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!