You're Invited! (To my pity party!)

I'm looking for a little pleasure in a life that takes lemons from a hypothetical hand and squirts the acid in your eyes.

I've been burned one too many times.

And not with a burning flame that overcomes my heart in a fit of passion, but burned by the idea that love does exist, could exist, for me.

The entire day has just been so unreal with it's harsh look upon reality. And there I sat, brokenhearted, that my idealistic shell had been penetrated, shattered by the truth.

And what was the truth you ask?

I'd love to tell you, but it's too unbelievable for words.

A little trip to the 60's

My second cousin died in Vietnam.

2 days after the family was notified of his death, my uncle recieved a letter from him. My grandmother has the letter and showed it to me. A piece of history was sitting there in my hands. It was amazing. It was the first time I had ever had a piece of my family's past in a tangible resource. The handwriting, the postage, the fact that it passed through the hands of a relative I had never met. A relative that was shot down by his own troops, as they mistook him for the enemy.

He wrote my uncle and told him not to be afraid to enlist. That it was beautiful there and his overwhelming sense of patriotic pride was an amazing feeling.

He told my uncle not to tell my grandmother about the letter, that she would tell his mother and that his mother would get nervous, but he was going to write her later. He never got the chance to.

In history we are learning of the Vietnam War. Sadly, this is the first time I have ever learned about it. I am not only learning the one-sided facade that is printed in grandeuristic textbooks by people in power, I'm learning the true real stories of what it was really like to be an American in Vietnam and a Vietnamese Vet in Vietnam during guerilla warfare.

Through all of this I am gaining some insight to the war in Iraq. How it's not so different after all. How it still kills a mother's child, how it still kills her to lose a child to a lost cause, a fight over power. What is power anyway?

To hold the lives of millions in your hands and send them off to be killed because of some unfinished family business?

I didn't think so. But apparently I'm wrong.

WARNING:Don't read if you're in a good mood.

Nothing new to report.

I'm angry, sad and happy, but confused and depressed all at the same time.

I have big bed and no one to share it with.

I have a big heart and no one to share it with.

"To find a queen without a king, I hear she plays guitar and cries and sings" Zep.

I'm not going to be afraid anymore.

I'm going to sleep on the side of the bed I did when I found out Sarah died. I'm going to resist drawing the curtains closed and let night get to know me again.

I shiver as I sit here. And although I know it's because I'm cold, my poetic side takes over for a moment and says I'm cold because I'm lonely.

I'm not lonely though. I'm happy, but not content. I don't want love. I don't want anything.

But at the same time, I want all of those things. But why? It's not worth it. It hurts. It hurts and it stinks.

LOVE STINKS. But what stinks even more?

Lying in an empty bed.

I Hate, I Love, Hey, I'm Fickle

I'm in a musical frenzy.

I can't get enough Zeppelin, 80's hair bands, anything. It's amazing. I've never been so into music, moved by it, content with it, mellowed even.

The smell and sound of rain let me know that spring really is here. And you know what? I've decided to keep my winter boots out all year long. They're just too cool to put away.

My aggravations are hidden well at the moment, though I'm sure they'll resurface with some sort of house arrest tomorrow. (House arrest in my case is my sister having the car all day.) Although, driving isn't really my bag right now. Perhaps I will opt for the bike. And leave the cell phone home. There's no one that needs to get a hold of me when I don't want to be gotten. I'm out looking for my pot of gold. Leave me alone.

And with that, Goodnight. The nights too beautiful for me to just sit here, staring at an ugly computer screen, dodging pop ups and typing aimlessly about nothing to no one.

Dear Charley:

Dear Charley,

After knowing you one night I decided I liked you. You were attractive, sweet, funny and listened to "The Jovi." It was too good to be true? Maybe.

After talking to you for weeks I decided I still liked you. You called me beautiful, asked me to be your girlfriend, told me you missed me and couldn't wait to see me. And although I do admit I was cynical, at the same time I was experiencing such joy it was beyond belief.

I would think of you at night when I'd lay in bed and think of your arms around me like that night in the car, how warm they felt, how good it felt. I would think about silly little things, like how we could go visit Steve and Katie and watch "Super Troopers." (hahahaha, wipes tear from eye.)

Truth is, I really liked you. Not just like another guy. I had hope that you were different. That you didn't just want sex. That you wanted me for me and all I could bring to a relationship, just as I wanted you and all you could bring too.

There's so much to say but it's all already been said, just not to you. So this is it. I'm done with you. I'm done waiting for nothing, waiting for you to get online at night, done waiting for you to not call, done waiting for something that was never going to happen. And don't think I didn't want it to happen. It only didn't happen because you never gave it a chance. You never gave me the chance.

"Charley loses out doesn't he"

That he does.

Goodbye.

A RANT

9:30 on a Wednesday night.

I sit here, staring at this screen, aggravated with EVERYTHING. Mostly the popups. Any suggestions there? Anyone know how to fix that?

I have run in my stockings. My mouse is frozen on the computer screen and I'm bombarded with meaningless LOLs just to fill the silence of the little im box.

I'm in danger of failing my statistics class because the teacher is picky thus, I'm in danger of losing my 4.0. But as along as it doesn't drop further than a 3.5 I don't mind. (Yes, I do.)

I'm sick of driving my friends around. Sure I offer but not a thank you is in sight, ever. Now I know how my parents felt being my taxi for 17 years.

I'm afraid I'm becoming Woody Allen. Neurotic and cynical. Can someone really be idealistic and cynical at the same time? Apparently so, because here I am.

I wish I didn't care what people thought of me. I wish I didn't care that people think I'm a "ditzy skinny girl who shows off her breasts and legs for all to see," or a "slut." I wish I didn't care if I ever talked to Charley again. But I do. I care about these things and maybe that's why I experience tremendous anguish over trivial things.

I hate being criticized for not being on the same "level" as others. For not being "as good" or "good enough." For being viewed as someone I'm not who uses the word "facetious" instead of "sarcastic" to sound smart, I use "facetious" because I do. Force of habit maybe, I don't know.

I notice as I go on these paragraphs get longer and longer. And for some reason, in my insecure mind, I feel guilty and embarrassed all at the same time for wasting my time with this, your time with this and my journal space with this. And I know that's unreasonable, but it's how I feel.

Hit It Up

So I was going through the other journals I read on a daily basis today and I noticed their "hit" counters. People who started their journals after mine have already had 8,000 hits! And here I am thinking, "Well what the hell is the matter with mine no one wants to read it?!"

I have yet to come up with an answer.

I mean, I'm pretty eclectic on my topics so I could easily pop up at any moment in a search engine. Why, I've had entries about "Boy meets World," knitting, snot, "Sex and the City," "The Passion of the Whoever," I mean, these are pretty popular subjects and yet, NOTHING!

I'm only on 830, or something like that. Of course, I've made some friends through my little blog here (Amber!) and I am very thankful for that...but come on now! Don't I advertise enough?!

This journal has been here for about 6months now. It should be overloaded with comments and praise, but silence ensues.

Hit it up.

Spring Sprung and Broke in Two

And here I sit on a Saturday morning, the first day of spring. And I wonder aloud, "Is this really spring?"

And if so, if it really really is, I am glad.

"Spring," I say again, "spring." I honestly don't believe it. This is what I've waited for for months now and here I am, amidst spring. I can barely wrap my mind around it.

There's still snow here. There's still thick gray clouds in the sky. I'm still disbelieving of this whole "changing of the seasons" because personally, I don't feel any different.

I was hopeful that this whole spring thing would lighten my mood a bit, but it seems to be even more depressing.

Yesterday I had wished that spring would bring a whole new me to surface, with new friends, new love, a new outlook. But today the only thing resurfaced  was my lack of faith in everything.

I laugh in the face of spring. The idea that was so promising to me that I could almost feel it in my grasp. The idea that has now slipped through my fingers back into the muddy pile of snow at my feet, where it was born only days before.

Is spring what I'm really talking about? Kind of.

But not really.

The Magical Fruit

Way back when I used to say "cool beans."

Nothing nowadays seems to really be "cool beans."

Why is that?

Knit Time with Marissa

I'm sitting here waiting for my Gram to come pick me up for my very first knitting lesson. Yes, that's right, everyone. I'm skipping the next 50 years or so of my life and am going to begin knitting now, so I'll have it ready by the birth of my great great great grandson or daughter or alien, whatever. This way I don't have to go through the trouble of planning my wedding or divorcing my husband or giving birth, or the hardest thing, actually finding someone to do those things with. I'll just do a little time travelling today...hopefully my Gram doesn't age a bit. I couldn't imagine any more wrinkles on that lovely little face!

About me

I'm confused.

Again?

No, still.

Bout Charley? No, fuck Charley.

About Ant or Amee? Nope.

About what then, Marissa?

About me.

What I Woke Up To This Morning

There's so many ways I can go from that title.

It's only 11:00 and yet so many things have happened, mind you, I've been up for less than a half hour.

I go to bed at 2 this morning after watching a marathon of "Sex and the City."  I toss and turn for a little while then alas, fall into an undisturbed slumber.

Or so I thought.

3 a.m. on the dot. And my phone is ringing. "Who the hell could this be?" I think to myself, but I already knew the answer. The same person who has been calling me and hanging up for the last 8 hours or so.

Yes, it was Charley.

Now a little background...Charley's fingers are broken, apparently, as he did not call me in the weeks passing our "rolling in the hay," if you will. Yesterday we were supposed to see each other (though I assumed it wouldn't happen) and he just forgot to let me in on it. He drove up and down the main street that runs parallel to my street, thinking it was my street, looking for my car, which by the way, is my dad's car, thus not in the driveway where he was assumebly looking for it. I know, I know, what a catch, right?

Anyhow, it was him on the phone. He had called me a few times earlier that night just to prove he knew how to actually use the phone. Only thing is, he'd hang up each time, like the lame-ass that he is. (At one point, he played Bon Jovi's "Always" into the phone, which made me giggle uncontrollably.) All I heard was noise in the background and finally someone say "What are you doing on the phone, man, who the hell are you callin?" And with that, he hung up. What the hell?

I don't know where the actual attraction is here. He's a drug addict with a phone phobia. He's an excuse teller and a mystery. But still, I'm smitten. And I hate it.

But here it is, 11:30, and what I really woke up to...aside from millions of popups ads ironically stating "STOP POPUPS NOW!"...

3 NEW PAIRS OF SHOES! AND A SMOOTHIE MAKER! My mom is awesome. Though overly-dramatic at times.

Have a lovely day.

Mixed Bag O'Shit in honor of the Irish holidays

Whoever said Sunday was the day of rest should tell that to my cough. It hasn't let up in the few hours I've been home.

I won a deeeeelightful ornate basket today filled with candles and goodies and some Pope John Paul Peter George or whoever bullshit. I suppose that crap is inevitable when you're at a church function. Anyhoo...

I just had projectile crackers hit my computer screen, leaving little spit marks all over the monitor. Good going, cough.

I need some new friends, I think. Of course I don't see people exactly lining up or anything.

And I need some cough drops.

Oh yes, BFF and I went and saw "Monster" last night. It was chilling. I don't generally get disturbed during movies but this one effected me, silently. It was amazing.

Whatever.

I'm going now.

Bye.

And the winner is...JESUS!

I cannot believe it.

My journal is actually working. There is a Passion of Christ.

Oh, darn, I said it. Well, with that being said, allow me to make some interesting points about the movie that I did not see and will not see, although the "unsaved" tickets at the local church are tempting, being half price for those who don't believe in Bruce Almighty or whoever.

I heard Jesus has been the chosen one (no pun, seriously I didn't mean it, hahaha) for the Lifetime Achievement Award at the Oscars next year. All I have to say is it's about time and watch out for the crazy plastic-faced bitch Joan Rivers, she'll rip you a new one on the red carpet if you're not careful. I can see it now...

Plastic Face: "Oh! Jesus! Who are you wearing, dahling?"

Jesus: "Oh, sup, Joan? I am wearing the new 100% linen sheet from the Martha Stewart 'dress up your dismal cell' Collection. Tell me it's not fabulous."

PF: "No one can pull off a sheet like you, Jesus. Tell me, how's your father doing?"

Jesus: "You should know you were screaming his name all night last night."

PF: "Oh, that's right! I was getting the fat from my ass injected into my forehead. It was numb for hours I never thought I'd be able scowl at the famous assholes on the red carpet, but here I am! Well, it was nice talking to you Jesus. And congrats on your Oscar nom!"

Jesus: "Bye, ho."

Frostbitten

I'm so frustrated.

I woke up this morning to the sound of wind colliding with my bedroom windows. Here I'm thinking it's going to be a glorious day like yesterday, but alas, I arise from my cozy bed and WHAM! It hits me! SNOW! A white blanket smothering my beautiful green grass! What the hell kind of low rent shit is this?! Not cool.

Next, again with the journal acting up. I don't know what's going on, I'm computer illiterate so this just isn't working out for me. And the popups? 52 as of 10 minutes. It's like girl scouts coming to your door during cookie season. They're very intrusive, like Hitler.

Still no ringing telephone. It's loud and clear, thankyouverymuch. No more sex on the first date. Got the message.

Spring break awaits me. While others are in Florida or California or Bornio or wherever, I'm here. In upstate NY, shoveling my driveway, breaking out the winter boots I was so happy to put away a week ago.

And as I shake the snow from my hair, I laugh. Not because life is funny this time, but because it's just my luck that snow got in my socks.

 

Tissues, my only friend

I don't know if anyone else out there in Journal Land is experiencing technical difficulties with stupid AOL. But I am. And I'm not happy about.

How shitty it meaks me feel when even my journal doesn't want to talk to me. I feel so rejected, so hurt.

Everything is turning on me. My nose went on strike and so now my eye is acting as a nose, with snot pooring out of it with it's neon yellow disgustingness. I have to blow it, hang on I'll be bright back.

Alas, here I am. With a tissue shoved in my eye, my phone not ringing and my journal wordless. My life is crashing down on top of me and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

'Cept maybe with this tissue.

I guess that's why they call 'em crushes

Never again will I let myself fall for a guy.

It's not worth it.

Pain I do not need.

He asked me what I wanted. I said "inconvenient love." (Thanks Carrie Bradshaw)

That's what I got. And crushed.

 

So yes, between my broken journal sites and thousands of popups, AOL is not on my good side. They are officially on my shit list. AOL, you are a bastard.

this is not working right.

Marissa Welcomes Spring (although prematurely)

March is a great time of year.

As the snow begins to melt, miniature waterfalls flood the streets with thier promises. Water cascades over the curbs and into the sewer, making it near impossible to walk outside without hearing it's song.

Seeing grass is like a ray of hope knowing that the entire time this beautiful green was buried underneath mountains of shimmery snow, making it almost hard to believe you've ever seen something so natural, so green.

Walking outside without a coat on is like setting a caged bird free. I breathe in, reintroducing my senses to the world and they welcome it, for it was long overdue. After four months, it's time for a little change.

And perhaps a little love, too.

RPG? You tell me.

RPG...I think so.

He takes on the typical male role. Shows up at his friend's dorm drunk, begs friend to call mutual female friend to meet him there.

Unknowing of the drunken circumstance, I show up.

Long story short, we bang. In his car. In the parking lot.

Not so typical of me.

I'm assuming typical of him.

He hasn't called.

THE BASTARD.

I think I wish I was

When I was in high school, which wasn't too long ago...

There was a clique of "popular" girls. They wore velour jumpsuits with "Juicy" written on the ass and walked around chatting aimlessly on their cellular phones, carelessly running up thier parent's bills. They smoked, but didn't inhale. They drove fancy little coupes and monstrous SUVs, in silver or black.

They'd stand around in the halls in big groups, making it near impossible for anyone to pass through to get to their next class on time. All the so-called "cool" kids would show up late and laugh half-heartedly as they got reprimanded. Then the kids like me would roll their eyes and glare, knowing full well we got there on time and didn't interrupt class with crude remarks and dumb questions. "Dumb questions?" Said Science Teacher, "There are no dumb questions."

"Of course there are." I whisper to the girl with the red hair next to me.

The clock ticks.

"If someone was travelling at the speed of sound would they still be able to hear their walkman?" Asks stupid kid with spikey hair.

"And there you have it." I whisper.

I sit silently and stare at the desk as I get yelled at for talking during class. Spikey haired kid just cackles in the back with his non-conforming conformist friends. They look at him to make sure that's something to laugh about, then follow suit.

Whispers taunt me at my turned back. I'd turn around to give them a pice of my mind, but they already had too much of it by then. I shouldn't give them another thought, I knew, but still my head was filled to the brim, my cheeks red.

I walk out of class, alone, through the crowds in the halls. And I think to myself, "I'm glad I'm not one of them." But looking back, I think I wish I was.

And So It Goes

And so will you soon I suppose...

I should've known better.

For the record I did not know he was under the influence...of alot of things. And people.

I mean I should've known when kissing him made me feel drunk. It was like doing a shot of cognac right out of his mouth.

I don't dig doin' it on the first "hanging out." I told him so.

He said he admired that, as his hands travelled south.

After 4 hours, I gave in.

An hour after that, we were slightly sorry.

This morning? I'm fine.

Suprised? No, not at all.

And so it goes.

Good Omens by Neil Gaimen

moEron61: alright night beautiful

Chittarabunny129: g'night.

His name is Charley. He loves Bon Jovi (as do I) and we have a whole list dedicated to things we have in common.

But does that mean we're good for each other? Because we have alot of things in common? He thinks I'm perfect for him. I'm not so sure he's perfect for me.

Don't get me wrong, I like him. He's very foxy. He's sweet and makes me blush and giggle. I enjoy talking to him, though when we are together it's slightly awkward. (Considering all the "pressure" from mutual friends.)  He smokes pot. I do not. I would not could not will not smoke pot. Again. Once was plenty enough for me.

He's a fellow guitarist and a songwriter as well. So he's sensitive, good with words and seemingly loving. He wants a relationship. He actually wants a girlfriend. He's not into "hooking up" (the original plan) he'd rather be with someone. In fact, countless times during the conversation he asked me to marry him, though usually after another thing we had in common.

There've been omens.  Weird coincidences and missing puzzle pieces found. It's strange. But is this really what I want?

I haven't been looking for a boyfriend because I'm actually for once satisfied with just me. I have these aspirations of going away to college next year that may be bumped out of the way because of a guy. I've been known to lose myself when I get attached to someone and I don't want that happening again.

Isn't it funny how I realize something is going to happen yet I don't control myself enough to prevent it?

I'm probably worked up over nothing. But I'm sick, so perhaps it's the 2 tylenol washed down Dimetapp talking.

 

A Person Can Develop A Cold

*Sneezes*

A full blown cold. But a cold of this magnitude should be called a freeze.

I'm frozen.

A Shot Glass filled with Cough Syrup

Don't know if I told you, but I met a comedian. We were going to go on a date, but didn't after I learned of his horrible pot addiction, his real age and the fact he loves to whip "it" out whenever possible. Now he won't stop calling me. In fact, today, he left me 6 new voicemails. Comedian? I think not. Stalker? A safer bet.

I developed a cold at some point during the night. I'm now achey and sore and stuffy and very upset at this. I got the flu shot. I was obviously misinformed as I thought it would protect me from everything, even unwanted pregnancy and rubella. But no, the flu shot only protects me from the flu. Who woulda thunk it? And here I am, on the my deathbed with some common cold. Let the gays get married and waste your time finding a cure for the common cold instead would you please? Damn.

I stumbled across a free Bon Jovi cd.

I stumbled across a few men who peaked my interest.

I stumbled and fell.

And now I can't get up.

Pass the Robitussin, please.

Little Story bout Tony and Marissa

I don't get it.

Tony,(sushi boy), you confuse me sometimes. What do you want with me? You are a Hugo Boss underwear model (not really, I'm trying to use similes and metaphors) and I'm just a Sears polo shirt model. I'm plain, you know? You are cultured. Worldly.

And here I am. As plain as can be (hardly) with no clue of anything. Ever.

And outside we walk, together, you towering over me by 9 or 10 inches, looking all beautiful and I know you know it.

I know it.

And I walk along. Trying to look somewhat coordinated. Trying to look remotely in tune and confident in my awkward little skin. Trying not to to melt at the sight of you.

I'm so shallow.

Yet I'm drowning in it.

I Get Sprung

I walked outside today without a coat on.

Life is funny sometimes.

No?