But enough about me.

1. I use "Sex and the City" as a weapon against bitterness of the opposite sex.

2. I've played the guitar for about 5 years now. The first song I learned was "Time of your Life" by Green Day.

3. There have been multiple occasions where I "can't hold it." (BFF can vouch for this)

4. I have a hard time of letting go of things. And people.

5. I can't stand internet lingo. (i.e. "LOL" "KEWL")

6. My favorite day of the year was this past Saturday. My birthday. It's a time to celebrate just me, on the calendar. Although I must admit, I celebrate myself everyday.

7. I have insane amounts of clothing and shoes. I don't consider myself materialistic.

8. I'm very uptight about money. Ironic, considering the above statement.

9. I love school.

10. I'm afraid that I will die alone, with Anthony.

11. My favorite topic to talk about is myself. It's not conceited or pretentious in any way. It's simply the thing I know most about.

12. I have ragged fingernails and perfect toenails.

13. My favorite joke goes as follows: Did you hear about the corderoy pillow? ---no---Really? It made headlines.

14. I have a subscription to Glamour, O and Lucky magazines.

15. I Love Lucy. And have a collection to prove it.

16. Up until a few months ago I shunned any idea of a DVD player and insisted on using my VCR. I gave in shortly after it ate my tapes.

17. I love the smell of the rain. And am always late for class on rainy days. I have to stop and throw the worms back into their homes.

18. People think I'm weird.

19. I think so too.

20. One of the best friends I have ever had I met on the internet. (Yes, you, Amber.)

21. I ritualistically google names of people I like on the internet.

22. Since the invention of the cell phone, I have a hard time remembering numbers.

23. Don't be suprised (or grossed out) if I don't shower for a few days. It just seems so unnatural to me.

24. No matter how many hours I sleep for, if I get up at 8:00 am, I am tired. It's too early.

25. Pancakes I get at IHOP make me not only hop but run---straight to the bathroom. (I'm trying to embrace it.)

26. I have a strange obsession with cannibalism and Jeffrey Dahmer.

27. I look at porn.

28. I prefer N64 to Gamecube and regular Nintendo to anything.

29. We plant basil at my Grandfather's grave. I plant Doublemint gum. His favorite.

30. If I do something wrong, I apologize. Always.

31. I hate dentists, but love going to the doctor.

32. I have never gotten pulled over for speeding, but would like to once before I die.

33. I don't like dogs. There, I said it.

34. BBQ's rock my little world.

35. My favorite journal is my own. I read it religiously.

36. I am "spoiled," but appreciate it, therefore I shouldn't be called "spoiled." It has negative connotations. (i.e. "spoiled milk" = not good milk.)

37. I hate the idea of dieting, unless it is for health reasons. Embrace it. It's just more of you, and let's face it, that's never a bad thing.

38. I love the 80's.

39. Barbie is my role model.

40. My real role model is my dad.

41. I get aggravated easily and find nothing wrong with cutting people out of my life who cause me great deals of stress. It's my idea of personal darwinism.

42. I hate the idea of doing a job I hate. I haven't worked in 2 years.

43. Religion is bullshit. And that's my religion. (No offense, to each his/her own. God Bless.)

44. I like to be naked.

45. I pee in the shower.

46. And then laugh.

47. There's nothing like a good dark beer.

48. Carbs? No carbs? I don't care. I'm hungry.

49. I wish Queer Eye for the Straight Guy were my neighbors.

50. I hate dusting.

51. I feel like I am unable to do the things I really want to do. (i.e. trip to Italy, perform on stage) And I feel that that's why I really want to do them.

52. Money isn't that important.

53. I have a buttload of animosity toward Madonna and her "accent."

54. I never watch the news because it is horribly depressing. I only read the obituaries in the paper.

55. I once got dumped after the ball dropped on New Years. I hate the term "dumped." It sounds so....shitty.

56. I once bought an XBOX for an X. (He wasn't my X at the time.) Merry Christmas, asshead.

57. I revel in late-night phone conversation that last for hours.

58. I spit like a sailor.

59. I smoke cigars.

60. I shop at the Salvation Army and one day would love to graduate to garbage picking. It sounds so fun.

61. A cherished memory? Eating s'mores with Anthony and making a huge mess.

62. Another? DisneyWorld with my family. 'Twas magical.

63. I love meeting new people.

64. Like the cracker, I am very sociable.

65. My favorite card is the 4 of diamonds.

66. At the age of 8, my parents brought me to an all-age casino and I won Omaha steaks at the craps table. If only I had such luck these days.

67. My hands are always cold.

68. My 2 older siblings tease me and I always end up crying.

69. In 11 years I will be 30.

70. My sister and I used to watch wrestling and would bet our pennies on who would win. My personal favorites? Mr. Perfect and Dusty Roads.

71. I would one day like to travel to Vietnam.

72. I bought a $68 jacket today for $16. It didn't buy me happiness. But it did buy me a cute jacket. I'll take what I can get.

73. I watch cartoons.

74. I have been reading the second Harry Potter book for 3 months now. I have 60 more pages, a movie to watch, another book to read, all before Friday. Yeah, me neither.

75. I love Bam Margera.

76. I'm idealistic. And pessimistic. And fantastic.

77. I hate crowded rooms, parties and vending machines. I'm also frightened of cheese sticks.

78. I had a near-life experience the other day.

79. I hate Christmas.

80. I only eat cereal dry.

81. There's someone I'm thinking of tonight who isn't thinking of me.

82. I'm not superstitious. I don't believe in ghosts and I only read my horoscope for fun.

83. One day I will die.

84. I knit.

85. I would like to eat breakfast with Steve Buscemi one day. I think it'd be a hoot.

86. I once owned an inflatable green piece of furniture.

87. I believe in fate, friends and family. 3 "F's" that will shape your life and make it worth living.

88. Qualities I hate? Racist, homophobic, pretention, cocky, rude, -overly-anything, underly-anything...

89. The list could go on.

90. This list kept my mind off of life for a while. I need a break sometimes.

91. Oprah once said, "Friends are mandatory to your sanity."

92. Confucious say, "If you run behind car, you will be exhausted."

93. Marissa says, "It's okay to love yourself."

94. What do you have to say for yourself?

Oh, the tangled webs we weave

Words are my weapon, yet at the same time words are my outward expression of emotion, though at most times I find myself searching for words that aren't there to describe a feeling that goes far beyond just a simple word. Feelings are complex and intricate, like a spider's web, co-mingled and intertwined with delicate silk.

There have been many times I have been at loss for words. When I have been caught up in a moment that is pure ecstasy, or, pure hell, and later cannot bring myself to even conjure up a word that can even closely describe how it moved me. Silently.

Now is one of those times.

 

I'm gonna start a revolution for my pain...

I've tried a few times now to write a decent entry. It's just not working. There's something I need to say and I cannot find how to say it. I've tried avoiding it. I've tried beating around the bush. I've tried sugar-coating it. And the truth is, I can't.

 

I miss you today.

Maybe tomorrow it will go away, I hope it does. But until I go to sleep tonight, I will miss you.

I'm done now.

Does this even need a title?

*Does Birthday Dance*

 

Oh, yeah.

A Girl's Best Friend

On this lovely Friday night I am surfing the internet in hopes of finding a bear clinic for my loved-too-hard longtime companion, Fluffy.

Fluffy has been around for many years. About 15 or so. I bought him on a family vacation to Alexandria Bay, NY. We took a boat trip to Boldt Castle, which really, is one of the only attractions there, and in the gift shop I, a 5 year old girl, stumbled across a mass of peach fur on the shelf. He was the only one left and I knew then and there it was destiny for us to be together. My dad bought the story until he looked at the price tag. He told me to put it down and come on, to catch the boat.

I, being the stubborn person I am, threw a fit in the middle of the souvenir store. I would not get on that boat without my new friend. There was no way I was having that. He was so cute and he was all alone. He was $65.

Needless to say, I won the battle. My dad forfeited when he saw the boat getting ready to leave. I told the clerks no bag was necessary, grabbed my new honey and ran to the docks.

On the boat, we sat around the tables on the lower level, decided what to name my new friend. His gender was unidentifiable, as was his species. Could be a bear, could be a dog, no one knew. So I figured there, he was a he, and he was a dog. I contemplated the names Fuzzy (already had one named that) and Furry, but chose the one my brother came up with. It was unoriginal but fitting. Fluffy. He would be called Fluffy. (Which, by the way, is short for Flufferton. But don't let him hear you call him that. He hates it.)

We became best friends. He has his own spot on my bed and a special place (tears up) in my heart.

Back to the Bear Clinic business...

Fluffy has a little fur line recession, if you will. He has areas that were once covered in tufts and tufts of bright peach fur that are now dirty splotches of once-white netting. The fur he does have left is matted and mangy, after being thrown into the washer and dryer on many occasions. He has a few battle wounds, one being a scar on his tummy from when my brother ripped him when I was younger. *sniff* Still so treacherous to think about. He's also beginning to have a funky odor. I think its mold in his stuffing or something. Poor baby.

I don't have any pictures of him online, but if I scan any soon I will post them. He brings me such joy, as well as my family. He's like the Mother Theresa of teddy bears.

I am so lucky to have such a great love and companion in my life. He is always there for me and never judges me. He's the perfect friend.

"Mariss, shut the F*** up!" - Anthony

I'm sitting here, hunched over, at my keyboard. "Hunched over?" You may ask. Yes, hunched over.

After a particularly drunken evening last night in celebration of Harley and Marissa's birthdays, I woke up with quite a few aches and pains, not to mention bruises, that I have no idea how they got there.

I'm not a regular drinker. In fact, this may be only the 3rd or 4th time I've done this, but this was by far the most gone I ever was. Oddly enough, I do not have a hangover. I still wear the sunglasses, despite the clouds, however, to cover my sleep deprived eyes. Everything on my body hurts that was numb last night thanks to Raspberry Bacardi and some man's beer he mistakenly left on the table. Oops, sorry sir, I think I may have just accidentally drank your alcoholic beverage. Thats aaaabsolutely my bad.

Oh, but wait! There's more! (Always is, with you, Mariss!)

My BFF was sweet enough to trade in those initials for some new ones: DD to his drunk best friend. Thanks again, I couldn't have made a fool of myself alone. (Au contrair...)

I will leave you with a personal favorite moment of mine last night. 

Anthony, being the bestest best friend ever! assisted both drunk Harley and Marissa downstairs to the restrooms. I told him I didn't need to go but he found it completely necessary to shove me into the dark bathroom and close the door anyway. How nice. I do a complete 360, like dogs do before they sit, and, being the part-time kickboxer that I am, feel the need to kick the door open. That's not even the best part. Anthony was standing right in front of the door! WHAM! I HAVE ARRIVED!

....WAIT!....THERE'S EVEN MORE!.....

We follow the muttering-to-himself Harley down yet another flight of stairs to the boy's bathroom. Anthoney takes the stall, Harley acquires the mirror (as usual, girlfriend) and I stand in puddle near the urinal. "Is this pee?!" I ask, unimpressed. I stumble into the corridor and bump into an acquaintance of a neighbor of mine. "I need to pee." He says.

He walks past me into the room where Harley is gazing ever so lovingly at his crimped hair (oh yes, it was 80s night?!) and stands at the urinal. Meanwhile, I am mosey-ing about in there, touching Harley's hair, licking his hand, etc. all while this poor boy develops stage fright. "I'm pee shy." He exclaims and walks back upstairs.

'Twas a good night.

The countdown has reached it's end. 1 day until my birthday. If you can't make it, turn on the 6:00 o'clock news where they will be reporting LIVE from my house.

Another Day

I have looked no farther than into a tiny box within my soul. And in that box, I found the answer. Today is another day.

Today is today. It's not yesterday. I no longer have to feel those leftovers from a bittersweet goodbye, I no longer have to drown in the rain that poured onto me, unnanounced. Today, I have woken up. To someone in my shoes, that's the biggest step.

I know my moods aren't always predictable, but you see, if I know my moods are inconsistent, that's predictable. It's not that bad, I guess.

I don't know if the sun being out has anything to do with my happiness today. And I don't know if it has anything to do with saying goodbye to an anxiety I held onto, with a closed fist, for weeks. I feel free. I feel better. I'm in that place I only discovered a few months ago, but I feel like I may visit it more often. It's nice here. It's warm.

I recieved two great comments from two wonderful fellow journalers, xzasporated1 and marigolds2 and I would like to personally (or as personal as you can get over the internet) thank them for their great advice as well as empathy toward a teenage girl who is struggling for the answers to all of her questions. Thank you, so much, it's beyond appreciated.

I am slightly apprehensive, however, that this feeling will not last, but I do have much faith in myself to find this place once again. We all get lost, sometimes, and during those times its important to realize that even if the path you chose wasn't the "right" one, it enables you now to realize what the "right" one is.

Okay. Enough of that now. I don't know how many more adages I can think up without losing track of what I was rambling about. Wait...

I have another one.

You know that proverbial tunnel? The one that's so dark and all you desperately want is the light at the end of it? As if it's some sort of reward to suffering in the dark for so long? Anyway...I haven't reached the light yet. But I do have hope that I will someday. Which, achieves full circle status, ironically enough, someday=another day. Another day in which I will wake up and be happy to be alive.

Good day, folks.

It's officially 2 days until my birthday and I am not gonna lie, I am psyched! Send in the clowns!

Wet Toes

A cloudy day.

I walked along campus in the rain today, my flip-flops splashing in puddles, my umbrella bobbing over my head. I took a deep breath of the air...It was warm and it almost smelled sweet.

I wanted to scream out or to cry as I walked. To strip myself naked of the ugliness I felt covered me. But I didn't. I stayed quiet, held back tears and treaded on.

I no longer know if this is normal behavior for a 19 year old. All the 19 year olds I know go out partying, have horrible pot addictions and work part time jobs. I, on the other hand, ponder the meaning of life, wonder what death feels like, if anything, and can't seem to keep a smile on my face for longer than a day.

I came home to an empty house. It felt good not to have any intrusion for once. I could stare at my walls in peace, finally, I thought.

I let go last night of an idea that kept me warm for a few weeks. Sure, the memories will still keep me warm, but I hear there's a cold front creeping in. So I'll crawl under my blankets, as I do everynight, and wait for morning to shine her light on my teary face. Then, I will battle with my will to again face the day and wonder if I will see tomorrow.

Of course I will. Sometimes you can just tell these things.

The Countdown is slowing as it nears. 3 days, until my Birtday, she says, 3 days and I'm free again. Knock first, there's a Do Not Disturb sign on my bedroom door. I'm sleeping in.

A Self-absorbed Entry

I woke up  at 5am this morning in a panic. My legs were tense, I was sweating and I had tears in my eyes. I didn't know exactly what to do, so I just laid there and cried for a few minutes. I was hoping it all would pass, but it seemed to drag on forever.

I was thinking about going to see someone about it again, but let's face it, it's alot of money I don't have, alot of anguish my parents don't need and alot of medication I don't want to fool around with.

My darling friend, Amber, is going through a hard time. I was shocked to get an email from her yesterday morning saying her mother had died. My heart goes out to you Love, take care. Hope to talk to you soon.

With death, missing Mario and my phobia of Public Speaking (I had to give a speech yesterday) all on my mind, I freaked out a little bit. Thanks to Anthony and Ben and Jerry's, I made it through the day. It's tonight and tomorrow and the next day I worry about. I feel like I don't have any options and this is how it will always be for my entire life. And that is really scary. It's a waste.

My speech went pretty well, I suppose. I charmed them with my dry sense of humor and hid my fidgety hands pretty well behind the podium. I spoke for 2 minutes on my favorite subject--myself--and received applause as I covered my face with my notebook and sat in my chair.

My Dad  has decided to quit his job. I'm not quite sure what this means for the family, but it has caused me a loss of sleep and knots in my stomach. My job search resumes.

My inspiration has been a dry well lately. No poetry has passed through these hands in a few weeks. And I feel like I have so much to say.

My birthday is in 4 days. If money buys happiness, I hope you find it on the Clearance Rack.

My Journal Tree is growing branches!

While surfing the internet on this lovely night, I stumbled across a beautifully written journal...it's funny. Reallllllly funny. I actually laughed out loud. (which is not a rare occurence, but I digress.) Check it out!

http://journals.aol.com/xzasporated1/RandomRamblings/

Enjoy. And have a lovely evening.

Don't forget my birthday. It's in 5 days and 3 and half hours. You best be getting your gifts together.

Brace Yourselves for an entry about T'Storms!

There's nothin like a little rain to freak everyone in my neck of the woods right the hell out.

These thunderstorms everyone has been ranting about hit here last night. Big freakin whoop. My grandma came over in a bundle of nerves and asked to sleep over. We told her no. Aren't we awesome? My actual response to my mother's "Can Grandma sleep in your bed?" was "There will aaaabsolutely be no Grandmas sleeping in my bed. Ever. Now, get out."

A little flicker of the lights and a little extra noise is too much to handle for some of the Upstate New Yorkers...they rush into their basements with leftover batteries and flashlights from the whole Y2K incident.

Grab your plastic spoons and some canned beets and lets move into shelter. I hear another storm is coming. Oooooooooooooh! Better watch out for the ghosts while you're down there! Now getting electrocuted isn't your first priority is it?! Ha!

6 days until my Birthday. Don't worry, the storms are not invited. Just bring yourself and a gift and $10 for the admission fee.

The Old Maid's protective shell has been penetrated.

A few years ago I began writing a story. It, since then, has come a long way, but not as much as I had hoped. See, I haven't really worked on it in some time, sans rereading and editing.

It's basis is a woman, who just turned thirty, and her "unluck" with men. Her biggest fear is to die an old maid and she's just lost about all hope. Not very original, I know. But (there's always a but!) it will give me a little bit of an idea on what my particular writing style is.

So without further ado, here is you free sample. Please leave criticism. I could use it. And I won't hate you, I promise. Well, maybe a little. But not for too long.

“Am I going to be alone forever?”  I blew my nose for the eightieth time. I sat down on the edge of my bed, phone in hand, and tugged at my ripped pantyhose until they came off. “I thought things were going great. I mean, his family all seemed to like me and…”

“Yeah, but you didn’t like them!” I was talking to my friend Jessica, the girl who’s been around the block more than once. She’s been married twice, divorced twice and got rich twice. My hero. How did she find three guys to marry her and I couldn’t even find one?

“So?” I wiped my eyes, causing a black flood of mascara to run down my fingers. “I’m just so sick of this. I don’t want to be alone anymore! I’m almost thirty years old and have no life outside of work. I come home to my sad little apartment and microwave some piece of shit dinner and sit in front of the TV. Even a clam would be unhappy here.”

“You’re just upset. Take a deep breath and let everything out.”

So I did. I screamed, slammed the phone on the side of the nightstand, and threw a picture of me and the ex against the wall. “Bastard!” I threw myself onto my unmade bed and let the black tears stream into my hair. I thought of how terrible I probably looked, with my hair knotted and my nose all red, and that made me feel even worse. My pity party was cut short by a screeching buzz over the telephone. Oops.

I called Jess back and apologized. “Feel any better?” She asked.

“I guess.” I sighed, stumbling into the dark kitchen for a glass of water. I told her I’d call her back later. It was three a.m. by that time, and I needed some sleep. Some New Years, I thought to myself. But I have to admit; it was considerate of him to wait until after the ball dropped. Wow, even my subconscious was sarcastic.

I walked back into my bedroom and turned my bedside lamp on. The room seemed empty, although it was far from it. My bedspread was in a heap on the floor, as were my clothes, broken glass sparkled in the rug and I stood in the midst of it all. I felt like I was broken, in a million sharp, little pieces.

I took off the rest of my clothes, grabbed my blankets and climbed into bed. I fell asleep curled tightly into a ball and didn’t wake up until the phone rang Sunday afternoon.

......................................................................................................

 

I must admit, this is the first I'm actually debating posting an entry. I've never been too shy about putting anything up here, but this seems so personal. Anyhow...feast your eyes upon that.

One week until my birthday. It's not looking like a good one.

Neurotica

Catchy title, huh?

I went to my cousin's college graduation party this evening.

And I couldn't help but think---God, in 3 years that will be me. Thats insane. The idea of college right now is my safety net. It's the last thing I have to hold onto (with white knuckles) until I'm left alone in the real world. No, I am not talking about that lame show on MTV...I'm talking a career, an apartment, a degree.

The aforementioned are things I have dreamt about for as long as I can remember...but as I draw nearer and nearer to it, I have never felt so far away. I am not independant. I am not career-oriented. I am not ready.

But what is being ready? Being 20-something years old? I used to watch shows like "Sex and the City" and "Friends" and think "Wow, I can't wait to have that!" And now I realize that I will not have that! I will have outstanding debts and college loan forebearances and car insuarance payments and rent and not even a desk to pile these bills on! What will I do?! My life isn't laid out like a road or a warn-in path...it's covered in weeds and dirt and is endless every which way. I have to choose which way and when and where to turn...and I must admit, it's a bit unnerving!

I know, I know. I still have some time at least. I have one year left at my 2 year college and then I'm not quite sure whats after that, although I do know I would like to transfer and finish up. But then what? Will a job magically fall into my lap? Along with a husband, a house and 2.5 kids? NO! I bet it won't! In fact, I bet I'll live with my parents the rest of my life! ARRGHHH! WHAT TO DO!?!

Someone give me some advice. My nails are all chewed up and my hair is turning gray. Goodnight.

One week and 3 hours and 3 minutes until my Birthday. Think about picking up some good future plans for me and maybe a little decisiveness. Oh yeah, don't forget the card. Probably should get one that says "I'm sorry you are 57 years old and living with your parents. Sucks to be you. It's better to be over the hill than under it!" Or something to that effect. Give me a reason to go out a buy a rope. Until then.

 

I don't get it.

Someone please help. I do not get this joke. Please dumb it down for me. And a little to the left. Thanks.

 

Hospital Donation Clinics

A man and a woman meet in a hospital donation clinic.

The man says to the woman, "What are you here to give?"

She says, "I'm here to give blood. I get paid $5."

The man says, "Oh, I'm here to donate sperm, I get paid $25!"

A couple of weeks later they meet again in the clinic.

The man says, "Hi there! Are you here to give blood again?"

The woman puffs her cheeks out and shakes her head.

Bitch, where's my latte?

Dear a particular journal reader,

Consider this your thank you note for a very special yesterday.

Love, Marissa

p.s. To every journal reader---my birthday is in 8 days. Get your lazy buns off the grill and roll on out to your local Steve Madden and bring number 79 home!

I make fun of people because I lack self-confidence, nice to meet you.

Do you remember that Nickelodeon show "All That" ?

Remember "Vital Information" with LoriBeth Denburg?

Yeah, I wonder what she's up to now...

250....300 pounds?

I'm sorry. I really am. How terribly rude of me.

Goodnight.

Good Lord Save Me from the Elderly!

So I decide to be a happy homemaker today and go grocery shopping with my madre. Normally, this isn't such a bad thing. See, I love food. So, I mean, really, a grocery store should be like heaven to me.

Not when it's 80 degrees outside and senior citizen day. It was too much to handle. Every tiny crevice I tried to squeeze my overflowing cart through I ran into another one. It was pure and utter madness. This place was crawling with old people! It was like an old people farm!

"Hey, I guess they're right. Senior citizens, although slow and dangerous behind the wheel, can still serve a purpose."   Yeah, to totally be in my way!

11 days until I slowly become one of those very slow, windsuit clad grannies with a gold fanny pack and too much perfume.

Holy Whore, Batman! It's Miss Vermont!

I'm having a hard time deciding what to write here today.

Nothing interesting has been going on in my neck of the woods, really, aside from the encounter with the UFO and being abducted by aliens and all.

But really, nothing unusual to report.

Maybe you should check back later.

12 Days to get off your lazy asses and buy me the awesomest gift ever. And I already have a bread machine...so be original.

Reality TV--kicked up a notch.

I had the opportunity to watch a special on "Fear Factor" on VH1 today. Let me just say, ewwww. Sick. Why would someone eat a bug? Or bull testicles? It's sick. Just plain gross. Really, people, do you need money that bad?

I could use a little extra cash myself but I'd much rather whore myself out instead of drinking a specialty Fear Factor shake, filled with worms, cockroaches and semen of swordfish. I know, I know, it's a delicacy in some places...but let's face it, here, it is not. A delicacy here is cheese pizza...a chocolate milkshake. I'd rather pay two bucks for a meal than risk losing 100,000 if I can't keep down the rat brain I just consumed.

And I love how everyone watches it. That kills me.

To me, reality TV should go to next level. Public Beheadings. That's right, bring back the guillotine. I think I have a portable one here somewhere. The ratings would skyrocket.

13 days until my Birthday. Contrary to what my mother says, I do not have everything and there are things I need, so buy accordingly.

Marissa Turns Back Time

It's 11:00 am here on this Saturday mornin as I still find myself without a job. But do I really have any right to complain? I am picky. I am not going to do a job that I don't enjoy, especially when it's money I don't really need.

Anyhow...

Last night in the midst of my boredom, I called the Minstrel (Justin) to come pull me out of my suffering. We had a grand ol' time. We went to the fair near his house and I, a college student, indulged in a little bit of pre-pubescent, pre-high school, pre-everything fun. I went on the fair rides! First we ventured up to some spinning-in-a-circular-cart shindig and I found myself among 6 or 7 8 year old boys, and of course, nearly 21 year old Justin. His head was poking out of the ride like a giraffe in a moshpit. And the middle of all of this, 2 of the younger boys were shouting obscenities about their flaccid genitals. This made for a very interesting ride. Indeed, I almost wet myself.

Next we mosied on over to my personal favorite, The Round Up. This is where you stand in a tiny cage, with only a chain holding you in, as you are spun around and raised into the air. I was placed next to some teeny-bopping little yappity girls and Justin. This ride would've been lame if it wasn't for us shouting "WHAAAAAAAAAA! WHOOOOOO! WOOT!" Good times. I exited ride feeling utterly silly for being a 19 year old participating in such activites. "So much better than college!" I shouted, so the cute ride attendant would no longer think of me as jailbait.

And finally, I lured Seany onto the Merry Mixer. This ride was so completely uneventful, except for the fact the comedian I once found myself hitting on was there...and he's 26. So all in all, really, whose laughing now?

I fit in last night. That was scary. I could very easily pass for a 13 year old girl, with my pigtails (hair is too short for just one!) and 5'1" frame. I saw a few people I knew there, and wanted desperately to make fun of them for being there, but alas, we were in the same boat. I am reminded of an old proverb, "Don't throw stones when you live in a glass house," right?

It did it's job. It got my mind off of the roller coaster and put it on the Round Up instead. Life is good when the air reeks of stale popcorn and strong colognes of 12 year old boys trying to sneak a kiss behind the DJ's tent. So romantic, making out to the tune of "Brown Eyed Girl" at 8 o'clock on a Friday night. Unless of course she has blue eyes. Then really, you got nothin.

14 Days to get in line and get your tickets to MY BIRTHDAY!

My Weekend Assignment #5

As per Mr. Scalzi, I bid you my Weekend Assignment #5, which is to:

Weekend Assignment #5: Recount your most memorable encounter with celebrity. If you haven't met anyone famous and don't know anyone who has, here's an alternate assignment: Reveal your first celebrity crush (and of course, for extra credit, do both).

I must warn you. There is nothing as interesting as his celebrity run-ins in this entry.

1999. I was 15 years old on vacation with my parents in the Large Piece of Fruit (aka NYC). Like all the other sunglassed, camera-clad tourists holding up signs on pink construction paper, I too was standing outside of the Today Show, only feet away from Mr. Lauer and Mrs. Couric themselves. And as I stood there, marvelling at the familiar faces from the TV, I shook with excitement of being thisclose to an actual, living, breathing celebrity. (note: I emphasize living and breathing because, as fans, we sometimes forget that celebrities are people too.)

We hung around after the show and my father, sister and I anxiously waited in line to snap a photo with Katie. (To my utter misfortune, Matt Lauer had already gone inside and I was devastated!) Finally, we were up. Let's just say...the camera does some serious justice.

I still have the picture as well as her autograph. It wasn't all I thought it would be. And in all actuality, even at 15, I was slightly embarrassed to be recieving an autograph from another person. It's kind of silly, really.

And, in keeping with the extra credit here, seeing as I haven't participated in a while...

My first celebrity crush?

TV's most sexy superhero...

Dean Cain! Even at 8 years old, I was boy crazy.

Back off Lois, 15 days till my Birthday.

Marissa Comes Clean

For almost 7 years I've been battling with something that has only recently become the most common ailment among teenagers and adults. Depression.

It's hard to tell by just looking at me. The only physical features it displays are in my eyes, and even that, is too deep to notice just through a glance. Sure, I smile, I am outwardly seemingly happy. I laugh. And when I laugh, I mean it. Although my depression is constantly hanging over my head like one of those cartoon storm clouds, there are moments when, like most everyone else, I can experience happiness and pure and utter joy. Not everything is counteracted by my disease. I still feel things that are not dark, that are not heavy. But just not as often as I should, perhaps.

I've been on medication for it. I've tried each kind with the same outcome: silly side effects. They say something in not considered abnormal until it interferes with your everyday life and occupational functioning. These pills made me more abnormal than I abnormally am. I would shake, inability to maintain attention (and all types of sexual functions, talk about depression) insomnia or sleepiness (don't ask me how the two go hand in hand) amongst other things. I was up to about 100mgs a day and it wasn't pretty. I not only wasn't feeling better at all, I was beginning to become antisocial--spending days, literally days, on the bathroom floor or in my bed, unable to move. I finally ditched the pills when I ditched the whole therapy sessions on Tuesdays.

It became so bad one year I hospitalized. And the part I don't understand is why when I was in the hospital, I felt like I had hope--not necessarily to get better, but I was just happy. Happy to be there, and that's not something you hear too often. As all my newfound friends in the children's psych ward were trying desperately to escape (think crawling through cieling tiles...) I was reveling in the utter joy I felt just by being there. It was like my pain was no longer my own. I could take some of the weights off my shoulders now and share it with the different people there. It was almost like I didn't want to get better. I wanted to stay there, shielded from the outside world, protected by my steel shell from the torture of life.

No one thing brought the depression on. I didn't wake up one day and say "Wow. I really don't feel well. I think I am going to drag this knife across my wrists." It was nothing like that. It was like building a sand castle. I took time and patience and alot of sand. Each grain of sand was another ounce of my unhappiness. Over time, that amounted to alot and it kept getting heavier, and so did I. I didn't experience any emotional or physical abuse growing up, I didn't fight uncontrollably with my parents. This just goes to show that depression can happen to anyone. And it landed on me, full force.

I've had a few people along the way help me with this. There were suicide scares that would make a friend go to the school counselors, or to my parents...and then there was me. When it gets bad, I know what I have to do. It's scary, but if I want to stay alive to see how everything works out, I need to take care of myself. I've learned you can't count on everyone else to pull you out of the hole you have dug yourself, you have to pull yourself out. And I'm far from getting out, still, even after years and years of fighting it.

I have used this illness as an excuse at some points in my life. And I find myself using it alot more lately for reasons I can't explain. My hopelessness and lack of motivation are justifications of why I can't conquer the world or why I can't get out of bed. And it gets really hard. It's hard to exist for yourself when the pressures from everyone else can seem so demanding. I'm trying to be selfless, and it is misconstrued as selfish. I am not a selfish person. Sometimes I don't know why I just don't feel good. Sometimes I just want to cry for no reason, and at other times, I have a good reason to. Because I am depressed.

I feel like there is no way out. That there is no cure for this. No cure from me. I am my own worst enemy. I am my own personal demon that attacks every ounce of happiness and sanity in me. And that's what I am trying escape. And it's not easy.

Those times when it got really bad I would open my window and stare out into the sky. And the idea of sky was incomprehensible to me, as was death and I was never scared by it. I was lured into it, entranced by the unfamiliarity of it. But over time and after a few too many scares, death became real and it became scary and I knew, that's not how I wanted to live.

Being young and depressed is the source for much ridicule. There are so many cases where someone "cuts" themselves for attention purposes only. (I emphasize "cuts" that way to demonstrate "surface scratches" for outward appearances only) I cut. And I cut deep. I wanted to scar, I wanted the outward criss-crossed abrasions to be noticeable on my ankles and wrists so that I could always be reminded when I was happy, that I was unhappy. And thats what I see now when I look down at my marred skin.

I will never be able to put this behind me as long as I have those constant reminders staring back at me with thier ugly eyes. And right now, my biggest fear is the above mentioned. That I will never be able to move past this and get on with any type of living without the continual storm cloud raining on my parade.

That's it for now.

 

Sanity? What's that?

I'm in one of those dazed states. I'm at the boundary of "Ok" and "not Ok", I'm optimistically pessimistic. Or vice versa.

After my grueling tennis match yesterday (funny, isn't it?), I sat for quite a few hours with a friend. It was nice.

Today is looking slightly blurred. The sun is shining, but I am feelin a bit cloudy. I have a feeling I may never get out of this town.

I have a feeling I may never be what I need to be.

"happiness is like peeing on yourself.... everyone can see it but only you can feel its warmth"

Grossly true.

16 days to get some cash together, buddy.

 

The Day is Mine, Trebeck

Day 2 of Summer:

Appointment with an employment agency at 2:45.

Eat.

Paint my toenails.

Miss Mario.

Try to get some sleep.

 

17 Days to go away to camp and leave your best friend on her birthday!

 

**Editors Note** This entry may sound like I'm bummin, but I'm not, so don't be dialing the suicide hotline just yet.

Zen and the Art of Tricycle Maintenance

Life is funny sometimes.

I know I say that alot, but it's true. Tonight, for instance.

The rain turned into one of the most beautiful days we've had in a long time and I went on a 10 mile bike ride (*bows* thank you, thank you). On this journey, I thought and thought thoughts of thinking...how sometimes they are fuzzy and vague, scary and overwhelming. And how sometimes, like right now, they are clear and within my grasp.

I wish just for once I could shun my inconsistency for a moment of contentment.

I am tired. I wish sleep would visit.

"With insomnia, you're never really asleep;
you're never really awake."

 

Rainy Days and Mondays

I can begin by saying I never want to go in space, ever. I quote myself.

Welcome to day 3 of sleep deprivation. Still gray, still gloomy, still awake. Barely. I am reminded of yet another quote, this one being from a song entitled, "Flower Girl."

"Living shouldn't be called living if it's really only half-alive."

I'm looking out the window at the same old tree I've seen every time I looked out. It's old, crooked and the branches are drooping, covering the rusted swingset I used to play on. It was raining a minute ago, but alas, upstate NY never ceases to suprise me. Mother nature is a tramp. The sun is shining.

My ability to write is failing me. There's much that needs to be said and I am lost for words. You render me speechless.

Last day of school. I have officially completed 1 year of college. This calls for a celebration. I think there's still some leftover pity party cake downstairs, I should go lick the box clean. Until then.

19 days until my Birthday. I accept all major credit cards, cash, personal checks, dental insurance...pretty much anything that has straight-up cash value.

May the Lawd be with each and every one of you heathens.

Oops...I Did It Again

While putzing around on a message board at http://www.ivillage.com/relationships/boards/ I was reading some posts that were very similar to each other, and to my own.

And I wondered what is the matter with us?

Why do we all seem to fall apart at the touch of a man? Each woman has her very own unique story, and I mine, but still, collectively, our thoughts and feelings are always the same, "depressed, distraught, broken-hearted, tired, alone..." It's endless, really.

And then I wondered, "Well why isn't there one answer for all of these questions? One piece of advice that could cure all of these women from feeling completely lost and out of control and perhaps help them to move on?" And I answered my own question.

A times, a woman's mind is like cancer. It's her disease. I know it's mine. And is there a known cure? No. And that's the worst part. Once you realize you're falling into an emotional trap, the worst part is knowing that it may take months to get out again. Not seeing the light is what keeps you in the dark. In other words, lack of hope is what holds you down from finding your way out.

I am amid this, currently, in my own, unique personal travesty and though I know I'll probably one day feel better, it doesn't comfort me now, the way ice cream hasn't worked, the way talking to people hasn't worked.

I am depressed, distraught, tired and broken-hearted and I have never felt so alone. I am one-millionth of those women, but I still feel like I'm the only one.

And who is this that I am so lonely for?

Someone I have grown to truly care for over the past few weeks. Someoe I can no longer see because of feelings I shouldn't have. I didn't ask for them, it just happened. Am I sorry? Only a little. Am I broken-hearted? You could say that.

But I wouldn't say it to my face, I'm very sensitive right now.

 

20 Days till my birthday. But I have a feeling it's going to turn into a pity party. And let's face it- there better be a whole lotta cake.

To Mama

It's 11:51 on a Sunday morning. It's Mother's Day.

Allow me to introduce you to my mother.

Merry Christian (not joking) was born on December 24, 19** Censored to protect her ego.

Since then, she's gotten married, had 3 children and has been raising them and cleaning up after them ever since. She's one of those rare stay-at-home mothers and doesn't seem to enjoy it one bit.

Last of those 3 children was me. Her and I are pretty close and spend alot of time doing mother/daughter things.  Such as: shopping, going out to eat, getting our hair done, baking pies, driving, visiting relatives...and so on and so forth. We also do alot of mother/daughter fighting, but it's inevitable, really.

So to her, Happy Mother's Day. You are the greatest Mom I ever had!

Love, Mar.

Frozen Heartache

I am not feeling too great today and I have the empty ice cream carton to prove it.

It's raining buckets outside and I am depressed.

I wrote some today which is suprising considering my insperation has been like a dry well recently, but a line I really liked:

" It's been far too long since I have loved and I wanted it to be you. "

That sums up my day, as well as these past 7 months.

Leave me some lovin so I have something to get up to in the morn.

Countdown:  24 Days left to pick up a Birthday card at Hallmark.

Sunshine is Misleading

Three more days left of school and I am officially a sophmore. Or sophless? I'm not quite sure.

There's no doubt I will miss it dearly. Sure, I may be attending a few classes over the summer but I'm almost positive my classes won't be filled with the friends I have made over the past year. I will miss them, but some I hope to keep in touch with and others, well, there will be others.

I may never see the boy I stared at daily in the cafe again, but that is okay. I went up and introduced myself and even asked him out. He declined in a nice way, but I'm still enthused that I grew some after 2 months and finally spoke to him. From now on, I can take some chances, which is awesome, because it means no more gawking (well, I still will) and wondering if he notices me. But after Monday, he'll be long gone with the rest of em.

As for me, I will continue to tread upon my darling little campus, take some nonsense courses and eat the steaming hot taters (hahaha) in the cafe. It's all good.

I just happened to look out the window and (like Amber) was misled by the sunshine. It's a whopping 35 degrees here today, but I must admit...it's a bit brisk after the 90 degree weather from the past weekend. This weather stuff around here fluctuates more that Oprah's weight.

That's all for now.

Countdown to Marissa's birthday : 25 shopping days left.

Goodnight, Journal Land.

i didnt know where to begin
i didnt know where i began
and where you ended
but i knew somehow
we were together
unknowingly.

 

One of the only things of mine I have posted.

Friends make the world go round.

With the impending end of Friends less than a week away (*sighs*) I figured it was only fitting to talk about some of my friends, those who may, or may not be, still around.

First and foremost is Anthony, or, as I usuall refer to him, BFF. (Whic, in case you didn't know, means "Best Friends FOREVER!" The emphasis is on forever like that just to show we're not being serious using that lame terminology.) Anthony entered my life about 5 years ago at a local cafe. We met, fell in (ick) love with the idiocy that is us and have been inseperable, save for the one year where I was m.i.a. for mental health reasons. I've had trouble holding up friendships in the past but hopefully that is all in the past. Love you, heffa.

Very closely following is Vicky. Although we aren't as close as we were, she still is very important and high on the list of people I'll never forget. We met in 7th grade, instantly (and when I say instantly I mean, like literally, an hour) became best friends. Up until about 11th grade or so we were thisclose, but of course, like any relationship, we endured some problems, some harder to forget than others, some trivial, but all in all, she had a large part in shaping who I am today. Love you, Vat.

Amee`. Dear sweet Amee`. She hated me in 3rd grade but became my friend so she would beinvited to my pool party. Cunning. Though I still haven't forgiven her for that (kidding) we've become very close in our late night talks about any of the following topics: death, Jeffrey Dahmer, Bob Saget, Richard Simmons, Josh Groban (eat it), Chris Latour (can thrower)...etc. She introduced me to many new ways of thinking and many old qualities about myself that I shouldn't disregard. Love you, Amee`.

My life hasn't exactly been filled with fairy-tale friendships. Here, I will give you a taste for some relationships starting and ending on a bad note.

Chris. About 6 or 7 years invested in this "friendship." I use the term "friendship" loosely here, since it was like a bad episode of "Saved by the Bell," with the constant battle for the others attention and purposely soaked kerosene matches to watch the other go down in flames. It was a trip thats for sure. It ended on a drunken mistake, which I don't regret, only because I am finally rid of the boy I loved to hate.

Meet Jessica. I was in love with her for years until we finally drifted apart and headed toward different sides of the tide. I think of her and miss her everyday, but still knowing it's better to start over again than try to rekindle something that's burned out.

Somewhere in there is Alisa. Enough said.

On this flip side, a few suprising friendships that bring me back to where I am today.

Justin. A constant for about 5 years now. He's my reassurane when I have self doubt and my strip hangman partner. Yes, we are veddy pervy.

Gabi. My beautiful girl. Keep shining.

Steve. My very first college friend. We spend countless hours running with tangets that are so long gone and inside jokes that keep us entertained for hours. I adore him, his guitar, his writing skills...and well, everything. He gives me hope that there are good in some people. Love you, and coincidentally, Happy Birthday.

Without Steve I wouldnt've met Brett (you brett your sweet asssss). One of the other very few genuine, kind people out there.

There are a few others I would like to give mention to, but space is limited (I feel like I'm at the Oscars and they keep trying to play the music and rush me off. Try steppin to my elite skills and get your shit ruined.) So here. Mario. Wayne. Rob. Jeff. Dan. Annie. Liz. Leigh. Jane. Amber (yes, you.) Katie. And whoever else, I didn't forget you. I just misplaced you.

Girls, leave the tan in the can where it belongs!

I was just reading one of the AOL articles on "How To Find Lasting Love." They give you a series of tips and KABAM! Love is on it's way to your house.

NOT.

All of these tips were targeted toward women, obviously, since most of the tips were how to get "a great haircut," or how to "pluck properly" and of course, "how to dress to meet a man."

Whats wrong with this picture?

These are all frivolous stereotypical outward appearance "tips" on how to make you more beautiful and more desireable for the opposite sex. That's bullshit. If you think you look good, chances are you'll feel good too, regardless of what the standards are to be a human being today.

And then I can't help but wonder, where are the people that A. write this B. read this or C. do this? And where are the men that actually take into consideration a woman's hair or tweezing habits? Do they actually exist? If so, allow me to reinforce some Social Darwinism and weave those undesirables out of the race.

Then it hit me. I was one of them. I was reading this. I was rewriting my standards to live up to the expectations of America. These were not my own expectations, nor any of the men I have encountered (save one, who goes unnamed.) I found myself wondering why I wasn't as pretty of desireable as say, the blonde across the room, scantily clad to show off her spray-on tan. (Again, I welcome a stereotype.) I was wondering why after 7 months of pure lonesomeness I am still single and still hating it? Enter Snowball Effect.

Then I came to my senses. It took some time but I have arrived. I'm single not because of what I look like, not because of how I act, but because it's just the way it is. I'm disregarding all of my feelings of destitution and hopelessness and replacing them with confidence and dignity. I don't need a man to measure my worth and I shouldn't expect whoever he is to. I measure my worth and I just threw the ruler out.

I'm not going to walk a step behind everyone else feeling I'm not as good, I will walk next to or in front of them, with my head held high and a smile scarred on my face. If they don't like it, fuck 'em, I don't need 'em. I need me, whole, happy and fulfilled and with that I could go farther than anyone who lives thier lives within social guidelines of what a woman should be.

A woman should be strong, independant and beautiful. And by beautiful I don't mean painful beauty treatments. We should be ourselves and that's what beautiful is.