Rolling with the Village People

Welcome to my hopeless pit of despair. Feel free to use the minibar and leave your key on the way out. But don't leave on an empty stomach----grab a complimentary scone and cup o' joe, if you are so inclined. Don't bother searching the nightstand drawers for a bible, you won't find a one in this hotel. Jesus ain't here and if you are lookin' for him you came to the wrong place. Go to the HOLYDAY INN across the street, I'm sure they have an updated copy. Pick me up one, I could use some rolling papers.

Oh, yeah. Happy Halloween.

Mount St. Marissa threatens eruption

Is it just me or is 2004 turning out to be one of the worst years ever? Friend by friend are dropping like flies in front of the Depression Gods and I myself am finding it hard to resist. Take me, dear Schizo Lord, take me!

As a whole our stress levels seem to be at level red, inches away from boiling over like firey hot lava in our own bodies volcano. Is it the elections causing such tension? Or is it something more constant that doesn't just come around every four years, like family or school or work? Or is it simply nothing? Personally, for me it's a huge melting pot of all of things, with a dash of Seasonal Affective Disorder. How could you possibly feel okay when it's getting dark at 4 o'clock?

Walking around campus I no longer see happy faces or hear trails of laughter behind me; I feel like I'm in a makeshift mental hospital, with extremely high nightly rates. Get out the straight jackets, we're comin' in.

Ah, well, who knows? Maybe it's the first time in a million years where the planets are all aligned to disrupt everyone's lives and induce global warming with cartoon smoke blowing out of everyone's ears. Or maybe it's a yearlong case of PMS.

If only it were that easy.

Weekend Assignment #31

Write your own, preferably rhyming, epitaph. 

 

Sounds easy, right? Not if your name is Marissa and doesn't rhyme with anything! But hey, I'll try anything once! - Famous Last Words

 

Here lies our little egg

that fell into an oversized keg

with one swift gulp, she became beer pulp

and never resurfaced again.

 

No like? Howabout this little diddy:

 

Here lies Mar

who was hit by a car

she flew across the road and later was towed

and now can be found in the junkyard.

 

Extra credit:  Write a cute epitaph for your favorite loved one, relative, or family pet. Suggestion: keep it light. You might want them to continue being your favorite loved one, relative, or family pet. Nothing is worse than having Fido dissing you over some silly words on a gravestone.

 

Here lies Skunk

whose overdosed on crunk

she got in her car, but didn't get far

with Pepe La Pew in the trunk.

 

I tried doing other ones but failed miserably. Not much rhymes with Anthony, Harley, Grimace or  Amberella. Any suggestions? Leave 'em below!

 

 

 

My Resume`

I don't do well in high-stress situations and I sometimes crack under pressure. I like to wear too-high heels and outrageous outfits. If this job requires a hairnet, you may as well fire me before you hire me. I'm good at window displays, although one time I fell out of the window display into the jelly bean display and hurt my leg, while trying to assist a customer. I get bored easily and have a short attention span. I'm very good about cleaning up and putting things in order, I even keep highlighters and reinforcers in my purse, in case of an anal-retentive emergency. I don't work well with others and I don't like to get up until 10 o'clock, I hope that's not a problem. From time to time I make personal long-distance phone calls on the company phones and pretend it wasn't me, so keep that in mind as well. I have cash register skills and can even count change back, however, if we are having some sort of sale and a poor customer does not have a coupon, I will give them one, regardless of store policy. I've been in that situation. It is not pleasant. I gift wrap and I make fabulous bows. I once made one entirely out of paperclips and staples. If I'm trying to sell something to a man, I use my breasts, though only in cases of comission. I've worked in hospitals, food prep, gift stores, craft stores and pet stores. I've swept, mopped, washed, dried, mashed, pureed and even slipped in butter once and slid into a drainpipe. I've answered phones, done inventory, set up displays and served meals. I can prepare, serve and cleanup. I can stop, drop and roll. I'm mostly on time, always dressed to the nines, hell, even the tens sometimes. I don't need many breaks, just make sure the food is plentiful throughout the day and keep toilet paper behind the desk. I'm not into those mystery shoppers, I am already a paranoid person and this just irks me, so if you could do that on your own time, that'd be great. Also, I'm not big on evaluations. I hate authority figures breathing down my neck (lest of course we are not on the time clock, if you know what I mean.) I firmly believe in dating amongst co-workers. I once dated my supervisor. For about an hour in the service elevator. Now I know why they call it the "service" elevator. Ha. Anyhow, look at the time! It's getting late and I have an appointment to get my nails done. If you are interested have your people call my people. Maybe we can do lunch? No?

Cantakerous Mariss

I'm in dire need of some time management skills. It was only a few days ago that I found myself reveling in the sheer enjoyment of finally having no tests to study for, no essays to write, nothing more to do than lie in bed with my remote control and some iced coffee. Fast forward: Bio Lab report due tomorrow, as well as a modern interpretative presentation of Hamlet all before noon. Stats test Monday, Sexuality test Tuesday and Sociology 202 test on Thursday, not to mention the huge project due November 11th I neglected all semester. Do you smell something burning? Yeah, that'd be me.

And on top of that, it's near impossible to walk around campus without hearing the giddy banter of students alike who are recieving their financial aid checks this week. Good for you, I think to myself, as I'm pocketing a chicken wrap from the cafeteria. Yes, I am too poor to afford lunch and here are a bunch of kids whose parents cheated the systems getting $1000 checks for slacking off in school. I've maintained my 3.5, thank you, but that doesn't mean I can afford the damn tuition. I'm pissed. I couldn't even afford some of my books for class. But one of my teachers, being a sweetheart, put a special reserve copy for me in the library. Too bad "reserve" means it has to stay in the library, meanwhile I have an open-book test that I have no book to open during. Y'know what I say to that? Three words: FAB-U-LOUS. It's not my fault my dad made too much money last year. It's not like he's paying for it. I am. I'm the one with the loans under my belt after this whole college fiasco. That's a pantload o' money I ain't got.

The holidays, or rather, as I call them, the holidon'ts, are rapidly approaching. Maybe that's why I'm so irritable. There's nothing I hate more than seeing a display of dancing candy corn singing showtunes than seeing a jolly black santa right next to him, dancing along, shakin' his groove thang. If your name is on my Christmas list, I suggest you hold out for your gift from me until after the holidon'ts, when the malls are cleared and the returned-reject gifts are piled on the clearance tables outside of the stores. Don't be suprised if you get a beat-up looking cookie tray with a chocolate smear on it or a teddy bear with ripped appendages holding a construction paper heart that says "You're beary special!" I'm really going to put some thought into my gifts this year. Hopefully the Salvation Army has alot to choose from. And if not, I suppose I could just make my presents again, like last year. Anyone for a reindeer made out of pipe cleaners and sequins? No? Howabout a half-assed knitted potholder with your initials on it?

Either way, you're scrooged.

Update: Can't you see I'm still dying?

Taken a few pain pills and a couple liters of Robitussin but to no avail. The gods of mucus and inflammation of the brain are doin' quite the little tango number atop my electric blanket. Cute, ain't it?

I go from hot to cold in a matter of nano-seconds. My hands and feet are clammier than the Fisherman's Wharf. Somebody call a doctor. Somebody call the morgue. I think I'm dying.

I've watched Carrie and Big break-up and reconcile then break-up again, have make-up sex and have cold pizza in his empty apartment. I never watched so much television. I've never been so jealous of good health. *Sigh* When will it end? Just take me now!

Was it all worth it? Was going out and drinking and clubbing it scantily clad on a cold, fall night worth the headache and post nasal drip following? I want to say yes, but I'm not sure I'm sure. Maybe I wasn't cut out for this fabulous persona. Let's face it, I'm not even legal to drink! Should I cut up my fake i.d. for my last year and a half of a sober lifestyle? Or should I tango every Friday and Saturday night with friends in skimpy clothing? The latter sounds much more appealing. But alas, my head is pounding. The morning after isn't so glamorous.

 

Can't you see I'm dying?

Hello my dahlings and fab journal readers on this horrid, rainy Monday. Karen Carpenter sang it best, "rainy days and Mondays always get me down." Well you know what Miss Carpenter? The combo of the two ain't so great either. That's half the reason why I'm parked in front of my computer in an oversized bathrobe, unwashed though still awesomely bad. (A quick shoutout and a thumbs-up gesture to VH1 for the Awesomely Bad series. It is by far the most entertaining thing on television until they come up with Extreme Makeover: First Ladies Edition.) Yes, m'friends, I am taking the day off from the learning extravaganza at school today. The word Hamlet will not pass through these lips unless there is some sort of BBQ activity in my flooded backyard. And as for Biology, well let's just say if the entire class wanted to high-tail it to my house for a field trip and a study on why my snot is green, then by all means. I will be happy to make them Nyquil smoothies with bits of Tylenol floating around in it. Which, ironically enough, serves as the perfect segue to the other half of the reason why I called in dead to school today, I'm sick. Again. This is the third time in the past 6 weeks I have become ill or the technical term "caught a cold" when I didn't even have my catchers mitt on. Or a coat in the subzero temperatures of Upstate NY on a Saturday night.

Note to self: No matter how club-alicious your outfit is, wear a coat to protect your precious immune system. Snot doesn't look good with anything.

My plans for today are simple: Lay in bed, watch "Sex and the City" and pout over the fact that Carrie chose pretentious Mr. Big over Sweet Home Alabama Man Aidan. There may be some tea and sandwhiches, providing my Mom gets home soon to make some for me! Can you say helpless and overly dramatic? See, it's a good thing I'm skipping out on today's Dramatic Literature class. I know drama. I don't need a class to point out the fact.

Enjoy your Mondays out there. I'm taking one for the team.

 

If I were President...

If I were running for Presidential office... my legs would be tired.

Whoo! Sorry! Just had to hook you in with many more promises of bad jokes with dry humor ala` mode. But seriously---

If I were running for the Presidency of the United States, a few of the major points in my campaign would be as follows:

I would enstate a National Nutritionist. There is a reason why millions of Americans are overweight, not to mention the 5 million who are morbidy overweight, and it's an issue that can never be laid to rest if we don't start caring about our bodies and health, and, like most everything else, we will pass this on to our children too. Places like McDonalds and KFC are promoting clogged arteries with their deep-fried calories and cholesterol dipped in chocolate. However, I do have to say that I am somewhat pleased with their efforts of grilled-instead-of-fried and abundance of salad choices. I am not saying we need to eat like birds, either, but a good attitude of "anything is good in moderation" and being fully aware of what is going on in your body (I'm talking about reading up on it, food is our energy source, it affects everything we do) instead of grabbing up 8 kids meals for your family on the way home for work because it's easy and less time consuming than cooking a meal, hence fast food.

I would make the cost of education more affordable by using Wal-Mart's method of "rolling back the prices." That big, yellow smiley face will follow me around as I slash prices of tuition and book prices with my handy-dandy dagger that came free with the eyepatch/monocle set. The stance America has taken on the institution of education is slightly misconstrued in that we aren't realizing that by making schooling so unaffordable and unattainable for our children, that in the next generation's time, America will be in the hands of these underprepared and underpriveleged people and we will have yet another bad case of stupid in office. Our job here is to create a better life for generations to come, not to get as much power as you possibly can and screw America in its own butt.

I would make sure to enforce the rule, "eye for an eye" and will promise that the punishment will fit the crime flawlessly. Example: If you murder someone by hitting them forcefully with a baseball bat, we will do the same to you. It's only fair.

I would open a resort for all of the homeless where we will provide showers, room and food for the poor of the cities while training them daily in job skills and offer them counseling and support, until they can get on their feet again. Each guest will have a mentor to speak with daily, who will also conduct follow-ups and set up job interviews for the previously less fortunate.

Marijuana will be legalized under my legislation, in that it is far too expensive for the government and taxpayers to keep fighting a war against a recreational drug that has fewer long-term effects than a cigarette. I'd be able sleep a bit better in the Lincoln Bedroom knowing that the police officers patroling the streets are paying more attention to more serious crimes and investigations, not searching dorm rooms and fraternities on a Friday night.

I will not start wars with other countries. I don't want the name America to be said with shame, it should be said with pride.

We will happily accept immigrants as "world travelers" and offer them the same opportunites we offer our own citizens.

Formal sex education classes will be mandatory for high school graduation. It is one of the most important classes to take to learn how to be safe when it comes to having sex, regardless if you are or not. Chances are, in some point in your life, you're going to need to know these things and sweeping them under the rug is not going to promote abstinence. Think of it this way, they can have sex the wrong way, spread AIDS, HIV and STD epidemics, not to mention unwanted pregnancies, illegal and unsafe abortions or they can sit through one extra class a few times a week and be protected for a lifetime. We need to realize that sex is a natural instinct, and instead of supressing it and hushing it, we need to embrace it and enforce the importance of sexual awareness, because somewhere, right atthis very second, the AIDS virus is being passed along to someone who knows nothing about it and doesn't know how to protect his or herself. By continuing on with the right-winged conservative view of sexuality, we are setting our country up for the kill, again. It's hard to promote old-world ways in a new, technologically advanced, ever-changing society.

Say goodbye to Yanni.

The labeled ghettos will be refurbished with money raised through grocery store fundraisers. Half of the money spent on food will be donated to an organization whose specific focus is feeding the poor and bettering their neighborhoods and quality of life.

Another pre-graduation requirement for all kids is to donate your time by helping Habitat for Humanity build a new house that will be auctioned off annually by the graduating class. The house will be donated to a local family in need.

 

Uncle Sam wants me and you do too! C'mon, just admit it!

Vote for me!

 

Toxic Paste Levels

There are so many words at my disposal, yet I cannot think of any to fully desribe the way I feel. I'm mixed and jumbled; angry and confused.

But let me start with this disclaimer:

Anybody out there who is reading this journal and DOES NOT like what they read, has the freedom at their own fingertips granted through promises of this fantastic America, to X it out and not come back. If you don't like that I sometimes bitch and moan and come across as selfish or self-centered, then don't read it. I don't force you to come here, I don't force you to read and I don't force you to comment. This journal is mine, and in saying that, I can post here what I want without feeling guilty or ashamed or scared to click the "save" button.

And if you guys promise this, I can promise you that I will use discretion or anonymity when I feel I'm being too personal or that I may offend someone.

And as you all may have noticed, I'm moody. I get lonely from time to time, depressed and downright pissed, but at other times I can be completle content, sane and sentimental. We are all subject to feeling our own emotions, as well as posting them for all to see if that's what we so wish, and it's our perrogative to without feeling compelled to hold back.

Now back to regular scheduled programming.

I know I seemed a bit "off" in the previous entries (and trust me, it was hard to get funny in order to muster out a few man-bashing statements when you're questioning your entire existence, but I digress.) Truth to be told, I am a bit "off." Something is just not quite right. I am shaken, not stirred, at the possibility of frailties among the so-called strong fortresses that I have conned myself into thinking could catch me if I were to fall. The connection is lost and I am floating now, slow into the darkness of obscurity, alone. I am confident within my lonliness, now. This time I will be my saving grace, so to speak, I will be the one who digs me out. I'm the one that I want.

Judging by my out-of-charactered fallacious tendencies as of late, I need a good, what Dr. Phil would prescribe, self-reflection period in which I will sit in the corner sulking until I realize that Iwent about handling my anger in a temper-tantrumed, unnanounced rage. I am not completely denouncing my behavior, however, I do firmly believed by the power vested in me that every now and then, no matter how sane or insane, normal or abnormal you claim to be, every person could use a good full-on tantrum in which all your inner demons are thrust outside of your deep, hidden crevices and are allowed to surface and become somewhat of an actual feeling, instead of a subconscious malady that is supressed and locked into your personal dungeons. Let 'em out, baby. Pound your fists and scream and cry, if you need to, it's okay. Don't let such a beneficial emotional workout be only meritable for the "terrible two's." Show 'em that thirty-twos can be terrible too!

I am re-learning something I always knew to be true, (and good ol' Babs Streisand can second me on this one) that people need people. We are constantly swarmed into this new wave self-serving, pro-indiviualism way of life that we feel everything must be accomplished on our own to be worth mentioning. When did needing help become such a frowned upon notion? Why is it viewed as more propitious to have done something on your own rather than recieving help along the way? It's a pride issue. If you need help, you ain't got no pride. Not true. I've needed help on more than ten occasions in my life and I rarely hesitated to use it as a mere stepping stone to reach my goal. Or, in some of those cases, to reach a mental health level. It's true what they say, the first steps to fixing your problem is admitting you have one. Do you have a problem with that?

I momentarily pondered privatizing my journal, though when the idea of a private-online journal first came about it, it absolutely baffled me with it's contradiction (madness, I tell you.) I decided against it because I want people to find my journal and read it and because I don't want to be in the suburbia of AOL Journal Land. My journal is here for me as much as it is for anyone who wants to read it.

And with that, I leave you to go back to my wee chair in the corner, where I will continue to pout and act irrational until I there is no more paste left to eat.

The Results Are In!

The votes are in! (Save for 2 absentee ballots I am still anxiously awaiting.) However, after much anticipation, I have the results. Needless to say, this was a close race. Phone calls, e-mails, instant messages and of course, journal comments, have poured in regarding our 1st annual Jerk Fest.

And of course you remember our nominees:

1 - Bobby the Dope - Told me he'd date me, but never came through.
2 - Mike the Security Gaurd - Wooed me over the phone for over a month, but never bothered to tell me he had a girlfriend.
3 - Nick the Coffee Shop Guy - Propositioned me at my favorite cafe, and never even offered me a free cup o' joe! (Though I'm sure "Joe" would've kissed much better.)
4 - Tony the Sushi Boy - A psuedo-intellectual with an even bigger ego. Thought he could "make me" fall in love with him. (And I quote.)
5 - Joe the "lets do it in the bushes" Guy - A drunken night, don't hear from him again, until recently, when he thought he could have a replay of that night, though this time in the backseat of his car. Sketchy McSketcherson.
6 - Mario the "having his cake and eating it too" Guy - There's not enough space for this one. To read more about him, go here : Goodbye. And for the record, he's not exactly top on my list of jerks. I can't see him as one. He's still a good friend.
7 - Charley the "that's f-ing gay" Guy - actually admitted to me that he wears a lip ring for the sole purpose of looking cool. He also was the advocate for the afterschool intramural recreational drug ring. Very prestigious. To read more about him, go here : Dear Charley
8 - Ashley the Borderline Stalker Boy - Calls me 100 times a day and leaves creepy voicemail messages.
And finally, the Ultimate Jerk: 9 - Anthony the Ex Boyfriend - broke up with me after 2 years to date someone who looked alot likeme.

I do have a name to add to the list, after self-nomination and recieving much support from the public, I proudly present to you Jerk # 10 : Sean the Alcoholic "F" Buddy Guy: (as he describes himself) Only calls when hes either A) Drunk , or B)Going to get drunk, and either A) needs a "ride" or B) needs to "ride".

Using the process of elimination, I have removed those "jerks" who got off on strictly minor offenses. They are:

1. Bobby the Dope - "Wyoming is for lovers and not for Bobby." - Wyomingite
2. Mike the Security Gaurd - "Take a hike, Mike!" - on a billboard outside of a bait shop.
3. Nick the Coffee Shop Guy - "The best part of waking up, there's shlup in your cup!" -As advertised during daytime TV.
4. Ashley the Borderline Stalker Boy - "Ashley. Boston just asks, "Why?" - The Boston Herald

And of course, 5. Joe the "let's do it in the bushes" Guy. Joe, however, has been nominated and awarded (by Kathleen) the honorable WTF award of the year. Intercourse, PA says, "Not in our bushes!"

That being said, let's continue on with our so-called leftovers:

1. Tony "Sushi" Boy - (In response to the outrageous claim) "I like the sushi 'cause it's never touched the frying pan," said Steven Page of the Barenaked Ladies, "Until now."

2. Mario "Cake" Guy - "Madness. It's just madness." Claimed a Betty Crocker representative, who was taken aback that Mario even made the list. Through tears, she went on, "He was always so nice to my little Debbie."

3. Charley "lip ring" Boy - (as seen on the back of his rusty little car) "Asshole on Board." (Officials say the girl who put it there was about 5"1 with short brown hair and was wearing a pair of Steve Madden stilettos. If you have any information, cops request you call them at 911. Ask for Marissa. Operators are standing by, though restlessly.)

4. Anthony "the ex" Guy - When asked to comment, Neil Sedaka looked confused at the idea of such man abuse, but still broke into song saying, "Breaking up is hard to do!"

5. Sean the "self-nominated" Guy - At a press conference in his home state of  Vermont, Howard Dean was quoted in saying, in regards to Sean and Marissa's purely sexual relationship, "Every day it becomes clearer that this was the wrong war at the wrong time." Was he wrong? Absolutely not. He concluded with the following statement, "I'm just deeply disappointed that once again we may have to settle for the lesser of two evils." Well that settles it. Marissa wins!

 

Now, I will indulge you with the numerous responses I've had to this poll in order of the ranking and the countdown to the 1st Annual Jerk-Off Award Ceremony.

 

In 5th position, Tony the Sushi Boy.

"From a purely superficial standpoint Tony the Sushi guy sounds like a real ass bag as well, for what it's worth." - Miss Gina "Skunk" VonDunajew

"Third Choice!" - Kathleen, my fellow ultra-crunk femme.

When asked to comment, Tony removed his Buddy Holly-esque frames out of sheer anger and sneered, "If she gave it more time, she would've been mine. All the girls dig me."

In 4th position, Charley the poser.

Comment from: blackskye888
"My vote is for charley the "that's f-ing gay" guy. way to go asshole!

                                                                                -Harley"

"The Charley story is priceless and I want to meet him-"can I eat your muff?" hmmmm everyone's doing it!" - GSV, votes for him on the sole purpose he was once quoted as to saying, "You don't have to swallow my [ disgusting euphemism deleted ] if you don't want to." (Watch out, Skunk, for the AOL TOS Laws!)

When asked his thoughts on his win, Charley sniffed a line of coke, wiped his nose and blurted out, "That's f-ing gay."

 

We're down to the last three. Before I casted my votes, there was a three-way tie. My vote is crucial (never thought I'd say that!) So, ladies and gentlemen, I give you our final three.

In 3rd position, all the way from the Sunshine State whose state motto is "Ask us about our grandkids!" is Mario, who raked in quite a few votes from journal readers and friends.

 

Comment from: dropkickgirl33
"those who know you best would have to say MARIO, though i wasnt around for the anthony days."

iamjamegumb, on a last minute instant message vote: " well i think he was a jerk for leaving you with no finalization and i know what it's like to have someone that's that special to you and then suddenly, no more. i think he's a jerk especially for waiting until he moved to florida to tell you that he could have loved you. "

"Mario for obvious reasons." - The Enquirer

Mario could not be reached for comment as he is on the set of his new movie, "The Dead Won't Die."

In 2nd place was our very own self-nominated-big-fan-of-the-drinky-drink, Sean!

Comment from: giwannaponu AKA SEAN:
"My Vote goes to Sean "I only hang out with you drunk" Guy.....I mean cmon what a dick he is!!!! Only calls when hes either A) Drunk , or B)Going to get drunk, and either A) needs a "ride" or B) needs to "ride".....my vote definitly goes to that punk ass kid....someone should woop him greatly!!!!"

And from the best friend standpoint, Anthony commented : "Although he was a 25th hour write-in vote and not even technically in the damn roster of selectable candidates, I would also like to vote for ole' SEANIE. I mean c'mon his track record alone makes him a prime candidate and I'm honestly baffled as to why he wasn't included in the first. Alas, you and your terrible memory. I mean c'mon as if it wasn't apparant enough that he should be on the list to begin with the guy ACTUALLY NOMINATED HIMSELF for it! Does anyone else see that red flag waving madly in the breeze?"

When reached for comment, reporters said to have nudged Sean repeatedly until he awoke from his drunken slumber. When told about his win of second place, Sean said: "Always a bridesmaid, never a bride!" And with that, he took a sip of whiskey, scratched his genitals and proceeded to nod off with whiskey wishes and porno dreams.

 

And, the envelope please...well, I suppose I don't actually need the envelope. I know who won. And I'm sure all of you observant ones out there have noticed who hasn't been mentioned yet, so without further ado, I give to you our first annual Jerkiest Guy of the Year and the Oscar goes to:

Anthony, the Ex.

As you can tell, since I had power over the elections I chose who won. He got my vote, right off the bat, and he did actually get a few of yours:

 

"And finally I'll take Anthony for 1st for 8000 Alex." - Kathleen

"Bastard!" - The NY Times

The reason my vote went to Anthony is because, of all of the aforementioned men, he was one that I truly loved and cared for (and even bought him an X-Box for Christmas!) that hurt me the deepest. Our relationship was one of those statistics you read about in Long Distance Relationship Digest, on why they really don't work. They don't work when you decided to unlove the person who stuck by your side through everything in the past two years. I am bitter. I still think about him and cringe everyday and I desperately hope, that I never EVER run into him and his Marissa-lookalike girlfriend again. He'd be begging for a soda to be thrown in his face. Yes, I actually do do things like that.

So there you have it. Thanks for the participation and all the good man-bashing cheer! And remember :

Online Support.

In response to a message posted by yours truly on 10/17/04:

Dear Bunny,

 I'm glad that you came to our board. There are many kind, supportive women on this board who are always willing to give any advice that they have. That said, depression is NEVER something to just brush-off. Especially since you have been diagnosed with MDD. I have MDD and Borderline Personality Disorder and have attempted suicide three times now. The reason your friends have brushed this off is probably just because they don't understand it. I have had this happen to me several times. People who have never had any experiance with depression feel very weird about talking about it with another person, especially if on the outside this person seems to be a very strong, normal person. MDD is a very serious illness. Unfortunatly, this will not go away until you deal with it, ignoring it or brushing it off will only make it worse. Also, if you feel there is something that's not quite right, it's because something is not quite right. It would probably be very beneficial to you to talk to your doctor or possibly a psychologist. Personally, I hit rock bottom about 8 weeks ago. I started therapy because I  knew something was wrong, although I wasn't thrilled about the prospect of seeing a shrink. I went from sitting all day long in my pajamas with the blinds closed to feeling better than I ever have. I have more self-confidence then ever and just a general good feeling about my life, something that I've never had before. Please feel free to stop by and post anytime, the girls around here are always more than willing to help. *hugs* Samantha

"It's not the end that I fear with each breath, it's life that scares me to death"~ Rise Against

 

Thank you.

Still...

Gone, alone and humble. A bag packed, traces of soft footprints on the carpet toward the door. That was the last we saw of her. You can't miss what was never there. My mile long guilt trips and acid trips and coke runs in the early morning sun won't be missed. Pray to a different God now, to take her back. The grounds are all frozen solid, it's the first snowfall of the winter and I have never seen a more beautiful sight and have never been more composed at the touch of death. Your divinity is lost within my gracelessness. Love for sale. This is my bucket of change. The cling-clangs of the fruits of my labor have finally paid off. I am two dollars richer and 10 pounds thinner. I have never looked so old. I used to chain smoke outside my bedroom window at night, watching the smoke disappear into the clouds that blanketed the stars, shielding them from my icy view. My hands would smell of tobacco, my breath stale and I had never felt more like an adult. Funny how addiction can do that to you. Don't identify, don't tolerate, just simply don't if you must. Don't-ing is commendable. That's why it's a word. The irony of life is that you spend the entire time awaiting death's knock at your door. Your number is up at the meatmarket. You're going to the sciencelab to be cut open like a goat's brain. And this is what we've been waiting for. Seems silly now, doesn't it. I wrote to you and you never knew it. One day you will find it, sitting amid meaningless notes and wadded up balls of paper on your desk. And you will read what you did to me. And you will shutdown, like at the touch of the robot's off switch. Heartless. Motionless in an attempt to save the world as it came crashing down like night's broken dagger. And I asked you to map it all out for me. If only.

No more.

 

The guilt, the anger, the pain. It's all too heavy. Take it away. Sit back and watch another angry teenager unravel and give in to the inner demons she herself has created. I speak in vague-tongue as to not offend any of those who take offense to everything, I speak in vague-tongue as to not hurt the already wounded. Take that. Your number, I lost it. Sorry about that. Your name, can't remember, sorry. Your face? Never seen you before in my life. Walk on. Chained to the walls, dingy with mildew, the smell of old hanging around like a thick fog, amongst the dirt in the crevices that I dig my feet into. Welcome to my prison. Wrists wretched and bruised, fists bleeding. I could hit you. Ha, you don't believe in me. You don't think I even exist, do you? Not everyone is as shallow as you, not everyone is as perfect as you. And as for your levels, well, you're at the top of everyone's list of course. My poetry, my prose, my words, all in vain to a God that doesn't exist. Another love entry. Leave, then. No one forces you to listen, to read, to talk. No one forces you to care. Then don't. You are what binds you here. The chains you have locked, the doors you have slammed, the blood you have drank. It's all you. Powerless, so it seems, yet I hold it all in a clenched fist, too afraid to let go. She with the most problems wins. And it wasn't me. The last flower in the garden when winter's frost nears, freezing my core of solitude. Its better this way. Take your talents, take your drinks, take your ambitions and run with it. Far away from me. You are toxic. You are dead. Frozen to me. Take your drugs, your insincerities, your motorcycles and leave. Close the door. Don't look back. There's nothing more to see, here. In a vessel so positively sure of its choices, it has none at all. And it beats, shallowly, slowly, until it finally stops. And you're gone. I don't want to look into those empty, sullen eyes ever again. Touched by music, by words, by everyone but me. Fly away. I can't close my eyes without seeing her face. I can't reach out my hand without touching her grace. I can't breathe without wanting to erase. Save me from me. I have lied. I have stole. I have hurt. I am never within my confines and I am a social misfit with nowhere to go because I am stubborn in my forced opinions of freedom, an idea that ceases to exist in the eyes of medication. Write your brilliance, take your showers, drive long winding roads. Run through wet grass barefoot and forget my name. You never knew me. I never existed. I am a ghost in translucent skins of invisible rose petals and grenades, amongst billowing sheaths of white dancing in the breeze. I am falling down, another tower, complete devastation. Static.  Don't bother calling. Don't bother writing. I am gone gone gone on the back of a bullet, through pink. Disillusioned by a metmorphosis that was never complete. Drive on, toward the dead end you're headed for. Don't mind the laughter, it's only mine. Wicked, she smiled. This is my moment of lucidity.

 

 

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Living." She said.

Hanging up.

 

Words, like weapons, cut deeper than skin.

I am not fake.

Don't look down on me, thinking I am. I have nothing to prove to you.

I may not be her, I may not be perfect or beautiful, but that in no way makes me less of a person, I too, have feelings. Though sometimes they're too apparent for your tastes. In that case, let it go.

 

I have. 

 

 

Rainy Morning

It's morning, or something like it, for me anyway.

I am tired.

I am sick of school. And when I say sick, I mean it both figuratively as well as literally. I don't know how much more I can take. I am burned out.

I tossed and turned all night and awoke from startling dreams that jabbed my already opened and festering wounds, causing them to bleed even more. I hurt, therefore I am.

I feel not good enough, not strong enough, too much or too little. What I wouldn't do for a little mediocrity once in a while, just to spice things up with it's blandness.

My writing is not what I thought it was. It's certainly something I cannot create a career around. But then again, when God was handing out talent, I was at the mall.

I don't know where to go. I don't know what to do.

And I have never felt so alone.

A short story...

The ringing telephone awoke me from the spontaneous nap I took during one of my favorite TV shows. It had been a long day at work, so stretching out on the couch seemed not only like a good idea, but a necessary one as well.

"Hello?" I mustered, through a half yawn.

"Rich? Hey, it's Chuck." Normally this wouldn't suprise me. There were many nights way back when when Chuckie would call me, out of the blue, to go meet him at the bar, but like Bob Dylan once said, "times, they are a-changin'." And of course, it was years ago when Chuckie would call me to meet him at our favorite spot. Tonight, his phone call startled me. After all, it had been years since we've last talked.

"Oh, hey." I somehow managed to force out. He didn't have to go on. I knew what he was going to say. It's one of those things you just know. You don't talk to possibly your oldest friend in years and a call out of the blue can't be something good.

It never is.

It was as if death itself was on the other line of the telephone, "Bobby's dead." Chuck pronounced, bursting into tears at the sound of his own words. "I can't believe it, I can't believe it..." He kept saying.

I could.

When Chuckie and I were younger, going back about 30 years or so, we would meet up with Bobby at the bar almost every single night after work. Chuckie and I would drink there, occasionally, but mostly went for the company of our old high school friends and the barkeeps, and to grab a bite to eat on the way home. Bobby went there every night for a different reason, to drink. The way I'm sure he did the night before he died.

Shunning our old high school and college habits wasn't hard for Chuckie and I. Our jobs and our new wives pretty much took up most of our time, and before we knew it, years have passed since we last seen, let alone talked to, Bobby. But we knew him. We knew where he'd be every night after he got off work at the local grocery store, where he worked as manager. We just never bothered to step foot in there again. And it wasn't because we didn't want to see Bobby, it was because we simply didn't have the time, after our children were born.

Chuckie was telling me the entire story of how Bobby died. He had heard from the barkeeps, who called Chuck knowing him and Bobby used to be good friends. They didn't know if he had had a family, or parents, and if he did, he never once mentioned them in the 30+ years he had been going there. They found him slumped over next to his beer, cold, dead. A heart attack, they thought.

I let the words filter in through my ears, then turn to meaningless dust inside my head. I could've saved him, I thought. If only I had gone in one night after work, I could've made the time...

The silence grew over the telephone. I know Chuck was thinking the same things. 

I wasn't interested in catching up. It had been too long. I thanked Chuck for calling, told him I'd see him at the funeral, if there even was one, and, for the first time, I told him goodbye before I hung up. There was really no point in trying to rekindle the old flame that was our friendship over the ashes of our best friend's death. Our bond had been broken, we had lost a brother.

I sat for a long moment, thinking hard, feeling the hole in my heart widen until it finally consumed me with its liquid escape. It wasn't Bobby I was crying for. I was crying for time. It was time, after all, that had stolen everything I once knew away. It was time that I thought I never had enough, when I now realized that I had plenty; I just divided it up all wrong. I was consumed by work, by money, by time itself. 

It only saddened me to hear of Bobby's death because I no longer had the memory in my mind's web of an old friend. He drank himself to death. He put that poison in his body night after night and allowed it's numbness to overtake his entire life, his entire being, until it finally killed him. Poor bastard, I thought. After everything, he didn't deserve to die, but he didn't deserve to live either, not the way he did.

My tears suddenly became bitter, angry, frustrated tears that began leaking out of my eyes in masses instead of droplets. Death seemed too real, now. Too close. And it began to frighten me.

I thought of Chuck, only miles away from my house, my friend who I had allowed to become a stranger. Oh, damned time, silly hand moving too fast. Slow down. I thought.

For the first time in years, I felt broken. My unspoken, neglected past had deteriorated in my hands. And it was then I knew time wasn't the one to blame for Bobby's death. It was mine. And my damned obstinate ways. If I only had called him...

I got up off the couch to go up to bed.

 

I didn't lose one friend that day. I lost three.

 

   

Don't Read On. Or Off.

I'm taking a break from advertising my dirty laundry on my journal, after the elections, that is. Look back here in a few days, I should have them posted. And, if you haven't voted, do so now, by clicking on this oversized link!

Tonight was an interesting night. I hung out with some friends, including the token "friend of a friend." She and I knew each other from classes before, but we hadn't seen each other in a while, so it was nice. We also got to hang out alone together, for, like, the first time ever. We jumped in her car and I began venting almost immediately! (Seriously, quicker than you can read this---I was spilling my guts.)

She laughed at me as I went on and on and on. Enter: Snowball Effect. As I apologized for being such a basketcase, she said, "Its okay, I am too." 'Twas like music to my ears.

For so long, I have felt alone in the fact that I am a complete nut. It was good to have someone know what I was talking about, what I was feeling and it was so good to hear, "I know what you mean."

I told her the next time she feels like swingin' from the trees, to give me a call.

Those few minutes unleashed an inner beast in me. I am usually composed in that I need to "save face" so to speak through the facade I have created. Nobody gets me. Nobody knows. She did. Just enough.

And tonight, I am realizing how serious this actually is. It can be fun, no lie, but it also can be scary. The one thing scarier than death is not being afraid of it. And that's how I've always felt.

I don't want to have to hide, or feel guilty or stupid for everything I feel and do. I find myself holding back in my own journal. To my own friends. I feel you (out there in JLand) shouldn't have to read my dirt, nor should my friends have to put up with it. But then there's the question, "Are they really my friends? Why? I wouldn't like me."

Something's wrong.

I feel dirty and used and hated and unlovable and crazy. Crazy. Nobody sees it, that's how far and how well I've buried it. Live in denial. I am.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

It's those moments before rigor mortis sets in that I know, I am awaiting a slow death.

It's scary, I know. I'm sorry. Theres that guilt thing again.

I wish I could scream and just tell everyone what I really think, how I really feel, but I would never. Too afraid of losing, the good and the bad.  

Now I know why it's poison. And why you drink it.

 

Numb.

A little man-bashing never hurt anyone.

I am in the developing stages of an inferiority complex.

I'm craving MAOI-infused brownies, with a stiff drink to wash 'em down. It's going to be a long week.

Our Human Sexuality class today was a deranged version of an already deranged Lifetime movie. Pan in on an overly-ecstatic short woman with a penchant for being a total bitch preaching to everyone about the meaning of love.

She has my attention.

She starts asking around, "What is love?" And I, being the smartass that I am, can't help but chime in ala` Haddaway with "Baby don't hurt me."

People give thier answers:

A mutual respect and appreciation for one another. (Right. That's what Aretha's been straining her voice for all of these years.)

Coming home to that special someone. (Give me a break.)

Wanting to always be around that person. (Vomit noises.)

"Marissa, finish the sentence. Love..."

"STINKS!"

A moment of silence ensues.

She wrote it on the board, though miles away from the other cupid-wupid-valentines-my-ass answers laced with ribbons and flower petals.

I looked at it, as though it were a spectrum. There were the other answers, written in a large mass of curly-que handwriting and tiny red hearts. In the corner was mine, alone, ugly with devil ears. Then it hit me:

I am bitter.

Takin' a Greyhound to Bittertown U.S.A., Population: me and Anthony. Grab a scone! (so quotable, you are.)

I racked my brain for a few more minutes trying to find something, anything, sweet and cutesy to add to her chalk-bound madness. I was a dry well. Nothing. I had nothing.

I began to wallow. Suddenly, I didn't feel like paying attention (can't afford to anyway!) I stared hard into my notebook, at the blankness of the pages and got lost in the battleground that is my love life, or, lack there of.

In the past year of my singledom, I have encountered more boys than I care to name, (especially those whose names escape me.) And not a one of 'em were even worth an ounce ofmy time. One just jerkier than the last.

Allow me, if you will, on a whim, to set up a meat market of sorts, in honor of the upcoming elections, I would like to conduct a little election of my own. I will give you the nominees of "Jerkiest Guy of the Year," and you send me your votes. We'll think of it is as a "cleansing" rather than the obvious man-bashing it is.

Ready for our nominees?

1 - Bobby the Dope- Told me he'd date me, but never came through.

2 - Mike the Security Gaurd - Wooed me over the phone for over a month, but never bothered to tell me he had a girlfriend.

3 - Nick the Coffee Shop Guy - Propositioned me at my favorite cafe, and never even offered me a free cup o' joe! (Though I'm sure "Joe" would've kissed much better.)

4 - Tony the Sushi Boy - A psuedo-intellectual with an even bigger ego. Thought he could "make me" fall in love with him. (And I quote.)

5 - Joe the "lets do it in the bushes" Guy - A drunken night, don't hear from him again, until recently, when he thought he could have a replay of that night, though this time in the backseat of his car. Sketchy McSketcherson.

6 - Mario the "having his cake and eating it too" Guy - There's not enough space for this one. To read more about him, go here : Goodbye. And for the record, he's not exactly top on my list of jerks. I can't see him as one. He's still a good friend.

7 - Charley the "that's f-ing gay" Guy - actually admitted to me that he wears a lip ring for the sole purpose of looking cool. He also was the advocate for the afterschool intramural recreational drug ring. Very prestigious. To read more about him, go here : Dear Charley

8 - Ashley the Borderline Stalker Boy - Calls me 100times a day and leaves creepy voicemail messages.

And finally, the Ultimate Jerk:

9 - Anthony the Ex Boyfriend - broke up with me after 2 years to date someone who looked alot like me.

 

And there, ladies and gents, are your nominees. Please, take the time to really consider how you'd feel in those positions, then times it by 8 since they ALL happened to me. In the last year.

 

...And the Most Dramatic Award goes to...

 

 

Me!

"Invitation to Disaster"

 

I'm watching the debates. I can't help but think of infomercials. Don't try to sell me life insurance, I'd rather get mine from Mickey Rooney.

I'm slowly realizing why I never watch these things. And why I don't get involved in politics. I can't watch it without wanting to throw the TV against the wall. Don't look into the camera and act like you're trying to sell your product to me. Chances are, I'm not going to want to buy it. Especially when the product is in bible or nazi form.

Politics should have nothing to do with religion and vice versa. They are two very seperate institutions which have been shoved together for hundreds of years, without any resolve. Religion, perhaps one of the touchiest subjects, has proved to be the main cause for wars and peacelessness throughout history, and here we are...setting ourselves up for the kill again. It's like oil and water, they just don't mix. If you get a Christian guy in office, you get Christian-bsaed laws, you get a Protestant, you get Protestant-based laws. Where's the atheist candidate? He has my vote. You are not chosen by God to rule a country. And if in some freaky-deaky way that's true, God's a sadist for watching us suffer in four year increments. Keep your religion away from me, I don't want to catch it. Teaching out of 3,000 year old book in an ever-changing society. Real smart, assholes.

Religion is their excuses for being white, top-notch, inbred masochists in their outdated, mangled beliefs on choice and freedoms. You believe in freedom of choice, Kerry? What if I chose to marry another woman? Would that be legal under your rule? Of course not, your "freedom of choice" is rigid in that it cannot withstand the entire issue of gay marriage. Your Christian views are obstructing your ability to govern a sovereign nation of citizens, including the increasing numbers of homosexuals who stand tall with "Liberty" written across their chests, just like the rest of us.

And Bush, it is so good of you to shove a few thousand extra dollars down the throats of small-town school to promote abstinence only sex education classes, that really ought to decrease the number of abortions, don't you think? Because really, if kids aren't taught to have sex properly they won't have it at all, right? It's like sitting a small child in a room filled with toys and telling him not to play with them. They always listen, you know how kids are. Make daddy proud.

My faith is dwindling in this country. I don't believe we will ever get ourselves out of this mess, since no one has our best interest at heart on their never-ending quest for power. And even though I have trouble believing that my vote counts, namely after the Florida fiasco, I will be there early in the morning on November 2nd, getting my free apple juice and cookie after voting. It is like giving blood, after all. And on the night of Nov. 2nd, I too, will be glued to the television in anticipation of which man will be running this country into the ground. He who gets there first wins. And judging by each of their stances, I won't be happy either way. Here's to Hillary. It's no longer a man's job. She can piss farther than either of you and my bet is she has bigger balls, too.

Stand there, in your stuffed shirts, speak your bullshit like a two a.m. infomercial on PBS and act like you know what you're doing. This isn't like going into the SATs without studying. This is running a country. You can't wing it.

 prisoner of war.

Something new everyday.

The past few days have been those of so-called reflection. You know, when you delve into your past in search of some words of wisdom on what you've gained in the last turn of events, to measure how much you've grown and understand what you've learned. Me? I've learned some stuff.

I've learned not to eat the paste in kindergarten, even if it does have a wooden spoon that resembles the mini ice cream cups in the cafeteria.

I've learned that friends are more important than boyfriends.

I've learned not to leave half-eaten candy bars strewn about my bedroom floor, unless I want ant infestation.

I've learned that love does not discriminate.

I've learned that older men still have a maturity level of their shoe size.

I've learned that all men still have a maturity level of their shoe size.

I've learned to have faith in me.

I've learned that it's not up to me to change the world, it's up to me to change how I feel about the world.

I've learned that bein' a hag ain't all that bad!

I've learned that a grade is not what the teacher gives you, but what you give yourself.

I've learned I am stronger everyday.

I've learned that I don't need you.

I've learned how to run on a treadmill, despite my previous beliefs of having no coordination, whatsoever.

I've learned how to pull into a parking spot without hitting a car.

I've learned that even though he's my ex, doesn't mean we can't still be friends.

I've learned I'm just as good as anyone.

I've learned that I LOVE MY JOURNAL!

I've learned not to measure my past through dead-end relationships.

I've learned to never be content, to always keep bettering myself.

I've learned that maybe my mom isn't as uncool as I thought.

I've learned how to pick up the pieces and move on.

I've learned to say I'm sorry.

I've learned how to say I'm not sorry.

I've learned how to not give your number to strange men. (Although today I was sitting in class and got a text message saying "I see you" from some number I didn't recognize. Could that be any more creepy?)

I've learned that if you stay in one place for too long, your butt will fall asleep. On so many different levels.

I've learned to use a different knife in the jelly after using it in the peanut butter.

I've learned a girl can never have too many pairs of shoes!

I've learned that I am a sex goddess.

And I am fabulous.

I've learned somethings are better left unsaid and secrets are meant to be kept.

I've learned to back off.

I've learned that in order to dream big, I have to believe in myself. And I do. At times.

I've learned that, "The flowers all have bloomed, they're just waiting for you to notice." And I've learned that I love you.

I've learned that I am no longer dating men unless they are in therapy of some sort. (Half kidding.)

I've learned to take "no" for an answer.

I've learned that tartar sauce on french fries is delightful.

I've learned that it's okay to let go.

And that friends don't last forever.

I've learned to be somewhat practical.

I've learned that nothing good comes out of sticking foil in the microwave.

I've learned that I'd rather give, more than recieve.

I've learned to be appreciative to all given to me, whether it be in present or monetary form, or, through words and gestures.

I've learned it's is imperative to wear a bra, even if I feel I don't need one.

I've learned that I could go on forever.

 

 

 

Toxic.

Spin me, twirl me, hold me upside down. Hit me like a punching bag with words, weapons, hands. How could you hit, how could you forget, I'm not just any girl. Take me night after night use me as your secret, hold it close, until another comes along. Spin your spider's web, transluscent with memories that fades into nothingness like the drop of rain at it's dangling silk ends. Leave me, go, take it all away, you mean nothing, if nothing is everything. Your darkness isn't mysterious, nor is it magnetic to my weary eyes, it does nothing but infuriate me, with its contradictory beads on cashmere. You aren't who I thought you were, not even close. Compassion is absent in your sunken eyes, you drank yourself that way. Hang up. I can no longer breathe, I am suffocating underwater in a dripping panic of long telephone calls, nights in the backseat of your car. Your hands don't belong here, not on me, not without the promise that I again will feel something for you, anything, whether it be love, or hate, or bitterness or shame. Touch me when I am alive. I burn and grieve all lost yet I flourish in all that I have gained, who I am and what I've become. I am nowhere near finished growing into this skin. You bleed at my feet and I fall to you, I reach out to you, you turn away. I am crying, dying, bleeding in your arms, and you do nothing. Brave, strong, courageous. Give me time and I will be. Choose your battles. Pick me. There are times when I hate you, when I could scream and pound my fists into you, but I don't. I get afraid of losing something I never had, something too far away, too far out of my reach. You're too far gone. Another bottle, another day, leave your poison out of my reach. You're toxic. Comingled beyond recognition are memories that we once created, beautiful, now ripped, burnt edges in an angry inferno. Let go, if you don't love, don't be sorry, don't be hurt. I am not. And that's what makes me strong.

Neuter the Computer! Neuter the Computer!

I've been reading an article for my Human Sexuality class about sexually explicit material in the mass media, a.k.a., what we call "porn." It also had an entire section on why people who use the Internet become sociopaths and exhibit antisocial behaviors. Right.

But, in likeness with the above mentioned article, I have been sitting here staring at this screen for about 4 and a half hours now, typing away on bio lab reports and essays on "Hamlet" (such nonsense!) And finally, my tiny update, that is none other than my excuse to procrastinate one last time before I call it a night. I hate going to bed with a list of things playing over and over again in my head of all the things that need to be done before X. Anyhow, my attention span is short. I'm feeling a bit ill. I see spots in front of my eyes and I dread that horrific sound of an instant message. Don't message me. Leave me alone. Can't you see I'm procrastinating? The nerve of some people.

If I sit here any longer I am seriously going to go insane. I hate putting all this effort and time into something inhuman, something that's inanimate and doesn't have feelings. Something that is so cold-hearted it'd delete your stuff without a second thought! "You get paper stuck in my printer?! Wait for your revenge, little missy...you just "wait! When it's time for midterms and you have your 30 page thesis on why cats prefer Meow Mix instead of the store brand will be gone! Without a trace! *Evil Laughter*"

Great. Now my computer is talking to me. I need to go before the keyboard inhales my hands and chews them off without a second thought.

 

 

SO WHAT IF I WAS!

The Unoffical Incomplete List of Marissa's Favorite Things, Pt. 2

As by my own special request, I bring to you the second batch of The Unoffical Incomplete List of Marissa's Favorite Things:

11. (You can read the first 10 here if you didn't see the large hyperlink above.) As you may have noticed over the past few weeks, my musical obsession is none other than the very worst of the french packing thieves, Milla Jovovich. To hear what I am talking about, click here, scroll down, and enjoy free samples. Some of my favorites of her songs are:

Gentleman Who Fell:

I feel your closeness
like a shotgun
a chill within my soul
I touch your finger
know your darkness
your passion takes its' toll

Clock:

I'm locked in a box
With a window and a clock
Sometimes I can't sleep
I watch the second hand feeding

Time is ticking, ticking
And the flowers are dripping, dripping
I am awake and I cannot sleep

Clock is so fitting, at times. I lay on my floor at night when I can't sleep, I light candles and listen to her, as I watch the flame dance across the cieling.

 

12. Steve Madden. It was only a matter of time until he debuted on m'list. He's a shoe god. There's a reason why fabulous girls like Kathleen and I pay homage to this man. He makes our feet look stunning. And this all goes back to the good book, where it was said that caveladies drew sketches on the rock walls of their abodes with dino doo of high heels, in lieu of "Jesus sandals" that everyone claimed was "all the rage." The caveladies just didn't like them. They weren't flattering to their burlap sacks. They wanted strappy sandals. They wanted sparkles. And thousands of years ago, the gods thought that was asking too much. So, on one of his pilgramages to the holy land many-a year later, a dashing young Steve Madden went on a walking tour with some other people, but, due to their uncomfortable shoes, they had to turn back, leaving a bowling shoe-esque clad Madden to continue on the tour solo. He wandered off the path and ended up at the stoop of the aforementioned cave. He was taken aback at the idea shoes with heels, yet felt compelled to create. He wanted to give these caveladies something to smile about in heaven, or wherever they may be. And, that my friends, is how shoes are made.

13. "Sex and the City." This show helped me get over many-a guy. I'd pour myself some tea, climb in bed and turn on my DVD player every night and get lost in the lives of 4 horny friends with stunning wardrobes. Each of the characters were so relateable, yet so different. They each represented a unique trait that can be found in any group of 4 friends. Sure, they had alot of sex, were profane and potty-mouthed, but under each demure woman with a shy persona, there's an animal. There's a little Carrie in each of is. We've all had our Miranda moments. And in the end, it wasn't men that they needed, nor was it each other, it was themselves. And really, isn't that the most important relationship?

14. Aqua Teen Hunger Force. Now, I don't know how many of you actually watch this show, so here's a little background; The Aqua Teen Hunger Force is a group of 3 friends: A milkshake, french fries and a meatball, and their neighbor, porn-loving Carl. They don't necessarily save the world, nor do they serve on a force of any sort, aside from fighting the inevitable hunger that creeps up on everyone. Masta Shake, Meatwad and Frylock nourish my hunger of laughter. Tune in.You won't be sorry. I promise.

 

15. Anthony. Yes, my beloved BFF. Pay him a visit on his journal, Terrifica. There are many reasons Anthony is on my list of favorite things, disregarding the fact that he isn't really a "thing," but this is my journal and I can do what I want. BFF (best friends forever) and I have been BFF for quite some time now. Years. We've grown into our fabulous skins together. He completes me. We love hummus.

16. Little Bear Organic Lite Cheese Puffs. These are a hoot and a half. So good and not bad for you. The only bad thing? Orange crusted fingertips. But that's half the fun of eating em!

 

17. Journals! Some of my new favorites:

Random Access Flights of Fancy

Aunt Dubby's Ugly Green Couch

So, this is a treadmill

 

18. Funny stuff! Go here: BABIES EVEYWHERE! If you are having a craptastic day, this will ultimately make it better. FEEL GREAT!

19. Wasabi Peas. I bought a can of them yesterday and sat down today near my mother to eat them. Instinctually, she placed her hands into the can and got one out to eat. I started laughing on the inside. "Does it taste like candy?" She asked. "Yes, mom, it tastes like candy. Just like real peas taste like candy." Still she brought the pea to her lips and sucked in. I watched and waited...finally..."Ahhh! Water! How could you, you little asshole!" I laughed in her face. I called up family members to tell them about it. Good times.

20. I love finished journal entries. This one took forever. Tune in when I feel like doing it again.

 

For a good time, read Marissa's Journal.

For the past few nights, I've turned my phone off. This is me "hanging up."

I didn't want to talk to anyone. I wanted to be alone. I still do. In fact, my phone is still off. Try to call? Sorry 'bout that!

I also admit I've slightly neglected my journal. I suppose that's because I've got nothing to say. Burned out, tired out, freaked out. Nice to meet you.

Actually, I do have a few stories to share. And I will do so chr-ono-logi-call-y. (Had to do it pho-net-i-call-y.)

Wednesday: Some classmates (including my ex-boyfriend) and I drove up to Syracuse Stage together to go see "Whose afraid of Virginia Woolf" for our Dramatic Literature (suckfest) class. Now, any of you who are familiar with this play, don't need to read on to know what I am going to say. But for those of you who don't, let me just tell you, FABULOSITY! It was intense. It was hilarious. We laughed. We cried. Suprisingly, we didn't go to bed together at the end of the night! The only thing that pooped was the annoying kid behind me, sloshing around ice chips in a plastic cup right in my ear. I wanted to turn around and shove it down his throat. After that, our group collectively decided that BBQ was the answer. What was the question you ask? Well,it goes as follows: Do you want to have some BBQ? And the answer is: BBQ! So, we pile in my vehicle and head over to the only other thing Syracuse has to offer aside from drive by shootings and STDs: The Dinosaur BBQ  

 

Anyone familiar with this joint? You should go smell their pits. Outrageous, I tell you.

We met up there with another carload of classmates and had the best dang time since they done started slicin' that there bread! Plus we got served by a biker babe with a bad attitude and a banana clip!

By the time 12:00 in the a.m. rolled around we decided it was time to head home. I didn't know exactly where I was, so I figured I would just drive around until I found signs for the thruway. And I did. And I followed them signs. For a long time. The wrong way.

What was supposed to be an hour drive turned into an hour and a half, but it was all in good fun. We listened to Ashlee Simpson for a while, and we all sang along at the top of our lungs. And then people started dropping like flies. Sleeping, I mean. Except for me, the driver, and Mike, the ex. There we were. Laughing, reminiscing of old times. Sometimes I wonder how it didn't last. Him and I are the same person. Well, with different genitalia of course. No one makes me laugh like him (that's a complete lie, but it sounds nice, right?) It's nice to be able to see him and hang out again, without the inevitable "weirdness" of the whole "you dumped me because I'm not good enough for you" thing. But I digress.

All in all, 'twas a good time. Though I missed my BFF. Wish he could've been there, too.

Thursday: Don't remember what I did. Let's skip Thursday.

Friday: Ah, Friday. I was de-virginized. It was my first time at "That Place," Utica's fine establishment for the hottest gay people in town! Including myself! BFF, Harley, Kevin and I hit up fabulous style. Clad in lingerie, jeans and stilettos, I caught the eye of many-a-lesbian. Mainly, Valerie. Valerie is a very gorgeous girl that I knew from way back when and am very thrilled to see her back in my life again. Anyhow, this club, let me just say, looked like an X-Rated gay version of "Dirty Dancing."

No, really. When I walked in, I was swarmed into an inferno of flaming-o's with no shirts, mirrored walls, strobe lights and Madonna. At that moment, life was good. There is one word that describes my night: CRUNK.

For those of you not "in the know," (I love saying that,) CRUNK, as defined by Marissa's Fabulous Dictionary of CRUNK words, CRUNK is as follows:

CRUNK (Kr-uh-nk) : Crunk is a phenomenon which occurs when an individual becomes (happy, excited, angry, passionate, etc...) beyond one's ability to control his or her self. Crunk is known to be highly contagious, as well as addictive, and extended periods of crunk (aka crunkery, crunkitude, crunkness, crunkilation, etc...) may lead to death, either of the individual who is at the time crunk, or those surrounding said crunk individual.

If this is still as foreign to you as that meat in the cafeteria, go here. http://getcrunk.org/

We danced for 5 hours straight. I may have gone to the gym earlier that night, but I have never experienced a better workout. (Well, that one time at band camp...) I even dancing with myself. Literally. I went up to mirrored wall, and got CRUNK with myself. Holler. Good times. I even got CRUNK with my homeostasis Anthony. We rocked it out Patrick Swazye Jennifer Gray style, sans tight leather pants, tutu. He'd count 1-2-3-4 and I'd jump and stradle him, he'd hold me and I'd shimmy backwards all the way down. Then, I'd make like I was riding a bull, complete with sharade-like lassoing effects. We tore that up. Like an old towel. We tore it up.

But "backing it up" a few hours prior to my gay extravaganza, I was on a complete different side of the spectrum (pun intended.) It was my father's birthday. To celebrate, my granny took us to her country club. Being the youngest one there, I had the pleasure of witnessing each and every family member, including granny, get drunk. (No, not CRUNK, drunk!) Before the mahi-mahi arrived, not a moment too soon, I sat back and watched the insanity that is my family. My parents were chatty, both red in the face. My sister, just barely legal to drink, was getting trashed in her own world on the otherside of the table, my sister-in-law who couldn't stop giggling profusely, my grandmother on one side of me calling me a (and I quote) "lezzie" and telling me to "put your boobies back inside your dress." Okay, grandma, have another SoCo. You could really use it. My uncle sat back, just as flabergasted as I was. And my brother, well, he wasn't that drunk. But he may as well have been. His shirt was hideous. It was loud. It looked like something molecular and I snatched every available opportunity to harass him about it. Tony Soprano wannabe.

After the mahi-mahi, which, in all seriousness, really tastes like chicken, we all headed out to the lobby, where my much older-twice removed cousin was playing classic rock for the old couples to dance to. I swear, if I ever hear so much Rod Stewart or Michael Bolton again, I am going to put my head in the oven. I needed a drink.

I looked around. My family was wandering in all sorts of directions. My sister sat next to me, preparing herself for yet another shot. I ordered myself one.

I sat there, trying to look cool, which, by the way, doesn't work. Trying to look cool defeats the whole purpose of "looking cool." Nonchalant is a word you won't find in Marissa's Fabulous Dictionary of CRUNK words. The bartender bought it. I watched and licked my lips as he prepared my a kamikaze. I took my helmet off. I grabbed it right out of his hand. As I put my lips up to it's lemon-y goodness...

BUSTED!

Grandma showed up. "Hey! Don't serve her! She's 19!"

He slapped the glass out of my mouth. I'm suprised there weren't any broken teeth. (But if there were, it would've been Bartender Sandwhich for lunch tomorrow.)

Feeling completely defeated, I retreated (I'm a poet!) to the dancefloor, where I "backed it up" classy style to Madonna's "Vogue," as per my sister's request.

 

Nothing like a racist country club to get you in the mood for some journal writing.

That's crunk.

Circles.

 

And even though sometimes I can't help but feel as if I'm standing still, I know that I'm standing further towards who I want to be than who I once was. And that's not always a bad thing.

Sometimes...

Today was the first day in long time that didn't have "major suckfest" written all over it. Maybe it was because Jehova Jr. blessed me over a can of diet Pepsi and chips over lunch or maybe it's because I rocked out on my bio test (79, baby!) Who knows? But I hope it lasts.

Sometimes, when things get crappy (read the last, like, million entries) I have these moments of lucidity in which I realize it's not always going to be this bad. When I understand that this is only one grain of sand on the entire beach. This too shall pass. No?

It sometimes takes a moment to take a step back and look at yourself that triggers an onsent of absolute clarity you longed for during those times of depression. Today, driving home from school, I took the back roads. I passed a lake (a reservoir, whatever...I'm not in Ruraltown, USA) and the sun was shining (I sometimes forget it exists) and colors of red, orange and yellow blended where green used to lay. (That last part was taken from a poem I wrote last year around this time. Alright, enough with the commentary.) Anyhow, I smiled as I drove up and down the windy hills, the sun warming my frozen core, driving out the remains of a shitty week. I'm ready to start over, again.

I smell rebirth!

...See how extreme I can be?...

But I must remind myself, in these moments of lucidity, that even though the sun is shining, it doesn't always mean it's warm.

Start your day off the holy way!

Nothing like a doorbell ringing to start your day, I thought to myself as I threw on my bathrobe and trudged to the door.

I thought too soon.

It was a Jehova's Witness. He didn't need to tell me. I spied by my little atheistic eyes a bible under his right arm. But that wasn't the dead giveaway, I still would've known this minion had he been without his holy book. The blue blazer with gold cufflinks and buttons. I know you. You do not come to my door dressed like that unless you are looking for a fight. Especially this early in the morning. Shouldn't you still be in your pajamas praying by your bedside for all the food in your belly? No? Well howabout praying that you get off my stoop alive.

"Good Morning, Miss." Starts his speech, "Glorious day, no?"

I cross my arms and begin resting comfortably to one side. This is going to be a long morning. I nod, unimpressed, as if silently saying to continue on with your contagious religious spew about how I need to accept Christ as my personal savior.

"Do you go to church, miss?"

"For weddings and funerals...well, I guess those two are pretty much the same thing, nowadays." (I haven't accepted marriage as my personal savior, either.)

He sneered at me. And continued right along with his 'join our cult' speech. He talked for about five minutes straight when a gurgling, empty stomach began begging for the breakfast sausages I got two for a dollar yesterday caused him to suddenly stop talking. "Listen," I interrupted him, "You woke me up. You're talking about Jesus, so right off the bat, I don't like you. But I'm hungry. And I don't want to be rude, so if you are so worried about saving my soul all in time for lunch, you are not going to. However, if you are hungry, I will make some breakfast sausages for the both of us. What do you say?"

He stood there, thoughtfully for a moment. "While that offer is extremely tempting," He paused and rubbed his belly, "I must be off. I have more houses to visit and souls to save."

"God Speed." I bid him off and closed the door behind him.

As I began slow-cooking my breakfast sausages, I watched him as he walked down the street, up the stoops of my neighbors, and got the door slammed in his face repeatedly. He should've known better than to come down Agnostic Lane. I felt sorry for him and promised myself that I would never get into the retail business. I hear the commission sucks.

Invite 'em in for breakfast!

I am frozen.

 

The days are getting shorter but I can't help but feel as if they are getting longer and longer. It's 7:00 and already I find myself amid darkness.

I feel I'm becoming too aware, of everything. There's that thin line between knowing and not knowing and sometimes I wish I just didn't know.

Recently I have realized that people I have cared for in the past are no longer seated on their pedastals in which I was so insistant on putting them on. I can't say I don't love them, or that I don't care, I certainly do, though that is my demise.

There's a cold front seeping in, rearing its frigid head with morning frosts and temperatures of 40 degrees. I have never felt so cold.

Let me be.

Discover me.

 

"Undiscovered" -Ashlee Simpson

Take it back, take it all back now
The things i gave, like the taste of my kiss on your lips,
I miss that now
I can't try any harder than i do
All the reasons i gave, excuses i made for you
I'm broken in two

All the things left undiscovered
Leave me empty and left to wonder
I need you
All the things left undiscovered
Leave me waiting and left to wonder
I need you
Yeah I need you

Don't walk away

Touch me now how i wanna feel
Something so real, please remind me
My love, and take me back
Cuz im so in love with what we were
Im not breathing im suffocating without you
Do you feel it too

All the things left undiscovered
Leave me waiting and left to wonder
I need you
All the things left undiscovered
Leave me empty and left to wonder
I need you
Yeah I need you

When im in the dark and all alone
Dreaming that you'll walk right through my door,
Its then i know my heart is whole
Theres a million reasons why i cry
Hold my covers tight and close my eyes
Because I dont want to be alone

All the things left undiscovered
Leave me waiting and left to wonder
I need you
All the things left undiscovered
Leave me empty and left to wonder
I need you, I need you

Cuz i cant fake and I cant hate
But it's my heart
Thats about to break
You're all i need
I'm on my knees
Watch me bleed
Would you listen please
I give in
I breathe out
I want you, theres no doubt
I freak out, I'm left out
Without you, im without
I'm crossed out
I can't doubt
I cry out
I reach out
Don't walk away
Don't walk away
Don't walk away
Don't walk away