Suicide, Part 2

I can't stop thinking about this kid. I didn't know, never heard of him, yet I can't get him out of my mind.

Why did he do it? Did he call someone while he was on the ledge? Who? Did they answer? What did they say? Did they think he was joking? Did they tell him to stop being so dramatic? Did he have no one to call?

While he was falling, what was he thinking? Was he happy with his decision?

Did anyone see it coming? Did he do it because he didn't want to go back home, where his homelife sucks? Were finals too stressful? Was he gay and afraid to come out? Was he lonely?

What did his parents think? Does he have parents? Was he an only child?

Why did he pick the parking garage? What did he yell that the janitor heard?

Did he think he'd fly, that it was a joke, and not real? What happens after you die?

Why did he do it? What made him think he had no other options? Is life really that bad?

Did he leave a note? What did it say? Who found it?

Will the garage be haunted? Why why why? Does he get to watch the aftermath from Heaven?

Was it an accident? Foul play?

I hope the autopsy turns up acid or shrooms. A drug death would be better than a depression death, at least he would've been happy, probably.

But really, I don't understand what makes a person do that. What leads to it. Were there any signs? Did he have anyone to talk to? He was attractive, but was college just not what he thought it'd be? Did a girl dump him or snub him? Was it a mach/bravado/dare that made him jump?


I guess I'll never know the answers to these questions, but I can't shut my brain off. I wonder what his last thought was, if he could've left his body before he hit, who the last person he talked to was, what he said, what they said, what the last youtube video he watched was, what was the last film he saw in theaters, the last food he ate, music he heard, test he took, person he kissed, hand he held, fantasy he had. I wonder what his future could've been.

I wonder and I worry and I stress and it's a shame. I didn't know him.

I shouldn't care.

A nearby suicide

I was supposed to work the 7 PM- 3 AM shift at Subway last night. Instead, someone randomly offered to switch with me, because they know I don't like getting off that late. So instead I worked 4-12. After I got off, I went home. I read a book, ate some sour gummy worms and drifted to a peaceful sleep.

It was peaceful until I was awoken by an annoying loud noise, it sounded like a big truck was doing construction work outside my apartment. I woke and yelled "goddamn you! Have you no decency?? Let me sleep! Let me sleeeeeep!" No light was seeping through my blinds, which should have been a clue that it wasn't construction. I thought about checking my watch, but didn't want to know the time. I thought about looking out the window to see what it was, but figured it didn't matter and I didn't want to get out of covers. I'm glad I did nothing. If I had, I probably would've seen ambulances and firetrucks, and being curious, I would've gone to investigate. I would've seen something I could never take back. (My perverse curiosity got the best of me once, and I went on the site "rotten.com". It was horrible and I'll never get the image I saw out of my mind.).

This morning I strolled into my newspaper gig at around noon. When I got there Nancy, my boss, said "Jess, did you hear what happened last night?"

"Don't think so. What happened?"
"A kid killed himself outside your building." I was taken aback. "Say what?"
"Yeah, kid jumped off the parking garage."

I was floored. I went online to see our paper, and they had a blurb saying the kid was a 20 yr old sophomore.

"But that's not how we found out..." Nancy went on to tell me that a janitor who works the building had just gotten off work. He was walking to his car when he heard a man yell. He looked around, saw no one, and kept walking.

Then, right behind him, the kid hit the ground.

The janitor was scared, naturally, and took off running. Then when his senses came back to him, he stopped, turned around and called 911.

Now here's the kicker: this happened around 3:30 AM. Had I not switched my shift, there is a strong possibility that I would have been passing by when he offed himself.

Can you imagine just walking down the street at 3:30 AM- probably already spooked, since you're alone downtown at that time- and then, suddenly, some body falls out of the sky and lands right next to you? How disturbing would that be? Would you have nightmares? Would you feel some sort of irrational guilt over not looking up and stopping the kid before he jumped?

Is it sick, morbid and wrong that part of me wishes I were there? I've seen lots of dead bodies before, but only in a funeral home setting, not it a raw live-action setting.

Mostly I want to have been there because it would make this story a little more interesting. It could be first hand of how I saw a man die and how it affected me afterward.

Ultimately, I'm glad I wasn't there, it is certainly not something I need to see. My dad said that in real life it looks 100 times worse than it does in the movies. It would just be a neat affliction to have. Later on, when I'm a famous novelist, the critics would have said "yes, she is great. The affliction she endured after the kid died in front of her gave her enough edge to be great."

Though I wasn't there, I'm affected by this kid. The other city paper, our competition, did print his name. So I looked him up on Facebook. He's a good looking kid; has almost 600 Facebook friends; was quarterback of his high school team. His last status said "life... and grandpa JOE." I wonder what that meant.

I wonder what makes someone commit suicide, especially in a public place. I guess they want to be found. At least it wasn't at noon. What if he had landed on the janitor? "two for the price of one," is what my dad said.

Though I didn't know him, I've looked at his photo for so long that I feel like I do.

I'll miss him.

It's an Inconvientent Annoyance, actually

I watched Al Gore's long, self-indulgent power point presentation today in one of my journalism classes. You might know it as "An Inconvenient Truth." Well yes, it was very inconvenient- I would rather have been buying Christmas ribbon than hearing about how the world as we know it is coming to an end.

I just don't buy the whole "Global Warming" thing. I paid attention to his charts and I learned about how his son got hit by a car and almost died (necessary to Global Warming? No), I even learned that poor little polar bears jump onto glaciers, only to have them break in half because they've been melting, resulting in the drowning of the cartoon polar bear.

Perhaps if someone had made a documentary about Al Gore's slide show, as opposed to him making it about himself, it would be more credible and I wouldn't snub it. At least it's not Micheal Moore.

I get everything he said about Co2 and all that jazz, but it'll never make me want to recycle or give up my SUV. He's just so pompous- why did he have to bring in footage from the 2000 election?

Oh well, it just wasn't for me.

A girl in class argued that it was racist because the cartoon people were white, that was funny. She also said it's not Global Warming we're going through, but Revelation from the Bible. She was serious. She argued with the teacher a long time- causing us to get out of class late- and even said "check this" to the teacher when she was making a point. It was entertaining. No one had her back.

Goodnight, I'm going to go hairspray a Styrofoam cup, then torch it all.

Family time or party time?

I'm trying to figure out what to do for Christmas Break. Sadly I can't be everywhere at once. Part of me wants to stay here so I can make money at Subway. Most of me wants to go home.

The real problem is this: my mom wants to go to VA from Christmas to New Year's. I love my family in VA and I would like to see them. One such family, these two old folks who have a huge house and a checkered chicken named after me, are old and racist and amuse me to no end. They throw the term "jigaboo" around like it's nothing and it always causes me to laugh.

My sister, Tracy, doesn't really want to go. My mom said we don't have to if we don't want to, we can stay home while she goes, if we so choose.

It would be mildly cool having the house to myself for a week, but now that I've had my own place for four years, I think the novelty of being alone is gone. But the kicker is that Anthony wants to come celebrate New Year's in New Orleans. It could be fun, for sure. But on the other hand, my great group of friends and I have been doing the same tradition for the past bunch of New Year's Eve. Anthony could surely join us, but then I'd have to skip VA. Mom said we could come back before New Year's, but I don't want her to cut her trip short because of me. Dilemma, dilemma.

Did I mention that the old relatives are worth millions? They've already said they're leaving it all to this kid (my age) they've only met a couple of times. It's because he's a guy and has their family name, they're on my mom's mom's side of the family. Too bad they're not on her dad's, or I'd probably have their name, or at least my mom would.

Also, my friend Erin came up with an awesome remedy for my techno blasting neighbors. I could blast this right back at them:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHPegoquV5I


What a horrible sounding language.

Pompously Apathetic

Today was a good day. Nothing too outlandish happened. I did forget to leave that note on my rude neighbor's door, and thus once again, crapshack techno is what I'm listening to as I write this.

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I am very unmotivated. I have some schoolwork I should be doing, not a lot, but enough to keep me busy, but instead I've watched Gossip Girl and Desperate Housewives all night. I just can't do anything productive and it's causing me to fret. Actually, that's not true. I wish it were causing me to worry, but actually I just don't care.

I wish I could've seen my boyfriend tonight, but he works long hours :(

Oh yeah, something exciting did happen today. I got feedback from my Adv. Fiction class on a story I wrote and everyone loved it! The teacher raved and so did the students. It was amazing- not one negative thing was said. I wish I could say I was surprised, but really I expected the positive praise. I would've genuinely been shocked had they not liked it. The worshiping my talent didn't go on for as long as I would've liked, but really, it had to come to an end sometime. I am going to submit it to some literary journals now- so excited!

XOXO, Jess

Goddamn stupid hipsters

As I type, I am praying to keep strong and not go on a murderous rampage. The person in the apartment below mine is playing the most horrible, disturbing, annoying techno shit ever. I hate techno and hate people that like it even more. Hate is a strong word, I know, but it's the least harsh word that's applicable to this feeling that is consuming me.

Every time they play this song- the same one over and over again, which is every night, incidentally- I just get so angry. I yell "I hate shitty music, aghh! I'm going to strangle babies and scratch them with my teeth!" I do yell these things. I imagine my neighbors fear me, but I don't care, maybe they should. Right now I might just hurt them. I can't convey how much I hate hearing techno blasting my apartment at all hours of the night and day. It's horrible.

I left a note on their door in September telling them to stop, and they did for a week, looks like I'll have to do the same thing in the morning. If I had balls I'd march down there, kick in their door, bust their boombox with a bat and then smash their face with it, for good measure.

Sadly, I'm lacking balls so I will suffer until the morning. If they don't comply with my message, then I will talk to my landlords.

This is insufferable and I will not tolerate it.

Every time the track ends it pauses for a blissful, torturous teasing 30 seconds, only to start again. I just don't understand people these days. Goddamn stupid hipsters.

I'm back, fools.

It's come to my attention that it has been a month since my last post. This is unacceptable and unforgivable, really. My bad. So I am making you this vow to continue to update this thing. I will blog a little everyday. It shouldn't be that hard- I love to write- but somehow it has proven to be difficult.

I just got back from a week long trip to Baton Rouge. It was fun hanging with my friends and meeting my mother's new Boyfriend, James. It turns out he's cooler than I thought. He's funny, nice, chivalrous, paid for everything, and is taking my mom to Hawaii in February. He is quite the catch, so it seems. Though they all start out good in the beginning.

When I got back last night, Anthony came over with my Christmas presents. I wondered why, as it's not even December, but whatever. I opened them. It was a comforter and the "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia Christmas Special." I knew that's what he was giving me, as he told me that's what it was a week ago. I thought maybe it was a diversion, so I'd be really surprised when the real gift came. Nope. I think he wanted me to open them so early so we could use them right away. He doesn't like us fighting over my twin-size comforter and he loves "Always Sunny." Oh well. Maybe I'll tell him to give me a card so I can have something to open when he opens his gifts, which I will give to him as near to Christmas as possible.

Also, on a whim, I dyed my hair just now. It's supposed to be crayon red, but it's a towel drying, so I don't know how it turned out.

I have many stories to catch you up on, but I'm dying to see my hair, so I'm gonna bounce out now. Tomorrow, if not sooner, I'll will make another post. Scout's honor.

Mugshot Paradise

I think most unattractive people are guilty of crimes. Thankfully there is now a game where we can pick which crimes they committed. A mugshot pops up with three options of the crime, you have to pick the crime correctly- and quickly- to win. It's never what you think it is.

 

Enjoy!

http://www.guessthecrime.com/

I approve wire-tapping

I'm reading "All The President's Men" for my journalism class. We have to talk about how excellent the journalism is. But I must ask this:

Is it? Is it really so great? 

Sure, Woodward and Bernstein were dogged, intrepid reporters. They did their job well- asking anyone and everyone anything they wanted to know. They were ballsy and could sniff through bullshit. They followed their instincts. Basically they did everything a great journalist does, I get that.

But for what? Ok, I've gathered that the it's about the Watergate scandal. To my best understanding, this means that the Republicans' "Committee for Re-election" was sneakily wiretapping the Democrats' meetings and spying on them. Great espionage, until they got caught. 

I don't know if the mysterious tapes of Nixon are in this book- they weren't in the movie- and I've still got about half of the book to go. But what's so big about the tapes? They admitted that Nixon knew about the bugging, right? Then he got impeached (or maybe just wasn't re-elected, not sure).

Admittedly, I hate politics. They bore me to tears. I go more with my own feels than what the law says. So I don't get what the big deal is.

So the Republicans spied? Ok. So they had "secret" funds to support it. It's not like they robbed banks for that money. People gave it to them. Is it dirty to spy? Sure. Is it morally wrong? Maybe, probably.

But he was the president. I've never seen Frost/Nixon (though I want to), but I have seen the commercial where Nixon says "It's not illegal when the President does it," or something to that effect.

I agree. If the President does it, fine. As long as he's not running around with a gun shooting kids in a daycare, or something equally vile, then he can do what he wants. He'll do what's best for the country.

Unless it's Obama, of course, he shouldn't do whatever he wants.

Anyway, I just don't see what the big deal is. The Washington Post just seems like a bully, wrangling up trouble for no reason, sticking its nose where it doesn't belong and interfering with something that doesn't concern it.

This is what I understand: The whole Watergate scandal was the Republicans spying on the Dems. Nixon got impeached because he denied he authorized the taps, but it was found he had. Was it the denial that got him in trouble? I don't know.

All I know is:

A) It seems like a lot of wasted time on a mildly trivial subject.

B) Maybe I should've gone to see the duo speak when they were on campus last year.

C) It's one boring book, but Dustin Hoffman was attractively badass in the film.

Step aside Cain- this sister is taking your place

This is the first draft of a personal profile I have to write for Intermediate Magazine Writing. We have to turn in two ledes (yes, it's spelled that way, Idk why), then the editor picks her favorite. So in the final copy, there will only be one.

Lede 1:  Everyone who watches horror movies cringes when the naive person goes towards the scary noise instead of running in the opposite direction. Everyone scoffs and says they would never act that way; they’d be the hero of the movie instead of being the victim, obviously. I was one of those people. Of course I’d be a hero- who doesn’t want the fame and glory that comes with saving someone? I, however, learned that being the hero when faced with death is not so easy. It turns out I have too much to live for, too many things to do with my life. I can’t risk losing out on my great future by putting myself in harm’s way, even if that means saving myself instead of someone else- even if that someone else is my sister.

           

 

Lede 2:  I’d say that I’m a good big sister. I’ve offered Tracy, my younger sister, my sage wisdom on growing older. Usually its unsolicited advice and her response is to groan and roll her eyes, but the point is that I try to be there for her. I lend her my ear if she needs to vent about a boy who’s being annoying, or I’ll give her a ride if she needs one. I’ll even occasionally buy her lunch when we’re out.

            But, looking back, I realize that none of those actions subtract anything from my life. I’ll only give her a ride if she begs; I only buy her food if Mom gave me the money first; I only listen if I’m bored or the tale seems particularly juicy. The things I do for her aren’t really selfless at all, but then again, I’ve only been in a position where I’d have to be truly selfless once, and I failed that test, failed it miserably, I’d say.

           

 Actual story:

 

            When I was twelve and Tracy was nine, we were in our backyard playing Around The World, a game that involves shooting a basketball from various positions on the court. It was a fun way to wait out the few hours it would take my mom to get home from work. Tracy and I always chilled together after school when we were that age- whether it was having an adventure in a nearby creek bed or riding our bikes around the neighborhood- we were always together.

            So we were throwing the ball, I was winning I’m sure, when all of a sudden through a window I see a red shoulder walk by the backdoor. I freeze. The hair on my neck stands and I can’t move.

            “Tracy, someone’s in the house.”

            “Shut up, no there isn’t,” she says, fear on her face, trying to decide if I’m telling the truth or am just a big sister messing with her.

            “No, I swear, I saw somebody walk by.”

            We both stand still, not knowing what to do. She looks at me for guidance, I look back at her, wanting her to choose our next move. Then, together, we stare at the window in the door, waiting for someone to run through it with a knife. No one does.           

            “Well, maybe I was wrong,” I say, still unsure, but hopeful. “Must’ve been my imagination.”

            Tracy reluctantly agrees that it was and we go back to playing. We’re tense and nervous at first, but soon that disappears and we’re back to bantering and having a good time. I’m about to make an amazing shot, when all of a sudden Tracy lets out this piercing scream that would put the Wicked Witch of the West to shame.

            My head whips to the window, where Tracy’s looking, just in time to see a flash of red shoulder pass by. I drop the ball. Each bounce echoes on the concrete. Thud. Thud. Thud. The ball is the only thing that can move.

            Suddenly, something inside us snaps. Time unfreezes itself. We take off running. We round the corner, leading us straight down the long driveway that ends in a wrought iron gate that has the “beware of dog” sign dangling crookedly on it. Oh, why didn’t we get a dog to go with the sign? I ask myself, but it’s too late to wonder about that. Once we open the gate, we can escape to our neighbor, who is a cop, and everything will be copasetic.

            But, after breezing past the corner, I realize that something is off, something isn’t right. That’s when I notice Tracy is in front of me, meaning I’m closest to the killer. This is no good. I’m too young to die. Without thinking, I reach forward, grab my little sister’s shirt, and pull her back. I didn’t want her to get hurt, but I didn’t even see her as my sister anymore, I just saw her as something that was in my way of survival.

            Now that my view’s better- meaning no immediate obstacles- I relax a bit. I can make it to the gate. I can make it to freedom. Then I hear Tracy’s familiar scream, breaking through the blind determination in my mind. I stop, turn around and see that I had pulled her too hard, making her trip. She’s on the ground with skinned knees, hand outstretched to me. “Help, Jess! Help me!”

            Naturally, I run to her. Like I said, I didn’t want her to get hurt, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t the first one killed. I grab her sweaty, chubby hand; I’m about to help her up, when I hear the backdoor open.

            That primal fear grips me again. I don’t know why or how, but I drop her hand like it’s a tissue soaked in the H1N1 virus. I ignore her screams and tears, turn my back on the girl I have shared a room with; hugged when the fights between our divorcing parents got scary; read to when she couldn’t sleep; and run to the gate. Maybe I thought I’d get it open and come back for her, but I don’t think that’s true.

            I make it to the gate. My fingers work furiously, trying to get it open. “Oh please, please, let me live, I just wanna live!”  I pray while I shake the one thing keeping me from fulfilling my destiny, trying to convince the tricky lock to unhook.

            “Hey!” I hear. I release my grip. I turn and see the person in red is standing a few feet behind my sister.

            “Oh, hey,” I exhale in a wavering, relieved sigh/laugh combo. As it turns out, my mom had just left work early.

            I’ve had about nine years to reflect on this incident. Every now and then when I’m at a party and people want to be entertained, I’ll share it. I’m usually received with delightful laughs and an occasional reproachful face. The crowd that grows as I animatedly reenact the story always asks two questions: A) why did you have something to live for, but she didn’t? and B) Would you do the same thing again?

            The short answer for the first question is this: I’m destined for greatness. I’ve known this forever. It’s just in my gut. I’m going to be a best-selling novelist someday; it’s almost a guarantee. I’m sure Tracy has lots of goals, too, but they’re second to mine. People laugh scornfully when I say this “what a bravado you put on,” they say, but I assure them that while it may seem like I’m faking my confidence, I really, really do believe that I’m destined for great things, and if Tracy were too, fate wouldn’t have let her trip. But maybe I’m just young and naive and can’t fathom the idea that something someday won’t go my way.           

            The second question is a little trickier. Sure, I like to say that if I had a do-over, I’d pick Tracy up and toss her over the fence, leaving me to battle the evildoer. Honestly, though, I imagine things would play out in much the same way. Since her elementary school days, however, she’s joined the track team and has become quite the fitness guru. She’d beat me in a footrace, so I’d have to think of a more creative way to sabotage my sister’s survival in order to preserve mine.

            Hopefully I’m not put in this situation again, but if I am, I’ll make a New York Times Best-Seller novel about it. I’ll make her the hero, of course, who died while valiantly saving the big sister she idolized.

If you have any tips/comments I'd appreciate them!

Rape's funny

I went to a comedy show Tuesday night. It was free and very entertaining. I laughed throughout most of it, but I also couldn't feel my face during much of that time, so my comedic sense may have been off.

But, one thing a guy said that made me both laugh and think is this: you can never say "I'm not gonna rape you" and have it be an ok, uncreepy thing to say. No matter where you put the emphasis, it's always going to scare the person you're talking to.

-I'm not gonna rape you. (that guy is)
-I'm not gonna rape you. (I'm just going to kill you)
-I'm not gonna rape you. (I already did)
-I'm not gonna rape you. (You want this)
-I'm not gonna rape you. (I'm raping your dad)

I pondered this and laughed. I wonder what I'd do if someone said that to me. I'd probably giggle uncomfortably and shrug my shoulders.

On another note, that same night, I ran into a friend of mine. When it came time to introduce her to Anthony, I said "Caroline, this is my..(lengthy pause)... Anthony." I still couldn't use that dreaded b-word.

We talked about it on the way home. It sounded like he was something I'd just picked up at the store. So now I've figured out what I feel comfortable calling him:

"Hell0, this is Anthony, my collector's item."

That'll make a person feel nice, right?

boyfriend- what a weird word

This last weekend was very a fun one. Friday night, Anthony and I met up with Nathan and some of his co-workers at this bar/pub called "The Deuce Pub and Pit". I was afraid to go for two reasons:

A) I feared it would be really fratty, which is not my ideal.
B) I wanted Anthony and Nathan to get along, and I was afraid they wouldn't.

But everything went smoothly. I started the night there by doing a tequilla shot, it was disgusting, though the people who took them agreed it was a very good kind. If what I had was very good I can't imagine what the cheap stuff tastes like. Yuck. After that, I sipped on vodka Sprites throughout the evening.

I got to do something I've always wanted to- play washers! It was so fun, like a weird version of horseshoes. Anthony and I were a team. I was great and carried us through-out the game. I kept nailing them. Anthony was not as good as me, but he did manage to get it in the hole, winning us three points, which was impressive.

After that bar, we went to the Penguin Bar, which is a piano bar. It was fun. We ran into Kirsten and doug, during which Kirsten asked me if Anthony was my boyfriend, a friend, or what. I didn't know what to say, so I just said he was a guy I knew and shrugged.

But that got me thinking: what were we? Where did we stand? So later that night, I asked him. We decided that we were indeed exclusive, but to make it really official, I told him, we had to make it known on Facebook. He agreed (of course, as if he could say 'no').

So now we're boyfriend/girlfriend. It has a weird ring to it. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. What a weird sounding word- boooyfrrrriend. It sounds too mature for me. I'd rather call him dude. or lover. or my manfriend, or maybe even my boo.

I guess I'll get used to boyfriend.

Give me my praise!

I'd been looking forward to Tuesday for some time. It was going to be my day. Praise was going to rain upon me and I was going to shine. I was ready.

Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Tuesday was the day I got to hear feedback from my fellow Advanced Fiction Writing classmates. I'd turned in a story last week and had patiently waited for Tuesday, my day.

The story I wrote wasn't the one I intended to write. I'd gotten sick and just didn't feel up to writing. The day before the story was due, I was like "damn, I have to turn in something tomorrow." So I wrote. It was a 13 page (short for me, my average tale is 20 pages) magical realsim story. It was wonderfully written. The writing itself was great, the backstory needed work, but the writing was great.

I knew this. Maybe I'm cocky/confident, but that's because I have the right to be. I just know that I am talented.

Anyway, I literally thought the room would errupt into cheers when I walked in.

"I'm so jealous of you!"
"Where do you come up with these things?"
"Can I be you?"
"You're great!"
"God's smiling on you!"
"Can I be you for a day?"
"Hooray Jess! Hooray Jess!"

That's just a sampeling of a few things I expected to hear. In one scenario I actually believed they'd throw me on their shoulders and exalt me.

What happened was this:

I get to class. No one says 'hello' to me. I was a bit disconcerted. The teacher comes in, we go over business, and then she decides we're going to critique Scott's story, he turned one in on the same day I did.

The class is 2.5 hours long. We spend 45 mins talking about his story. I wasn't a huge fan of it. We told him things he could change and how he could make it better- for the whole 45 mins. I was nice and told him some things I liked about it, though.

So after we're done with his, Marly, the teacher, says it's time to talk about my story. Yay! The time I've been dreaming about. It is finally here.

We spend a whopping 10 mins talking about it. They talked about how it needs more backstory. No one said good things about it. It was 10 mins of negative talk. I wasn't offended- I knew it needed more. But I wanted someone to say something positive about it. Tell me how great my style is.

When those measly 10 mins were up, I almost yelled and shrieked and told them it was my turn to shine! They needed to bestow me with praise! Instead I said nothing.

Later that day I went to the park and read their written critiques.

Everyone loved it. They said my style was great, it was funny and tragic, it flowed, blah blah blah. It was nice reading that, obviously, but it would've been better to hear it.

In case I haven't made it obvious enough, I know I'm a great fiction writer. I don't need people to tell me so to know it, but sometimes you just want to hear it. I wanted 45 minutes of praise and adulation and there's nothing wrong with that.

I guess, realistically, great writing speaks for itself, so you don't need to spend a lot of time dwelling on it.

My mom says I need to rewatch "A Christmas Story". She says there's a scene in a classroom I'd really relate to.

"Kudos, Jess, you're awesome!"

The most unfortunate condition

Undressing a man for the first time is a very special, fun moment. It's full of excitement and promise. You try not to think about what he keeps in his pants, but you just know it's going to be something huge. You, after all, wouldn't pick up a shrimp at a bar. You have an eye for this sort of thing.

Finally, after hurrying through dinner, giving off random facts about yourself to make it seem like you actually care, you and your man are back at his apartment (you'd rather be there so you can get away as soon as you're through).  You're kissing him and everything is great. You're now on the bed and things are progressing as they should. Finally, it's time. You get to unwrap the present and see the 9 inch wonder God has put into your life. This is it. He pulls off his boxer briefs...

And you squint? Where is it? This is a joke, right? You peer closer, thinking maybe the darkness is messing with you. Then you see it. It's the saddest thing you've ever seen. The lack of its presence makes you want to cry, or at least get up and leave.

Think of how he feels, knowing he's got nothing. Hopefully he's adept with his other appendages, if not, it's just sad. 

This scenario breaks my heart more than anything in the world. Forget AIDS and cancer, this is a medical condition that needs attention. Every lady can imagine the sadness this situation can bring. 

It's like that Christmas where you were expecting to get a Game Cube but your mom misunderstood you and got you a Rubic's Cube. It just isn't the same.

So until we find an easy cure for this unfortunate condition, maybe guys should have to wear their length on their forehead.

*The link I am about to post is graphic. It's the clinical description of this disease with photos. It needs to be seen.*

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Micropenis

P.S- nothing in my current life inspired this. It's just a cause I'm fascinated by.

Predicament

I've decided that I have to get out of Columbia, like now. It's a fun place and I have friends, but i am in desperate need for a change of scenery. Now that Vox is done and Subway is closed for remodeling, I have nothing to do. Nothing. Many of the people I know haven't come back for school yet, and the ones that are here work a lot. Anthony is in indiana, so here I am, all by my lonesome. Literally, today, I put a Hershey bar in the microwave- still in the wrapper- for roughly 40 seconds until was melted. Then I cut a corner off, grabbed my laptop, hopped in bed and watched "30 Rock" while I sucked the chocolate out. I did all this naked. Yes, my life has come to this.

So I've decided to go home. I need a vacay. I've been here since last August- that's a year! That's the longest amount of time I've ever stayed in one state and it's making me anxious/antsy.

So the predicament is this: when do I come home? I have a work meeting Thursday at 2, which I'm hoping will be done around 3. If I leave at 3, then I won't get home till around 3 AM. I prefer driving at night, but it means I'll have to stop at creepy gas stations all by myself in the wee hours of the morning. That scares me. But I can't live in fear. My mom said I could stop at a hotel, but I'd feel like a pus if I did that.

I could instead leave early Friday morning. I'll be well rested and ready to drive. But then I'll be losing a day of home time.

At the current moment, due to my stir-craziness, I'm thinking I'll leave Thursday after work.

Still Alive

It's been a long time since I've posted anything. 

Though I haven't written anything new, that doesn't mean nothing's been happening in my life. Quite the contrary, actually. Here is a list of things I've been up to:

1) A few weeks ago I taught myself to play the guitar.  I can even play the chorus from "My Heart Will Go On." I went to the fair with this guy, Anthony, and he won me a guitar at a bb-gun game. Very impressive. So that was nice. I also got to pet a hog while I was there. Its skin felt like human skin. I didn't know how to feel about that, but it did grunt when I scratched its ear, and I was flattered.

At the fair, I was thisclose to competing in a Figure 8 race with some junkyard cars. It's where you drive old cars in a figure 8 pattern and crash. They announced a Powder Puff race, in which females in the audience could sign up, I reluctantly jumped at the chance. I found a nice boy who was willing to lend me his car, and even got him to let Anthony ride shotgun. Unfortunately, when it came time to race, all the other cars were "busted" so I'd be the only one on the track. We think they just didn't want girls driving.

2) I've gone to an Absinthe party, which is where my friends and I got together and  drank Absinthe. It tastes so gross. Like pure licorice- the black kind, not the yummy Twizzler variety. Though I saw no green fairies, it was still a very fun evening.

3) I've said goodbye to three friends. Ameena and Ben left for Syracuse. Catherine left for (hopefully) Washington D.C.

4) I am officially done with Vox, thank God. While it was fun, I am more than ready to turn in my Steno pad.

5) I've started working at Subway. It's really not a bad job, kind of fun, actually. It's busy (usually) and keeps me on my toes, which I like.

Overall, life has been going very well, scholastically and socially. I'll try to be a better Blogger from now on.

my octogenarian hottie

This is the old guy that I met that night I peed on my work.

http://jesscamp.blogspot.com/2009/06/part-one-meeting-gramps.html

(Attempted) dirty girl

I decided to take a "me night" tonight. This means that I decided to stay in for the evening and focus on myself. So I watched the first 3 episodes of "6 Feet Under" and I loved it. I could've done without the man-on-man make-out sessions, though. I don't care if you're gay, whatever, there's just something gross about watching two guys kiss. On the other hand, I don't mind watching women kiss. Whatever.

Afterwards I drove around town to relax and listen to music. It was nice. When I got back I watched "Wild Things" and I enjoyed it. I didn't see some of the twists coming, so I was impressed. Matt Dillion is yummy.

After that, I realized that I was feeling lonely but pretty. I'm still feeling very pretty- my hair is swept in just the right way. Anyway, I was on my computer, looking hot, so I decided to do something that would make me feel hot.

I decided to visit a chat room- something I hadn't done since middle school. I typed "sexy chat room" into google and bravely clicked on one of the first sites. The hard part was creating the perfect screen name. I didn't want to be too suggestive, yet I didn't want to seem unappealing, either. I also needed to let prospective suitors know I was female. I chose "CrazyLady".

I stretched back, giggled, and nervously entered the room. It was like throwing chum in shark-infested waters. The men came to me in droves. At least 10 sent me personal messages and tried to chat me up. It was overwhelming. I wanted to talk with all of them, because that's the kind of girl I am. 

One guy wrote "you wanna chat with an older man?" "Older is appealing, how old?" "51... too old?" "No such thing," I wrote back. 

I switched to another convo with some dude. Things were going well until he asked me if I had a facebook. I told him I did, but that I wouldn't give him my full name, that'd be weird. But then he was like "we could look at each other as we feel ourselves." I didn't write back.

I just kept getting message after message. Some were very x-rated (which were grossly shocking) and some were so innocent that I was turned off by their timidness. It was just a lot to take in.

Another guy, right off the bat asked if I liked it rough and hard. I decided this was my chance to take advantage of this situation. I wrote, "I do. Do you like it wet and tight?" So crude, I know. Right after I typed that in I started screaming "I can't do this! I can't do this! I just can't!" and I slammed my computer shut. I really did yell it. I probably woke the neighbors. Then I got up and paced the room, laughing uncontrollably. 

I don't know why I found it to be so difficult. I can say dirty words, and write sex scenes that I make my classmates in Fiction Creative Writing read, but typing them to pervy strangers is weird. After I got off (of the computer, to clarify) I stared at myself in the mirror, making sultry faces. It's what I do.

Maybe if I try it again I'll come up with a new life for myself. Maybe I'll be a hobo using the computer's library. I think I'll also sip on some wine to class it up.

A convo with Mom

A conversation between my mom and I, yesterday.

-Hey.

-Can't talk, watching Blart.

*dial tone*

A little later.

-Hey Jess.

-What's up?

-Calling you back.

-Right, do you think vampires are real?

-What?

-Vampires. Real or not?

-Not.

-But if they were, would God love them? Would they be his creatures or Satan's messengers?

-It doesn't matter.

-It does.

-They're not real.

-Mom, listen to this. I bet Native Americans didn't believe that Brits were real. Until one day they just showed up and killed them all. Vampires are our Brits.

*pause... lots of laughter...*

-Mom, stop laughing.

-I can't.

-It makes you think.

-No. It's not the same at all. The indians didn't think about the British at all.

-You're wrong. I bet one was floating around the ocean when an indian spotted him on the horizon. He ran and told his elders about the freakly pale Brit in the distance. His chief called him dumb and told him not to believe in Brits.

-Good try Jess.

-Fine, here's a more realistic scenario. One lonely Indian is pondering the meaning of death. He tells his elder, "Chief, I bet one day a big disease could kill us all, we should be prepared." "Silly Squanto, Nature doesn't have things like that. Go back to painting your face." Then what happens, Mom?

-What?

-Small Pox hits. They all die. Small Pox is our vampire.

-Ok.

-It could happen. I bet it is already.

- I gotta go. bye.

*Dial tone*

The Line-Up (add on to previous post)

Here is a link to the current list of interns. She is on there. I won't say her name, but maybe you should look at the photos and see if you can guess who I wouldn't get along with. Maybe she incites rage in everyone. Disregard my photo, though, I look like a man.

http://missourireview.com/main_info/staff.php

This Consuming Hate

I get so filled with hate sometimes. It's awful, really, and this rage happens for really no reason. 

There's this girl who i intern with at the literary journal who just makes me want to drown babies. The first time I laid eyes on her, I was just filled with disgust. I was just like, "ugh, really? You're here? Quit making eye-contact with me, bitch." I hate the b-word, so for me to even think it shows my distaste for this person.

When she returns stories that I've passed to her with condescending negative comments scrawled on the back, I just want to cover her body in papercuts with the manuscript. I've been interning longer than she. When I return a manuscript she gave to me, saying it sucks, she clucks like a chicken and hee-haws like a donkey and passes it to someone else for another opinion. When other people do this, it's no biggie. When I do it to her, it's because I have taste. But when she does it to me, I just want to grab her by her ugly strands of hair, stick them in an industrial fan and see what happens.

I don't know why I let her get to me. I see her smiling and chatting with the higher-ups and it pisses me off. She's always taking extra workloads and all I can think is "you goddamned suckup. You're never going to get higher than an intern  here, so quit it... jerk."

I'm sure she's a lovely lady with lovely friends and a caring family, but fuck all that. I hate her. She speaks up during the class portion of the internship, speaking on the behalf of those who can't articulate what they want to say. You're not a mediator, so let someone flounder in their words. You're just a person past her prime who's trying to get back a life she lost.

One Liners

-I almost got in a head-on collision today. I didn't, though, just almost.

-I pimped myself out on Twitter by tweeting a video of Andy milonakis that I never watched in hopes that he'd promote my blog- he didn't.

-I hissed in the mirror vampire-style today.

-I payed my parking tickets- all $85 worth of them.

-I rocked my Gap interview.

-I picked up a Vox story about ways to cook Road Kill.

-I'm broker than broke.

-I won a free party for 16 to the local comedy club, it's my 3rd time winning.

-I hit up the Sonic for Happy Hour.

- I plan on staying in all week (minus fri-sat) in an effort to get stuff done.

-I got hired to house-sit in October.

-When my sis asked why I had so many tickets I told her "I don't have a parking spot and it's not like I can carry the car on my back all day."

-I saw MJ's ghost.

-I read that Panic At The Disco split.

-I thought about punching multiple people.

-I watched a lot of True Blood.

-I wallowed in self-pity about money issues.

-I found out Tracy gets to go to college for free, which is nice.

-I'm now friends with my cousin and aunt on facebook.

-I decided that I really do believe in vampires and that they'd make the best boyfriends and that I'm going to make a separate post to defend this statement in the future.

Live on the edge, it's ok.

Yesterday was America's birthday- one of my favorite holidays. I love fireworks. They are mystical and pretty. I am both terrified and turned on by fire, so this holiday was really designed with me in mind.

We started out the evening by going to Les Bougeouis to listen to some live music, eat bbq, and look at the Missouri river. It was nice, but I was quiet because I had nothing to say. I wasn't in the mood to make fake banter. So people kept looking at me and asking me "what's wrong? You're not peppy." That was driving me wild- and not in a good way. But after I snapped and yelled "You're making me not ok!" they sort of backed off.

After that, we all went to Ameena's apartment to pick up my fireworks and to meet up with Ben and Anthony. Then we went to Cooper's Landing to shoot them off. Sadly it started raining when we got there, so Anthony thought it'd be a good idea to go to some elementary school's parking lot to shoot them off (it wasn't raining inside Columbia, C Landing is out of the county, I think).

We roll up to the lot, to see a sign that had been posted by the police, saying that shooting fireworks was prohibited. 

"Damn, now I don't know what to do."- Anthony

"What do you mean?"- me

"We can't shoot them here, I don't know what to do."

"Why can't we do it here?"

"The sign, Jess, the sign."

"It's just a sign, fuck it."

"No, that sign is enforceable."

I muttered, "I guess it's going to arrest you?" he didn't hear, I don' think.

I was shocked that everyone cared about the dumb sign. It's just a sign. I told them that if- and it was a big "if"- we got caught, they would only take our fireworks and not lock us up. As I was the only one in that car who had bought fireworks, I was the only one who had something to fear. And I wasn't so no one else should have been.

I was genuinely surprised by the fear that a measly sign can elicit. If you live a safe life, chances are that you'll live an unfulfilled life. I like my friends a lot, don't get me wrong, but sometimes it's fun to break the rules. It's boring always having to be a "good" person or do the "right" thing. 

I'm also surprised by how many people are afraid to try to get drinks when they're underage. If you use your real ID, you won't get in trouble. Of course, if the cops raided and busted you with a drink you would, but that's what makes it fun. It's fun to see if the waiter card's you and if he does, it's cool to see if he'll actually look at your birthdate or not.

I wasn't always so good at it. I once ordered a drink, and when the waitress asked for my ID I giggled uncomfortably and said "oh, I'm sorry, I tried to trick you, I didn't really think you'd ask, I'll just have a water, I'm so sorry."

But other nights, I just strolled up to a bar and asked for a drink and didn't get carded. I've even gone to the bar with a big stamp on my hand for being underage and still have them serve me. I even did that once when the police were around, pulling people out. That may not have been my smartest moment, but it was one of my most thrilling.

Sadly, now that I'm 21, I can't get this rush anymore. So now I try to get it by accumulating a lot of unpaid parking tickets. 

Anyway, we ended up finding some random street around a new subdivision to shoot them off at. It was fun and secluded. I had a great time.

What I'm saying is, it's fun to live on the edge- even if that means ignoring a stupid, irrelevant, unintimidating sign. 

Jesse + Me = Fun

This has been a good week away from Vox. I really should've worked a little on the story I'm writing, but I didn't feel like it, so I didn't. If the editors get a break, then I deserve one too.

Instead, I went home with my home girl Catherine. It was wonderful! She's from Excelsior Springs, which is a suburbish area of Kansas City. It's a rural place. I was in heaven! There were fireflies galore. Do they even have those in Baton Rouge? I don't remember.

When we rolled up to her house, we were treated like queens. Her mom (Karen) and stepdad (Mark) prepared nice burgers and fries for us. They took us on a tour of the woods they have in their backyard and showed me all of the flowers they grew. Karen even gave me a walking stick. I felt very regal.

The next day, Mark, Catherine and I went to Kearney, MO to see Jesse James' house! It was so exciting. I am obsessed with that era of history. Honestly, though, I prefer Robert Ford to Jesse- he was not a coward. He was a hero and it's a shame that he's been reviled in history.

Anyway, the house was small but nice. I learned a lot about the history and I just  loved that I got to walk where he walked and touch what he touched. 

I knew that his mom's name was Zerelda as was his wife's. I thought they had hideous names, but maybe that was just common back then. Nope- he married his first cousin, who was named after his mother. Isn't that gross. Maybe, maybe, I could marry a cousin, but if he were named after my dad? No way! Ugh!

We also went to his grave. It was neat to touch the headstone. I feel like I may have been him in my past life. We do have the same name (kind of) so there's that.

Later that night, her mom once again cooked us dinner. It was nice to be in that sort of environment. We then went to The Melting Pot for dessert. It was wonderful. We had the Yin Yang and enjoyed pleasant conversation.

I hope to go back again soon.

Hypnosis

I just watched the first two episodes of Tru Blood. I think it's fair to say that I am obsessed. I love the accents of the people and find them to be fairly accurate. True, people in Baton Rouge usually don't have accents that extreme, but in the more rural areas there are totally people who sound like that.

I should like Sam, the bartender, because he is cute and caring.  But when I think of those things I only hear "pussy", which isn't too appealing.

So we move onto the vampire, Bill. He's the one to be with. Here's the kind of math I like to do: 

forbidden + mysterious + dangerous + protective = Perfection. 

I am only two episodes in, so my opinion is subject to change, but as of now, I think my lust will only get stronger.

I know that vamps can seduce people with only their eyes, but I don't think it's just them. I think if you're attractive (or not) you can still use your stare as your charm. The best way to disarm someone is to look them in their eyes and not say anything. You have to do this perfectly, though, there's a thin line between being an eye-raping creeper and a confident stud/temptress.

I use this on my sources sometimes, when I want them to keep talking, and it often works.

So today I've been trying to use the gaze for more personal reasons. I've been staring at myself in the mirror, fluctuating intensities, trying to figure out what is the most seductive. But mostly, I just find that if I stare too long it makes me seem like I only have one eye and this makes me giggle. Or else I discover that I really need to pluck my eyebrows. That's not what I want my victim to think about when I've got him in my grip.

So, I've decided to practice it on innocent people to get their response. Until then, I'm using it on spoons, chairs, stuffed animals, posters, dvd covers, computers, water fountains- anything I can look at gets the gaze.

I'll report back with my findings.

Past, Present or Future: who are you?

I had a wonderful dream. This post is going to be about said dream, despite what Dennis thinks about other people's dreams. He says that if he's not in them or somebody's not having sex in it, he doesn't want to hear it. I tend to agree. But, as this is my blog, I'm going to write about my dream.

I remember sitting at a lunch table between two guys. The one on my left side was apparently my boyfriend, who we'll call Joe. The one on my right was a stud-muffin who wanted me. We'll call him Chuck (I didn't recognize either of the two, but I have always been obsessed with the name 'Chuck' so we'll call him that).

So I'm sitting next to my bf when Chuck leans in and whispers "so have you told him yet?"
I giggle, "Nope."
"Want me to?"
"Not at all."
"Ok, then I'm going to make this uncomfortable for you."
"Go ahead and try."

Then, under the table he puts his hand on my knee and starts caressing it. I giggle.

Joe, who was absorbed in the sandwich he was eating, turns and looks at me and says "What's funny, what'd I miss?"
"I don't know Joe, can't a girl laugh?"
"I guess."
He goes back to eating his food. I elbow Chuck in his side, "stop it, we can't do this."
"It looks like we already are."

With that I stand to take my leave. "Hey Joe, I gotta go. I'll catch ya later, though."
"Ok, bye. Kiss?"
"No time."

I'm exiting when I feel a hand on my lower back, to discover that Chuck has followed me. Throughout the dream, whenever he and I are walking together, he is guiding me with his hand on the small of my back. I loved it very much.

"Chuck we are so bad." We stop in the hallway and gaze into each other's eyes. His are brown with blackish hair and scruff, like he hasn't shaven in a few days. Though we're in a high school, we're actually in our 20s. He looks so familiar, but I can't place him. "You want to make-out with me now, don't you?" he asks. "You cocky bastard... yes, I do," I say, but then the person narrating the dream says "Who are you?"

I wake up, and say aloud "who is he who is he who is he?" To which I answer "a dream guy." "No, he's real." "Can't you concentrate on the message of the dream instead of the dude?" "How can I do that? I have to know who he is." "So be it." And yes, all of that was spoken aloud by myself.

I fall back asleep. This time we're looking at a ship.
"Wanna get on my boat?" he asks.
"That's yours?"
"Sure."
We hop on. Then we see this huge Titanic size boat in the distance.
"Omg, omg! Look, another boat! No one ever uses this port," I scream, excitedly.
"They must've heard we were here and decided to come," Chuck said.

But then, when they got close, the ocean opened up and swallowed them. This caused our boat to rock and I flew out into the water. I panically started to swim, knowing I would die. I go under, but then I find some extra energy inside of myself and I kick extra hard, making it to the boat and climb inside.

"Haha, you're all wet," Chuck said.
"Shut up and give me your phone, we have to call 9-1-1."
"Do we?"
"Yes, I'm not going to die out here, goddamn you." I take his phone and call for help. After a while, some scantilly clad nurses arrive. But they just stand in the water, staring at us.

"Aren't you going to help us?" Chuck asks.
"Got your blood test results?" One of the blondes ask.
"What?"
"You have to prove that you're important enough to be saved, with your blood."
"This is rediculous!" I yell.
"Wait Jess, look. They're standing in the water- it's only going to their knees."
"So?"
"So, it means we can jump."
"What? I don't wanna jump!"
"Trust me," he says, grabbing my hand. Together we leap from the boat and land on the shore.
"Well I feel silly now," I say.

There's mayhem and people are running everywhere. He places his hand where he always does and says, "c'mon, let's get out of here." We walk for a while until we end up at a press conference for Venus and Serena Williams. We sit down and listen to the ladies talk, except they're not talkng about tennis. They've turned into the Sue Johanson and are talking dirty.

Chuck and I cuddle as we watch.
"How did we meet, Chuck?"
"Have you told Joe yet?"
"I left him a voicemail. But, like, how long have we known each other, I can't remember for some reason." Then he looks me in the eye and says the line he used a lot throughout the dream, "You want to make out we me right now, don't you?"
"It makes me feel awkward when you say that. You make me feel needy."
"I can't make you feel anything. Let's get out of here." I let him pull me away, and then I wake up.

I have the same conversation with myself that I did earlier. I know that I know him in real life, but I just don't know who he is. Then I go back to sleep to find out.

For some reason he and I- among other people- are hanging out in a public restroom. We're just chillin when all of a sudden this madwoman with a tommygun busts in. Chuck and I dive into the nearest stall, lock the door and cling to each other.

The lady struts around, shooting every stall. But for some reason, she skips ours. I hear her leaving, but I am pissed that she skipped us. So, before I can be stopped, I fling myself out of the stall. I raise my hands above my head.

"Stop!" She does. "Don't shoot me, just please don't shoot me."
"Why did you come out?"
"Do you like cake? I bet so. I just want a cookie." That doesn't even make any sense.
"Cake's okay. I'm going to the grocery store after I finish up here, maybe I'll get some."
"Get me some cookie dough while you're there and I'll make us cookies."
"Ok," she says and then turns to leave. I exhale loudly. Then she angrily turns around and shoves the gun in my forehead. "But you're awfully stupid." I say nothing. She chuckles and leaves.

Then I go back into the stall- "oh Chuck, I almost got my fucking face blown-off. My face!"
"You're so bad, so crazy, so bad, so crazy," he chants.
"I know, I know!" I say, over and over, relieved to not be dead.

He's holding my cheeks and we're looking into each other's eyes this whole time, much like the scene in Titanic when Rose and Jack reunite after she's jumped off the lifeboat. Finally we do kiss and it is wonderful.

I wake up. There's a lot I'm leaving out, but I still can't place him. I just know that he's very familiar and I feel like I know him. My friend Sarah says that I knew him in a past life. Maybe so, but I hope he's either in my present or very near future. I just remember that in my dream he was very intense. He was controling when he had to be and submissive when I wanted him to be. He was perfect and I hope he's real.

This entry is just for my record, so I don't forget.

The Crustacean Game

I have this game I like to play in the shower, which I like to call "Lobsty". It's where I pretend that I am a lobster. I have always wondered what it feels like to be boiled alive. Can you imagine it? It would be horrible. Probably because of this fear I hate hot liquids. I don't like them on my face, anyway (insert jokes now please). I wait for my hot chocolate to get cold before I drink it. Coffee and tea creep me out.

Now, I have never personally cooked a shellfish before, but I have heard that you have to put the creature in a cold pot and let it slowly warm up, or else he'll just jump out. I thought this was an interesting observation on the mentality of such a creature. I didn't know they could even jump, but I'm interested in discovering all of their unknown talents.

Anyway, this philosophy applies to me too. If I'm taking a bath and the water's too hot, I can't get in. But once I hope in a lukewarm bath I turn the cold water off and let myself relax in the near-scalding water.

But back to Lobsty. I like to let the shower rain on my back at a medium temperature. Then, I slowly decrease the amount of cold water that comes out. Everything is fine, I can take it, until suddenly it hits me that I'm in bright red pain. Then I snap awake and come to my senses- this is not how I should be playing with myself in the shower. 

I make the water go to a more comfortable temp and go back to thinking about things. There's not going to be an insightful concluding paragraph for this entry.

My bush

This is the bush that served as my restroom that night of great decisions.

My one taboo subject

I consider myself to be a very open person, when it comes to certain things, anyway. I'll talk about anything, except for my feelings, ugh, I like to pretend I have none, which isn't always the case, but in many cases I really am as apathetic as I claim to be. 

There is one thing, however, that I won't talk about. That is politics. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. Most of the people I've hung out with have always been liberal. Outspoken (the worst kind) liberals. Normally I just nod and smile when they talk or mutter something under my breath or maybe I let out a contemptuous laugh. Most of the time, though, I don't argue. There's no point. I won't change their mind and they won't change mine.

Also, I tend to look stupid when I attempt to argue about politics. I don't know the names of policies, of many leaders and I can't locate a lot of countries. But that's not really why I don't like to talk about it. Most libs think with their emotions and not with their heads, so then they try to twist me into being some sort of a monster.

Or what's worse is when they condescend to me. "oh, Jess, you'll learn some day." "Oh, you poor, misguided thing." Stuff like that makes me seethe. You're the misguided one. Most young people start out Democrats and then realize the error of their ways and switch to the conservative side when they have a family they want to protect. I'm just ahead of the curve.

I took a test on Facebook today to see what kind of Republican I am and it said I was a "Libertarian Republican". I think that's pretty good. It said I like my government to have little interference when it comes to guns, drugs and taxes.

That's true for the most part. Everyone should own a gun. I wouldn't pick a fight with someone if I thought they were packing. 

I think marijuana should be legal. If we taxed it we could make a bundle and get out of this Obama induced recession ASAP. 

I'm iffy on taxes. I don't think the rich should be taxed more than the poor. It should be a flat rate of like 10% (or whatever the going rate is, I don't know). I feel like the government needs this money to spend on National Defense. Not everyone is created equal. If I were to sneak into Mexico I wouldn't expect to be treated like a Mexican- let's be honest, I'd expect to be treated better, I am an American after all. So that was a bad example. If I snuck into France and tried to take their jobs and leech off their system, then they'd have every right to chase me out with their Minute Men. But if I went through the right procedures and became a legal French citizen then it'd be a different matter.

I'm pro-abortion, despite Horton Hears A Who's attempt to sway me. When I was younger I was very anti-abortion, but now the thought of having a fertilized thing in me makes me want to rollerblade down some stairs.

I think burning the flag should be illegal. It's disgraceful and unpatriotic. I think the Confederate flag is part of the South's heritage and should be waved. 

I'm pro-death penalty, but I think it's not harsh enough. I think if you tortured your victims then you should be tortured. I don't think of prison as rehabilitation but as punishment.

I believe in preemptive attacks. If someone has nukes and we think they'll use them then it's time to take them out. It's better to be safe than sorry. I think the people in the military are noble and brave.

I'm torn about sex-ed. I think abstinence should be taught, but it'd be ignorant to not teach about condoms. But if you teach both, it's like saying "don't smoke weed, but if you do, use a bong because it's better." I guess abstinence is the way to go.

I'm very pro-Patriot Act. I don't like Affirmative Action. I don't have an opinion on national healthcare. I can't talk about the gays. Global Warming is a lie meant to distract from the real issues. I don't like Welfare. Animals shouldn't really have rights (pro-abortion but anti-fur wearing? Doesn't make sense). Michael Moore, Al Gore and Sean Penn need new hobbies (though Penn can keep acting).

Though I didn't vote for the President we have now, I won't badmouth him (unless I feel ganged-up on), it's unpatriotic to do so. The people who talked smack about Bush are rude, naiive, and did so because it was the "in" thing to do, or else lack respect. I hate when I see mean bumper stickers. One of my best friends has one that says "When Clinton Lied Nobody Died," ugh.

Also, I hate it when Democrats claim to be open and loving of everyone. That's so not true. The most judgmental people I've known have been Dems. Maybe because they seem to be the majority they think they can say whatever they want and call conservatives mean names and be big bullies. Conservatives have to slink in the shadows, because once we're found out things change. Suddenly we're thought less of and have people trying to convert us to the left.

A lot of the liberals that I know are blinded by their convictions and stubbornly refuse to consider that maybe they're wrong. Maybe the hipster thing isn't always right. I guess that by wearing supportive t-shirts that have only a vague, mildly inspiring quote on them gives the wearers power, like some sort of cult.

I'm sure there are issues I'm missing. But this is my political rant that I thought would never happen.

move over sidewalk book sales

Lots of places have sidewalk sales- bookstores, clothing stores, crack dens- many businesses operate on the street.

But there is one type that you'll never see having a sidewalk sale and that is the business of death. You'll never see a casket sidewalk sale. This saddens me. America has always been prudish about sex, but must we be so about death as well? I should hope not.

I called my dad, who is a mortician, to tell him my fabulous idea.

"Dad, tell Goldy that I have a super business plan for him."

"Dear God, what is it Jess?"

"Simple, a casket sidewalk sale."

"What?"

"Well, have you ever seen one?"

"Ya know, what? I haven't..."

"Well listen to this and I think you'll set up your outdoor shop tomorrow."

"You've got my ear, Jess."

This is the plan I told him:

You set up a line of your best coffins. You get models to lay in them and make them look fashionable. You can even have "napping caskets" where the general public can lay down and see how it is. "We can even add a hole to make it cold to keep the people comfortable," Dad interrupted. You can also have them lay in the back of the hearse to see what that experience is like.

"Wait a minute, Jess, that won't work. They can't just lay in the back... I guess we could let them lay in a closed casket in the back."

"Sure. Or you can cover them with a sheet and strap 'em to a gurney like it's a fresh pick-up."

Dad laughs, "Oh that's good, that's great."

"Yes, but I'm not done."

I continued: 

You can also lay down a big tarp that has a big bulls-eye in the middle. Then you have a bunch of urns with different colored ashes inside. 

"Human ashes?"

"they can be the unclaimed hobos if you want. Or dogs. Or just soot, whatever. Anyway..."

You let people grab one and throw its contents into the air. Whichever color fills the bulls-eye the most is the expert ash scatterer. If it's not windy you can use fans. It's a family-filled activity that cultivates a skill which may be useful in their near future.

"I don't know about this, Jess."

"You haven't heard it all."

"What else is there?"

"This next idea is mostly for the kids- they need fun too."

"Of course."

"You give the kids Ping-Pong balls and whoever makes it into the urn wins a dead goldfish. Or you could have 'Pick the Flower Arrangement,' which is where-"

"Enough Jess!"

"What?"

"I know you think this is a good idea, but Goldy will never go for it."

"You don't think?"

"No, I don't. It sounds hilarious to me, Peanut, but it ain't going to happen."

"What if I pitch it myself?"

"let it go."

"Will you give civilians the free hearse ride if they want it?"

"I'll think about it."

*** One time my dad's car broke down and we had to use a hearse. It only has one passenger seat. My sis and I took turns riding in the back. Creepy***

Mud and Blood

I was hanging out at with Ameena, Ben and Anthony Tuesday night. We were just chilling, watching "30 Rock," having a good time. Sometime after 1:00 I decided I should leave because I had a class in the morning. I go to the parking lot, get in my car, and start moving.

Then this bikini-clad girl jumps out from the fog in front of my car. She is covered in mud. And blood. I couldn't make this up if I tried. I thought maybe she was just crossing the parking lot, but nope, she stops and stares at me. Holy shit man, this is freaky. Keep moving girl.

The girl does keep moving- right to my car. I didn't know what to do, so I rolled down the window.

"Do you know where the pool is?"

"Um, no, I don't live here."

"I just need to get to the pool."

"It's gotta be around here somewhere," I tell her, wishing she'd hurry up and leave.

"Can you please take me? I'm covered in mud and I'm bleeding." She was covered in mud, but it was dry mud. 

I didn't know what to do. Here's this gross girl, waving a box of cigarettes, asking me for help.

"Sure, hop in," I say. She does. "So why are you all muddy?"

"We were mud-wrestling at the Big Tree and then I woke up in the parking lot." Oh shit.

"Do you live in this complex?"

"Yes."

"I could drop you off at your building instead of the pool if you want."

"No! I have to wash off before I go home." Jesus. So I start moving, and it turns out the pool was at the top of the hill, which is not very far. So I pull over to it.

"Well, we're here," I tell her.

"Can I get out here?"

"Um, I guess, yeah you should." She tries to get out but the door is locked. "Are you going to let me out? Are you going to let me out?" 

Her asking this made me feel bad. For whatever reason, I suddenly thought it seemed like I'd kidnapped her, because she couldn't get out.

"Calm down, the door accidentally locked," I said and unlocked it. Then she jumped out to live her life.

At first I was excited. It was such a weird thing to happen. But then I slowly got scared. Why did I let her in? Before I let her in, the door was locked and she couldn't open it, and when that happened I was sure she was a decoy and her thuggy men were going to beat me and steal Chuck, my car. But I still opened the door for her.

Then, after I realized that I'd put myself in harms way, I decided she was a ghost. She was like that hitchhiking ghost girl who died on her way to Prom and hooks rides with people and then disappears. I was sure that was it. I thought she'd marked me like God marked Cain and was going to come back for me.

I called my mom the next day and told her I could've potentially died. She said I should've called the police. I told her that would've been weird. She said "no, it'd have been smart." She said I could've called the police then sat in the car till they got there if I'd wanted.

She later called me and was like "That cop is going to come kidnap you himself now."

"What are you talking about, crackhead?"

"Remember," she said, "when you were almost kidnapped by that Mexican guy and the cop that came to the house told you if you ever opened the door for a stranger he'd get you himself?" 

That near-kidnapping story will be saved for my next post.

"I remember the Mexican, but not him saying that. That's creepy."

"I guess, but just think about how he'd feel about this, Jess. He's shaking his head at you now."

Meh, maybe. Anyway, the general consensus is that I should've called the cops, but it does seem more exciting my way. I could've at least called one of the boys and made them help me. But I'm no damsel in need of a hero. I am the hero.

Part 4: The Conclusion

After I urinated in the bush, I emerged to find that Kelly had disappeared. I thought we'd lost her somehow. As it turns out, she'd just run across the street and snuck into a bar to use the restroom. I don't think she so much snuck as walked in because we followed her. I could've done that, but then I wouldn't have been able to cross public urination off my list.

After she'd done her business, we loitered outside. Kelly asked us if we had a lighter and no one did. I found it very important that we have a lighter. So I just started chanting, "no lighter, need a lighter, need a lighter," until this dude near us was like "You need a lighter? I've got one." Great. He handed it over and we lit up. 

I don't smoke cigarettes. I find them to be gross. I don't like the smell and I don't like the cancer. But, apparently, I only smoke when I drink, because when Kelly lit it, I begged for a drag. We passed that shit around and I tried not to cough. I would've been very embarrassed had I thrown a coughing fit. As it turns out, that cigarette wasn't originally Kelly's. She'd found it on the ground! I smoke a ground cigarette. I asked her why she picked it up. "It's a Camel and was in the box. It said 'Limited Edition' on it!" Oh, ya don't say? I did hear that tobacco is about to be extinct. Ew, dirty cigarette.

Oh yeah, before this (and before I used the bathroom) we ran into some dudes. Courtney asked them if they had a lighter and they told her no, but they had a wiener. How tacky. Then, a cute one, told me I had great boobs and high-fived me for them. That was a pleasant experience.

So after the smoking incident, we decided to walk to El Rancho for a Sopapilla (or something), on the way there I got out a piece of gum. Big mistake. When the wave of mint hit me, I suddenly got very nauseous. I had to puke. I walked along the street, dry-heaving like a dog. It was gross. Finally, I just puked on the street. I don't think I even stopped walking- I just did it mid-stride. I'm not necessarily proud of this, just stating a fact.

After this, we made it to El Rancho. The girls made me pose on a bench with newspaper, acting like I was homeless, while they took photos. People watched. I got really into it and I'm sure you could see both up and down my dress.

We ran into another guy who was drinking beer on the street and eating pizza. I thought he was very attractive and wanted to take him home. I was told he wasn't cute at all. We'll never know. We all went and composed ourselves at my dirty apartment.

It was a successful evening.

Part Three: The Bush

We stumble to McNally's. As it turns out my tab at On The Rocks was way more than I had thought it would (damn menu with no prices). So I had no money left for a drink at the new bar. Thankfully, out of the goodness of her heart, Ameena offered to help further my inebriation by buying me a Vodka Sprite. It was the way I like my men- very strong.

We found a quiet booth and talked. We talk a lot. Eventually courtney decided she needed another drink. Well, I couldn't let the lady sip alone, so I went to get a refill. The bartender warned us we only had 10 mins to drink it till the bar closed. Ok, I can do that. We get our drinks (which made me overdraw my account, not sure though, I'm afraid to check). When we get back to the table, we decide to race to see who can drink it the fastest. I won! It was surprising as Courtney drank her shots faster than any of us. I was pleased with myself.

Too soon the bouncers were yelling- actually yelling- for everyone to leave. I was indignant. But we stumbled to the street. No sooner had we left then I realized I had to pee and I had to pee bad. Everything was closed, but then someone remembered that there is one building that is always open. I won't tell what this place is, but I will say it's a place full of information.

So, excited, we make our way to the place. On the way, though, I see a fountain and think it's a good idea to lay on the edge of it. I was rocking and rolling all over its ledge. Ameena said I would have fallen in had she not grabbed my arm. She thought about pushing me in, but was afraid I'd slip into a coma or something. She was gracious enough, however, to take photos of me laying on my back with my boob almost all the way out of my top, just chillin by the fountain.

Finally they gathered me and we made it to the pee place. Kelly, my hero, went to the door that is always open and yanked on it. It was locked! I was shocked! I don't know how the building can serve its public duty being locked. However, I have an in with someone who has worked in this place for a very long time, and she said they started locking the door because there was a homeless dude who would come in in the late night and spread his own shit all over the walls. 

So at first I was upset. I was literally going to piss myself. But then a marvelous idea came to me- if dudes can urinate outside, then so can I. Actually, I wasn't feeling like a feminist, I was just drunk.  So I stripped off my leggings and stuffed them in my purse (which Ameena had thankfully grabbed sometime during the night). I said "I am going to pee!"

Then I walked into the bushes and relieved myself. The whole time I was proudly chanting "I'm peeing, I'm peeing!" I also told them exactly how I was doing it- I shifted my undies to the right, fyi, and did my thing. I was very proud of myself.

Little did I know (nor did they, because they claim it was an "accident") they were videotaping my adventure. There is a video of me peeing, and then climbing from the bush on my hands and knees. Imagine: a girl in a pretty yellow dress, emerging from a bush on hands and knees, her hair wild, a big happy grin on her face. This is my life.

Apparently Kelly (Or Court, I don't remember) chanted that they'd pee with me for a quarter, but I guess no one had any change. 

I have to go to class now, but stay posted. The night only goes downhill (gets better) from there.

Part Two: Overheard Perv

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Part One: Meeting Gramps

I've decided to separate my Saturday night into a few different posts, organizing them by stages.

My weekend was one that I'll never forget but also one that I have a hard time remembering. I never knew that could be so classy/trashy in the same night. The fact that I used the word "classy" probably means that I'm not, but whatever.

Most people probably wouldn't give the details that I'm about to. But, this is a cathartic (braggative, really) release for me. It'll be something for me to look back upon as a warning.

Before the night even started, I had a problem. I didn't know what to wear. Everything was either too cleavagey or not booblicious enough. I ended up wearing a new dress that was very, very cleavagey, so I classed it up with a cami underneath and some leggings. 

After getting dressed, the night started out innocently enough. Ameena turned 23 so we had to celebrate. We started off by having dinner and drinks at an upscale lounge. It was very pleasant. I had the lobster mac & cheese and 2 ameretto sours. I was tipsy and loving it.

Afterwards, us girls (me, Ameena, Courtney and Kelly) decided to hit On The Rocks, a bar that has cheap drinks. I did learn, however, that cheap drinks add up fast. 

Anyway, once there, we walked in and who do I make eye-contact with? This old man who was about 78. He was drunk. He was looking my way. I exhaled deeply and tried to come up with a way to deal with this situation. I said "Hey, man, it's this girl's 23rd birthday," and pointed at Ameena. She didn't like the way I tried to deflect the situation. I can't say I blame her. 

She and the girls stayed their distance from the old man. I, however, surveyed the situation and noticed that he was the only thing between me and my Appletini. Potential awkwardness be damned, I needed my alcohol.

I strut up to the bar. The old man and I begin to chat. He's drinking bourbon and Coke or something, i can respect it. He was wearing one Mardi Gras bead. Thankfully the barkeep was a quick shaker and handed me my drink in no time. He told me I was pretty and that the bar had nice martini specials. He muttered a bunch of old man sayings that I couldn't understand.

I slinked away to a nearby table, only to chuckle about the incident....

More to come.

Tequila>Me

I learned a lot about myself last night. 

Catherine and I met up with Nathan and a bunch of his psych/AT&T buddies for margaritas at a Mexican joint. I don't drink tequila, so while everyone else was drinking the biggest size available, I got the smallest. It tasted bad. Yuck. But after I was almost finished with my first one it began to taste like Hawaiian Punch. So I ordered another. and another.

Catherine and I were fairly toasted. I'd never seen her as blitzed as she was. It was wonderful. We laughed, we were charming. Actually, we were the drunk girls who didn't really talk with anyone else, but I don't hate it.

I think I drank to compensate. I don't if it was the people or the setting or me, but for some reason, I just didn't really click with anyone at the restaurant. So I decided that since I had to be there (catherine and i carpooled) I would drink it up.

After getting sufficiently wasted, we decided to go to Trops, a daiquiri-like bar. I really didn't need one, but i wanted one. I got a medium Sweet Tart. It was delicious. But it really, really tipped me over the perhaps-cute phase into the over-the-top-condescending-flirty-phase.

I chatted up this dude who said he came to America in 1980, which means he's considerably older than me. i don't care. I laughed at people. I announced that I wanted to make-out to I don't know who. I remember getting on my knees at one point.

Catherine took me home shortly thereafter. Then i sent embarrassing texts to people, but I don't have the balls to look through my phone to see who received them. Then I woke up in the morning very sick and actually puked. I don't do that. That's not me. Damn tequila. 

I learned that vodka will always be my drink of fun. He's never led me wrong. He doesn't make me sick and he makes me happy. It's a relaxing drink.

Tequila makes me wild. It really does repel my clothes. Then it makes me sick. In certain situations tequila will be necessary, but not on an average night.

I'm going to a comedy club tonight and will probably repeat my actions, but intensify them, because I actually know everyone I'm going with. There's also a dance floor. Oh my.