the fact... well, tell adulthood it sucks, it's an asshole. and i don't know exactly what happen but it totally fucked freedom, didn't it? yes, don't deny it. i don't know the specifics but it clearly fucked freedom one way or another. what bullshit! ever since adulthood came around, freedom went completely AWOL and that is the damn truth- so some shit went on- no denying it and i don't want any of the fucking details please. yuck, it still makes me feel sick to think about it... yea, see, i am fucking sick so i can't make it and this relationship is over, okay? it hasn't been working for a while- we both know that. maybe- maybe this is about my childhood- it is in fucking las vegas with my fucking freedom!

damn.

hey and could you make one more call for me? call and see if toys-r-us is hiring. thanks.

Davis

Davis,
Its been a long time since we've talked. I don't presume you will ever read this nor will I ever type the address to your site, though today it crossed my mind- the first time in a long time.
Maybe it would be best to start out by apologizing- I question if that is a good idea, purely because the wounds have had almost two years to heal and I would hate to claw anything open again.
If, for some reason, you happen to dial my number on accident, attempting to reach someone else, I would talk to you. I could be friendly, I am mostly these days, but I don't know where you stand on the subject- on any subject.
I don't talk to any of the old crowd. It turns out that, after a while, it wasn't that hard. After all this time, it was probably you that I have (had) the most in common with, especially now.
Truthfully, I do dream about you still, more often than anyone else from back then. Usually they are unpleasant, disturbing, or just sad dreams- nightmares, I guess, would be better.
I'm curious where you are today- whether I would be good company. That bothers me most; that now, when I could truly be a good person and not fuck around with people's emotions, you don't know that and I can't undo or make up for anything, and it probably doesn't matter at all.
So, incase I never see you again or you die, or you are dead already, or whatnot- I am, in fact, sorry for all the crap and I would like to renew the offer- be sober with me, really. You won't want to hear it but I am happy now (I still smoke cigarettes like you wouldn't believe) but I have been and will be sober from here on out.
If I run across you in a meeting someday, I can't be sure, but I might just walk up to you. You would be unimpressed at all the sanity but it is a big deal to me. I might just talk to you, befriend you if you let me.
And if you accidently call me- I think I'm easy to talk to and you might be amazed and see we are the same- so be it. I'm ready for it.
Hey thanks, for going into rehab with me- I wouldn't have done it alone, at least not until I got much farther down the line. Fate will figure shit out. We may never see each other again and that would be good too.
I don't know why I wrote this... take care of you, inspite of all the other shit that occurs.
Happy May (2 years ago...)
-K

A Quote:

"If you can't annoy somebody with what you write, I think there's little point in writing."
- Kingsley Amis, English novelist and poet (1922-1995)

Morning Melody.

She has some interesting traits, definitely. However easily they may be overlooked, she fading with them into obscurity.
But when you find her, happy in her kitchen, making coffee- if you can call it that when its potency begs to differ- you will see that she shows promise of uniqueness or maybe just oddity.
On good days, sunny days maybe, she will come down and flip on the second light switch- the undercabinet lighting which is less harsh or maybe more flattering to a recently awaken eye.
Her hair is normally past her shoulders when in public- head often bowed, it hides her face.
But not in mornings, alone in the house- aside the big brown dog that lumbers around sometimes at her feet, mostly though on the leather couch.
In the morning she pulls it back in a twisted mess with a few flicks of the wrist.
She has eyes brown mostly, sometimes blue if she cried in a dream, other times green because they got tired of routine.
She makes coffee, strong from dark grounds- a quantity of which a starbucks could not use in one day, let alone a little 4 cup coffee maker.
Waiting, she usually sings or something that could be considered trailing a melody
"I like the way your sparkling earrings lay,
Against your skin so brown.
And I want to sleep with you
In the desert tonight,
With a billion stars all around"
The idea, the song, the melody trace on what her eyes might suggest- that those words are, to her, a peaceful easy feeling and that she was created from some mellow background not of her present abode, and grew softly and smartly into what she is now.
A bird at her window would not know otherwise, looking at the girl in the morning.
This is, of course, on a good day.
The blackness of her coffee is subdued by french vanilla creamer and sweetener applied in ample proportions.
--

Mother's Day Gift 2005

Today was... today. First day of testing- language arts. Good, right?
Whatever, its done and irrelevant.
Did well on other tests- Ordinary People by Judith Guest was near perfect, 2 math tests probably went well too. Hope so. Because I am a weird little girl who has nothing better to think about than the trivial nature of this sort of crap. No, really though it doesn't cause me any real stress. I think I do it more as a way to pass time than anything else. I don't feel any hurt or shame or anything really.
But that doesn't matter.
Tonight I placed my first online order with my own credit card- EVER. The first time something has been charged on a card bearing my name. So it is, yes, a big deal for me.
What did I buy? A mother's day gift for my mum.
But it gets better. I used a gift certificate I received for Christmas in addition to the credit card.
Sainthood, mother fucker, sainthood.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Not much and nothing serious- as far as my weird little head can see.
Good night.
HURRAY for a clear, clean, happy conscience!

No news. Quite bored. Getting ready to leave and test on "Ordinary People" by Judith Guest.
Wish me luck.
Computer keeled over again- virus wiped out everything. No music, no pictures, no writing, etc.
Oh well, what can you do?
Clean slate, right? I'm big on that kind of stuff these days.
All is as well as it can be during PMS. Must pop more prozac.
Dirty clothes- this shirt smells like cottage cheese. How in the fuck did that happen?
FUCK MOTHER FUCKER MOTHER FUCKER MOTHER FUCKER MOTHER FUCKER.
I just realized the biggest loss- my worksheet that I used to keep tabs on the hours down in LR. Damn. That is a big deal. A really big deal. But honestly, I don't feel upset or anything. We will figure shit out.
I know one month I had 87 hours
April I think I had 42.
Damn. I guess that does kind of suck ass pretty massively.
Oh well. Dry skin- lotion (smells like coconut).
Must be going now.
More soon.

-K