EMMJAY

Its not my fault. Its my dad's but that doesn't mean I should have my face held up to the phone to call him and beg for money. Just because my dad left my mom doesn't mean it was my fault. I WAS FIVE FUCKING YEARS OLD. WHAT THE HELL COULD I HAVE DONE TO MAKE HIM LEAVE? NOTHING. I don't even think I have a dad so what point is there in me calling that stranger who we're still I'm still connected for money that I know he doesn't even have? And to yell at me for "sucking my grandparents dry" when shes the one borrowing money from them all the time and she somehow convinces herself is for me. AND AT THE SAME TIME, my grandparents are offering to pay my tuition and shes telling them no- telling them no right in front of me on the phone and then reminding me that I deserve to have to pay for it myself. FUCK WOMAN, THEY ARE OFFERING ME A CHANCE IN LIFE. I AM NOT ASKING FOR THIS. I never ask for ANYTHING. Thats why its so hard for me to confront people like my dad who I don't even know. And all the while being allowed no chance to state my input, no chance to even speak and if I manage to say anything, I'M PUNISHED. I can't say SHIT. I'm not allowed to make productive use of my time as she always traps me and makes me listen to her. I can't do SHIT. I live with somebody who changes their mind 50 times a day, freaks out about every little thing, especially "clutter" (which I have given up on trying not to create as its never good enough for her) and despite boasting about me to everyone she knows, treats me like SHIT.

So it seems that I am SHIT. That is what I am worth and that is what I amount to in the eyes of some cranky old woman who can't get her priorities straight. I don't pity her anymore, I have no sympathy to her. Explicitly using the excuse "[I do this to you] because you're my child" is not an excuse at all. If I've learned anything from her its to pick and choose my battles; my father is not worth going to for money just as my mom isn't worth going through the bureaucracy of the legal system to seek monetary justice from.

As many words that I have floating around my head, as much as I can pour out from my mind right about now, all that I feel needs to be said can be put aside. For now, I present to you the current TL;DR humming about my conscience. No style, no prose and hardly any respect for syntax. As soon as I type this, I’m going to bed.

Statements about the people I go to school with and any other commentary I feel relevant:

1. My perception of who I used to think was the intellectual, respectable portion of my peers from grade 9-10 has completely changed. I now think of them as the most grading, irritating portion of people I know seeing as every time they don’t get what you want scholastically, they turn it into everybody else’s problem, including the teachers’. I especially hate it when I try to articulate something of interest or expertise of mine to them and what do they do? Shoot down my points because they know everything.

2. When you volunteer, do you do it to make a difference in the community as a selfless act of your civility or do you do it with pencil and paper in hand, tracking your hours to aggressively collect scholarship bounty? If volunteering counted as nothing more than volunteering alone, devoid of even recognition, would you still do it? Think about it. I for one have a line blurred between “volunteering” and common courtesy. One may think its selfish to have a “do what you care about” policy but upon further inspection, I give because what I do is something I love and I accomplish one hell of a lot more than if I were doing it simply to fulfill a certain time-caped requirement for some sort of compensation.

3. Next person who I hear complain about how [drunk/stoned/high/fucked/behind in their homework they got because of any of the above/many classes they missed in substitution of any of the above] they got, GETS PUNCHED CLEAR IN THE FACE. Ingesting any mind altering substance is not the matter of “Oops! The wind!” These are all personal choices one makes. Some choose to make them, others don’t. I thought it was beat into people’s heads since grade two about taking ownership for their actions but it appears that elementary education has failed its purpose if some who engage in such activities come out of what they perceived to be a fun experience, flat out whining.

4. Is it just me or is there something morally wrong with teachers telling kids what bars to go to after school?

5. I don’t see why having a cell phone detecting device for exams is such a controversy. If my phone rings in class, Grandma has died. If you can’t go two hours one afternoon without your umbilical cord to the social grapevine, GOD MOTHER-FUCKING BLESS YOU.

6. The demeaning comment made towards GATE at the grad ceremonies was unacceptable. I’m not saying that GATE is the perfect program but by no means is lesser to IB. GATE was designed to be an enriched curriculum whereas IB was meant to be a rigorous international curriculum where students are given the option to pursue university transfer credits. TWO TOTALLY SEPARATE THINGS. Sure, there are a lot of kids who had a high IQ in grade 4 who still stick it out in GATE to grade 12 even though their intelligence has expired but there are individuals in IB who just happen to have exceptional study skills, not necessarily creativity, wit or exceptional talent outside of what can be “learned”. GATE is also not a fall back option for people who don’t succeed in IB. No former IB students have been granted this privilege and even some GATE to IB, prospectively back to GATE students have been denied. Would you not think that this is a reason? I have 30 IB credits and 55 GATE credits. Consider my opinion informed.

7. Piggybacking off my last point and point 3, if you knew that all you were going to do was bitch about being in IB, did it ever occur to you that maybe you shouldn’t have been in IB in the first place? I listened to the same IB orientation speakers as the rest of you did and they pretty explicitly said “If you are in IB, you will have no life.”

8. Congratulations on choosing to pursue a career as a [lawyer/doctor/engineer/stockbroker/faceless, high-ranking business executive]. Don’t you dare look down on me for pursuing a career as a fashion designer. I’m going to University just like the rest of you and for somebody to lower the letter count in their words as soon as I mention my passion is outright diminishing. Bring the subject up with me in another ten years; that is if I can hear you through my fat seven digit annual wage.

9. Starbucks was not worth being mentioned over 9,000 times at grad- it is simply a place that smells really good and has Wi-Fi where you can purchase moderately overpriced luxury beverages which are usually served cold. I’m not a true cynic- I buy Chai tea there when it is convenient because that stuff is hard to make but it is by no means the product of my uncontained worship. Refer to the end of point 5 for what I think about people who show up late very day to class with Starbucks.

10. False political advocacy is worse than not doing anything at all. I’ll bet you that nine out of ten times I ask someone at our school why they hate George Bush, they will say “because he is stupid” or “because he is making his own citizens die in a civil war half way around the world”. Congratulations! You have cable and have watched CNN and got 1/4 of a joke on the Daily Show! People who blindly stand up for things sound familiar. Oh right, that uber conservative archetype easily persuaded Liberals hold of the redneck with the flagpole outside his trailer, rifle at his side and takes everything in the Bible out of context. False political advocacy is no better. Good to know you joined some Facebook group which claims to aid the current status of Burma, glad to see that that bag you’re carrying has abstract green friendly wording scribbled all across it. Shame to see that if you had really bothered to read the groups information, you would have noticed that the group is no more than a social badge and that bag is 20% rayon.

11. Just because Encyclopedia Dramatica hasn't deleted all of your updates, doesn't mean you'd last 10 seconds in my neigh/b/orhood.

TL;DR - OH HOW I CAN NOT WAIT TO DISASSOCIATE MYSELF FROM ALL THE STUPID FUCKS WHO SURROUND ME.

So she can say anything she wants to me in terms of personal insults, punishment and threats. The second I do so much as respond to one of my mother's rhetorical snide remarks as means of defending myself, I get punished. I ask why and I get punished again. So by trying to seek justification, I instead get "privileges" taken away, chores or slapped. Then somehow she claims that what what ever I've expressed about my disregard for the situation is abuse and calls up her mom or her friends and plays victim. Yet if I try to obtain a healthy conversation with a third party to ease myself in the heat of the moment and maybe regain some self-esteem after having it all shat on by who I am convinced is the devil incarnated, all of a sudden I'm "betraying" her and am subject to even more punishment. All because I'm the kid and shes the parent. How democratic.

What the hell is wrong with this woman!? I'm really surprised that I don't have some serious mental disorder having been raised by her. But in a way, I feel as though I've raised myself. Weeks can go by and I don't even remember I have a father and yet this is at the front of her mind constantly and she frequently regenerates reasons it's my fault he left her. She yells at me every day. I end up a crying mess every night. Sure I'm not a child soldier in Africa or what ever but I have a hell of a lot more reasons to be self loathing than most of the kids I know who perpetuate themselves in self-proclaimed depression. And yet I'M NOT. I'm a genuinely happy and carefree person until my mom comes along and tears me down like this. Maybe thats my mental disorder. Maybe I should have killed myself ages ago. Maybe its hopeless for me after all and I've just been lucky enough to ride through the turbulence thus far. I don't want to wait for her to realize she has a great kid after all.

Despite the stress and struggle my dad has caused by leaving, I respect him so much for getting away from her while he could. As for me? I'm the kid.

"Dear MJ,

As an applicant to the Bachelor of Design - Fashion Design program, the Admissions Committe and the Faculty are pleased to invite you to send a portfolio. Your portfolio submission must be received by the School of Fashion by the following deadline date: April 4, 2008."

"Dear Ryerson Admissions Committee and Faculty,

lol gtfo"

For the first time in as long as I can remember, when people have been asking me how I am, I've been answering something other than "Fine. How do you do?" and rather "really really super stressed because of University Portfolio crap". This is so emotionally tolling one me and I'm sure I'm bringing a lot of it on myself (I'm sure somebody has applied to Ryerson with pajama pants and has gotten accepted to their Fashion Design program) but the workload from Social Studies and Math kind of prevent me from making any substantial progress in Fashion Studies or Art. Also, my IB Office examination is April 14^th and as far as Ryerson has implicitly told me, I should know whether or not I got accepted by the specific date of "early May"... Uh, thanks?

On top of everything, I got my diploma marks back yesterday and I got 80% in Physics (Giving me a course mark of 78%; not bad considering I was just taking the course for the sake of it, not really ever needing to calculate the magnetic fields of solenoids anytime in the near future) and 69% in LA... Um, is it just me or is there a slight discrepancy between that and my course mark of 88%? And the kicker is that I got 78% on my multiple choice (I got 59% as my highest mark for that in class) and 60% on my written portion (I never got a grade lower than 98% in the course) I worked my ass off in that class and Cancilla sure as hell didn't give away free marks where they weren't due. Worst of all, this puts my mark at 79%- 1% off of meeting the Rutherford scholarship standards (bye bye $1600!) I think I'm going to pay $20 to get it remarked because I thought I kicked the snot out of the written. The marker probably didn't even read Hamlet.

But on the bright side, my Sailor Moon cosplay isn't giving me much hassle yet. It was somewhat euphoric holding up the skirt's layers today and being able to see how much it looked like Sailor Moon.

So it starts off like so with the usual cast of characters: La mama, and I.

I’m sewing away at Pudding’s cosplay in my basement on my sewing machine (2006 model) just as I had been for the majority of my afternoon between making periodic rounds upstairs to replenish my waning aspartame to body matter ratio. About two hours into this, mama totes up her sewing machine (1979 model) to sew some frumpy interior décor item upstairs.

As my luck would have it, on my next escapade to the refrigerator I was so warmly greeted by the woman who brought me into this world with a statement which was as full of sarcasm as it was lacking in intelligent syntax: “Thanks a fucking lot Maryjane. You fucked up my machine you fucking little spoiled brat.” Now me (being both naturally classy and anything but in the mood to put up a common quarrel), humored her by pleading my case which was that I had indeed not seeing as a)I have had my own sewing machine for over a year and a half and would thereby hinder any desire to even touch hers, b)her sewing machine is almost thirty years old or c)maybe she never sews and just forgot how to.

Despite my suggestions for her to find success in something, she then starts flirting with concept of engaging me in a battle of wit (or in her case, empty and meaningless threats and character insults strung together by four letter utterances) which I stress again for emphasis, I have no interest of pursuing. So she starts off the typical routine with a bit of “You’re such a fucking selfish little teenager” and then starts into how good her life was before having me and how I “leave a bunch of fucking shit all over the fucking house and I’m so fucking tired of seeing all your fucking shit Maryjane” which at the same time I’m countering with a stand-in for my debatory zeal (“I’m sorry that you feel that way”) all at the same time of finishing what ever task I was engaged in at the time to go back downstairs to where I had hoped to linger in the more favorable (and solitary) alternative. Keep in mind that nothing I say is in rage or passion from this whole “argument” (well that was what she was looking for; whether it was achieved or not is still negotiable) and that everything I said was as an immediate response to not provoke any further argument. Then she brings in to the whole squabble that I don’t wash the dishes (you see, she really is just trying to pick a fight with me here for some extra power points. It has sweet NOTHING to do with the sewing machine at all) and as I say with unconcealed sarcasm “Nooo, because that’s women’s work.” and next thing I know I have an angry slobbering woman pinning me into the couch, trying to bring a hot iron towards my face to scald me and then she pulls out her lighter even closer to me and starts lighting sparks to intimidate me or something.

So then she starts taking privileges away from me because she wants her power back and has no control over her life and therefore seeks to control me. “If the transit workers go on strike, I’m not driving you” Okay. “And you’re paying for your physics tutor too you stupid little bitch!” Fine. ”You can buy your own medicine now. I'm taking those pills so you can’t waste my fucking money any more” I can live with that. “You aren’t getting your fucking hair done tomorrow- I AM” That’s okay, yours probably needs it more than mine anyway.

BAM. Coat hanger thrown at me.

BAM. Pinned up against my closet door and the window while getting trusted against them as she tries to make some baseless point clearer to me.

Then of course she revokes the trip to Japan that I’ve been saving up for to go to for the past year and looking forward to going on since grade seven. Oh as well as my phone revoked for getting such a “bad” report card where I improved by at least ten percent in all my core subjects (well actually more seeing as the latest assignments weren’t included and I pretty much owned the snot out of those) so I told her that I would surrender my phone under the condition that she would listen to just one sentence I had to say instead of immaturely mocking my voice every time I had something to say (such an animated gesture really does exist so it seems) What I wanted to say was something around the lines of “I think you need to see a counselor or at least talk to a neutral third party because I understand that you have a lot of stress but conveying all your pent-up anger towards me is not only extremely degrading to both of us but creates a lot of unnecessary tension that neither one of us needs right now. Please talk to someone.” But instead, I get my arms jerked around as she tries to pull the phone out of my hand until she has me in something of a submission (I become overpowered by her tremendous girth in other words) where she pretty much snaps my wrist thus making me have to surrender one of my few connections with the life outside of this one.

She needs some self control before she tries to control me by revoking privileges and constantly reminding me of them so that she can get me hot and flustered so that I do something regrettable so she can hold it against me. I know better than to play her little games but at the same time, I’m getting things I feel I have earned taken away from me. I know that all the things she excretes about me are not true (she doesn’t know me at all although she claims that after tonight, she does) and the fact that I’m not an emotional wreck over her petty insults and paltry attacks like she wants me to be drives her crazy. For once in my life, I’m happy despite all she’s put me through and I fear she will stop at nothing to try to revoke it from me.

As I have mentioned so very many times before, I would expect in any situation to be treated with respect from my mother but even though I have almost come to accept that that’s clearly not going to happen, I still think that somehow it’s not too much to ask that I’m treated with such when I’ve just gotten dental surgery. But I guess as usual I’m wrong. I’m not even worth that.

Last night I was on the phone with Benson until just a bit after midnight when he let me go because he wanted me to get some sleep so I could recover properly and what not. My mom had just gone to bed about twenty minutes prior to me having said goodbye. Then I remembered that I had hooked up my iPod to the computer to update my playlist so I would have some music to listen to before I went to sleep so I shouted up to her something to the effect of “I’m going to go get my iPod and shut down the computer and then I’ll go to bed!” and was replied to with “Damn you Maryjane, I was asleep!” Typical. But if it takes her twenty minutes to get to sleep, it’s safe to assume that she would fall back into slumber immediately afterwards.

So I get downstairs to my computer and my iPod is frozen on the ‘Do not disconnect’ screen and I do everything which my hopeless computer permits me to do and then as it so often does, it decides to crash which I then have to reboot and after the same thing happening a good three or four times I start to panic because I have no idea how long the backlit message has been plastered across my (rather expensive) new toy’s screen and I’m worried that it’s going to be burned on permanently and all the while my mother is overwhelming me by yelling this and that and what ever at me about how I need to get off the phone (which I had been for at least half an hour) and how I need to get to bed and how I should get off the computer and stop “talking to perverts” this late at night and through tears I try to yell back up at her that I’m trying to fix something that needs to be fixed immediately or it will be permanently broken and trying to explain what’s going on but because she has about as much technical knowledge as she does sympathy, she keeps yelling at me and insulting me and all the while I have to try to yell over her (something really fun to do when you can hardly talk without slurring your words, let alone talk at all, let alone open your mouth) and finally I yell up at her that it feels like my stitches are breaking and that she should just LEAVE ME ALONE SO I CAN DEAL WITH THIS AND THEN GO TO BED WHEN EVER I’M DONE, KAY? But of course not, then in her uncivilized ways she starts screaming at me (at this point she is still upstairs in bed, emphasis on how barbaric she is in her methods of communication) about, quote: “What the fuck is your problem? I know that Benson is doing nothing but screwing you around and your phone calls have to stop because ever since you’ve started talking to him, you’ve become even more of a spoiled little emotional wreck and no man should have to ever deal with you.”

So eventually I fix my iPod (no thanks to mother, thank-you) and run upstairs to bed but am now greeted by a mother at the kitchen table whose smoking and about to lecture continue to scream at me on how I’m sixteen and that men are only out there for themselves and that Benson is no different and only wants to sexually exploit me and that I’m a common, attention starving whore which is why she wants me to never talk to him again because she doesn’t want to have to deal with the emotional run-off that comes with me “having a sexual relationship” with a man whose just going to stab me in the back anyway and leave me with a bunch of ungrateful little children who act just like me. FOR CHRIST SAKE HOW WRONG YOU ARE WOMAN. Why does she assume that I want to pursue a sexual relationship with all of my male friends? She even went right out and said that I’m predestined to be needy because I don’t have a father. Just because she married some coke addict loser and got stuck with a kid and never re-married doesn’t mean that genetics will lead me to face the same doom. Just because she isn’t happy doesn’t mean that she should have to go to any lengths to remove the outlets of happiness in my life. She should be happy that I can have positive, healthy, platonic, NON-SEXUAL relationships with people and not condemn me for finding someone who makes all the pain that she causes go away. I keep telling her that Benson and I are not by and means dating and yet she still persists to ruin things between us. I understand quite well that having invested too much emotional commitment to somebody during your teen years only complicates things but when I’m in a happy relationship with somebody and she comes along and interferes with everything we’ve worked so hard to build up till there, it’s worse and probably harder to come to terms with.

Not to mention that my mouth really hurts right now.

So I slept in until two today because I didn’t want to have to be forced to offer empty apologies to her all day as she expects every time. About two hours ago when my mom was out, my aunt phoned and started to leave a message and I picked up because part of why she was calling was that she wanted to know how I was recovering (one of my favorite things is how both my aunt and Benson care about my recovering, but my mother completely fails to) so we talked for a good twenty minutes in what was a pretty relaxing conversation and then my mom comes home and starts yelling at me over something so I pardon myself from the conversation from my aunt and tell my mom that I was on the phone and that her sister wanted to talk. Then I hear my mom yelling at her over some borrowed money (lent to my mother of course because that’s all her family means to her) and then saying something to the effect of “Well I’m so fucking sorry for waking you up last night but it was that little bitch’s mouth that was bleeding and I just called you because I didn’t know what to do!” Yes. In fact, my mother cared so much about my mouth the night before that she didn’t even come downstairs to check to see how much it was at all (note, I only said that it FELT like it was bleeding because I had to scream over her), she didn’t give me any suggestions and didn’t even acknowledge it when I said it (like she always fails to acknowledge anything I ever say worth hearing) and yet she wakes up my aunt at what she claims to be three o’clock in the morning (what ever gets her pity, she stays up all night anyway) but was really more like two and then next thing I hear is her slamming down the phone.

“Thanks a fucking lot Maryjane! You’ve just cost me my relationship with my sister! We used to be friends but noooo, you went and fucked us up too because that’s all you ever do; when you aren’t fucking up your relationships, you’re fucking up mine you self-centered little pig! It shouldn’t be me who’s apologizing to your fucking aunt, it should be you! Now you call up and say you’re sorry for upsetting me enough to call her.”

“I don’t see why I should.”

Mother continues here little tirade, threatens to take away my cell phone if I don’t and then starts trudging down the stairs like she so often does before she comes to attack me so I’m left no choice but to leave the following message on my aunt’s answering machine:

“My mom is having problems taking responsibility for her own actions but she has threatened me if I don’t call you to say that I’m sorry for her having called you last night and having woken you up which I still fail to understand why is my fault but I don’t want her to hurt me so I have to call you and-”

And then my mom picks up the phone and starts making an even bigger ass of herself by yelling and then I assume that my aunt picks up right about here because it sounds like they’re having a ‘conversation’ (meaning that my mom is still doing all the talking yelling but responds on ways like “No, YOU’RE the one whose wrong here Marie”) and then she slams down the phone after she feels she has run out of four letter words to attack with and that it’s time to harass me some more.

Now she is at bingo all night where she belongs and will hopefully die. Die in the state where she has the nice, happy, tacky and phony second Gwen face on that she uses on everybody else in the world. I’m still at home, sick, alone and with all the Percocet it would take anybody else to make things better. Me? I stick around for the pain if not for me, for all those people I do have good relationships with.

You know what? As soon as I finish this post, I’m going to bed (which is a very bold statement if you know the first thing about an Emmjay which is that they detest sleeping, especially during the day to awaken later in a state where they feel outrageously alert and wasteful of their own consciousness points) I think I have earned my right to some sleep around here. JUST THOUGHT YOU ALL MIGHT LIKE TO KNOW THAT.

Last night I went to Japanese where I am still degradingly behind and still struggle to pronounce certain kana. Everything up to my recent strain of missing Japanese to go to Summerstock is fair game for counting as “the good ol’ days” now and I reminisce about them like nobody’s business. Like that time where I used to be able to say “The day before yesterday I played Famikon at my home.” Now I more or less just try to wing every sentence by as “Watashi wa *long strain of English words pronounced in a Japanese manor and said really really fast* desu” and hope I was right. I was not. “Watashi wa obiviousoli retadedo ando shudo givu apu raito nao desu” I’m also beginning to think that in reality, my appreciation of the Japanese language is solely derived from my love of Japanese pop-culture and as cool as that may be, it’s not going to help me pass GSB-3 (which I would have to take next year anyway on account of there being such a low rate of enrollment at our Japanese school in the first place) I wouldn’t last ten minutes in Japan (well, unless Buru Sera is still alive and well…)

SPEAKING OF DEGRADING INSTANCES AND MISCELLANEOUS HUMILIATION, I got to work with my favorite person ever today, Miss Alexandra who wins a whole sheet of gold stars if the meaning of life is to horde any if not all desirable jobs in our workplace to herself and page me at least once an hour (you see, I was trying to work anywhere but near her all day because she is just that undesirable) to tell me to help the next customer in the two customer deep lineup when she’s more than just a bit notorious to leave me struggling with at least four as she makes some frumpy, overpriced arrangement that nobody’s going to buy anyway from the oh so very few remaining flowers that we have left which leave huge stock holes which under the reign of ‘Alexandra the Great’, I am not allowed to fill because that is of course what should end up happening by any sensible human being’s better judgment but I may as well let her have her power over me at work because she obviously doesn’t get enough at home and even if her husband beats her senseless every night with a scalding spatula she more than has it coming because anybody who has to spend five minutes explaining to ME of all people, how to fill a bucket with water, put flowers into it and than put that bucket (wait for it… WAIT FOR IT…) INTO ANOTHER BUCKET LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF THE JURRY (hold your shock, the internet is no place for such a thing) deserves all the spousal abuse in the world, put together, times at least eight. Did you like my run-on sentence of pure pent-up rage? Good. She really needs to stop bossing me around though and when I make statements phrased as questions (“We have no product. I’m going to make some arrangements with the few remaining quality flowers in the scrap buckets- unlike you who just opens up new ones when we hardly have any of them to sell in the first place- to make it at least look sort of nice seeing as we have a T.V. crew coming in today, what do you think?”) and she goes right out and tells me no and then hints at me watering plants (oh, which according to the grapevine I’m no good at either which totally negates every 100% secret shop, promotion or sliver of respect bestowed upon me from management) and it’s not like I can really say no because it’s my job but it’s also her job to get her feeble old lady hands dirty once in a while and not be such a tightass all the bloody time because then I start taking out my rage on other things like customers, 6” potted plants, or the chocolate display. And then she expected me to stay and work until 9:00. Yeah, I’d take a hundred twelve and a half hour shifts before I’d spend the day working side by side with you (who gets her granniepanties in a wad when I tell her to SIGN THE FRAG OUT OF THE TILL because I make sales too because I also work there contrary to what she may believe that I hang around to get bossed around by her all day for free).

I also love pretzels and consuming 400% of my daily recommended intake of sodium each and every day.

Benson: Stop being sick. I hate it. Take more medicine please. Vestri aegrotatio est meus aegrotatio if you know what I mean (of course you don't, that was Latin)

Because I go out of my way to avoid situations involving me reading books (especially factious ones) but bought myself a copy of the book ‘Lolita’ for my English class anyway, I rented the 1962 version of the film (along with the other one which I will soon sit down to watch sometime in this coming week) just top get a good idea of the general plot and what not before cracking open what harbored a small potential to turn out to be a 317 page nightmare (kay, I’m a slow reader, please go home now) I can’t quite put into words this film without producing some kind of automated and blan narrative- like I so often do but it was enough to distract my mind from the usual cesspool of wank that resides in my life. Or in other words, go see it for yourself. It appeals to like-minded individuals of myself.

In other news, recently my relationship with my mother seems to have reached a plateau of sorts in the way that things haven’t improved but at the same time she hasn’t tried to get me into any more childish little fist fights for the last couple of weeks but still she finds ways of making me suffer and ways of her to not have to take responsibility for her actions. Maybe this one needs a bit more of an explanation before I droll on into analysis which if I’m lucky you will commit but a fraction of the attention required to qualify for “skim over” status to.

When ever my mother finds some minute little imperfection in her life which she can obscurely peg on me, she instantly ceases the opportunity to get into some useless little spat (God forbid that she actually told me something once like a normal human being or sat down and talked out our her problems because it’s painfully obvious who was dealt a handicap when it comes to ways of articulating oneself) which is her way of getting some power over somebody; anybody. So then she falls short of ways to express herself in a non-barbaric fashion and resorts to the last act of her limited mind- rage and violence. Now I may be physically incapable of virtually every other activity requiring moderate physical aptitude but I’m sure that I’m more than simply on par with the world when it comes to throwing a few punches. But here’s the catch: somewhere in her sick little mind, she figures that it’s okay for her to try to break my back or punch me clean in the face but if I were to even attempt to retain her, it’s a perfectly reasonable clause to call the police because I’m being an “out of control teenager”. And this is what I’m getting at; why is it that she can completely justify what she puts me through and by the same logic (if you can even call it that) I can’t defend why it’s wrong for the person who’s supposed to provide, advocate and nurture for you to but you through so much abuse.

As I was getting at, the same goes for my financial situation. She owes me a huge debt right now that’s well over a year old and it seems that with every one of my paychecks, a respectable portion ends up going to her. Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘Why not just say no?’. If only things were that simple. One of several less desirable outcomes will arise. Some of which include getting privileges taken away, threatening to not repay me for other debt that’s long overdue, withholding food and further humiliation and degration in sequence with any of the others. I’m picking option one only because there’s a higher change of me not landing up in a less desirable situation much like how I’m left with no choice but to endure her battery.

Know you what else is funny? How when we have these little conversations, she mentions everything I own that she sees as frivolous vehicles of driving my ‘spoiled brat lifestyle’. Do you know why I find this little tidbit particularly hilarious? Because she has never given me any of the stuff that she brings up- comic books, clothes, shoes, video games, movies, my computer, action figures, fabric… these are in truth more so my methods of drowning out the sound of her grading voice and seeking happiness.

I’m convinced that this is the way she attempts to get control over her life- by trying to take control of mine. She obviously needs to get her financial priorities in order (As Jordan remarked from a note on our fridge: “Why are getting a facial and hair dyed above pay back MJ?”, something that I’ve become desensitized to), she’s a substitute teacher and therefore gets no power in the workplace, she does not stop binge eating and despite all her feminist bullshit she loads on me about (and I quote) how men all deserve to be castrated and how she’s an independent and self sufficient woman, she’s really more desperate than a stray cat in heat .

Without knowing my mother, one may also suggest that I cut her some slack for the unfortunate situation that is my father having left us eleven and a half years ago and she being left alone to raise a child. Well guess what? That debt didn’t get how it is now from responsible payments over time. She’s been using it as an excuse to recklessly support a lifestyle she can’t afford in some kind of attempt to get remarried and then this unreasonable archetype of hers that is miles out of her greedy little league, will all of a sudden make all our her problems disappear. It’s her failure to take ownership for her own lack of financial management skills because it’s so much easier to just peg my dad for it. And that’s another thing, when ever I challenge her on some ignorant viewpoint of hers, she blames me right away for having inherited my father’s short temper and chauvinism (ironically enough, she’s foolish enough to believe that such traits can be inherited and not taught by the father that I never saw for the five years I was living with him anyway) She blames the whole wide world’s prejudice against single mothers for her mistakes. Yeah, I’m sure that it’s because you don’t have a husband that some teacher wrote you a bad letter of recommendation that I will never hear the end of.

If I were to believe anything about this ‘traditional family structure’ which she holds so close to what remains of her cold and fickle heart, it would be that until I’m 18, I shouldn’t get involved with the finances. Never once has that woman lent me a cent and here I am now, sixteen years old and worrying about my monetary matters. Do you know why it is that I have high end electronics, fancy gadgets and expensive clothes? Because I was never doted on with allowances and such. I never had money banging around in my life so although few in number, I have gone out of my way to only buy myself the best even if it takes me months of agonizing saving and working a position I don’t particularly enjoy which, I’m now being pressured to quit on account of her not getting as much as she had expected back on her income tax because I’ve held down a respectable job for the past year OR pay her back the $3000 or what ever she was expecting. Oh, but what’s this? I don’t have that money because I gave it all to her. Then she calls me a spoiled brat for wanting this money back. Is this wrong of me? Is it wrong for me to want back what was given out of generosity so long ago? Am I crazy for wanting my own money back? But no, every time I ask when I might be seeing a single dollar of that back, she starts listing off how much she’s going to subtract for having asked and then explodes in a fit of wrath which I have to once again bide my way through even if it means sacrificing my own dignity. Some glorious family structure this is.

But back to my father for one second. I’m the one whose being raised without any male authority figure or what ever which essentially is supposed to fuck me over for life or something like that (keep in mind too, my entire relative base is composed of women except for my grandpa) And do I mope and do I angst and further more do I care? I really know no different and feel nothing about it aside from maybe my own expectations of what may have been different had I had a father. Maybe then I would have had somebody of my own gender to seek comfort with instead of being pushed around into awkward social situations with the women who were supposed to be my source to seek confrontation with should I need it. But have I gotten my issues (especially those concerning gender, the real taboo trigger) off my chest? Not by a long shot and I’m not sure whether or not I can trust myself forever with such regards mutating inside my head. But in truth I guess I’m an emotional disconnect when it comes to really caring about my dad. I feel none of what I guess I'm expected to. He’s just one more Card at Christmas time to me and maybe I guess I’ve always known in the back of my head that I was better left unexposed to him and all his illegal activities, recreational drug use, alcoholism, promiscuity and of course his violent out lashes. But at the same time, where applicable I would love to rack up on any missed points for having a parental unit completely cut you off all together without any reason at all. For somebody who brought you into the world to go almost years on end sometimes without contacting you. For me to not believe in unconditional love (or at least to never be the subject of it).

I’m sixteen. What’s there I can really do to change any of this anyway?

Just like every other time when my mom and I fight I end up completely breaking down and she overwhelms me with the same questions: “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why makes you so special to cry like a three year old when ever you want? I HAVE THE RIGHT TO KNOW SO TELL ME YOU SPOILED LITTLE BITCH.” Well then here are all your damned answers for right now that you will never hear:

I’M LIVING IN CHAOS AND PARANOIA AT HOME WITH ZERO PARENTAL STABILITY OR SUPPORT.

I’M REALLY A BOY BUT I WOULDN’T TELL YOU UNLESS YOU WERE DEAD BECAUSE I FEAR IMPENDING INSTITUTIONALIZATION BECAUSE YOU’VE TOLD ME LOUD AND CLEAR THAT PEOPLE OF MY GENDER DISPOSITION ARE SUBJECTS OF MENTAL ILLNESS.

OH GUESS WHAT? I’M GAY TOO.

WOMEN HAVE DECEIVED ME SO MANY TIMES IN MY LIFE AND HAVE ROBBED ME OF THINGS I WILL NEVER GET BACK. YOU ARE NO EXCEPTION. I HATE YOU THE MOST.

YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE GOOD AT EVERYTHING THAT’S IMMEASURABLE.

I’M A FUCKING SOCIOPATH- ONCE AGAIN I THINK I CAN THANK YOU FOR THIS ONE ON ACCOUNT OF ALL THE INSECURITIES YOU’VE BEATEN INTO MY HEAD.

THERE IS NO GOD SO PLEASE STOP DICTATING ME THROUGH THIS FIGMENT OF YOUR OWN BELIEFS.

WE ARE POOR BECAUSE OF YOU- NOT ME.

I’M CONVINCED THAT EVEN THE ONE PERSON I LOVE MOST IS ONLY PLAYING ME FOR KICKS.

I’VE GIVEN UP ON TRUSTING OTHER PEOPLE ALTOGETHER.

So badly right now I want to just go to the hospital to see my psychiatrist but I know he won’t help me at all. They all think I’m a wreck. Ever since I was little I’ve just gotten dumped around to different doctors and watched through one sided windows and restrained and publicly humiliated in front of rooms full of people taking notes who I knew damn well were there watching me as if I was some sort of animal even though the doctors insisted that they weren’t. But if I’m to play entertainment for interns once again now then so be it- at least I will have somebody to talk to. Maybe things were better when I don’t have these lapses into psychosis. Maybe I was better off when I was just dubbed out of my mind all the time.

I hate remembering all of this. It’s disconcerting because as much as I think I’ve changed, as much as I think I’ve grown from the kid who was supposed to attend some special institution school for the mentally unstable, I’m totally not. I want some stability and something to trust for Christs sake! It’s no wonder I hate people to the degree which I do. I hate living with myself. And there’s so much more, I just know it is. I’ve just suppressed all this from my memory because I thought things were all better.

Normally I would have scrapped mentioning the events of this past weekend at work all together but seeing as this Saturday will mark the anniversary of me having worked at Safeway Canada Limited for an entire year, I thought it might be rather fitting to explain the whole fiasco.

Just to clear this up to anybody who doesn’t already know, in my neck of the woods, employers are starving for workers willing to work mindless positions for the lowest sum of payment allowed within the parameters of the law and thus people are usually hired as warm bodies to stand around and provide minimal customer service. That or else they’re fourteen; same difference. Anyway, my point is that people are getting hired left and right regardless if they’re capable of their position. Now I’ve seen my fair share of people coming and going from this job and to prove my earlier mentioned point, nobody has ever been fired (even in cases where they should have been, keep reading) and when they quit it’s either because they’re wanting to move up in the workforce or because they felt they couldn’t manage the requirements of their job within the first couple of weeks. So where exactly should I cut you off to fend for yourself while reading this cluster of thoughts and company gossip? How about two weeks back, shall we?

So our boss of some un-Godly amount of time, Christine quits to pursue employment as some sort of merchandiser at the flower market (my understanding is that they are basically the wholesalers to Safeway but also have a branch of public retail) so for the time being we are without management and basically running around like chickens with our heads cut off. Mind you, we don’t know who our next boss will be either but because the "shift manager" is usually the person on a set shift schedule with the most seniority is the manager, Debbie has kind of self-appointed herself as such for the time being but hasn’t really been taking ownership of all that this title entails. Oh, and just for the records, I’m the manager for Saturdays and Sundays and you had best not forget it! (See? Just like I said, desperate for employment)

Of course that is unless I’m so "fortunate" enough to share a shift with Miss Alexandra who is undoubting by anybody’s standards, hell to work with (not only that but I do have seniority over her, kay thanks). At first glance she’s this meek and slightly frail looking middle aged woman but upon further observation, one will immediately notice that she will not open her mouth unless to expel some degrading comment in that “I am right”, monochromatic tone of hers. Mind you, she knows her salt about flowers (of course, she’s probably been growin’ them for the last hundred years she’s been alive) but she’s very stuck on the store’s procedures which are guidelines (as in, when we run out of one color of stock, we are expected to fill the holes with another color, not leave a bunch of vacant buckets lying around with an overflow of the same product’s alternately colored counterpart) It’s one thing if I’m actually improvising my way through the job (or even worse, not bothering at all as is the case with a certain Kim who I constantly refer to because of her all around incompetence, AAURNGH!!) but almost everything I’ve learned about store procedures, I learned right from Christine herself which I follow with not only little error but extremely quickly- which is another thing. This Alexandra character is really slow and frigid. Not only that but she’s unfriendly. Even I can make automated conversation with customers and I have no interest in flowers what so ever. Alexandra on the other hand has presumably some sort of passion for plants and would be best off flaunting what could be possibly the one positive trait she has going for her.

She is also very bossy and won’t do anything for herself. Example: I have my hand full of flowers making an arrangement for a customer and she’s sticking labels on some plants to put out on the floor at a later time when the phone rings. Now get this, she tells me to answer it because she “isn’t very good at talking”. NO FRAGGING KIDDING EH?! THIS IS A BASIC REQUIREMENT OF YOUR JOB- ANSWER THE DAMN PHONE!! I have a legitimate anxiety problem with the phone as in it’s a very undesirable and impersonal experience to have top go through for me and besides, if I’m apparently going to mess everything I do up, then why doesn’t she just answer it instead of playing around designing arrangements that people never buy all day (never once did I see her do any floor work, just fiddle around with roses all day afraid to get her hands dirty with real work)? Back to what I said about being bossy. She likes top lecture me even when I tell her right to her face "No, I never touched this all day. Maybe it’s Kim you should be talking to, not me." (seeing as half anybody around Kim’s job is to clean up after her in all the ways she’s messed things around) and she keeps going- kind of like how she does when she gives her little instructional spiels as if I didn’t know what I was doing literally nine months before she joined the team. Guess what? I hear something once, I GET IT. I hear something twice, I START GETTING BORED. The third time I have what ever piece of information beaten into my skull? I START WANTING TO BEAT WHOEVER’S SKULL IT IS WHO’S TELLING ME THIS RIGHT BACK AS I AM CLEARLY CAPABLE OF UNDERSTANDING THE LANGUAGE OF ENGLISH, KAY THANK-YOU VERY MUCH. Funny how she doesn’t play these cards with Kim though even though we all know she should have been fired the day she et foot in the store. This is because A) what takes me twenty minutes to do will take Kim well over an hour and B) Kim needs to have things told to her over and over and over again but she will still mess things up to an unacceptable extent.

But no, I’m not even kidding. You don’t hear shit out of her unless she’s condemning you for what she thinks you’re doing wrong. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s her way of compensating for how boring she is. That by making up faults in others, she can be distracted from her own. But by the end of the day I started getting all maliciously perky on her just to tick her off. Thank golly-golly-gosh she was only filling in for somebody else’s shift!

Oh and just for emphasis, I restate that even though Kim is a person of color, that doesn’t mean she is a person of competence. We already have one Native guy in produce, how many more do we need to make it look like we’ll hire absolutely anyone?

You know what? I did just say that. THE TRUTH HURTS. WHAN WHAN.

So that was Saturday, Sunday was the day where we all found out that Leanne had quit (Hooray! I really didn’t like working with her either but Alexandra still made her look tolerable in comparison) so my 8:30 – 5:00 shift was pretty much the only one all day as Andrea (an employee who’s company I quite enjoy) had a four hour shift sometime during mine but couldn’t stay afterwards. Apparently this was unacceptable that our department would close so early in the evening but despite my better judgment I still called up Kim and Alexandra to offer them hours (you know, to make it look like I care) but could get a hold of nether one of them. Debbie couldn’t come step up to the plate because she had guests my last collogue Allie can never work weekends thus leaving me alone and holding the burden of not being able to stay later because somebody else had the nerve to not show up for a month and then quit and somebody who never let us know she quit somewhere along the lines. Oh, yay.

It’s situations like this that I really did wish that they would just hire more people for the sake of it (to do Joe-jobs and what not) so that I didn’t have to work some eight and a half hour shifts all by my lonesome but at the same time, I don’t want any more Kims who go on a path of destruction and then sit around the till reading People Weekly (I really am surprised she can even read)

Bleah, as fascinating as that was, I’m sure you are all lost never the less. Life outside of work has been predictably mundane and with the taste of gravel. It’s been wake up, go to school, download some more Dancemania albums, talk to Benson, go to bed, repeat five more times, go to Summerstock, go to bed, wake up, work, go to bed, repeat twice, add some rather joyous salted peanuts and stir at 375˚ on high. Oh and I almost forgot Animal Crossing: Wild World. I know this shouldn’t be a good game at all but it is (or else a really gratifying way of further retarding myself)

So I’m sure that all of you have been passing suspicions around as to why I have not been answering my cell phone for the past four days. Or maybe I should start this tale off with the honest truth which is that I’m desperate to tell a good story and the story of why I got my phone confiscated for a whole week seems to be all that is up and exciting in my life and therefore will have to do (as in, not that anybody calls me really, nor have I granted the permission to anyone to do so really)

So as you may know, I found out just shortly ago that the last four digits of my mobile phone number (0-7-3-9) spell out "0-S-E-X". Considering that my head is entrapped in a permanent state of gutter-dwelling, I thought that this was hilarious and therefore jumped at the notion of setting up my voice mail message to the following:

"Hey there big guy!
You’ve reached █-█-█-0-S-E-X.
Please leave your name and a personal message after the tone so we can set you up with your very own sexy party."

And of course, this is all said in the erotic voice which I may just have to resort to making a decent living off of should I end up as washed-up, wannabe Hollywood trash (probable) Of course I ASKED my mom for permission to set something like this up as my voice mail (more so if I could mention the 0-S-E-X part) because she disapproved of the length of my last message which was left by none other than the Benson (classic)

So my interpretation of a grapevine line was my personal message for a good two weeks or so until my mom called it Monday evening when I just so happened to be staying in Benson’s company for a few hours later than I had previously been given consent to. So she calls to bitch all over me about that and stumbles across my little master piece and flips out. She flips almost as hard as Tyra Banks did all over the internet that one time. Anyway, I’m not entirely sure as to whether it was me staying out three hours late (mind you I never leave my house at ALL) doing things I enjoy and not being scrutinized for my every action or if it was because of my message (which I know, I know, was a bit risqué for a sixteen-year-old who always answers his phone anyway) but case in point is that all my phone will not belong to me until next Monday.

Boo hoo.

But Monday was amazing so I really don’t care after all.

So it appears that in the short period of time (Less than a month) that my latest flash game (Space Channel 5 Dress Up) has been up, it appears to have made it around the internet. Sure, in any situation I would take this as flattery; people love my work. But in this case I’m beyond aggravated because right inside the game under the “Credits” section is this paragraph advising otherwise:



Simple enough to understand, yes? No means no. Well that is unless you’re one of the German porn sites that is hosting my game and has more than eight times as many hits as the original version. Don’t believe me? Behold this wall of shame:

Flash Games – Erotik Spiele
Although I find what Babbel Fish permitted me to translate from their summary quite kind, taking my game without my permission which I wouldn’t have granted anyway is not.

Free-Sex Games
Oh look, another German porn site which links to the site above. Funny because you can’t even get into her underwear in the game.

Play Online Games
Oh look! Another one!

HallPass
Well, at least this site gives credit to my LiveJournal but that doesn’t justify disobeying what I thought to be an explicit warning in my disclaimer. The 19,304 hits sadden me.

Flash Game Land
These sites obviously don’t care what they’re putting up because if they had taken the time to READ THE INSTRUCTIONS, there wouldn’t be this problem.

U Play Online
This site looks like some kind of mirror to the above. Double offence.

This is honestly not cool at all. I’m 16. I make these games because I like doing it. Is it too much to ask for to have my games remain in a controlled environment? Now my name (those who bother crediting me) will forever be associated with sleaze. There are other sites out there which have not hosted but rather linked to my dress-up games. I am totally fine with so long as they don’t claim them as their own. Also, I didn’t specify that I don’t want people to re-distribute MY work so I guess that’s fair game.

Any way, what I’m also wondering is if there is anybody out there in LiveJournal-Land who could do a decent (not necessarily perfect) translation for me of an e-mail to the administration of the German porn sites. I’m going to have to do some other e-mailing around later tonight...

And the moral story?

Don’t take my work when I specifically tell you not to, because I can take legal action against you.

Luckily this semester is just about over so I can at long last purge myself of the anguish and humiliation which has been accumulating over the course of the last four and a half months. Should I not be checking myself into the third last semester of my life, I would be on the brink of once again lapsing into mediocrity. Well of course, some people have helped me through it more than others. There will always be those who are simply there when I am there and there are those who are actually there for me. Name dropping is juvenile space filler but you know who you are and to you I say thank you.

Another realization I have come face to face with is that I probably will never see Chris again in my life (what a shame too seeing as I found a picture of him from grade 6 today which brings me a great deal of satisfaction in the slightly creepy and obsessed way) Also, that I had come to my senses about how I feel about him around a year ago. This means that I have pledged my love to one person (though wrongfully vicariously through another person which proved to be a disaster) for an entire year. This is a huge “accomplishment” for me though seeing as I’m convinced that I may have loyalty issues (where I seek out change no matter how good I have things) and the worst part of it all is that in this entire year, I saw him no more than ten times. The last I saw of him was I believe at the beginning of March. So all this time I’ve been holding on to this empty dream that someday I could be blessed enough just to be in his presence one more time. And I know I can’t say anything here that hasn’t been said a million times over and I know it’s corny and cliché or what have you but honestly, just for one hour with Chris… And worst of all is that I mean nothing to him any more. For a millisecond in time we were all that each other had and before I could realize it he was gone and now only through seeing his spite and his wrath from the outside (as I seem to have been “locked out” if you will) that I can truly savor the sincerity of all those times he told me that he loved me and I was too damn ignorant to see that those words weren’t from the things that I said or when I ran errands for him out of sheer boredom. The person with the perfect balance of charm, intellect, social inadequacy and beauty loved me AND I DIDN’T EVEN SEE IT. And multiple times now I’ve had the dreams where I find out that he is dead and as if crying almost every night about this (among one other thing but I don’t want to get into that right now) wasn’t bad enough, eventually believing my subconscious is. Because I need to face it- he is dead to me. I will never see him again. Yet I can still devote a year of my life to a memory. And every time I think about him I cry and lose interest in what ever it is I chose to indulge in. Even if my mom brings him up I start to cry and can’t tell her anything past “oh, he was such a good friend, I sure do miss him”. Is what I’m doing not mourning?

Because the one person I truly love is DEAD but I think it’s about time I move on.

I’d rather not go into any detail about Friday’s auditioning ordeal as it was quite go-home- run-upstairs-lock-the-door-and-cry-myself-to-sleep-able but if I don’t do it now I guess I never will. Sitting around for almost five hours makes me rather uncomfortable however thanks to Sid and Benson it was quite tolerable (actually très formidable because I hadn’t seen Benson in well over a month and our conversations are useless but at the same time quite brilliant. Many adventures were had) but then comes the time where I get called onto stand-by to perform the scene which I had only gone through the actions to and said the lines in my head to but had never really gone through the scene because I hadn’t been alone up until then. So then I get called in to a room which is full of people (all the ones who the director wants to give roles to) and the scene begins and I’m way off to the side which was my first big mistake as I had no perception of the space. Not to mention that one of the members of the scene is an old friend of mine from my first year who turns out to be a complete intimidating, egomaniacal asshole who now spits on the ground I walk on. Anyway, out comes my first line and no subtle southern accent. OH. SHIT. So from that point on I’m trying to just keep my voice natural which shouldn’t be so hard considering that nobody in the chaos around me is using one either (because as will become evident to me they can’t act) and I’m just trying to be consistent with my movements but from that comes barely any movement at all and slightly off timing. Oh and did I mention that I’m being blocked like crazy? I’m a whole 5”10.5 and what’s-their-faces are just towering over me and then one of them says “Aw crap my necklace!” Laughter from the onlookers. More laughter. “Keep going” says the director. I’m just trying not to break what little character I’m managing to pull off (if I was “standing in” for a cold read through for somebody else’s audition, I would have sounded more enthusiastic) and then all of a sudden they like move the whole scene over a meter to my right which makes no sense what so ever.

Thus concludes the scene.

So I’m either going to get a call back because the director knows my strengths and wants to try me at another non-singing or dancing character or because he just wants to see it again. Otherwise I’m doomed to chorus yet again which I hate. This was a really good role for me: no singing, no dancing. And yet I fuck up the acting bit. Maybe it’s because I can only handle a certain range of emotion and characters. Maybe I can only act out the blatantly stereotyped characters and the extremely dynamic ones. Maybe I can only handle acting out melancholy emotions and situations of tragedy. Well, in any case I’m back tomorrow. More Sid. More Benson. But more SummerStock.

But if you didn’t bother reading any of that, I’m sure you could check out my math extension project. It pretty much takes all the fun out of DDR 4th, EXTRA and KONAMIX.

The mental break of the now for Emmjay begins immediately and will go until at least Thursday.

This means that I will not be attending school until said date, however will be completing far more work at home that imaginable at that decrepit facility which has been reaping me of my dignity all together for the last year and a half. No worries- I will return sometime this week and not a second too late for my adoring masses (that’s what… two people?) to touch me before I spend my CHRISTMAS holiday alone at my aunt’s house house-sitting as opposed to at my current place of employment (like I had specifically requested) or even better yet, surrounding myself with those who are the most highly tolerable.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Faaaaahhhhwwwwccckkkkkkkkkkuh-kuh-kuh-KUH.

Its times like these that I wish I had a boyfriend. But I don’t. Because statistics show that I fuck them all up; each worse than the last and seeing as statistics don’t lie I should just face the facts that I’m going to be a lonely old coot for the rest of my life who gets their rocks off to Trigun doujinshi- and as much as I’d like to admit otherwise, seeing Wolfwood come all over his face is only indecently hot the first 9,347,923,061,321³ times but then the hot mangoo solidifies into a cold-prickly that looms over me until I realize just how stupid this sounds so I stop typing and feeling so damn proud for knowing how to put Unicode characters into a Live Journal post.

But in any case, I get to think out aaaaallllllll my guilt for the next 2 days because I sure as hell won’t be able to concentrate on the most beloved concentration-gradients of all human-history!

...I wish I knew why I made such bad choices.

There is a fine line which exists in the magical kingdom of Live Journal which divides the in depth life synopsis from the instant internet drama waiting to happen. You see, should I make a post which breaks down my every thought over certain events which have occurred over the past week, my comment count will pretty much triple from my angry in-real-life pals and I will find myself entangled in the center of a web of rage from which I can not escape. However if I make some diluted little passive aggressive entry without name dropping or even painting the faintest picture of what’s going on, everybody will start assuming things and nobody will get any of the facts straight.

...And my Live Journal buddies will still have no clue what the hell is going on.

EDIT: Oh I get it, I'm alergic to eggs maybe?

I'm so done with fucking school. I'm getting my forums tomorrow and then I'm out of there for good.

Lately I’ve been trying to catch up with my studies and get back on my feet. I think that it’s safe to say that I’ve been pretty happy doing so as well- perhaps this mania has made me more productive. But then I get so happy, and so carefree that everything stops mattering and then I finally see exactly where I stand.

I’m nothing like I used to be. I used to be the happiest damn person alive without any reason alive. But what has changed since then? Now everything is internalized and overanalyzed. I won’t say anything unless I’ve thought it over and yet everything I say now either gets me into trouble or gains me ridicule. I used to preach for individuality but now I’m more self conscious than ever. I can’t talk to people anymore because answers seem all too automated by now. What you saw used to be what you got but now I hide things- even what I really can’t justify at all. Before I would defend my friends to their death but now I suspect them more than anybody else. I used to look forward to a new day but now I look forward to sleeping. I used to be daring but now I’m afraid- I can’t think outside of the box because everything I’ve ever thought has been thought of before. Where I was once picky, I am now gluttonous- having something is better than repressing myself forever. What use is there trying anymore? I’m far past my prime and the party is over before I indulged in my impending fun.

Thinking about it now, I probably do create my own problems but the means don’t justify the end. I don’t even know what there is to be happy about anymore. I know I’m being weak, I know things could be a lot worse but at the same time my life is still a train wreck but instead of crashing and burning, for some reason I think that things will get better, that maybe I will grow to love myself but then I just set myself up to crash and burn again.

The way I see it right now is that I’m very much isolated for reasons I can’t even begin to explain. Some things are going ‘right’- I should be getting DDR MAX as well as two other Beatmania mixes later this week, I have a good relationship with my art teacher, I have a boyfriend and as of right now, I weigh as much as I did when I was nine. Maybe I just can’t deal with a few things that I place moderate value on going my way at all. Maybe I would be better off losing my inhibitions, removing the restrictions and wasting myself. Maybe that’s’ what I need right now more than a shoulder to puke emotions all over.

Then there’s the whole losing my job thing... I’ll explain that next time, maybe. There’s a tasty salad to eat right now.

If Josh fires his mouth off one more time about the Nintendo Wii, I swear I’m going to lash out and scream.

I don’t know what I ever found attractive about this kid. Sure, sure, in retrospect, he was the only other person who even knew what a video game was back in the seventh grade but what merit does that hold now? Certainly not one to exempt him from my desired consequences to his perpetually obnoxious behavior. It’s one thing to get excited about something- I can totally accept that (and I acknowledge that I too may in some cases cross the line a teeney-tiney bit boardering between enthusiasm and obsession) but for the past month, the instances which he has not been living, breathing, and defecating useless banter out of his mouth about the Wii are getting shorter and far less frequent (Much like the Haloween special of Invader Zim where Dib keeps bordering between reality and a realm composed of his imaginative doom but unlike Dib, unfortunately there is no possibility that Josh will be voided into oblivion) But it’s not just that he talks about it all the time; It’s that he acts as if he’s some kind of fountain of knowledge for having a pre-order and for being able to ramble off frivolous facts about it that are current as of the Wikipedia article for the Wi’s latest update. Having the distinction of doing such a thing makes you nothing of a better person- hell if I had nothing better to do with my time, I could invest that much time and energy into memorizing facts about the PlayStation 4 and get my pre-ordered console from the planet mars.

Still yet the best part is that he’s still self-proclaiming himself as the ultimate hard core gamer. He’s a prime example of my theory on human behavior that by hating without just-cause, one automatically assumes that they are too good for. In Josh’s case, he thinks that he is the ultimate gamer because he dedicates up to five hours a night to various gaming activities on the GameCube, Nintendo DS, and PC. Mind you he doesn’t own any Playstation, Xbox or other gaming consoles. He also owns several articles of gaming paraphernalia and is apparently an expert at all games that he owns. Okay, makes enough sense. But by his logic, would I not be just as much of gamer for having access to nine individual consoles (one of which is an imported specialty item), thousands of dollars invested in gaming accessories, for ranking in the top percentiles of virtually every game that I choose commit to, for having placed pre-orders on the past six consecutive Dance Dance Revolution games, for actually making my own flash games from scratch, for having several rare (beyond just discontinued) games and when you think about it, I put about that much time into gaming as well. But what’s the difference? I don’t call myself a gamer. If anything, I call myself “somebody with an interest and skill in video games, particularly those of the rhythmic variation” Now that I think of it, if this logic applies to everything, I am also a Goth, psychopath and a Communist!

Back to the point I was making about how Josh isn’t a hardcore gamer at all. In his life, he’s probably touched a Play Station controller… twenty times? And yet he still has what he considers to be an informed opinion as to why he’s too good for it. Its’ not because there aren’t any games he has an interest in (which is still only a good reason not to buy a platform, not to pay much unneeded scorn to) because that would completely de-validate why he thinks he’s a God at Space Channel 5 when he’s never mentioned having actually played it (which if he had, I’m sure I would have gotten an ear load of why he’s the galaxy’s biggest space-tool in the vague detail which can only be supplied by the one and only Josh). I think it’s funny that he doesn’t pay attention to anything outside of the Nintendo game frame seeing as how aside from the portable game market, is hardly even considered competition to Microsoft and Sony and most of their games are very much aimed at the ‘E for Everyone’ audience anyway (which is not to say that everything from Nintendo can be mastered by every ten-year-old in a week but it’s stupid for one to brag up their Donkey Konga expertise in a conversation about the highly superior Beatmania)

Still, the funniest part of all is when he brings up what an ‘Old-School’ gamer he is and then starts talking about how much he wants some fourth generation game system that can be found at any garage sale for $5 tops. Yeah, Josh, what does it feel like to have your head up the ass of the galaxy’s biggest space-tool? On second thought- I don’t even want to know. Just isolate yourself from society and go read the latest and greatest issue of NintendoPower or something.

Oh yes, how rude of me to leave Jolene out of this as well. Like most things, Jolene just needs to learn when to stuff her face full of some ‘wai hawtt bishi’ cock (the only kind she will ever be able to get, I’m afraid) in order to shut up about things she knows nothing about but claims to in order to carry out a completely mindless conversation with Josh. Like I’ve probably stated before, Jolene is only a member of the group of people to whom which I had so mistakenly labeled as my friends because she piggybacks off of the latest trends within the group (honestly, if you ever find yourself as part of a crowed huddled over paying attention to something, just start counting down the seconds until she trots over to claim the fandom and spoil it for everyone)

On the subject of Jolene being a waste of human flesh, I find it more than ironic that I should find this little exert from her Live Journal from about two years ago proving that she is a total hypocrite as well:

"All my friend s were really nice to me except for one who just loves to be a bitch and if you ever do something that she doesn't like you are mean, violent, and a total bitch."

Even when I do nice stuff for Jolene or lend her my posessions, she still demands more, beats me with some metal bar she carries around on her keychain (that apearantly makes her a Japanese sword master or something), refuses to lend me anything and continues to treat me like a total piece of shit.

"Even if you just take something back that she took from you or if you joke with her she will hold it against you for life."

Oh like how I had to nag at her 50,000 times to give me back more than 30 CDs I had lent her more than a year ago or how she takes it really really personaly if I make some witty joke that flies right over her head because it has nothing to do with Japanese pop-culture? Yeah, I know the feeling.

"If you take something back she stole from you without asking then you are a spaz and she gets pissed throws a temper tantrum and won't talk to you."

There are so many better reasons not to talk to this girl than that. Tip o’ da iceburg, baby!

"If you don't do what she likes then you are a bad person."

If you were trying to tell a six year old what the word irony meant, I think you could unsuccessfully try teaching them a dozen times before using this statement which they would undoubtably get. I don’t even think I need to explain this one. Full Metal Alchemist is still not ‘ka-wa-i-i’ or what ever.

"I mean come on if someone wouldn't lend you something because you baisically totaled many of the other things that they have lent you is completely annoying sometimes I really don't think that she is much of a friend only when it suits her."

I mean come on, when somebody is only your friend for your stuff because they’re a spoiled and greedy little child, it just makes sense for you to not associate with them when you’re only suffering in the relationship anyway.

Ugh, it’s no wonder why I drown my life away in anti-social activities when the people around me are this dense.

As for right now, I’m getting that money back from my mom (in ridiculously small quantities) which I lent her ages ago. So for my own benefit, I am once again compiling a list of purchases organized by priority. 

  
DDR MAX (used) - $80.19
(Fap fap fap fap fap fap fap… I just found this on eBay)



Cobalt Flux - $343.73+

This being said, I’m also selling my current home pad for $200. I’m getting a new up arrow mailed in right now but this deali-o includes:

-A brand-new working control box (works with Xbox or Playstation)
-A non-working control box (can be used for spare parts)
-A shined AND ASSEMBLED 38” x 34” x 3.5” dance platform with 6 arrows for input
-A 38” tall bar for the back of the platform (comes with screws and those doughnut shaped do-hickeys to attach)
-3 brand new panels, 3 gently used panels as well as 3 back up panels (not beyond repair but cracked) – All match the arcade aesthetic perfectly

If you’re wondering why I’m selling this, it’s because for the amount that I wish to use it, I would rather get one which is more durable. That isn’t to say that this one is prone to breaking but I would only recommend it for recreational use without shoes.


ITG - $60.00~


beatmania IIDX 12 Happy Sky bundle (Konamistyle Special Edition - T-Shirt Size: M) - $195.51


pop'n music Arcade Style Controller - $459.14

Other Beatmania IIDX mixes - $80.00~

Other Pop’n Music mixes - $80.00~

Other Beatmania mixes - $40.00~


beatmania IIDX Arcade Style Controller - $447.63

Oooh, I love how my really insightful post just got really dumb.