The Need to Write!

SOOOOOOO today in 102!

I was thinking, since we were just going over Benjamin again,

Man, I really want to write about Vanquish. Hahahaha.

Then I laughed at how nostalgic, nerdy, and fantastic I am.

Then I laughed at Alex being passed out because he stayed up until 6 AM finishing our paper for the class.

What a goof!

Anyway, so like, I was all supppppper down to start writing again.

Then I realized: shit, bro, I don't have any time for this shit!

Eh. Not really. I think I'm more just scared that my writing will end up as bad like, FFXI fanfiction. I don't wanna do that.

I do not have a lot of time, though. I mean, that's sort of true.

Then again, I have the time right now to be writing this...

Let's stop talking about me and time, 'aight?

Hrm... so now yeah okay~!

Writing. I want to write about Vanquish as a set of short stories that kinda are a memoir. They'd be Memoirs of a White Mage. Hhahahahaa.

I don't know why I laugh at writing about FFXI and the people I met there so much... maybe it's because society finds internet relationships to be petty jokes and not real in any sense -- and the connotations that go along with playing a MMO are just freakin' crazy... as in crazy negative...

Maybe I'm still afraid to step out of my comfort zone.

Funny, I know that once I do, I can produce something amazing.

But maybe I'm just not ready for that yet. Maybe I'm not ready because I don't feel that I have the adequate brain time to use on writing. Shit, man, I'd prolly only be able to write like a few pages a day, if that. Y'know, providing I was in the right mood to be writing at all. Homan--

Either way, there's been a lot on my mind recently. I've been spending a lot of time with Jacob, and it's made me really relaxed, peaceful, and happy. Though I feel as if I am being selfish, because my communication with Ryan has dropped substantially this week. I hope he doesn't think that I all of a sudden think ill of him -- as his crazy brain might do -- I just am like, happy as I am right now and am too selfish to want to change any of that at the moment.

Then again, why should I ever change my plans if they involve me being less happy? :/ Right?

Man. Everything is so crazy right now. Well, everything forever is crazy. That's just kinda how life is....

Tonight the Stellar Corpses are playing at the Catalyst. I don't think I'm going. I just like, won't feel right there. I'm not a psychobilly type of girl, y'know? I don't even know how to type the word correctly. I think the culture is cool, and I really appreciate it, but I'm not the type of person who can participate in a mosh pit -- even if it's the nicest most pit that ever existed! I can't deal with physical discomfort very well. It really affects my thinking and thought processes... no bueno, dude.

Also tonight: Silly Creature is playing at Kresge Town Hall aka 2 feet away from my apt. I haven't seen r00b, Nate, or Keyhan for a long time, and I'd really like to show those guys that I still enjoy Silly Creature, and that I support them! Besides, I'm also contemplating wearing my fish net shirt to the show to mess with Rubino. Hahahaha.

Oi, everything ever. Again. Everything ever in my head. Did you know I can write for days, dear blogger? I think you do, but sometimes, when my archive looks thin, I think you question my ability to write. I do too, though, so, maybe all of this thinking is kinda pointless. Maybe I should write a book all in stream-of-consciousness. That'd be really cool. It'd also prolly contain a lot of typos. Can I use spellcheck if I'm typing in stream-of-consciousness? Hahahaha. I think what I'm writing now is kinda stream-of-consciousness, and I used spellcheck to spell consciousness correctly... so... I guess it counts. Meh. Dunno. Too philosophical for me at the moment!

Erg so like later, I really want to write a super-awesome and long blog post about that teacher that I tried to get to know on Tumblr. I have no idea why he didn't respond to me. He prolly either thinks that I'm some goob ass undergrad without a brain OR doesn't actually have the time for a social life. I'm gonna give him the benefit of the doubt, because he is a teacher, and a very devoted teacher, so I think it is plausible that he could've had something more important to do than to chat with some random person on Tumblr. I just wish that he would've talked to me... I think he's so cool and smart and awesome and just like! Ugh. I would like to talk to someone who's just ahead of me in life so baaaaaaaaaad. I mean, the fact that he's adorable as shit doesn't bother me at all, either, but still. I'm not looking for a relationship right now. There's kinda one smacking me in the face currently. Oi. To be fair, I don't know if smacking is the right word to use. It implies that I'm not happy, or am like, forced into my current relationship situation. And I'm not. I do what I want. Like forever. Forever forever. Did you know that I freaking love language? Gosh, it's like the most interesting thing eveeer! But, then again, I prolly love the study of literature more. I dunno. I wonder what Tanner got on his paper. I'm really curious. Because I'm a bad person. Oh well.

Saturday night kinda sucked. It's a good thing this weekend has arrived now, though, because I think it's about to be a good one!

Also: heard Steve was more... of not my type of person. Interesting. Still willing to investigate, but like, significantly less interested in anything with him. I guess that's what the investigating is for, right? Hah!

Man. I keep talking about all of these things and people floating around and around and around in my head, but I never seem to talk about the things that are really, really important to me. Oh well. I don't know if I'm okay with my heart and soul on the internet -- just my brain works a lot better for me.

But wait. Is my brain my heart and soul? OH SHIT PHILOSOPHICAL QUESTION TIMEEEEE

Oi, man, everything ever. Everything ever. Abbey is coming over on the 25th. I'm really excited to see her and how she's grown over the past few years. I think she's an incredible young lady, and never, ever gives herself enough credit for how far she's come. I guess that's where I come in, eh? :D

We're gonna watch Velvet Goldmine. It has Ewan McGregor naked in it. Hahahaha. 'Cause, y'know, I totally watch movies for a single aesthetic moment. Whatever. lol  I really hope I can get Kim to come over, too, because Goddamn I miss her. She's the freaking best.

UGGGGGGH. Could write forever. Forever and ever.

Whatevs.

I think I'm done for now. My brain isn't functioning as I'd like it to be to continue.

Don't ask me why -- 'cause I don't wanna think about it.

But then again, blogger, you don't ask me questions... you just sit here and allow me to fill you with my thoughts. So non-judgmental. I love it.

Meh. Ta-ta for now, motherfucker!

"Beatiful People" on Tumblr - Thoughts

Many a person on Tumblr spams my dashboard with many a photo of a "Beautiful person" and while I'd agree that the photos they post of people are quite nice, and quite attractive, for some reason, they bother me. They gnaw at my brain. They make me uncomfortable. And this morning, I finally figured out why.

These "beautiful people" are simply photos. That's it. Nothing about who they are, what they do, their interests, their talents, their dreams...

Is the girl pictured about beautiful because her hair's red? Because she's wearing thigh high socks? Because her face is very pretty and well made-up? Is she pretty because she's the idea of "different"? Why, of all the pictures of people, did you post this one? By posting this picture, what are you saying about yourself? Are you wishing you could look like her? Are you wishing you were different, like her? What are you trying to promote? What are you saying about her?

You know how to be different? Be yourself. Everyone is unique and special -- don't let idiotic conceptions of beauty destroy who you are. I'm blonde, with blue eyes, white as fuck, and I know I'm different. I look totally fuckin' normal, not special in any way, and yet, I'm beautiful. (Fuck yeah Lady Gaga, anyone? Born This Way premiered today! XD) Sure my face is scarred from the years of acne I've endured, but fuck man, does that really matter? I freak the fuck out about my face because I feel ugly, due to society that we live in. Scars aren't pretty, therefore I'm not pretty. Fucking bullshit. This world is God damned stupid. Haha. If the world saw more in people than the way they look, I'd of never felt awful about myself for the last... what, 7 years? I don't get a chance to show people who I am, because I'm so damn worried they won't even communicate with me because I'm simply too ugly. I don't have to wear weird clothes or dye my hair crazy colors to know I'm different, sure, I can understand the reasoning behind "Man, my hair looks fucking cool with a purple streak in it," but ugghhh... rage rage rage... I really, really, hate people's idea of beauty, and people who post on Tumblr just promote the shit out of the idea. Soooooo disturbing to me...

One can run around promoting how different they are, or they can just be different. 

One can run around promoting how much of a nice guy he is, or he can just be a nice guy.

Actions people, actions. They speak so much more.

How can someone be considered beautiful if they're just an image? Just a photo? What if the person in said picture is posing to make a few extra bucks to fund her crack addiction as her baby daddy struggles to feed the newborn she's too fucked up to take care of? Is she still beautiful? I'm sorry, but I beg to differ... looks aren't everything, people.

Also: photoshop. lol.

Furthermore, there's no stories behind these pictures. They're shallow. One-dimensional. And they promote a very crude and limited sense of beauty. Being beautiful is so much more than nice tits and an ass... ARRRGGGHHH

Now, when I get drunk, one of the most common things I utter is, "Look at all the beautiful people." And most people would say because I'm drunk, the phrase means a whole lot less. I once again, beg to differ. I feel like I'm most honest when my walls are down, and alcohol breaks 'em down real fast...

Anyway, I'ma point out somethin' real quick like:
I usually say "Look at all the beautiful people" around my closest friends, the ones I truly know are beautiful - while we're dancing, chillin' around a hookah, playin' Apples to Apples, having awesome drunk moments, or simply watching a Giants game. Then again, I believe that there's at least one thing about a person that makes them beautiful... so... euh. It's not uncommon for me to say something of the sort on say, a dance floor. Oh but I can explain that! Dancing is something that is very personal, even if it's just flailing... people can express themselves through dance, and that's why a bunch of dancing people is beautiful! They're expressing something of themselves to everyone else, and how can anyone scoff at that? How can that not be beautiful? Dance, especially drunk dancing, is a very raw form of human expression... a unique expression of one's self... Yeah! (I sometimes say "Look at all the beautiful people!" to make KendalKorn giggle, too, 'cause for some reason she's super amused by it... :]) 

Anyway! I didn't say it once this last party -- because I didn't freakin' know anyone there. (Also: not drunk? Dunno if I said it [in the context I'm writing of] at the party before this, but uh... yeah, here's a loop in my argument!) XD Party was weird as fuck, I got creeped on, and I got to spend maybe a fraction of my time there with my actual friends, because they were too busy freakin' the fuck out about the random ass people who showed up who ended up getting pretty sick... ugh... worries + booze = not happy.

I also have a "Beautiful Man Wall" here in my room, which I'd think most people would consider a flag for "Hey, you don't give a fuck about beauty!" Why do I think they're beautiful? I've watched every single person on my wall. Most are from movies, or Matt Bellamy... I've got an image of them, and their personalities in my mind. They're not just a body... not just an image of what I consider "attractive." While I'm kind of aware that Johnny Depp is kind of an asshole, the roles he plays (the Mad Hatter, Captain Jack) are what I associate his personality with, so y'know, it's a little off, but yeah... I think my point has been made...

Shit man I don't even know... I gotta go eat breakfast...

I'm just glad I figured out why these pictures bother me. They're attractive (these chicks are def hot, I'm not arguing against what they look like at all!), not beautiful. Beauty is so much more than a picture on Tumblr. Stupid materialistic world... stupid stupid stupid... rageragerage

I feel like I can write about Derrida now. Hello, thinking mood.

SO HUNGRRRRYYY XDD

So I'm a Fan of Tumblr.

Our psychological state allows us to see only what we want/need/feel to see at a particular time. What five words do you see?

My Words:

1. Kiss
2. Passion
3. Chat
4. Murder
5. Rage

...very interesting... XD

The Weekend of the Captain!

I've sure been doin' a lot of these recap thinggers lately... prolly 'cause I've got time on the weekends to blog blog blog 'til my daddy takes my computer away~ ♪♪

Man, that's silly. Duurrrrrr hurrrr hurrrr ...

So, wtf am I goin' to talk about today? I guess I should start with Friday, don't think anything huge and/or significant happened during the week.

Friday was cool: Rocky Horror. My friend Stephanie was Janet, and she was adorable. So awesome. I danced on stage with Ana and Cory, and it totally made my night! Besides, my legs looked awesome in those heels. Ohhh baby. :]

Ladies!

That night basically consisted of Cpt. Morgan, Rocky, order pizza, pass out. It was good, it was chill. No depressed Darlene, ftw.

THE NEXT DAY! Saturday!

I got up and dressed around noon. Left my place around 1:45. Went to a house on Ocean street for a house show. Stayed until like, 6 something. Silly Creature was awesome, as usual, Time Machine was... pretty good? And Zeyphr's band was a FUNK band and it impressed me quite a bit! So cool! Voto was also there for a while makin'... beats? Or something... dunno... with a pedal board. Neat neat neat!

After that, Pranov and I went to Taco Bell. We feasted. Crunchwraps, hooo!
Wes was also with us. Is it bad that I'm basically totally sketched out by him? Hah...
THEN we went to the Pacific Cookie Company to see Max (Pranov's friend) annnnnnnnnnd we got some cookies. I had a chocolate covered snickerdoodle.

Friends are good, right? I think so.

We went to the downtown house for a bit afterward. I think Pranov was in the bathroom or something, because Wes and I were chillin' in the front room by our lonesomes for a while. Sort of weird, but whatever. We decided to roll out to Church House early to try and avoid the storm getting any worse. Dunno if it was a good call or not... heh

We ended up at Church House at like 7:40. 'Bout 20 mins early, but there were people there already anyway. No biggie. We just attempted to dry off and hung out for a bit. Church House has stadium seating now and it's awesome!

Riley showed up next. The boys had some beer, they were content. A little wet, but content~ ♪♪

Then Cory, Freshman, Logan, and Tanner showed up. I was joined on the couch for a bit, but then people were like "HOMYGOD BEER PONG GOOOOOO!" Annnd I ended up warmin' the couch by myself for a while. Was nice. Relaxing. I was super tired from the like... 4 hours of music earlier, anyway.

I finally got up to go watch some pong. I was interested in their rules... comapin' 'em to our Rancho rules. We play hardcore pong in the 'Cho. Intense shit, y'know?

I feel like Rory would have been proud. Hah.

Anyway, during that, I heard there was more rum. Cpt. Morgan again. Mmmm. I had myself a shot. A tasty tasty shot... and then made myself some rum and coke. Def my favorite drink... :)

Downed that pretty quick, then had another shot. 'Twas my alcohol intake for the night... because the rum disappeared quickly...

Phrase of the night.

Oh then Voto showed up... and I was like heeeeeeeeey~!

I feel like I def drunk hit on him. A lot. S'ok. Liquid courage goooooooo!

But, at the end of the night, I managed to ask him if he'd like to spend some time together sometime, and he gave me a rather excited yes. Pretty sweet, dude!

BUT I got no number... lolfail... Tanner def got it... DERRRRP.

I also dunno if he was so excited 'cause he was drunk, too. Merp. Self-doubt, hooo!

So, the bands that played were pretty good. Six in one day. Was like a festival. In my backyard. SO COOL. (I ♥ SC!)

I can't remember the third band's name, but of course, our loves, Under a Western Sky played, and another new (?) band named In the Airplane played as well. Was a good show. Under a Western Sky created a mosh pit, as usual. Was a rather intense one. I was sitting off to the side (with Voto, btw, GLEEEEEEEEEE) and I got hit in the mouth, and then someone knocked my glasses off and one of the nose pieces def scratched my face a bit. Ooow. OH well. If I had actually been in that pit, I prolly would have died. Was fun watching my friends go, though!

Freshman said he got like, 4 concussions. I dunno man. I dunno.

Blaaargg. So the music ended around 11, and everyone was intoxicated enough already so we decided to roll back onto campus. Was prolly a good call.

The bus was stupid full when we got on, the bus driver was hella legit and let WAY more of us than he should have (by bus company type thing regulations)... it was awesome.

I didn't have anything to hold on to, so I kind of kept falling over. Sorry, Riley & Tanner. XD

When we went past the UCSC guard thing, all of us in the front ducked. It was so funny.

The bus also died twice. Succcccccccch an awesome bus ride! Yahooo! :]

Yep. Anyway. Made it back to Porter. Drank another shot (forgot about that one!), went to my room, hung out for a bit. Tanner ordered a shit load of pizza... blah blah blah watched some YouTube videos...

I think I almost cried again. Def almost went into depressed drunk Darlene mode again. Meh.

Whenever I feel bad, though, the guys always tell me, "it could be worse, you could have a dick."

I dunno how that's supposed to make me feel better. At all.

And I kept saying, "I hate my life" last night... I do, sort of. Lately I've been really, really down. Can't find a relationship... I miss them so much... don't have that special person to just bond with, don't have that person to just love me for who I am. It's so hard to live without that when I know how good it is, and when I lived with it for so long. ARRGGHH.

(There was a point in the night where I was looking at your name in my phone, considering things...)

I'm well aware that people are worse off than me. Shit dude, I always try my best to eat every once of food I take from the d-hall because I am so aware of things. I always try my best to appreciate things. I get pissed as fuck when people don't appreciate the things they have... I def say, "I hate my life" versus "My life is so terrible." I don't have to like my life, even if it's a rather okay one. Mother fuckin' Great Gatsby, anyone? Urg.

I don't know why I'm so particularly upset. Oh well~

This week is Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving break. I need it. Bad. Can't wait to see my family and friends in the 'Cho! I especially miss Cindy, my Mom, my broski-bro, and Matty. Always miss Matty. Oh and Chris and Brittainy, too! Always, I want to be with them! HAH!

Man, this post reeks of retarded-ness sometimes. Oh well.

Overall, was a pretty good weekend. Now I gotta read shit fo' class, and shower, and eat, and get on with my life!

There's tomorrow to worry about: gotta edit my paper, finish my readings, and... y'know... get ready to go home. :)

I'm gonna be rollin' out on Weds. Weds afternoon, headin' home on the 17.

I'm excited. Gonna make so many friendship bracelets.

Oh and dude, Freshman gave me an iPod (!!!) so I can listen to music on the way home! ♥

Such a good Freshman.

Such good musics.

Annnnnnnnnd in celebration of our liquor of choice!:

In Celebration of Harry Potter:

I figured out what house I'd be in. I feel like Hufflepuff is most suited to meeeeeeeeee! :) They're supposed to be loyal, patient, and hard-working. Makes sense, right?

Then I googled Hufflepuff! LOOK WHAT I GOT!





Going to sreeps now, good night~

So I'm STILL a Dumb Ass...

But I handled shit. I HANDLED SHIT. YEAAAAH!

Everything is okay. I feel normal. And okay. And better about myself.

I'm also hella hungry. D-hall better have some good food tonight. Srsly.

I got an article to write! Aiyee!

Nothing will happen. I will get over it. I will not care next week. Yep.

...I need to go to some parties and find me a man. ARGH! Haaaah...

Yeah, well, whatever. Blog is blog is blog is blog... I just want to be more open, more honest, more me. I like me. I'm a good person and I'm happy being me... yay.

Blah de blah blah, none of this should have ever been posted. If it causes drama, I am going to first be upset, and second have a nice chuckle.

Uh huh. Life. Life is okay. Or maybe even good? Maybe?

So Apathetic II

So, I just kind of feel so horrible that I don't give any fucks anymore.

0 Fucks.

I've kinda given up on... like everything...

Save school, of course! School is always there.

But at the time I'm utterly convinced that nobody is going to be interested in me for a long time -- and what's worse is I feel like I'm not really going to be interested in anyone for a long time. I feel silly. I gave Nebraska up so I could explore... and now I'm sitting here writing. Writing because I'm sad. I'm not good. Bubbly Darlene can prevail through this, but y'know... fuckin' fins... there's always so much more going on inside of me. Even though I write this blog, I'm not as honest as I used to be. I've got an audience. Maybe all of my walls will tumble down one day... maybe.

And I know it's stupid... but I feel like because of my face, people take a look at me and put me into the friend zone like that.

I know who I am. I love who I am. I'm a good person and fun to be around. People tend to flock toward me. But I've got all this shit on my face. Stupid acne. Stupid blemishes, blotches. I just never feel beautiful. Never feel pretty. I'm always looking at other people... always comparing... The guys will always just see me as their friend... not that I especially want to date any of my guys, but y'know. It'd be kinda nice to be a girl instead of Darlene. I've always been the girl with the guys. The girl with the really pretty friends that guys drool over... Nobody is going to look at me and be like, "Man, I want to meet her." People only start to like me after they've known me for a while. I look and feel like a scrub every single freakin' day... I don't wear things that would make me feel sexy, because I'm just not. Fuckin' Asher has said that to my face, even. Sexy is just not me. Too many self-esteem issues.

I obsess over this like a person who obsesses over their weight. It bothers me everyday, 'cause I gotta look at myself everyday to put makeup on... UGGGGGGGH. I can only hide so much. Besides, I still feel unattractive.

Well, everyone just kind of came in. I don't really feel like writing much more. Ug ug ug.

Because I'm Bored

• Why aren't you and the last person you kissed in a relationship?

She's my best friend's girlfriend. Teehee!

• How did you wake up this morning?

This afternoon, I woke up to stay in bed and daydream for a few hours.

• Is there anyone who has impacted your life greatly?

DUHHH

• What were you doing an hour ago?

Showering?

• Who was the last person you talked to last night before bed?

Stephen. lol

• Have you ever stayed up at night waiting for someone to call/text you back?

Nope. I value my sleep far too much.

• Do you secretly like someone?

Maybe? If I do it's kind of a secret to me, too. And who the fuck would admit they secretly liked someone if it was a secret?!

• Who do you feel most comfortable talking to about anything?

Um. Cindy & Nicole? Ryan? Rayne?

• Do you have both a loud side and a quiet side?

HOLY CRAP, I DO! I'M SO UNIQUE!

• What are you doing right now?

Obviously being useless. Lounging in my bed...

• Where did you go in a car last?

SUSHI!

• Have you ever felt replaced?

Naw G, naw. Can't replace me.

• Would you ever camp out on a beach, under the stars?

Hell yes!

• What room of your home do you spend most time in?

My room. By a lot.

• How far away is the last person you kissed?

San Jose! So about ~200 miles?

• Is the person you last texted single?

Yes. Very.

• Who all do you have texts from in your phone?

Just friends, really. Mom doesn't text. Dad doesn't exist.

• Last time you smiled because you got a text?

Um... 3 days ago?

• Have you ever liked someone you didn't expect to?

Uh. Yes.

• Who was the first person you talked to today?

Stephen?

• What time did you wake up this morning?

1 PM :]

• Are you slowly drifting away from someone right now?

Well of course. haha

• Do you like getting hugs from other people?

YEEEEEEEES. ESPECIALLY DRUNK HUGS!

• Has anything happened to you in the past month that made you really mad?

Yessire!

• Are you a loud person?

Sometimes you can't get me to shut up, other times I'm a mouse.

• Is it okay to kiss people when you're single?

Yes? Since when do you have to be in a relationship with someone to kiss them? ARE WE IN MIDDLE SCHOOL?!

• Are you in a good mood right now?

I'm pretty content. Comfortable. Love chillin' in my robe. Hehe

• Is anyone else in the room with you?

Nope.

• Is there a person in your life that can make you smile?

DUUUUUUUH. Multiple, actually!

• Don't tell me lies, so where's your boyfriend/girlfriend?

In my dreams.

• Do you take compliments well?

I need to learn how to...

• What makes you not be able to sleep?

My entire life? The dark? Random noises? The crazy shit going on in my mind?!

• Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with?

Probably Matt... when we were camping.

• Have you heard a song that reminds you of anyone today?

Not today. Just haven't listened to music yet though.

• Do you hate the last guy you had a conversation with?

Nope. Don't hate anyone, really.

• When's the last time you fell or ran into something?

Yesterday, I think. Stupid bathroom corner.

• What do you hear right now?

A whole lot of nuffin'. The buzzing of laptop's fan, maybe?

• Was last night a good night?

One of the better ones. I had a wonderful conversation with a friend I haven't talked to in a while!

• Are you talking to the person you like right now?

Nope. And not even sure I'm interested in anyone.

• Last person to send you a text that made you smile?

Um. Jon? haha

• Who's the last person to text you?

Stephen.

• Could you ever be friends again with someone that broke your heart?

Yeeeeeeeeeep. I am! ♥

I Don't

think I am classy,
think I am mature,
I just think that I am a person
who posts stuff on a blog.

Random Bored-ness

lead to this!

According to this... writing analyzer thing,

http://iwl.me/

I write like:

Name of "Work" ~ Author
The "Real" McCoy ~ Cory Doctrow
Persepolis ~ EDGAR ALLEN POE
JCO Paper ~ Margaret Atwood
Halving the Bones Paper ~ H. P. Lovecraft
Angels in America ~ KURT VONNEGUT
ID Paper ~ STEPHEN KING
Oh, Irony Paper (New Yorker) ~ H. P. Lovecraft
Mary Jane Paper I Never Turned In Because It's Lame ~  Cory Doctrow
Animal Rights ~ George Orwell
College App Essay ~ Vladimir Nabokov
Stampede ~ Isaac Asimov
Beginning of That Fiction Thing ~ Gertrude Stein
What the Fuck is Up with Virgins ~ David Foster Wallace
Blog Post: "So Much Angst" ~ J. D. Salinger
Blog Post: "I'M BAACK" ~ Cory Doctorow
Blog Post: "Darlene is Fucking Pissed" ~ J. D. Salinger

I looked up who Cory Doctorow is. Thinking about reading one of his books now. Little Brother looks really good. He's a science-fiction novelist. Figures. I also find it HELLA funny that my most insane rants got J.D. Salinger. WHAT'S UP HOLDEN?! AM I PHONY?! The fact that I got Poe and Vonnegut just made my night though. They're two of my favorite authors, and those two papers are some of my best work. Funny that I got George Orwell for the paper on animal rights. Animal Farm, anyone? Amusssssing. I'd also like to know what David Foster Wallace writes about, because that article was insane and very, very strange. This also tells me that I haven't developed a set style yet. (Or that this thing is full of shit! XD) Ah well, that was an efficient waste of time. Coolio. I'll look up the rest of these people later. Might find some interesting things to read! Yahoo!

Edit: I just put in some stuff from JCO (excerpt from "Zombie" in my paper) - and it came up Cory Doctorow. Put in ID by JCO, got Stephen King. Spider Boy got me Vonnegut. Landfill got Mario Puzo. So I've determined one thing for sure!: Joyce Carol Oates doesn't exist on the site, therefore it can't be real, 'cause SHE'S A HELLA FAMOUS AND HELLA GOOD AUTHOR.

haha. Yep.

So I'm Hella Weird

and move/talk/whatever in my sleep.

This morning, I woke up without my PE shorts on. (I normally sleep in them, of course!)

I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW THAT HAPPENED. lol

I'm just going to guess that I'm talented. Aha :]

Just thought the world should know.

Also hella bored. Fuck my laptop screen being... dead.

But Distant Worlds is on.. Weds... I think... Weds right??

Sure, still pretty pissed at Jacob, but y'know, whatever.

Full. Live. Orchestra.

OhmyGodyes.

Yahooooo~!

To pass the time, I've been watching a lot of Harry Potter.

and I've started reading the Lord of the Rings again.

Maybe I'll read enough to finish all 3 and then muster the courage to plow through the Simarllion!

Hella butchered that. Oh well.

Don't think I'm going to Rory's tomorrow. I more than likely will feel like not. Eh heh.

Blahblahblah, blah blah, blah blah. British guy wanted to talk to me today. Made me smile.

Damn, I ALWAYS FEEL CREEPY. WHY AM I SO CREEPY?

Y'know, I don't actually think I'm that creepy. I know creepy.

Derp. Wonder how many people read this blog, anyway.

I suspect more Santa Cruz might've jumped on the bangwagon after that crazy rant post, but, I've posted nothing substantial (pertaining to them, anyway) in a while...

Man, I can't wait to see them. They are wonderful people, they really are. And I miss them.

Only like... two more months and a week. Like... roughly 70 days? Urgg...

BLAHBLAHBLAHBLAHBLAHTUMMYHURTSOWBLAHBLAHBLAHURG

SO MUCH ANGST

So......

hi blog.

Sure haven't posted anything significant for a while...

News: done with first year of college.
Other news: God damn my life is aggravating.

This thing... the menu thing for Stranger than Fiction (good movie, btw) keeps playing and playing and playing and playing and I DON'T GIVE A SHIT. Except I do. But I don't want to move. I want to keep writing. What the hell is the point of moving, anyway? God I hate moving. I hate doing things. I have to think, and good lord I would be ecstatic to be out of my head for merely an hour. I also wish I could spell. GAAAHHH! GAH GAH GAH. I want to live in SoCal, I want more! ALWAYS MORE. Am I just a person who cannot be satisfied? I don't really want to live in SoCal. Fuck SoCal. Except the Lakers have cool colors, but man, silver and purple are so pretty together. Meh. I don't really care about basketball at all, anyway. I just enjoy doing things with friends, and y'know, if it means cheering for a team I could not give two shits (TWO SHITS! or would that be a half a shit, to make it less significant?) about, hell man, I'm there. I like to see people smile. A lot. I love to see people happy, I love to see them enjoying their lives, but I feel like that is all there is to life for me. I haven't basked in the awesome warmth that is happiness in a long time. Well, that's a lie. I was really happy when Mark gave me a hug when I asked for one. But that happiness was pretty much completely trampled upon by his and Allyson's act of totally ignoring me (Fuck that shit, btw, I had never felt so God damn abandoned in a long time). I wonder if either of them read this. God I miss Mark. I miss him being my friend, and not some person I have to worry about all the time (Y'know, when I'm around, this is kind of irrelevant now, and this is also inserted to make me seem less creepy. 'Cause I'm not that creepy, really.). Can we just go back, please? That's all I want. A friend. Well, I have Cindy here, but yeah, at college, I am miserable, I am so alone. I spend my time with Doctor Who. (Not that that is too much of an issue, 'cause good lord David Tennant is HOT) BUT GAH! My happiness comes from my fantasies, and not my own life. How do I create happiness? How does it happen? I was happy before? Can I be ignorant again? It seems that while I was, I was happy, I was content, I did not give a fuck. Man, I miss Ryan too. OH! Ryan. Ryan = best friend at college, by a long shot. But you see, while I have him, it's just... not the same. Y'know, person reading this? Ryan has Brytnny. I cannot, and will not, ever try to be more to him than she is (as in closeness, in case you're reading! :]), because that's just wrong, and I understand that and I'm good with that. I love that me and Ryan are friends. It's just... I get lonely. I get the type of lonely that I feel only like, love can cure. Maybe that's the thing with Cindy too. Maybe that's why where ever I go, I'm alone. I miss waking up everyday, with someone on my mind. Nowdays, all I can do is observe. I'm too holed up, too reserved, too shy to do a damned thing, or merely mention to anyone that I might slightly be interested. I just don't know. And now, here at home, I had so much hope for a friendship that I thought could possibly work again, but as the days drag on, my hope dwindles and dwindles. It's fucking impossible. Stupid happiness. I always think, should I have given him up? Heh. Except there's two "hims." Interesting fucking plot twist, assholes. Hehe. Always wanted to type that. Menu. Still. Going. Wonder how long I've been typing. Prolly not that long. Doesn't seem too long. Been texting Jacob in between. I need to do this more often. It's relaxing. I'm thinking about writing about how I feel about B5. Oh yes, dear reader, since I don't have to see faces for 3 months, and furthermore, prolly don't have to see any faces I don't want to more than random coincidence next year, fuck this shit. Fuck it in the butt. Butt butt. Christ. I'm so upset. I kind of hate everything B5 embodies. We came together to give everyone a home, to not judge, to be friendly, and care for each other. The only damned thing we accomplished was we became a family. A family with ups and downs, and aunts and uncles, and crazy people. (I don't know who out aunts and uncles would be, btw!) And like my family, we've got people that just resent each other. And until a while ago, that resentment was one sided. BUT HEY WORLD, GUESS WHAT, I'M A BITCH, I'VE GOT FEELINGS, AND I AM MOTHERFUCKING HUMAN, AND WILL BE TREATED ACCORDINGLY. Lord I am so angry right now. Sitting here like a true freaking writer. In complete silence (except for that damned menu thing - ironic the movie is about writing... kinda... whatever) Guess it's not complete silence but whatever. Urg. Shit I say should make sense. I think I consider this silence because it's like, a 30 second clip? Maybe not even that - on repeat. The noise is irrelevant to my thought, and stuff, so I guess I am considering it silence. Maybe this is why I can work well even where there is noise. I just ignore it. Holy shit on a stick I digress like a crazy soooon of a bitch! Hm. I'd like to meet a crazy son of a bitch. Might be my type. Durrrr. Durrr. Dylan. I love Dylan. He's such a sweetheart. And Rebecca. I'm sure she's taking very very good care of Smokey. Wish I could've seen her more. Such a cute mouse. I was totally prepared to take care of her, and I don't consider myself excused from faltering in her care because of Allyson's resentment of me. Should of just grew a God damned pair and shown the world, not even the world, 'cause like hell B5 is the world, that I am a person who is to be respected. Just because I'm ditsy and blonde doesn't mean that I do not think. It does not mean that I don't notice things. That I'm just a dumb clown. Those who believe I am have just not yet known the person I am. It's not like it's really all that easy to get to know me anyway,(unless you read this!) because I'm just bad at communicating. Bad at communicating. Such a God damned stupid awful phrase and excuse. I'm not even trying to be discreet. Thinking that your issues are above everyone else's in the world. Hi, you're just about the most conceited person I've ever met. I'm not going to say my shit is more terrible, less terrible, or equally terrible than yours, girlie, but darlin', for you to be so damned selfish and not think of ALL THE PEOPLE IN THE WORLD WHO ARE CURRENTLY DYING makes me sick to my stomach. Fucking shit dude. I'm enjoying this wall of text. It's making me happy. I am venting. Yet, there is no expression on my face. No tears. No expressed anger. Just me, sitting here, typing, typing away. Typing away two quarters of pain misery sorrow and loneliness. Fuck being lonely. I don't want to guys to pick on Ryan for being not-so-great at DotA. Who the fuck cares about DotA? Nobody should get hurt over stupid, stupid games. Games are for fun, and enjoyment. It's cool to compete, but once the competition is over, it's over you fucks. Urg Urg Urg Blarg Blarg Blarg. I really hope Kendal reads this. I love her to death, and I've got to say some things to her, as well. Not bad things. Because I love Kendal. Just... things. Hopefully I'll write about them now. This is a very, very, very honest Darlene, and this is not a drunk Darlene, which means time for rantin', ravin', and all around insane stream-of-consciousness stuff. HEY, I CAN'T FUCKIN' STAND YOU, LOL! Yep. That was the next thing on my mind. So much pent up rage, so much pent up anger. But I'm a God damned coward, and I don't like conflict. I can't deal with it, because it's so damn pointless. At least, like this, I won't really have to deal with anything more than I would have to already. Good fucking times, people. Man I like to curse. Fucking has def got to be one of my favorite words. How can you get more intense than fucking? It's natural human instinct. Raw, vulgar, and there for everyone to see! YEAAAHHH FUCKING. Such a good word. Hehe. Always wanted to type that too. I feel like if Jacob reads this he'll enjoy that line. Oh YEAH! Fucking. Hehe. Fucking. Someone hasn't done it yeeeeeeet and has been lying about it since sophomore yeaaaaar! Hella. Days. Funny. So funny. Thank you, Alex. Teehee. Got a school girl thing goin' on today; it's pretty cute. Reminds me of fucking. Girrrrl, you make me rage. Maybe more than Ella did. Ella. Heh. Can't remember his real name. Damned stupid heartless bastard. GRRR! I feel like it was Andrew. But I love Andrew. Oh. I've got to see Andrew. Maybe you're lost? It's okay, 'cause I'm lost too darlin'. Darling Darlene, thank you Brytnny, you are such a sweet heart. I meant everything I wrote in your yearbook! ♥ Hearts hearts hearts. I want mine to flutter again, mother fuck. FLUTTTEEER. Also a very good word. Maybe that's why I enjoy Joyce Carol Oates so much. She freaking gets it. Holy hell don't know how long it's been since I've written this much. I should really move on to Kendal. Kendal Kendal. God I love the KendalKorn. Looks cool with the "K" too! Okay, so first things first: Logan. He told me he liked you, I was like, d'awww, good luck bro! And I know, KendalKorn, sweet sweet KendalKorn (not meant to be creepy, btw!) that your only experience with friends and guys in the same boat is "HOMYGODIHATEYOUFOREVERDIEBITCHDIERAGGGEEE" annnnnnnd that's not really such a good thing. Now, when I learned that you actually liked him back, I tripped so many balls. The balls of my balls were trippin', and they were trippin' hard. I was SO FREAKING EXCITED for you, darlin'. So he didn't like me. Oh well. Got over it. So he liked you. COOL MY FRIEND CAN BE REALLY HAPPY. That's how it's supposed to work. Friends are supposed to stay friends. They're not supposed to got bat shit insane because of men. Especially men who aren't worth it. Meh, that's kind of mean, but that's what needed to be said (typed?) there. He's not a bad guy; just doesn't realize when he's being a douche bag. Douche. French. God I envy Julia for getting into French 5. So much that I didn't congratulate her. Man, I suck. Stupid envy. Haha. I'm sure she knows that I think that's awesome. Or I hope that she is reading this now and is like, "HEY, DARLENE LOVES ME!" 'cause I most def do. I just want to be further in French, too! Fuck the stupid passe compose. Fuck accents, as well. Fuck them all. DURRRR. Okay, so, got to finish with Kendal. Whenever I see you Kendal, well, actually, only when Allyson is around, I see this sadness in your eyes. Maybe it's just because I'm insane, but I feel, and have felt, for a very long time, that our friendship is totally different when she is around, and when she is not around. Because when Allyson is around, you're not allowed to show hardly any interest in me, except for purposes of common decency. I feel that you are being bogged down, and judged, and somehow, you can't bring yourself to escape that. It's not so bad though, def not as bad as Mark, who has now shown me how much he can just follow someone. Someone who I honestly believe does not care about him as much as he thinks. It makes me sad. So sad. Here I am, like, four to five months later, still being sad about Mark. He's such a good guy. So confused. So awkward. Haha. I wasn't exactly the best of friend, but I def wasn't a terrible one, and if I was, I tried my best to reprimand everything I could. Sometimes, I am stupid. You don't think one day she'll do something incredibly stupid? Or that one day you'll do something she doesn't approve of, and she'll drop you like last night's dinner? God I'm just so sad. And all of this is so past overdue. Finally turned the sound off. Now there's just that picture playing in my peripheral vision. My vision that is pretty much nonexistent. Maybe it's the glare of the TV that makes me pay so much attention. Ugh. Just so much ugh. I hate texting. I hate it. So so sad. So pitiful. So distraught. So many bad thoughts in my mind. I need a vacation from life. I want to go back to Nebraska... should have never given all of that up... I had everything... I had ever wanted... and I just wanted more, because I'm never satisfied. Maybe he was the love of my life, and I gave it up for my dreams. For me. Dreams. Selfishness. Ug. FUCKING STOP TEXTING ME HOLY SHIT. So clueless. Just stop. Stop stop stop. Stoooooooooop. Sad sad sad. Nebraska. Greg. Two things I think about all the damn time. Most of the world doesn't even know about Nebraska. Greg never knew a damn thing. Ever. Heh. Hope he's happy with Kim... though as far as Alex is concerned his life seems pretty damn dull. Except for the Disneyland business. That's pretty cool. God I miss Disneyland and Orchestra and life being okay. Man I can't wait for Distant Worlds, either. It's going to be excellent. I think I'm tired now. So tired. Didn't say as much as I wanted to... but that's the norm. Always is. That's why it's the norm. Dur. Dur. Dur. Durr Gil-Gomez! Haha. Hehe. Ohohohoho~!

Someone needs to come into my life.

Candy

It's one of the loves of my life.

I LOVE:
Skittles
Starburst
Mambas
Symphony Bars
Hershey's with Almonds
Girhadelli Caramel Squares
Hershey's Cookies 'n Cream
Laffy Taffy
Reeces
Snickers

onomnomnomnonmnonmnonm ♥

The "Real Mccoy" Final Draft

Now it doesn't sound like puke... lol

The “Real” McCoy

Ever since I was three I've wanted to go to college. I didn't even know what college was back then, but I knew I wanted to go. Now that I'm finally here, and have been asked to write this personal narrative, I think it's finally time to share my real story. See, I've always had an issue with writing these narratives, because I always felt that my story was too intense for normal high school classrooms. It probably was. I always wrote about a blissful childhood experience, or some other trivial thing. Those stories were great; I always got my A and didn’t have to pour my heart out. Nobody ever knew who I was, or what I was about, and I thought I liked it that way. I've never written in the way I plan to now. Earlier this week I wrote an essay about why I don't smoke pot. It’s something that defines me – yes, but it's all just a load of crap. It’s not the truth; it’s a front for a girl who can't get over her own tragedies. There's one point in time that has defined me for five years more than anything, and after living through years of misery, I think it's finally time for that instance to stop defining me. I am going to define me. I want to move on, I need to move on. This essay is simply a stepping stone on my path of self-definition. I will live my life as a happy person once again – not a normal person, for I'd hate to be considered normal, but a happy person who can enjoy the world and all of its wonders.

My story starts at the age of four. I was a cheerful little blonde kid causing mischief, sneaking over to my friend's house, and just basically living life. I was far too infatuated with my own world to understand, or merely notice the chaos of my parent's relationship deteriorating before my very eyes. There are two key things that stick out in my mind when I recall being four - the Power Rangers, and the night we left for Missouri. Apparently, something so horrible had happened between my mother and father that my Mom decided to throw my brother, Waylon, and I out a window. She didn’t literally throw us, because that’d be damn crazy, but with how frantic she was, she might as well have. When we left that house on 62nd street, we only had the clothes on our backs, but we had a train to catch. We were going to see Uncle Andy, it was a surprise vacation. I still do not know what happened between my parents to this day. Both of them tell me lies about the other, so who am I to believe? I doubt I will ever know the full truth.

I spent two casual weeks in Missouri. I was still far too confused and young to have a care in the world, but when we were finally forced home all hell broke loose. Apparently, my father had accused my mother of molesting my brother on the trip. He'd called CPS, and then found some law crap to make us come back to California. I don't believe that my mom did that, and I never will. She’d never hurt her baby boy - ever. Either way, CPS came to meet us at the train station, and they took my brother and me away. I was taken to a family of misfits - a foster home. I knew nobody there, I was scared, and I was alone. I just wanted to go home. The worst part was that they separated me from my brother, who could not have been more than two or three years old, and he was horribly ill. I had never been away from my brother before, and because he was so sick it was absolutely terrifying. I remember lying awake on that foreign bed every night and crying into my Cheerios every morning. I didn't understand anything, I was four. Why was I there? Where was my Mom? Was my brother dead? Like hell a four year old understands what the flu is. Even though I can only remember two details, I would have to say those two weeks I spent in that desolate house were the longest of my life.

After my mother was cleared of any wrongdoings to my brother, we were released to her custody. We fled west Sacramento and ended up in a women's shelter. I don't remember anything about that place except that it was blue like the sky, and that some sympathetic lady had given me a blanket. I still have that blanket - it’s worn and tattered now, much like my life, but it still keeps me warm somehow.

After leaving the women's shelter we moved into apartments in Rancho Cordova, and about six months later we moved into a duplex across the street from Williamson Elementary School. Since my brother and I were much too young to understand the ordeal we had been through, we were both enrolled in school and started our lives out much like any other kids. We just didn't have a “dad.” I believe I was much more interested in my favorite color or what I wanted for my birthday rather than the fact I had no father, though. I missed him, but after a while it was like he had never existed, so I didn’t bother to care too much. There was that and one other tidbit – my Mom had a boyfriend. His name was Larry, and he looked more like my brother and I than our own mother did. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, just like us. As far as we knew, Larry was our father, so we didn’t need a real dad or anything.

I don't remember much from elementary school besides that it was a simple and pleasant time in my life. I was a hyper kid who just liked to play tag with the boys. I occasionally had a quarrel or two with my brother, but it was all in good sibling spirit. Getting to college and growing up was always on my mind. I just couldn’t wait to be older so I could go off and learn neat things! At Williamson Elementary, students are allowed to take either choir or orchestra when they reach the fourth grade. Band was reserved for fifth graders. We had an assembly introducing all the different string instruments – the violin, the viola, and the cello. I chose the viola because the lady who introduced it played Star Wars on it, the viola wasn’t ridiculously squeaky like the violin, and I couldn’t really see myself lugging a cello around. A few weeks later my Mom told me that a lady at a convention downtown had told her that the viola was a good instrument to play because college orchestras needed them, and it might be easier to be admitted to a dignified university. That sealed the deal. I was going to play the viola like none other, because I was going to college someday. The fourth grade was the year I was introduced to the thing that I consider to have saved my life – music.

My happiness continued through middle school, I succeeded in just about every aspect of school, I was in the orchestra, and I had a wonderful group of friends. I decided to join track in the sixth grade, and I put absolutely all my effort in being the best I could be. That doesn't mean I was good, I just tried really hard. It’s kind of what I do. My aunt was a coach and I wanted to make her proud. See, I just tried so hard that I physically wore myself out. I would walk home, sometimes limp home, and just pass out on the couch within five minutes of sitting down.

Sounds pretty normal right?

Since Larry was basically my dad, he sometimes offered to massage my feet or legs or something so I'd feel better. Of course I thought nothing of it - and nobody ever would, but sadly the world is a little more fucked up than that. These "massages" turned into something quite different; something that I didn't understand, something that my brother was sent to bed early for. I had always thought I got to stay up later because I was older. It's a damn shame that I was so ignorant. To put it frankly - my father molested me. Now, shit happens. I know it does, but usually things don't continue on for a year. Almost every day I came home from track, things happened. It started to happen when I went to sleep too. I slept on the top bunk and he was really tall, so I guess it was easy.

All I knew at that time was that I was happy. I had a dad, and I didn't care.

There's one very odd thing about all these happenings - where the hell was my Mom? How could a parent be so ignorant to not notice their child being molested? My Mom was diagnosed with Hepatitis C when I was in the sixth grade. She had to give herself shots twice a day, and continue working. The shots made her basically unable to pay attention to anything. She did a lot of sleeping during that year. Luckily, she is now cured of Hepatitis C. I forgive her for not being there for me because of the sickness, but only because she was sick.

One day, August 15th, if I remember correctly, I decided that I didn't want to do the dishes. My Mom was on her computer, and she was a tad annoyed with me, because of course, the dishes were the most important thing in the world and they had to be done right then. Larry stormed out of the bedroom and said something to the extent of, "Do the God damned dishes, you little bitch." I instantly started crying, and the tears were not those of a typical sixth grader’s tantrum. I was bawling my eyes out. I eventually stopped, did the dishes, and went to my room.

My aunt was having a party that day, and of course I had to go. I don't really like my aunt's house, it's always full of cat hair, and I didn't really have the most pleasant of mornings. A few minutes after arriving, I couldn't help but crying again. I didn't even know why I was crying. My Mom and my aunt took me to the side and asked me what was wrong - as usual family members do. My Mom was sort of upset that Larry had called me a bitch and asked me about that. I remember nodding my head, and just crying more. More and more, for some reason that I didn't understand. She asked me if anything else had ever happened, and my world just shattered. In that single instant, my world of perfection turned to chaos and regret. I told my Mom what had happened. The party afterwards was very interesting, and all I can remember is sitting on my aunt's bed, thinking about how awkward it was being in her room. It smelled kind of weird in there. I heard a few noises, a door slam, and then my aunt came into her room to tell me, "He's gone."

Nobody in the family ever spoke of it again after that day. My Mom, my brother and I stayed the night at my aunt's, I was asked some rather awkward questions, and a few weeks later I visited a doctor to make sure everything was okay with my body physically.

Everything was okay, physically, but it was clear to the doctors that I had been molested.

I decided not to press charges, which is the one decision that I regret more than anything in the world when I look back on my life. I would have loved to send the bastard to jail if I had the chance now, but at that time all I wanted was closure. I didn't want to go through a whole trial and be asked more awkward questions by people who were only looking for a paycheck.

I still thought of this person as my father - the one who was supposed to protect me. It took me a while to even realize what had happened. I had only told my Mom because I was so upset about being called a bitch. That's it. I was a happy 13 year old, why would I change that?

All of that drama was the summer before the 8th grade started, but surprisingly, I continued living in a world of bliss. I ignored my pain; I shut it away and vowed to never let it resurface. I didn’t want to deal with that. The 8th grade, to this day, was one of my favorite years of school. The 8th grade produced the blissful childhood experiences I used to write about. It took me a while to understand what had happened to me, and I think it took so long because I couldn't accept that the one person I trusted the most in the world had done something so vile. It didn't make sense; the world was a happy, good place, where good things came to good people. I was a good person, why should I have to deal with nasty things?

God, I was such a silly little girl.

I spent most of my freshman and sophomore years at Cordova High School as a normal teenager again. I had a boyfriend, Greg Will, who was amazing. He was funny, smart, cute, and he played the viola, too. We both shared a passion for music, and even though he could play better than I could, my passion could basically annihilate his with a single bow stroke. Greg and I had been friends all through middle school, and he just sort of kissed me one Monday. We used to joke that we never were technically “going out” because neither one of us had asked the other. We were the best of friends, and a damn good couple to boot. We were classy – eating each other’s faces in the middle of the quad just wasn’t how we rolled. We did that on our own time! Teachers used to come up and thank us for being classy. It was about the most amusing thing in the world. Besides finally finding someone to take care of me again, I had terrific grades and I had the best friends. I was just missing that dad thing again, but it was no big deal. I was happy. I didn’t need a dad - they only caused pain in my eyes. I couldn’t ask for one either, because there were already far too many positive things going for me. It would have been simply selfish to ask for more from life.

This bliss continued until about my junior year. Greg and I had been dating for a good two years, and we were both about 16. 16 year olds in high school who have been dating for two years are thinking about one thing - and one thing only - sex. We both wanted it. We started getting intimate, and all that fun stuff, but when Greg touched me, my head started to hurt. I felt faint, and sick. I asked him to stop - and he did because he is the best damn guy in the world. Greg had known what happened to me, but he didn't understand it. He didn't understand why I couldn't do something I without a doubt wanted to do. He didn't understand why I cried, and why I felt sick. I didn't even understand. He was always privileged. He always had everything he needed. He'd never experienced my pain. He told me that sex wasn't important, and that he loved me. Good lord was he a good boyfriend. He said he'd wait until I was ready.

A year went by, and we had made a new friend named Jon. Now, this guy did not look intelligent, but he could read a person like a girl on a diet reads labels. He asked Greg one day, "How can you go out with someone for three years and not have sex?" Greg told me later what was asked, and I just shrugged. I didn't know the answer. He didn't know the answer. Ever since that day, our relationship just started dying. It had cancer. I stressed about not being ready for sex, and he stressed about me being stressed. I hate vicious cycles. They're incredibly vicious. We spent the rest of senior year together, because breaking up at the time would have been too much to handle. We wanted to experience Senior Ball and Sober Grad Night as ourselves, and by ourselves I mean together, as the couple we always had been in high school. We were never apart to the degree that some people even considered us the same person.

Soon after Graduation, on June 15th, I broke up with Greg. I couldn’t drag him through life anymore. I wanted him to experience all the wonderful things life has to offer and to be happy. If he had to experience it with someone else, because I was broken, then I guess I could live with that after a while. I can’t say I’m glad we broke up, because that’d be quite a fib, but it was such a relief, because even though I cried every night for at least a month, an incredible weight had been taken off my back. I didn't have to pressure myself to have sex anymore. The thing was, my friends from high school were based off of mine and his relationship. If you knew Greg Will, you knew Darlene McCoy. That sort of happens when you’re with someone for three years. I felt it was much too awkward to hang out with anyone, and I didn't want to talk about what had happened. I didn’t want to relive the new found pain every time I ran into somebody I knew. Instead of letting my friends help me through my anguish, I was a hermit. I didn’t want to bother my precious friends with my issues, they had lives to live. I spent most of my summer thinking about what had happened between Greg and I, why it happened, and life in general. I came to the conclusion that what had happened to me was the issue. I figured that I had suppressed my memories of the time so well that they only ever existed in my subconscious, so only something close to what had happened would trigger a reaction. I don’t know if the actual experience or the experience of what happened resurfacing into my conscience was worse. That summer was the longest summer of my life, and I don't know if I will ever have one longer.

Now, I come from a family notorious for smoking pot, drinking, dropping out of school, all that junk. As soon as I figured out what happened to me, I should have probably gone off the deep end. Just about anything would have done the job: weed, alcohol, anything to make the pain go away. God, growing up is such a bitch. But, ever since I realized how much I didn't want to be like my family, I've refused to do anything of that sort. I had to find solace in something else in this world.

I found that shelter in music, in my viola. Music does not judge, music understands. Music is everything you want it to be. When I finally figured out why I couldn't love the person I loved more than anything, music was my drug. Music cured my pain, music made it all go away. When I play, I forget the world, and concentrate on only the notes before me. I’ve never actually been that great at playing anything though, so I decided because I wasn't that fabulous at making music that I would try to support my orchestra with everything I had to make up for my technical shortcomings. I did so many things that I would have never done. Every year the music department puts on a crab feed. This crab feed was the most enormous fund raiser for music by far at Cordova. We started planning for the January event in at least early November. Tickets were already for sale by Thanksgiving Break. Now, it is no big deal to work hard for a worthy cause, but I walked, in the rain, for a half hour, to work a six hour shift, on my period, to serve some bitchy lady complaining about melted butter, for free. I was ready to kill that woman complaining about butter. I did not comprehend how she did not realize that her wait staff was a bunch of grimy teenagers who were trying their best to serve everybody to raise money for the thing that had brought them there in the first place - music. Our microwave was also broken. Nobody had melted butter. I told her simply that, because I love my orchestra. I worked so hard my senior year to make sure every single member of that orchestra understood what magic music really was. It helped save me from a life of drugs, alcohol and most importantly, misery. I like to think that I accomplished that goal, or at least made them appreciate orchestra a whole lot more!

Because of what happened to me, I grew to be a very shy person with very tall walls made of brick, reinforced with steel, and then to top it off, a layer of some crazy crap you’d find only in movies. I literally transformed into a hermit from the bubbly loud person I was.

Now that I'm at UC Santa Cruz, I feel that nothing can stop me. These walls of mine are tumbling down, and even the gravel piles that remain afterwards will soon be shipped off. My life has seriously been fucked up, but I've made it. I did this, all on my own. Why do I say all on my own? What about my Mom? Wasn’t she there for me? My mother is another essay. After this incident with Larry, well, we never had the same relationship again. She cried for months afterwards. I've always felt that she believes that I was lying, and that it's my fault that she's now single. I don't believe that her unhappiness in life is my fault, but the idea that my Mom basically secretly resents me smolders in my heart. I know that it’s not true - because she is my mother, but I can't help but feel that way. Mentally, my Mom has rarely ever been there when I needed her. At least physically she has always been there for me, and I can never thank her enough for that. I’ve always had food, I’ve always had shelter, but after Larry, I never had a mother to take care of my thoughts. Nobody has ever been there for me mentally. Nobody has ever been able to look at me and understand every concept of my being. I don’t expect to find someone that will, but I’d like to meet someone who understands me well enough that I can feel comfortable around them – no matter what we’re doing. The only thing that I can put my whole being into is my viola. It is my voice, my song; it is me, in my rawest form. Otherwise, I feel as if I am a lone ranger, and I've accepted the idea that the only person I can count on is me, and what doesn't kill me will only make me stronger.

Many shitty things happen to a lot of people. I know that. I'm not trying to sob, I don't want attention, but I want people to know me for who I am, and my story. It’s important for others to understand why I am the way I am. I am tired of hiding behind shame. I will never write of blissful childhood experiences again as a cover; if I write about them again it is because writing immortalizes memories, and I want to keep them the way they are supposed to be. I am proud that I have come this far in life without the continued support of another human being. Music will be my love until I find my “special someone.” I still think of Larry as my father today, but instead of what happened, I just like to think he is dead. By telling myself that he is dead, I allow myself to keep the fond memories of a father in my heart. He was my dad, but he is gone. I know that there is good in life. I know that there is good in peoples' smiles, their hearts, and their words. Not everybody is a bad person, and not every boyfriend of my Mom’s is going to molest me. I can trust people in this world but when it comes down to it, I’m on my own until I find the right person for me. I'm not a pessimistic person, but I'm an optimistic person turned realist. I have learned so much about myself in such a short amount of time, and if I am able to read these words out loud, I believe that I can move on, after five years of living in my own personal hell. I will move on, I am moving on. This is my story and it will be a damned good one, because I call the shots. Nobody, nor any instance, will ever dictate my life again, and I will press on like the trooper I am. Life is a bitch, but only if you let it knock you down.

Note On Last Blog:

"Anonymous said...

disturbed, your seriously disturbed girl.disfunctional families eat your heart out you ain't got nothin on Darlene and her attention seekin blogcrap"

el oh el much?

See, I'm basically gonna tell you why you're a damned retard.

K SO

EVERY ESSAY I'VE EVER WRITTEN & POSTED ON ADD WHM WAS NOT WRITTEN FOR BLOGGING PURPOSES ONLY.

Do you seriously think that I sit in my dorm all day thinking of sad stories to tell?

Good God, I have a LIFE TO LIVE

THERE'S FUCKING CUTE BOYS EVERYWHERE

Do you know what that is?

A life?

See I feel I have to defend myself every time I make fun of Ellatrix

...I know I don't

but I do

'cause I'm really not a crazy brooding person.. I'm just not

Its just fun as hell to joke about such an extreme character

Do I wish him any harm? No.

Do I want bad things to happen to him? No.

Do I really give a rat's ass? No.

It's just funny.

Now why do I post crazy intimate things about my life?

→ I AM ME, AND I AM DAMN PROUD OF BEING ME.

You're just simply retarded if you can't understand the concept of being honest with one's self

Try it sometime.

PS: don't mean to be a bitch, but I can't think of any other word than retarded, my hand hurts, and I have a 8 AM class...

OUT~

Hey, Do You Want to Know EVERYTHING About ME?

Read this shit, soooonn.

WARNING: Depressing Story Alert

The “Real” McCoy
Ever since I was three I've wanted to go to college. I didn't even know what college was back then, but I knew I wanted to go. Now that I'm finally here, and have been asked to write this personal narrative, I think it's finally time to share my real story. See, I've always had an issue with writing these narratives, because I always felt that my story was too intense for normal high school classrooms. It probably was. I've never written in the way I plan to now. Earlier this week I wrote an essay about why I don't smoke pot. It’s something that defines me – yes, but it's all just a load of crap. It's a cover for a girl who can't get over her own tragedies. There's one point in time that defines me more than anything, and after years of misery, I think it's finally time for me to move on. I want to use my story for some good in the world. I want to move on so I can live my life as a happy person - not normal, for I'd hate to be considered normal, but a happy person who can enjoy the world as I once used to.
My story starts at the age of four. I was a happy little blonde kid causing mischief, sneaking over to my friend's house, and just basically living life. I was far too little to understand, or merely notice the chaos of my parent's relationship deteriorating before my very eyes. There are two key things that stick out in my mind when I recall being four - the Power Rangers, and the night we left for Missouri. Apparently, something so horrible had happened between my mother and father that my Mom decided to throw my brother, Waylon, and I out a window. We only had the clothes on our backs, but we had a train to catch. We were going to see Uncle Andy, it was a surprise vacation. I still do not know what happened between them to this day. Both of my parents tell me lies about each other, so who am I to believe?
When we got home from Missouri my father had apparently said that my mother had molested my brother on the trip. He'd called CPS, and then used some law crap to make us come back to California. I don't believe that my mom did that to my brother, and I never will. Either way, CPS came to meet us at the train station, and they took us away. I went to a family of misfits, a foster home - I knew nobody there, I was scared, I was alone. I just wanted to go home. The worst part was that they took my brother, who could not have been more than two or three years old to a different home, and he was sick. I remember lying on that foreign bed and crying every morning at breakfast. I didn't understand anything. Even though I can only remember two details, I would have to say those two weeks were the longest of my life.
After my mother was cleared of any wrongdoings to my brother, we were released to her custody. We left west Sacramento and ended up in a women's shelter. I don't remember anything about that place except that it was blue like the sky, and that some nice lady had given me a blanket. I still have that blanket. It's worn and tattered, much like my life, but it does its job.
After the women's shelter we moved into apartments, and about six months later we moved into a duplex across the street from Williamson Elementary School. Since my brother and I were much too young to understand the ordeal we had been through, we were both enrolled in school and started our lives out much like any other kids. We just didn't have a dad. I believe I was more interested in my favorite color or what I wanted for my birthday than my father, though. It was like that part of our lives had never existed.
The reason why my brother and I lived normal lives during our younger years was the fact that my mom had a boyfriend. His name was Larry, and he looked more like my brother and I than our own mother did. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, just like us. As far as we knew, Larry was our father. I don't remember much from elementary school besides the fact that it was a fun happy time in my life. I was a hyper kid who just liked to play tag with the boys.
My happiness continued through middle school, I succeeded in just about every aspect of school, and I had a wonderful group of friends. I decided to join track in the sixth grade, and I put absolutely all my effort in being the best I could be. That doesn't mean I was good, I just tired really hard. My aunt was a coach and I wanted to make her proud. See, I just tried so hard that I physically wore myself out. I would walk home, sometimes limp home, and just fall asleep on the couch.
Sounds pretty normal right?
Since Larry was basically my dad, he sometimes offered to massage my feet or legs or something so I'd feel better. Of course I thought nothing of it - and nobody ever would, but sadly the world is a little more fucked up than that. These "massages" turned into something quite different; something that I didn't understand, something that my brother was sent to bed early for. I had always thought I got to stay up later because I was older. It's a damn shame that I was so ignorant. To put it frankly - my father molested me. Now, shit happens. I know it does, but usually things don't continue on for a year. Almost every day I came home from track, things happened. It started to happen when I went to sleep too. I slept on the top bunk and he was really tall, so I guess it was easy.
All I knew at that time was that I was happy. I had a Dad, and I didn't care.
There's one very odd thing about all these happenings - where the hell was my Mom? My Mom was diagnosed with Hepatitis C when I was in the sixth grade. She had to give herself shots twice a day, and continue working. The shots made her basically unable to pay attention to anything. She did a lot of sleeping during that year. Luckily, she is now cured of Hepatitis C.
One day, August 15th, if I remember correctly, I decided that I didn't want to do the dishes. My Mom was on her computer, doing whatever she did on that at the time. She was a tad annoyed with me, because of course, the dishes were the most important thing in the world and they had to be done right then. Larry stormed out of the bedroom and said something to the extent of, "Do the God damned dishes, you little bitch." I instantly started crying, and not your normal sixth grader tantrum. I was bawling my eyes out. I eventually stopped, did the dishes, and went to my room.
My aunt was having a party that day, and of course I had to go. I don't really like my aunt's house, it's always full of cat hair, and I didn't really have the most pleasant of mornings. A few minutes after arriving, I couldn't help but crying. I didn't even know why I was crying. My Mom and my aunt took me to the side and asked me what was wrong, as usual family members do. My Mom was sort of upset that Larry had called me a bitch and asked me about that. I remember nodding my head, and just crying more. More and more, for some reason that I didn't understand. She asked me if anything else had ever happened, and my world just shattered. In that single instant, my world of perfect bliss turned to chaos and regret. I told my Mom what had happened. The party afterwards was very interesting, and all I can remember is sitting on my aunt's bed, thinking about how awkward it was being in her room. I heard a few noises, a door slam, and then my aunt came into her room to tell me, "He's gone."
Nobody really spoke of it again after that day. We stayed the night at my aunt's, I was asked some rather awkward questions, and a few weeks later I visited a doctor to make sure everything was okay with my body physically.
Everything was okay, physically.
I decided not to press charges, which is the one decision that I regret more than anything in the world when I look back on my life. I would have loved to send the bastard to jail if I had the chance now, but at that time all I wanted was closure. I didn't want to go through a whole trial and be asked even more awkward questions by people I didn't even know.
I still thought of this person as my father - the one who was supposed to protect me. It took me a while to even realize what had happened. I had only told my Mom because I was so upset about being called a bitch. That's it. I was a happy 13 year old, why would I change that?
All of that was the summer before the 8th grade started, but surprisingly, I continued living in a world of bliss. The 8th grade, to this day, was one of my favorite years of school. It took me a while to understand, and I think it took so long because I couldn't accept that the one person I trusted the most in the world had done something horrible to me. It didn't make sense; the world was a happy, good place, where good things came to good people.
Goodness was I a silly little girl.
I spent most of my freshman year as a normal teenager again. I had a boyfriend, Greg Will, who was amazing, I had good grades, I had good friends, I was just missing that Dad thing again, but it was no big deal. I was happy.
This bliss continued until about my junior year. Greg and I had been dating for a good two years, and we were both about 16. 16 year olds in high school who have been dating for two years are thinking about one thing - and one thing only - sex. We both wanted it. We started getting intimate, and all that fun stuff, but when Greg touched me, my head started to hurt. I felt faint, and sick. I asked him to stop - and he did because he is the best damn guy in the world. Greg had known what happened to me, but he didn't understand it. He didn't understand why I couldn't do something I really wanted to do. He didn't understand why I cried, and why I felt sick. I didn't even understand. He was always privileged. He always had everything he needed. He'd never experienced my pain. He told me that sex wasn't important, and that he loved me. Good lord was he a good boyfriend. He said he'd wait until I was ready.
Then a year went by, and we had made a new friend named Jon. Now, this guy did not look intelligent, but he could read a person like a girl on a diet reads nutrition facts. He asked Greg one day, "How can you go out with someone for three years and not have sex?" Greg had told me what happened, and I just shrugged. I didn't know. He didn't know. Ever since that day, our relationship just started dying. It had cancer. I stressed about not being ready for sex, and he stressed about me being stressed. I hate vicious cycles. They're incredibly vicious. We spent the rest of senior year together, because breaking up at the time would have been too much to handle. We wanted to experience Senior Ball and Sober Grad Night as ourselves, and by ourselves I mean together as the couple we always had been in high school. We were never apart, ever. Some people even considered us the same person.
Soon after Graduation, on June 15th, I broke up with Greg. The relationship was just so much stress that I believed it was unhealthy for us to try anymore. It really was, because even though I cried every night for about a month, I had an incredible weight off my back. I didn't have to pressure myself to have sex anymore. The thing was, all of my friends from high school were based off of mine and his relationship. I felt it was much too awkward to hang out with anyone, and I didn't want to talk about what had happened. Last summer I was a hermit. I spent most of my summer thinking about what had happened between Greg and I, why it happened, and life in general. It was the longest summer of my life, and I don't know if I will ever have one longer.
Now, I come from a family notorious for smoking pot, drinking, dropping out of school, all that junk. As soon as I figured out what happened to me, I should have probably gone off the deep end. Just about anything would have been good: weed, alcohol, anything to make the pain go away. God, growing up is such a bitch. But, ever since I realized how much I didn't want to be like my family, I've refused to do anything of that sort. I had to find solace in something else in this world.
I've been playing the Viola since the fourth grade. Music has always been in my life and I think it is just about the best thing in this world. When I finally figured out why I couldn't love the person I loved more than anything, music was my drug. Music cured my pain, music made it all go away. I was never actually that great at playing anything though, so I decided because I wasn't that fabulous at making music that I would try to support my orchestra with everything I had. I did so many things that I would have never done. I walked, in the rain, for a half hour, to work a 6 hour shift, on my period, to serve some bitchy lady complaining about melted butter, for free. I loved my orchestra. I worked so hard my Senior Year to make sure every single person in that class understood what magic music really was. I like to think that I accomplished that goal, or at least made them appreciate orchestra a whole lot more!
Because of what happened to me, I grew to be a very shy person with very tall walls made of brick, reinforced with steel, and then a layer of some other worldly material that would be impossible to destroy on this planet.
My Senior Year, I had a small schedule conflict so I ended up taking AP French in a French II class. The people I met in that class - Kenny, Crissy, Sara, Martin, Irina, Anna, and Patrick all helped me tear some of those reinforced walls down. They were absolutely the most accepting and wonderful people in the world, and I hope they know how much they mean to me. They have no idea how simple acceptance and friendship can literally change someone's life. They were my drugs, too.
Now that I'm at UC Santa Cruz, I feel that nothing can stop me. These walls of mine are tumbling down, and even the gravel piles that remain afterwards will soon be shipped off. My life has seriously been fucked up, but I've made it. I did this, all on my own. Many people would ask, "what about your Mom?" Well, my Mom, after this incident with Larry, well, we never had the same relationship again. She cried for months afterwards. I've always felt that she believes that I was lying, and that it's my fault that she's now single. I don't believe that her unhappiness in life is my fault, but the idea that my Mom basically secretly resents me hurts. I know that's not true either - because she is my mother, but I can't help but feel that way. My Mom has rarely ever been there when I needed her the most mentally, but she has always been there for me physically, and I can never thank her enough for that. Nobody has ever been there for me mentally when I needed them the most. I'm a lone ranger, and I've accepted that. The only person I can count on is me. What doesn't kill me will only make me stronger.
When I think of my story, I think of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, or the other countless stories of misery. Many shitty things happen to a lot of people. I know that. I'm not trying to sob, I don't want attention, but I want people to know me for who I am, and my story. I am tired of hiding behind shame. I am proud that I have come this far in life on my own - no drugs, no nothing, just me. I still think of Larry as my father today, but instead of what happened, I just like to think he is dead. It lets me keep the good memories in my heart, because when he was my Dad, he was the best damned Dad on the planet. I'd also like people to know that there is good in life. There is good in peoples' smiles, their hearts, and their words. I'm not a pessimistic person, I'm just a realist. Not everybody is a bad person, but when it comes down to it, you're on your own, so be prepared. I have learned so much about myself in such a short amount of time, and if I am able to read these words out loud, I believe that I can move on, after five years of living in my own personal hell. I will move on, I am moving on. This is my story and it will be a damned good one, because I call the shots. Nobody will ever dictate my life again, and I will press on like the trooper I am. Life is a bitch, but only if you let it knock you down.

Sunshine

When I say something like...

Hello, sunshine
Good morning, sunshine
or
xxx, sunshine

It's a term of endearment.

Sunshine is one of my favorite things in the world...

so for me to call someone "Sunshine" is like saying,

"Hello, person who makes my life brighter."

I say if often, but that's because there's a lot of people in this world that do make my life brighter.

There's also a lot that don't.

...and this blog usually focuses on them.

but, I was thinking about this earlier on the bus ride back to Porter... so I decided to post it

mmmm, musings.

Muuussse~ Starlight~

Needs moar mooski.

Dorkus

Just had to restart my PS2 to get keyboard workin' again...

:]

Oh, Right.

No more ranting from me... I've got a LS now and I don't want people to think poorly of them because I talk too much!

I'm not obsessive, but I could go on for days and days...

It's part of being a high school girl... I'm half retarded no matter how intelligent I seem to be XD

I still sort of want to post what happened the day VQ broke up, but man, too much to post... too much to explain... but I might do that sometime... but right now too lazy and I could care less really... I dunno... I'd have to find myself in a mood to be angry and crazy... lately not felt like venting about anything... just trying to keep myself in line and sane...

Being in Tek makes me happy, so happy blog.

Happy blog... yep...

Just the blog...

:(

Right... Right... XD

I do say that I'm super cool, amazing, gangster, etc in a lot of my posts

...if you didn't catch the drift I'm just kidding >.>

Forgot that internet sarcasm fails...

Not that I think poorly of myself, but um...

I'm not a crazy self-centered kid with an ego XD

I mostly say things like that to make fun of people with giant egos...

I don't think I'm better than anyone else... don't think I'm cooler... whatever lol

Don't think that I'm always right, and I don't think I've ever mentioned that I am right in every way... whole thing is opinion, not fact, and that's the whole point...

I just hope people understand that because I don't want to come off with a giant ego...

But, people have said I'm bitter, and of course I am!

People freakin' destroyed something I REALLY cared about, and instead of voicing my opinions like I should have... I kind of sat around and did nothing for some strange reason... it's a bitterness toward myself for being so passive, and a bitterness for people prodding the end of that thing...

I'm a very non-confrontational person but I'm still upset that I can't hang out with the people I just liked to be around... kinda sucks and all

I dunno :]

You know, I'm not so sure if people are calling me bitter, but either way...