Going To California

Going To California
(Page/Plant)

Spent my days with a woman unkind, Smoked my stuff and drank all my wine.
Made up my mind to make a new start, Going To California with an aching in my heart.
Someone told me there's a girl out there with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair.
Took my chances on a big jet plane, never let them tell you that they're all the same.
The sea was red and the sky was grey, wondered how tomorrow could ever follow today.
The mountains and the canyons started to tremble and shake
as the children of the sun began to awake.

Seems that the wrath of the Gods
Got a punch on the nose and it started to flow;
I think I might be sinking.
Throw me a line if I reach it in time
I'll meet you up there where the path
Runs straight and high.

To find a queen without a king,
They say she plays guitar and cries and sings... la la la
Ride a white mare in the footsteps of dawn
Tryin' to find a woman who's never, never, never been born.
Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams,
Telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems.

I hope all is good while I'm away. I will be back in 3 weeks (Aug 17th) and I'm sure will have plenty of catching up to do, in your journals and in mine. Everyone take care and please do not forget about me and my journal! Come back and visit!

Theme from Valley of the Dolls

 

Gotta get off, gonna get
Have to get off from this ride
Gotta get hold, gonna get
Need to get hold of my pride

When did I get, where did I
How was I caught in this game
When will I know, where will I
How will I think of my name

When did I stop feeling sure, feeling safe
And start wondering why, wondering why
Is this a dream, am I here, where are you
What's in back of the sky, why do we cry

Gotta get off, gonna get
Out of this merry-go-round
Gotta get off, gonna get
Need to get on where I'm bound

When did I get, where did I
Why am I lost as a lamb
When will I know, where will I
How will I learn who I am

Is this a dream, am I here, where are you
Tell me, when will I know, how will I know
When will I know why?

Iz Gon' Rain

I somehow managed to get a nasty little sprain on my right hand pinky finger. I apologize now for the misspellings and typos, as this splint is the size of a house.

I'm in a daze, slightly a wreck, nervous about my trip in less than 36 hours. Cold. Frozen. Apprehensive. Angry. Irritated. Sad. Self-loathing. Stupid. I could scream. I'm at my wits end, Lord knows I have a buttload of wits, but here I am, almost out. Little Miss Talkative has nothing to say. Well, she has alot to say, but she's frightened to, knowing the consequences all too well, as she has flirted with them many times before. This is Bob Dole's chair.

I cannot function properly. My brain is fried. My finger is broken. My heart is frozen. Tonight, no words will pass through my lips. The ceiling will be my only friend, I will wait for sleep to visit, to take me away. I will dream those dreams that I can only justify in my subconscious, I will live vicariously through those dreams dreamt by a tiny girl with huge dreams. I will awake in the same tired old skin that I have called home for 19 years, though it feels like 100.

Maybe California will be my glue. Maybe I will go and never come back. I want to be alone. Just me, in a huge city without one familiar face. I want to go into a coffee shop, sit down, and just be with me. I need me. I need something different. When you stop loving your life, you fall into a routine. Routines are the dwindling of inner sanity. Routines are the swords that become your tongue, if provoked. Routines are bitterness intertwined with constant hope for something better, that is further and further sabotaged by passing days, steady consistency that makes up your once melancholy state of mind and replaces it with a line from Queen's "Bohemian Rapshody" Sometimes I wish I'd never been born at all.

Ain't it the truth.

My guitar is calling, but I can't play with a broken finger.

On so many different levels.

Staring at the same ol' ceiling.

Still no sleep. Day 5.

California isn't looking so bad, afterall.

I'm a C-Cup! Reader, that is.

I'm in a funk. I'm dazed. I'm tired. I'm anxious.

Stumbling across TheC-CupChronicles helped a little. It's a great journal site that combines the creative work and funny stories of 3 women, which also features a male-perspective editorial once a week. They also urge us, the readers, to submit to them our own personal stories, which I just may do.

Reading these stories, about breasts, marriage, life as woman, I felt connected to them, as well as touched by their honesty, which at times, proves to be a spark of hope for many other readers out there, myself included.

You should definitely take the time to check it out, since all 3 women take the time out of their tremendously busy lives to indulge us with a little light-hearted laughter, every now and then.

My Journal Float!

 

                                   

 -Marissa "The Egg is Cracked"

 

This float for AOL Journal's 1-year Anniversary is to commemorate as well as celebrate all of those who contribute to our community. (All those c-words! Oh my!) We are from all walks of life (hence, the feet) coming together to form this wonderful family tree that was planted one year ago on July 29, 2003. Since then, AOL Journals has branched out with each new blog created, which allowed many of us to become good friends, through our written words. Here's to another year! And another after that! And another after that!

 

To see my float, as well as others go here : JournalAnniversaryCards

Weekend Assignment #16 (already?!)

Weekend Assignment #16: Create a brand-new Superhero secret identity for yourself, based on your personality and proclivities -- and make sure to list at least one "super power" that relates to a special talent you have.

 

Interesting. Mr. Scalzi over there already took the power the good Lawd gave me, shopping / sale sense, and used it as an example! So for my undying need to be unique, I'm going to have to think about this one.

Ok! Got it! I am Super Light Extra Protection Girl! And I have the power to change my shape to fit in tiny crevices! 

Well what is this power good for? You may ask yourself.

And I reply with: To hide where my arch enemies cannot see me! Then, I will dart out at them, since I am quite small, though super strong! and I will blast them with PMS-y remarks! Ha! I win every time!

Stay tuned for next week's episode, where Super Light Extra Protection Girl rips the Mary Queen of Scots a new one! And remember, don't mess with her---it's her time of the month!

One mind trip away.

I'm feeling kind of strange today. Maybe it's because my insomnia is back, full force and I barely slept a wink all night. Maybe it's because I've been talking to Mario again and every time I do manage to get to sleep, all I see is his face. It's happening all over again. His indecision is my broken heart. His fickle nature is my desire for him to just make up his mind, once and for all. His inner coward is my inner need to be touched by the hand of love. His girlfriend is my stupidity. I should know better. He should know better.

Talking to him last night I was reminded of the intimate moments we used to share. Like the way we held hands, accidentally, because it only felt right, and we barely noticed it because it was so natural. The way he would touch my hair and caress my cheek and how I would trace his entire face with only my fingers, eyes closed.

Now it's like he doesn't even exist. He's the idea of someone I used to care about in my head. But he does exist, and so do his mind games.

I never wanted to be "the other woman." But here I am.

But wait, it gets even better!

His girlfriend will be joining me at good ol' MVCC in the fall. At least we'll have something in common. We both love the same damn boy.

He says he thinks of me everyday. He says he was shaking after our suprise encounter. But yet he claims to not have those feelings for me anymore.

Why is it sometimes the most obvious things are apparent to the ones who want to see them, and completely masked and disregarded by those who don't?

I wish he'd make up his mind.

And I guess it doesn't help that when I board that plane Tuesday, I wish it were going to Florida instead.

His having his cake and eating it too is my false hope.

Enough.

Tkk Tkk Tkk pt. 2

So I come home, 2 o'clock this evening/morning, whichever, and walk to the bathroom to wash my face and get ready for bed. Little did I know that crawling around my kitchen was that unspecified creepy crawly thing. And I did find out what it was, thanks to the good ol' internet here. Welcome to Joe's Apartment.

Yes, folks, it's cockroaches.

Now I don't know if this pest was the same from last night's incident (see entry below) but whatever. I am infested, infected, diseased and distraught.

He was under the archway between the livingroom and kitchen, laying on his hard-shelled back, little legs and feelers moving all around. I bend over to get a closer look. Silly bugger has itself tangled up in a knot of hair. How disgusting is that? Seriously. So I do what any other crazy axe murderer would do. I get a steak knife from the drawer and head on over to ground zero. 

I held the sharp silver blade over his crusty little body. I brought it down so the shadow was touching him. His squirming stopped. And with one swift chop....

I completely missed. Damn thing scuttled over toward the woodwork. Next best thing? I grabbed the phone book. Slammed it ontop of him.

That seemed to do the trick, for now. I have to check it again when I go back downstairs.

I woke my mom up to tell her my adventures. She wasn't too happy. She won't be happy when she wakes up tomorrow to the rotting cockroach carcass in her kitchen either.

Wish me a safe trip to bed. And may I wake up alone, (never thought I'd say that) without the friendship of a dirty, grimy little scoundrel.

Tkk Tkk Tkk (no, thats not my biological clock)

I went into the attic last night to get the suitcases for my trip. I didn't know I was bringing an uninvited guest in it also.

No, not a mouse. Though it may have well been.

I set up shop in the spare room, also where the computer is and last night while I was surfing through my usual reads, I started hearing a suspicious noise. It sound like "tkk tkk tkk" I would look over there and the noise would stop. This continued for a few rounds.

"Tkk tkk tkk" it continued. Enough already, I thought to myself. I walking into the middle of the room, computer on one side, buttload of luggage on the other. And I wait. And wait. And wait. "Tkk tkk tkk" AHA! It was coming from the luggage. I turn the light on and there it was.

The biggest bug I've ever seen. If you've ever read any of my previous entries on bugs, you will know, that I can't stand them. They are irritating yes, but I take it a step further. I actually have a borderline phobia of the little critters. Well, in this case, the BIG critters. It was the size of a half dollar, black and made a noise "tkk tkk tkk" Can anyone classify that? I can't.

He was crawling up the wall. I searched for my taser. Darn, must of left it in my purse. Oh well, here's a People magazine. That will accomplish something. I rolled it up, took a deep breath and smashed the crunkin' thing against the wall. Or so I thought.

I saw it fall somewhere into the pile of luggage. I threw the magazine down, huffed and sat abck down to my computer. 10 minutes later, "tkk tkk tkk."

You have to be kidding me. Do you know who you're dealing with? Step to my elite skills and get your shit ruined.

Oh, aren't you ambitous! Try again? I don't think so! I grab a notebook this time, since there's no way in hell I would dare pick up the People magazine again (not even to read about Marc and J-Lo's sex life!) And so I raise my arm up, wind it up ala` Babe Ruth and again, Smack!

He runs away this time. Behind the TV. I shuddered and gave up. I threw the towel in and turned off my computer and went to bed.

He's probably still up here somewhere. This explains why I'm on edge, constantly looking around me, jumping all around if I feel anything "crawling" (loose threads, hair, etc.) on me.

I swear, this bug was the size of a pony.

So Jennifer, to answer your question, Isuppose you could say I haven't packed yet. And this is why.

Just dropping in...

I know, I know, it's been awhile. Just wanted to let you all know I'm still alive and that I promise to give you a few more entries before I leave for California in a week, including something fantabulous for July 29th, AOLJournals 1 year anniversary, since I won't be able to spend it here blogging my little heart out with all of you :(

I've been busy lately, finishing up my last class yesterday, getting healthy again (long story.)

Mario left on Sunday for Florida. I talked to him on the phone briefly Saturday, but unfortunantly, cannot really remember anything that was said. I'm fine though. It was a lost cause anyway. So good luck to him.

I will hopefully find some inspiration around here soon, so I can update with something awesome. Take care, journalees. :)

 

Popeye and Scrooge, a good couple, no?

Weekend Assignment #15: Tell us about the the most disgusting food/drink you've ever had in your mouth. Please note that I'm emphasizing the words "food and/or drink" -- No fair talking about the time you ate an earthworm or Play-Doh, or drank antifreeze, or ate something else that doesn't actually constitute food. You know what I'm talking about, here. Let's all be grown-ups, shall we. Real food, please: It can be badly prepared, strange and awful, accidentally rancid or whatever, but it's gotta be something someone somewhere recognizes as food.

Extra Credit: Name an actual food product that was so awful that you couldn't even bring yourself to try it.

 

I'm sure you are expecting something different and perhaps strange, when in fact the grossest thing I have ever eaten was an everyday food,and Popeye's favorite. Yes, it's spinach. How I hate it.

I wasn't ever one of those "picky" eaters. I eat alot of different things and, as a kid, always ate my vegetables. (Sometimes I'd even choose them for snack of potato chips. Apparently this is abnormal behavior for a 7 year old?)

Spinach is downright gross. It's leafy, bitter...what's there to love? Honestly, Popeye, I just don't see it, or taste it for that matter.

And the most sickening beverage I've ever had? Yes, I am scrooge. I hate eggnog. I hate it. It may be a texture thing, but texture aside, it is still not gooooood.  Ack.

Extra credit: Tripe. Just the name doesn't sound right to me. Tripe sounds like a polynomial or a shape or a boat. The SS Tripe. And the fact that it's intestines doesn't make it anymore appetizing than it already isn't.

Project Denny's

My day yesterday was just so...well that, I suppose. Just so. I must share it with you.

After not speaking to BFF for about a week (trouble in Paradise!) he called me. I was in my pj's sitting in front of the computer, unshowered, reading journals, occasionally glancing over my shoulder to the TV to watch "I love the 90's" on VH1.

We talked about nothing much for about an hour. I decided it was time for me to get showered, get dressed, mosey my little buns over there and pick him up. We can be miserable together. (I wasn't really miserable, just floopy. Yes, that's meant to say floopy. It's not just a gross misspelling of floppy.)

We go to Denny's. I'm hungy. He hasn't eaten in 3 days. This was needed. Time to catch up, grab up some grub and make fun of each other. We get there. We sit. We order.

He gets: 1 order of smothered cheese fries, no bacon.  Iced tea.

I get: 2 poached eggs, 4 pieces of toast, 4 slices of bacon, hash browns. Cranberry juice. (ward off any possible yeast infections, ha.)

Food comes, there's much rejoicing.

We eat. We eat. We eat. Occasionally, laugh. Stuff our faces. Drink. Rinse, repeat.

We throw in the napkins.

Arbitrary waitress walks by. I'm not even sure if its ours. I was still hungry. I couldn't see straight. "Can I get a pancake?" It comes off slightly rude and catches the woman off gaurd. I was beginning to think she wasn't even a waitress the way she stared at me.

"Just one?" She asks.

I nod, feverishly. I was fiending for a solitary pancake.

She brings it over. Anthony and I share it. Our real waitress comes over and tries to give us the bill. I shake my head, "More."

Anthony orders another order of fries. I order some mashed potatoes, green beans and carrots. We get free refills.

We continue talking like ordering this much food in one sitting is normal. We didn't realize the entire kitchen was staring at us. And pointing. Our waitress, seeming to be nominated by the rest of her coworkers to interview the pigs, comes over and asks, "Have you guys not eaten in a while?"

"I had breakfast." I say, as I watched as her face turned into utter disbelief. "I'm just hungry, that's all." She walked away. "They barely feed us in prison. Thank God we escaped." I tell Anthony. He laughs.

We spent about $40 in Denny's for 2 people. This is the state of mind we are in. This how whacked out we are. Absolutely nuts.

It is decided. BFF and I need to leave this city. It's time. We made life decisions over breakfast, lunch and dinner. In one sitting.

**editors note: I will post a link to Anthony's accounts of this day, as soon as his computer is up and running again.

Technicalities.

I've spent the last half hour or so doing what I do every morning. I do a quick rundown of my favorite journals, then come here to write my own.

I got lost today. I got lost in Journal Land. Link through link through link through link I stumbled across dozens of different journals, reading each, adding some to my favorites list. My list keeps growing and growing. (I will add them to my Favorite Journals List on the sidebar, in a few days, when I know for sure if I thoroughly enjoy them.)

Some of these journalers are just great! Not gonna lie, makes me kinda jealous. *blushes*

Here are some I stumbled across today:

RememberingGrace

MyElegantChaos

CatchAWhiff

EverybodyKnows

And, I'm sure most of you have seen this floating around lately: Technorati  For those of you who have no idea what this is, it's a Top 100 of the most visited and most linked to journals, it subsequently changes every minute or so (by little, I'm sure.) This way you can check out who has you linked, whose been visiting you, etc.

Also, I found this great little site : Stuckinthe70s  Get this---this was an actualy written journal written in the 70s, copied onto blog form for the enjoyment of everyone! I can't wait to dive into it. I may actually get lost again, but getting lost really isn't so bad. I have nowhere to be. Phone's off the hook. I got my chai and my clicker (I love the 90s marathon) life is good.

And yet another awesome AOL Journal Anniversary creation : SucculentWisdomfromJland This site features random quotes and wisdom from bloggers. Check out number 108. Oh yeah. The only quotable thing on this whole damn site.

So there's my technical stuff. Alot of copy and paste, alot of linkage and mouse clicks (better than mouse droppings, I suppose.)

 

I'm not all I'm cracked up to be.

Such an interesting evening.

I spend the later part of the day with some family members, doing some visiting, catching up. Grandma, Aunt, Uncle and I drove to a nearby town to visit my great Aunt & Uncle. (Great, as in my dad's aunt & uncle, though they are great, in the truest sense of the word.) My aunt was amusing. She has the loudest voice. And can talk for hours. We were there at least an hour before anyone else's voice was heard. Trying to get a word in edgewise is like trying to tell a cannibal not to eat people. It's just not gonna happen.

We took the grand tour of her gigantic house and finally sat down to do what Italians do best. Eat. And boy, did we. What a huge spread she had! There were potatoes, beans, tarts, coffee, cake...I can't say I was suprised. I went there with an empty stomach knowing I'd come home filled to the brim.

My uncle is great. I have this unspoken adoration for him. Just everything about him, I love. He's alot like my father. Growing up, they were close in age. About 12 years apart. They're so loving with us and with each other, it really is nice. Generally I don't see too many happy couples and they truly are. After 40 years of companionship, they're still in love. It gives me hope, really.

Turning back time to earlier today....

I got my schedule for next semester. Nothing earlier than 12:00, save for Friday in which I have class at 9:00. Arggh. I tried to avoid it, but it was impossible. It sucks extra because  Thursday night is usually my clubbing night, now I can't stay out too late because I'll never get up for class. Oy.

I went to bed last night feeling okay and at ease with the Mario situation. I woke up feeling the same way. I made my decision without much hesitation. I e-mailed him and I felt confident I wouldn't change my mind. Thank God for the "unsend" button. This time I'll try not to be so impulsive. But if i keep dawdling I may be just a little too late.

I unsent after a few hours. I went about my business for most of the day, until it finally caught up with me, again. I was listening to a song on the way home from school and it tore my heart out. I still stood by my decision, though it was hard to. The twisted image of what we used to share has somehow idealized in my mind again. I'm sick of my mind. It plays the nastiest little tricks on me. My stomach was in knots. I was torn. I still am, I think. I caught myself with tears in my eyes today. I thought I was fine with it. Well, I guess I have to be fine with it. I know I'll never believe a word he says until it's exactly what I want to hear. That's my problem. I spoke about this with a few people and got 3 screw hims and 1 go for it. Too bad their opinion doesn't count. This is all on me. Thanks for that.  I know what I have to do. Now I should just do it.

On another note...

I've been kind of a loner these past few days. I'm thinking some shit (aside from the aforementioned) over. I'm taking time for me. This is my hiatus from the real world. (And the lameness of my friends.) I don't want to make this a negative shoutout or a rant or anything, but I'm definitely rethinking some stuff. And I have just been noticing friends in people I never really considered friends before. I've been thinking alot about Amber lately, and how great she has been to me, despite the fact we never even met. I love that she found me through AOL-Journals, left comments, IMed me and thus we began our little online friendship. And just tonight, perfect timing really, a very old internet friend IMed me and we are amid having a great chat, just like we always do, no matter how long we haven't spoke. I've known him for at least 6 or 7 years. Funny, we've never met, either. And then there's my cousin, Ron. It's hard for me to call a relative anything more than that, really. But he really is. Our friendship crawled out of the woodwork and has brought me such joy in the last couple months. Especially now, as we speak, him and I are connecting.

Not to point fingers, not to pinpoint any friend in particular. I know I'm not a great friend. And I'm not suprised. If I'm a lost cause in a relationship, theres no doubt I'd be a deadbeat friend. I can list many of my own faults just as easily as friends can point them out. Though it maybe easy to point fingers at them, it's just as easy to point them at me. I take offense to alot of things. I'm senstive. I can dish it out, so to speak, but cannot take it.  Or perhaps one of my biggest faults, I end up sleeping with most of them.

I'm wondering what next semester has in store for me. My classes are in the afternoon which makes it a little harder to find a job. (I believe that work-study is falling through as I type this. Apparently you cannot recieve financial aid in your own name until your of acertain age or living with your parents or married or have a child. I don't think I can produce a child in 5 weeks when school starts, so let me kiss that theater job goodbye.) This leaves me open to many sharp-tongued remarks from everybody yet again. And yet again I will have to explain myself as to why I am unemployed. It goes a little something like this:

Everyone I know complains about their jobs. No one likes it. You get up day after day and its just the same old thing. I don't want to get up and huff and puff about going to work. I want to enjoy my job. I am holding out for a job like that. Leave me alone.

Or, if the circumstances don't allow me much airtime....

I'm holding out for management.

It's not that big of a lie.

I am going to bed. I am tired. I wish I could wake up in another body or another life or another time. I wish I didn't have to be me when things get tough. This egg is cracking.

Femur Schemer

I just got back from spending the weekend with my friend Steve in Baldwinsville. Life was good. We swam, drank a little, threw water balloons filled with chocolate pudding, went shopping. What's not to love?

I'll tell you.

I did not love the strange man in the mall following me. Seriously. Following. Not "bumping into each other." This was straight up stalking. Though at first I didn't catch it.

I thought he was cute. I eyed him from across escalators. He was on the phone. He glared back over in my general direction. Soon after, he came to sit down across from me, on the opposite bench. Still talking on the phone.

I did my usual run down the checklist: No ring, check. Well, I guess that's all my checklist is. And he passed with flying colors.

He kept talking. I caught words every so often, "detective. case. femur. (I know, me too.) receptionist." I couldn't piece it together. It was like a puzzle with a missing piece.

I didn't realize I was staring. Borderline gawking. He wasn't that great looking, but hey, it's been awhile, if you know what I mean. (And you do.) He looked at me.

I have been caught.

Instead of timidly looking away, I smiled instead. He smiled back.

About 20 minutes later, he was still chatting away on the phone. I was still sitting on the bench. (I was waiting for Steve who was supposed to meet me after work. )

I called Steve. He said he'd be awhile. I gave up, abandoned my bench as well as my cute new friend, to go get a lemonade. By the time I got back, he was gone.

I strolled around the mall for another hour or so, still waiting for ever-so-slow Steven. I went to the bookstore, picked up some maps and books about California tourist traps and pulled up a seat in the cafe.

"Hey, didn't I see you earlier?" It was him. Casually "bumping into" me again.

"Yeah, I think you did."

"Yeah. I was on my cell phone. I'm always on my cell phone." 

Good to know, I thought. Afterall, what did I care? Cute or not, this was getting creepy!

He took a seat a few feet away from mine at another table. I caught him glaring over here from time to time. I'd nervously smile and look away, somewhat blushing.

After I read through my book, (yes that's how long Steve took. I actually finished a book.) I wandered outside of the store to yet another bench.

Guess who followed.

I fumbled around in my purse for my cell phone and called Steve's number. "Where the hell are you! Some man is following me! He's going to cut up my body and sell the pieces in Mexico! Hurry up!"

I hung up, just as Stalker man was walking over to me.

Greaaaaaaaat.

"So what are you doing out here? It's like you've been hanging around all day."

"Yeah, well, I have. I'm waiting for a friend. He's big. Very muscley." I tried to sway him with underlying threatening messages.

"Are you from around here?"

"No, about an hour away. In Utica." DAMN IT! What's my problem! Think before you speak! Arrgh! My original plan was to tell him I'm from Massachusetts or something, to throw him off.

"Ah. I was going to ask you if you'd be interested in a job."

"What kind of job?"

"Receptionist at my friend's catering business. It's good money."

"Oh." I nervously scanned my surroundings, to make sure there were people around for when I started screaming Rape! Rape!

"Are you in school?" He pryed.

"Yes, second year in college."

Before I knew it, he was spilling his life story. "Yeah, my mother fell and broke her femur (who calls it that!) so I'm in there reading up on Personal Injury. I'm going to act as her lawyer."

Better quit acting like a stalker, while you're at it. My subconscious is just as sarcastic as the rest of me.

"Well, I better git goin'." He sighed, "It was nice meeting you. Take care."

"Yes, you too. Good Luck with your femur, or whatever."

And he was gone.

Thank freakin' God.

I grabbed up my purse and shopping bags and container of rice ( I got hungry waiting) and booked toward the other side of the mall, to find yet another bench to wait for Steve.

I bought some new shoes.

**Editor's note: This was the entry I didn't get to post earlier. It's from 2 days ago.

Old Friends

Pictured above is Anthony (BFF), sitting, Mario (see 2 entries below), towering over the rest of us vertically challenged, and myself (the one with the bag, duh). This was taken at school last semester and is currently featured on the school's webpage (to my suprise, I didn't even know until someone in my class came in today and said, "Marissa! Are you on the Internet?!" I freaked out. Initially I thought she found out my secret, or worse yet, my journal! I laughed nervously, "What are you talking about?")

So there it is. We were watching an episode of Invader Zim after lunch. This may be one of the last times Mario and I saw each other, save for the last time, and the next to the last time, and quite possibly for the real last time. But as you can see, there's a pattern. So what can we infer by that? Yeah, me too.

Check out the overcastedness of Utica. But my! Look at how green the grass is! Due to all that rain, I suppose. In the back there is the IT building (Information Technology Building.) This is where the theater is, and mainly where Anthony and I hang around. Yeah, you can't really see much else. But there really isn't much else to see. That's it. But isn't my bag cute?! It's from Disney World!

My hair color is a little off. It's looks slightly orange-y. It's not. It's brown. Dark brown.

I believe Anthony is clutching his X-Men lunchbox in his hands. He brought his lunch to school that day.

In other news...

I am still undecided. Though I am leaning further one way than the other. Yeah, think the way you're thinking, then think the other way. That way.

Wish me a moment's peace.

Enter: tears.

We let our fingers talk.

We let our fingers talk. - Jennifer

It's true. We do let our fingers talk. Our fingers are the connection to our hearts. In this entry, I'm going to let my fingers translate whats in my heart at this moment.

"I want to see you." He says.

He? You ask. Yes, the infamous He I spoke of every now and then. The infamous He I thought about everyday. The infamous He I tried to get out of my head for the last 2 and a half months.

Here I thought I was making progress.

He's moving away. I can't say I'm shocked, or suprised, or anything really. Except...nope, there are no words.

I almost cried, but didn't. I almost accepted his proposition, but didn't.

I know me. I know what I want to do. I know I'm a hopeless romantic. I know I love sappy movies. This is my very own sappy movie. Anyone every seen Sweet November? At the end, it just rips your heart out? That's what this is. But of course, I'm not dying. Literally anyway.

I had a whole other entry saved that I wrote last night that I planned on posting today. Due to the unexpected turn of events, I will not post it. That's no longer on my mind.

I could go into detail about our never-a-dull-moment type of relationship, but I can't. I cannot bring myself to delve up the past and move on.

Leave me some support. Leave me some lovin'.

'Tis all for now.

Goin' to California!

It is true. So very true. The tickets are purchased, the days are marked on my calendar. One huge, bright yellow sunshine marks the day July 27th. I'm goin' to California! I'm goin' to California! *does dance*

I told my sister-in-law about my trip last night. "You're going to meet a guy out there and never come back." She said.

I laughed. "I doubt it. Why would some hot Californian surfer guy want a girl from New York, when he's surrrounded by these beautiful blonde beach babes 24/7?"

"You wait." She said.

I'm waiting. Impatiently.

The last time I went to California it was 7 years ago. I was a rather visually unpleasant, awkward 12 year old with braces. I wore oversized t-shirts and black Converse high tops. My fashion sense was a little off. I remember flying into the LA airport and pressing my face up to the cool glass. I saw palm tress in the distance. Something told me right then, that this was the place of all places for me. We then boarded our 6 seat airplane and flew over the Pacific ocean (or some body of water, not quite sure) sideways, and landed in Palm Springs just as the sun was setting. It was orange. A very vibrant, neon orange with traces of pink pastel hanging in the sky. We got off the plane and were instantly welcomed by a haze of heat, looming over miles of sand.

We spent the first week in Palm Springs, as my father had business to attend to. There was nothing more to do than hang out by the pool, and that's what my mother, sister and I did. All day. Every day. We drank virgin Strawberry daquiries and listened to the poolside band play "Mr Sandman" over and over again, as per my request. Life was good for that week.

After that, we went to SanFransisco, Monterey Bay and Sausalito for the day. (Imagine that! 3 sights in one day!) SanFransisco was my calling. It was as if it was made for me. I shopped and admired all the people. I loved the structure of it. The idea of it. Everything. To me, a small city girl from the east coast who had never really left the state, SanFransisco was all it was cracked up to be. It was exciting, exhilarating. I wanted to be a part of it. So when the night came and it was time to leave, I knew it wouldn't be the lsat time I visited there. I guess I was right.

We then mosied up, down, around (or whatever the location was) to Carmel. My family and all 4 of my aunts and their families rented a house on the oceanside, where we stayed for the remainder of our trip. We shopped and ate alot. We went to the beach and to Santa Cruz and rode the roller coaster in the sand. Everything there seemed so much more amazing than everything back home. It was April. It was still snowing at home. It was 80 degrees in California.

Unboarding the plane in Syracuse, NY was one of the most depressing things ever. There was still snow on the ground. I still had to go to school. I was tired after 6 or 7 hours of travelling. I was no longer in California. That moment sucked.

So here I am now. This is my chance. I am 19 years old, I'm no longer so uncomfortable in my skin, awkward in my age, dressed like a 10 year old boy. I'm gradually turning into a woman, with ideas, with aspirations and I'm making my first step. Maybe this is my calling. Maybe the fact that all the classes I have taken in college so far are all non-transferrable (shudders) is fate for me to go out of state. Or get a job. Or move away. Or travel. I don't know. I used to be comfortable and cozy with my plans. And now, not having any past August 17th, is sort of scary, but exciting at the same time.

Wish me luck. Tell me your stories. Give me advice. Give me wisdom. Or just leave a comment. Calm my nerves. Pray to the demigods. Eat, drink and be Merry.

Weekend assignment #14

Weekend Assignment  #14: Write a haiku about your most cherished snack food or carbonated beverage.

I'll take one haiku and raise you 2 more, Mr. Scalzi, since I did not participate in last weeks assignment, due to my ignorance of the subject of our Founding Fathers. My bad.

So without much further ado...I give to you, my haikus. (and that mini-poem apparently.)

 

Marshmallow peeps come

in many different shapes

like winters snowflakes.

 

I love ginger-ale

with it's tiny golden bubbles

promising a laugh.

 

Circus peanuts stare at me

from their place upon the shelf

their hopes growing stale.

 

 

Jet Blue can happen to you.

I have somehow managed to contract a cold. In 80 degree weather, I did not think this was possible. I am not happy.

Alas, I must continue my search for plane tickets. That's right, folks. If Murphy's Law gets out of my face for a few weeks, I will be on my way to sunny California for one month.

Here's to hot surfer guys, good weather and lots of cash!

My Oprah Moment

We all have different stories. I never thought that mine would be much of any interest to anyone. I still kind of think that. But this journal, and the hit counter, proves that it is interesting to some. That's kind of a gnarly thought. It makes me smile. Sometimes it makes me giggle with enrapturing pleasure. This feels good.

Feeling good, feeling content and feeling at ease are all feelings I haven't experienced often. Until now.

Growing up, we've all had our "ugly stages." My physical "ugly stage" was 6th grade. Oversized t-shirts to hide my flat chest, wind pants so I wouldn't have to change in front of the other girls on gym days, big hooped earrings to give me the conformity I longed for, bad hair. But my true "ugly stage" lasted alot longer than the external one. Think about 6 years.

In those 6 years, I have never experienced a moments peace. I was never at ease. With myself, with others, at home, in school, in love, alone...Something was always eating away at me.

After breaking up with my last boyfriend, I have been experiencing a tremendous amount of personal growth. It's been about 9 or 10 months since we called it quits and I have never felt better. Not to pinpoint him in particular or anything, but that moment in my life was the turning point. It was the moment I realized that something had to change. It was the morbidly obese person's moment of realization that they are not invincable, expecially with a heart monitor hooked up to their body. It was the moment the abused woman took matters into her own hands and called the cops on her wifebeater of a husband. This was my Oprah moment.

Since then, I've found AOL Journals. I've found support in certain friends, though more importantly, within myself. I found a sense of composed wisdom within my 19 years, with my 3 doomed relationships, countless failed friendships, numerous events of slamming doors on my parents, within my decade and a half career as a student. This is me. And I learned to love it and learned to feel comfortable with myself.

For the first time in years, (long term relationships back to back), I had time to spend alone. Utterly alone. Learning to not wait for the phone to ring was a huge stepping stone in the process. I sometimes battle it today, but not as often. It gets to the point now, where I just don't want to be reached. I don't want to be "gotten hold of." I want to be with me. I'm good company. I've learned to use my time more wisely. I learned to knit. I'm learning to play guitar, the right way. I've learned to take care of myself, first. I've the learned the importance of life, and how close I actually came to ending mine, on several different occasions. I now realize, that I would've regretted it. If you can still feel remorse, that is.

And through more recent experiences I have learned that I'm not ready to be "gotten." On the phone, and otherwise. My process of healing and growing and becoming is far from over. I am not perfect. I never will be. And I want someone to love me for that. To love my imperfections as much as I do.

And though the many ex-boyfriends and ex-crushes and ex-friends under my belt have helped me to grow, it's extremely hard for me to let go of the underlying bitterness that encompasses the imperfections and flaws of companionship. I cannot do it.

I just recently began speaking to one of my ex boyfriends. It took 5 years. I needed time to learn how to look back and laugh. I needed to learn how to put on some heels, look damn good, strut into his place of work and strike up a conversation, without holding any of the animosity that I held for so long. Because let's face it, animosity and bitterness does not look good with any outfit.

School helped me to strengthen my inner plethora of senstivity and emotions. I reminded myself that I am doing this for me, I am "bettering" my already fabulous self. The most recent breakup was at the beginning semester of my first year at college. What a time for changes.

I adapted. I lived to tell about it. I'm alive. And it feels damn good.

Sure, I may not always get the guy, or respond well to confrotations or jumbled up emotions, but I'm not a superhero. Yet. The application is sitting on my dresser and all I have to do is send it in. I don't think I'm ready for a title like that yet. I'm just getting comfortable with my own skin, Lord knows how those tights will fit.

 

108! 108! 108!

Check this out! Number 108, baby!

 

http://journals.aol.com/floralilia/SucculentWisdom-juicynessfromj-l/entries/130

 

And here I though I was just as insignificant as a translucent spider web in the corner. See, sometimes things don't go unnoticed for too long.

Oops, my bad.

Vivian's address didn't work in the last entry and my piece isn't letting me edit, so here's a better link.

 

http://journals.aol.com/viviansullinwank/NwanyiomasJournal/entries/1339

I know why the caged bird sings...

Sometimes I could just throw my computer against the wall. It drives me nuts. Absolutely nuts.

So...about the whole "job" thing...

A few have come my way, suprisingly enough. I know what you all are thinking. "Marissa? A job?! Hahahahahaha!"

This is not the case.

One of the jobs...

Is in California.

Whose laughing now??

It would be for the rest of the summer. $1000 a week.

No, not prostitution. I would never. Again.

I'd be working for my aunt at her business. She owns a, get this, (Jennifer you will love this!) "The Country Pet Wash." Owners bring their precious little dogs in and wash them in the tubs, which are all inclusive with shampoos, conditioners, brushes, hair dryers. The works! It's a doggie beauty salon. They like to look good too!

My job would include washing the tubs, sweeping the floors, cleaning up the various "messes," cash registering, opening & closing up shop.

And the best part?

It's in California! Ha!

My other job begins with school. It's a work-study program in the Theater Department and I'm pretty much gauranteed a job. About $800 a semester. It's better than nothing and the work is easy. This way I can go to school, make a few bucks and not get harassed by everyone about not having a job. So there.

I went on a long walk today. So long I thought I'd never see my house again. It felt better to be outside, rather than cooped up in the batmobile. The novelty of driving has definitely worn off. Don't get me wrong, I love driving...if it's Thruway driving. Otherwise, leave me alone. I'm not into dodging traffic at rush hour around here. I'm not into crappy drivers. I can't deal with it. A few close calls definitely hindered my thoughts on local driving. It's not for me. And with that, I could care less about having a car. Sure, it would be nice for certain things, but I'm not all into paying for this and that with it. It's one of those dependancy issues. And with not havinga steady job, it's just not a good idea. And with impending transferring of colleges, it's just not practical. If I want to come home, my parents can drive the 3 or 4 and come get me. They don't mind, I don't mind. I'm sure there are buses where I'm going. And I always have my feet.

Today was a beautiful day. The temperature was perfect (though at times a little too hot for my tastes). My mother, aunt and I had a BBQ for my uncle and his wife and his 3 little kids. They were a riot. 9, 7 and 3. As I watched them pile into a minivan to head home, I knew I was nowhere near ready for anything of the sort. And then I realized I may never be. But that's a whole other entry.

My aunt is talking about putting my grandmother in a home. Both my mother and I are against the idea. My grandmother is only 78 years old, is widowed (and has been for 30 years) and has 10 children. (Yes, you read that right. 10 children!) Of those 10 children, 8 keep in touch, 3 of which live close by (including us), and 4 pay her bills for her. Oddly enough, those are the 4 who wish to put her in a home.

The idea is ridiculous to me. A "home" is not an ideal place to go. You constantly have death looming in the halls, it's just not a cheery atmosphere. It's like your own family is putting you there until you die. You are basically waiting for death. That doesn't sound like fun at all! My poor grandmother would think that we just want her gone. (And I know her and that's what she will think.) She never leaves her house as it is, the rent is pretty steep, but it's manageable, since she's lived there for over 20 years. She ventures out at least once a month, to buy groceries if she has to. Otherwise she has a meal service come to her, which is convienient, I understand, but she isn't unable to go out. She just refuses to.

If my aunts and uncles think this is best for her, they are wrong. It may be more convienient for them, but it's not suitable to her. And I agree. She's not helpless just yet. She has strong genes. Most of her relatives have died in thier late 90s and I'm sure she will too, if not outlive them even.

She's a beautiful person, despite the flaws that are constantly thrown about about her. She's not meant to be caged. She needs her own space, the way we need our own space, regardless of her age.  By putting her away, they would cage her spirits. And smother her.

I don't know. I don't want to see her there. I don't want her to be around other helpless-seeming people. I don't want her home to be in a home. Her home is where she is now. And though she never admits it, she is happy there.

'Tis enough of that for now.

On a lighter note, as you have all noticed the little torch in previous entry, I would like to thank Jennifer and Vivian for acknowledging my journal as part of AOL's close-knit little community here. I love being a part of it. Thanks for all the support and keep the torch going! Happy Anniversary AOL Journals!

Have a nice evening.

The torch mosies on up to NY

In honor of Aol Journal Land's one year anniversary, I am taking part in the torch parade, if you will, by passing it along with my Aol Journaling friends.

Welcome, torch, and you many Journalers, to Utica, NY. Population: 2

It's a crummy little city in upstate NY, with winter as the most predominate season. And of course, we use the rather passive solar method of snow removal. Forget plows! It'll be sunny here someday! Still waiting...

Utica is filled with two types of people: those who were born here and like it fine, and then the rest, people who were born here and want to get out. Desperately. I don't believe anyone is here because they want to be. It's not exactly the greatest.

We have one mall...on the outskirts of the city, in a nearby town. We have 2 Wal-Marts (which I'm in the process of boycotting) 3 Italian pastry shops, all within 5 minutes from each other in "east chewtica," which, in its day, was primarily inhabited by Italianos. We have 4 movie theaters, 3 of which are completely dumpy. We have numerous chain stores, many boarded up crackhouses, aquamarine and yellow fire hydrants and burnt out streetlights. Not exactly charming.

But on the flip side----

Wait. There is no flip side.

So there you have it.

Welcome to Utica, NY. My home and now yours. Happy Anniversary.

Also, in honor of Journals Birthday, I wrote a little something that goes something like this...

Home is what I have searched for
all of these years
and it turned up in the most unsuspecting place
right under my nose
Home to me isn't where I sleep at night
or where I return to after a long day
home is right here
with all of you
And although we are just pages
we are each a part of one big book
that binds us together
as a community
And I have never been so touched
by a force that I have never seen
and I have never been so moved
by a love that we all share
to create, to express, to be.
Journalers Unite!

Happy Anniversary!

And the funk goes on...

I am swollen and not happy.

Did I ever mention the state bird here in NY?

Yeah, it's the mosquito.

When it comes to the 4th of July, I'm sort of a summer scrooge. I hate it. I hate fireworks and I hate crowds of people. And parades. Let's not forget parades. So my 4th of July was just another ordinary day. I stayed in bed all day (this is what Sean calls a "weedover") and left the house only on an ice cream run.

In bed, I watched "I love the 80's" on Vh1 for a good part of the day. Oh, how I love the 80's. And really, what's not to love? Legwarmers, huge hair, small robotic children living with an ordinary family. 'Tis classic. And speaking of huge hair, someone from Styx claims, "The bigger the hair, the closer you are to God." Yeah, that's it all you 80's-huge haired- legwarmer clad- Alf watching freaks!

In other news, my computer seems to be fixed, though my faith is not entirely restored in technology. I don't like depending on something inhuman, whose many malfunctions can hinder my day's plans. I.E. writing in my journal.

I'm still in that funk, as you probably can tell. The prayers are not working! Pray harder! Pray until your 2 little hands are raw and chafed from being stuck together! Pray until your knees ache from kneeling on the hardwood floors on your bedside! Pray until you actually believe in who you are praying to! No, wait. Don't do that. That would mess everything up.

Ah, the 80's. They were great.

I am sorry I haven't updated. I've been busy. My computer needs surgery to remove the chinamen who hacked it. Prayers are much needed. Pray to those demigods I mentioned in the previous entry. I'm not sure if I do have alot to say, if I could access my journal, hence why I am using AolJournals instant message to update right now. I'm in a funk. Not the dance kind, either. Don't worry if I haven't updated in a while or been around to check all of yours. Blame it on technology. Blame everything on technology.

My deepest regrets...

I can't seem to find any words to write an entry with. Sorry about the slight neglect. Sorry about my inability to create something imaginative. I'm not in the right frame of mine for that. And TwoScoopsofCrazy has prevented me from even wanting to do so.

I know what you are thinking.

"Don't let him get you down, Marissa!"

Whatever. It makes me question my whole existence. As does President Bush.

"I'm in a dark place now." - someone once said.

Was it me?

I don't even know.

Send some prayers to your fictitious autobiographical demigod and have them send it my way. (and since I give credit where credit's due, thanks BFF for that kickassness.)