What if...

And then theres those times when I just wish to create something so amazing, that it makes the eyes of all of those who read it bleed, but I know I cannot. Brilliance is only a part time job. Inner demons and irresistable poetic forces are in full swing, leaving me no energy or ambition to do all I've said I would, in those moments of weakness.

I give in to the night, to the new year, though my cynicism shuns any ideals of perfection, of optimism, of hope. It hasn't quite sunk in that it's a new year, the perfect time for an inner revolution, past resolution and new beginnings. That too, when it hits, shall pass. Much like everything else, laziness and watching from behind the curtains on the proverbial stage of life shift my attention from the limelight and focus it inward, into myself, for a moment of reflection, is much easier than putting yourself out there and risking the only drop of sanity you have pumping through your veins. There's only so much water the dam can hold, before it threatens to break.

I cannot look back upon this past year without cringing at the thought of the time wasted. So much can happen in one year, yet I destroyed everything I touched so powerfully, that its no longer recognizeable to even me. Within me is a force that is too large for me to handle. In trying to suppress it, I may lose it. I may lose the only true part of me.

Love, hate, anger, fear, static, poison, guilt, pity, crash, a love hangover, trainwreck, social misfit, battleground, blood, cut, deep, brutality, admiration, jealousy, despair, depression, intolerance, impatient, self-indulgent, inopportune, inappropriate, incovenient, uncontrollable, passion, scream, unfit, broken, lost, battered, self-destructive, mutilation, drunk, bitter, solitude, triumphant, overcoming, losing out, coming out, selling out, putting out, crucify, insanity, selfish, over-compensating, apologies, messing up, waking up, words, sounds, adoration, you, transcience, powerless, defeated, alone, time, wisdom, failure, descend, fly, rise above, conquer, kill, one, gone.

If I were a fighter, I wouldn't be feeling like this.

If I didn't want to be raped by my thoughts, I wouldn't allow myself to be.

If I weren't afraid of myself, I wouldn't be here.

If I never told you the truth, I would die.

If I never drank, I would've never been drunk.

The year of what ifs...

5-4-3-2-2-2-2-2-2-2...one.

Worst New Years ever. No wait, there was a worse one. The night I got dumped right after the ball dropped. Talk about starting off on the wrong foot, though it felt more like being stuck on the bottom of the shoe.

So Second Worse New Years ever. Spent most of the day in the Emergency Room after an episode I had the night before. An episode? You ask.

Yes, an episode. Picture it: A balmy evening in upstate NY, my sister, her friend and myself are all hanging out in her kitchen. I get up off the chair and feel slightly dizzy, so I sit back down. And thats when everything went black.

I felt a crash, heard loud noises and could feel myself struggling and screaming.

Then I woke up.

The chair was across the room, I had been kicking it as I laid unconsciously on the floor. And as for the screaming? They said they heard none.

My head felt hot, my body ached and the noises were traded in for a silence that smelled like fear. I had no idea what happened. Only a bump on my head and a bruise on my shoulder.

I came home and laid on the couch, feeling exhausted, tingly. I didn't tell my parents until the next morning. My mother made me go to the doctor.

I was freaked out all night, it may have been the most terrifying thing to happen. I didn't know if it was a seizure or what had happened.

We spend 6 hours in the ER, which was filled to the brim with the elderly and children alike, all with the flu. And if I didn't have it going in there, I certainly will get it in the days ahead. My throat is feeling a bit sore already. (Yeah yeah, its all in my head.)

After 6 hours they had nothing more to offer me than "If you keep fainting, come back." Gee, thanks for that. And thanks for the lousy tylenol. And drawing my blood. Could I feel anymore violated?

They told me the blackout was due to low blood pressure but I still think there's something sketchy with wiring in my brain. I tried to talk them into a labotomy but they said all the labotomists are backed up with their work. Funny, I thought they'd be aHEAD of themselves.

So now I'm feeling a bit drowsy, achey and a bit dizzy. So no going out for me. Happy freakin' New Year. Here's to another year of depression, lousy sex and singledom.

Not even an alcoholic would drink to that.

Year of the Single Girl.

What I failed to mention was the quadruple grande million shot espresso iced coffee I had this afternoon after rolling out of bed at the ungoldy hour of 10:30. Something about waking up before your body does is completely unnatural to me. Save it for the cow milkers and the Colombian coffee man, I am not a morning person.

So now I'm wired + insomnia = no sleep.

I've been daydreaming about my possible impending trip to Italy. It's hard to wrap my mind around the possibility of being in another country. On another continent. Sometimes it's hard to think outside of the United States when you've been here all your life. And that's theres a whole 'nother life over there. Millions of people with their own ideas, their own culture, their own country. I sometimes forget that. I need to think outside of the box.

Something tells me it's not going to work out.

But that just may be my pessimism talking.

The new year is rapidly approaching and I find myself without resolutions. Without resolve. 2004 sucked more than a ShopVac on steroids. It has been the rockiest  year yet. 2005 has ASYLUM written all over it in Sharpie. However, I came up with a title for it...in likeness to RISE OF THE CANNIBALS, I present to you, ladies and gentlemen, YEAR OF THE SINGLE GIRL, starring ME!

And as we ring in on the new year, I ask myself what has changed from this time last year until today?

Part of me wants to say that nothing has changed.

But I know I have. If only just a little bit.

Milk Chocolate Santas and Peanut Butter Trees

I spent a good portion of the day shopping with my mom for a table/desk for my room. But I'm picky. I want an antique, or something rustic, with a story...or one that would like to share many stories with me. It's not like shoes, that I can buy dozens and not feel guilt because I have this insatiable need for beautiful things on my feet, but it's an actual piece of furniture, something that will be with me for my whole life. And this ain't gon' be cheap neither.

Another reason I'm being so fickle is because this desk will hold my new laptop t(which I still need to name, though I have decided it's no longer androgynous, ---get out the pink, it's a girl!) is because I want to be a writer. A desk is like a canvas to an artist, a car to a mechanic, a hoagie roll for a Subway employee. And I know just what I want it to look like.

I want an antique table, about 40" (is " inches or cms? Because clearly I want inches.) long, painted black, then red, then distressed so the black shows through. With three drawers. And I want one of those old wooden school chairs, painted olive green. And atop my desk, next to my darling laptop, I want a vase with flowers in it. And I've given this some serious thought. I originally wanted fresh flowers in the vase, but then I remembered that I am sort of an ace-of-clutz and that I would more than likely knock over the vase of water and flowers onto my laptop. So I can't do the fresh flower thing. However, my 40% discount at my Crap Store will allow just the right price for some nice silk flower knockoffs. And I want a real, authentic pencil holder. I don't normally use pencils and I'm sure since I'm done with math (forever!) I never will again. I don't know about all of you, but I am a big fan of crossing out mistakes in pen and leaving them. I am so over the eraser. Nothing like a big blob of blank ink to scream professional!

And in the drawers I want my poetry journals on one side, and yellow paper on another side. I love yellow paper with the lines. I think it's called legal paper. Somehow I though illegal paper would be more of an andrenaline rush, but something about yellow paper is so nontraditional that it keeps me hooked. I actually just wrote an entire paragraph on why I love yellow paper. Just another reason I love the freedom provided to me by my inernet server. Thanks AOL. Just, thanks.

I was also thinking about getting a nice little lamp to put on top. Not too intrusive like Hitler or anything.

But alas, no such luck on the desk hunt today. I shall venture out again tomorrow, ready to whip out my mini tape measurer (and more) for any promising piece of furniture (or woodworking man).

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That was Act I of the day. Act II followed immediately when I literally stepped foot into work tonight.

As soon as I walked in the door, ARMAGEDDON!

And Ben Affleck was nowhere in sight!

The power went out. Customers scrambled like suicidal eggs. 'Twas a craft-tastic frenzy. Even the "pure moods for craft lovers" elevator music turned off. Thank Lawd the time clock was still intact, there's no way I was not gon' get paid to stand around in the dark.

It was out for an hour. All but one of our registers were down. We took care of the five customers that were actually in the store, saw them out and then closed the doors until the power came back on.

During all of this, as all of the Michaels employees stood around scratching their asses waiting for Electric People to show up, a man pried open our doors and walked in like everything was normal. Like the lights weren't out. Like he didn't have to pry our doors open. And when he walked in, he began heading toward the craft punch section. I wanted to craft punch him in the nose. My boss walked over to him and told him politely that we were temporarily closed due to a power outage and the man, still silent, pried open the doors and left. Without saying one word. I didn't know Mr. Magoo was into crafts. I could see how he'd be a really great knitter. KNOT. (hahahahahahahahahah! my brilliance sometimes suprises even me and I'm my biggest fan!)

After an hour the lights slowly faded back on and Kenny GORLICK (aka Kenny G) continued blowing into that godforsaken instrument for another round of Crafters of the World Rejoice. For the rest of the night, the craft store was a somber place. All the employees felt disoriented and were angered that they didn't get to go home (more than likely to a clean, well lighted place) and all the customers were ruder than usual, even with the gazillion percent off of the reindeer poop in aisles 32B- 35A. What more do they want?

I even carried a 6 foot fake plant through the store for a couple. AND THEY DIDN'T EVEN BUY IT. I hope they drive all the way home and walk into their empty little house and realize that what it needs is a bohemeth synthetic plant in the center of the room. ZING! GRINCH YOU!

I've spread enough cheer for one night.

G'night Journal.

Music to Die to.

Fiona Apple - I'll Know

Bon Jovi - Bed of Roses

Paula Cole - Nietzches Eyes

Leonard Cohen - Joan of Arc

The Corrs - Runaway

The Cranberries - When You're Gone

Depeche Mode - Enjoy the Silence

Dixie Chicks - Top of the World

Bob Dylan - Don't Fall Apart on Me Tonight

Green Day - Last Ride In

The Pretenders - Angel of the Morning

Jewel - Gray Matter

Billy Joel - And So it Goes

Elton John - Levon

Milla Jovovich - Clock

Madonna - Easy Ride

K.D. Lang -Theme from Valley of the Dolls

Aimee Mann - Red Vines

Sarah Mclachlan - Last Dance

Pink Floyd - Comfortably Numb

Oasis - Don't Look Back in Anger

Bette Midler - I Think Its Going To Rain Today

Megan Mullaly - Take It With Me

Stealers Wheel - Stuck in the Middle With You

A Perfect Circle - Orestes

Savage Garden - I Don't Know You Anymore

Nico - Fairest of the Seasons

Led Zeppelin - When the Levee Breaks

Tom Waits - Come on up to the House

Tears for Fears - Mad World

Loveless Patty - If You Think

Modest Mouse - The World at Large

When in Rome - Promise

Joni Mitchell - Blue

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One Night Run In

A friend and I went down to this local music store today and I ran into an old...flame? No, more like an old...one night stand.

I'm sure you faithful journalers remember Charley. And for those of you who don't, here's a little refresher: Ever hear of not calling the next day guy? Well he's more of like a not calling again, ever guy.

What's funny about this is that Charley obviously never took Emily Post's sexiquette class, on proper mannerisms post ejactulation. Not only did he blaintantly ignore me like the sex wasn't good (and I will have you know that it was as good as sex can be in the back of a tiny car in the middle of winter) but he didn't even acknowledge the fact that we engaged in never-getting-marital sex.

The friend I was with and I have this big thing with Charley. We do imitations of him all the time because he was so absurd in his horndog comments ( I will give you a watered-down for AOL TOS Laws Charley impression: Dude, You don't hafta swallow ((deleted)) if you don't want to.") And he actually called me DUDE.

Apparently I am oblivious to forewarnings.

Maybe it's a good thing he never called.

I find it a bit unnerving to run in to people you've had a one night stand with. I always imagined my Charley run in would happen at the mall when I'm with my mom. He'd walk by with his friend and point right at me and be like, "Dude, I totally fucked her." In front of my mother! Thank God that didn't happen, though when I noticed him in the store I started saying things like that so the girl he was with would overhear.

"Yeah, that's the boy who said he wanted to marry me and then never called. Thank God I cancelled those ice sculptures." Laughter followed immediately.

I'm sorry, my saying is, if you treat me immaturely, expect it back x 100.

And for all of you Charley's out there, here is my revised edition of Emily Post's sexiquette:

1 - Call the next day. Call the same night even. If you are desperate, show us. That way we can end it sooner.

2 - Don't ignore us on those awkward run ins. You never know, maybe we're going through a dry spell and, like a field during harvesting season, would love to be plowed again.

3 - Don't lead us on.

4 - Buy us gifts.

5 - Wear protection. And no, I'm not talking about a seat belt.

6 - Don't refer to our genitalia as a "muff," a "beaver" or "dinner." It's a VAGINA. Be a man, eat it--er--say it.

7 - Don't comment like a sports broadcaster on game day. We know what we're doing, we don't need the play by play.

8 - Open the car door for the lady when you're finished. But don't forget to put your pants back on. There's already a full moon out.

9 - Don't show up drunk or stoned. Or, in Charley's case, both.

And numero dieci (gotta practice parlare italiano per mia viaggio) : Respect her wishes when she tells you to drop dead.

Here's to running into one night stands! *raises glass*

AOL at your Service.

I know, I know. It's 3:46 in the a.m. and I'm still here, glued to my new friend. I 'spose it helps with the insomnia though, now I have something to do besides count sheep and other barnyard animals while Mr. Sandman is out at a bar somewhere on the otherside of town.

I'm what you could call "computer illiterate." I just spent the last half hour or so chatting it up (chatroom style) with an AOL Representative named Thomas. Now, I'm not quite sure if Thomas is an AOL Robot or if he was a human being, though I am sure that there was a bit of online flirtations going on. I had a question that he addressed and after that was fixed we talked about his family and somehow the conversation turned from tepid to heated.

I think it's been too long since I've been in a relationship. I'm starting to romance the AOL elves!

Alright, alright. Something tells me its time for bed.

Cyberbed, that is.

This entry is SERTA make you laugh.

I spent most of the night going through old things, weaving out what I no longer used, fit into or cared about. And though the pile is enormous, I still feel a heavy weight of material items binding my path. I put alot of clothes aside for one of my friends who needs them and others I'm going to try and sell or donate to the Salvation Army. Its hard for me to think about all the money and time wasted on the obtaining of these superfluous things, I mean, it's not like I need clothes. I don't need a million black sweaters or pairs of jeans (shoes, on the other hand...) I just get tired, I think, of having so much stuff, yet so little contentment. I want to reverse that. So now I'm stuck with a bottle full of anti-depressants and a housefull of 20 years of things. And I mean housefull literally. My things have taken over. They're everywhere. And it's all just meaningless stuff.

Which brings me to my next thought. It's Christmastime, which means there's a helluva lot unnecessary gift giving goin' on. People buying things just to buy things. I recieved a few shoity presents this year, which, I know, were probably well thought-out gifts given to me by special people, however, what is the proper protocol for these situations in which you don't like the gift in question? Is it okay to return? Should you ask for a receipt? Or do you just pretend to like it in fear of hurting the person's feelings? I have an idea. We should send out disclaimers to those who may buy us a gift. For example:

I am allergic to nuts.

I don't like the color blue.

I don't like you.

Send that in your holiday giftcards. It may be a bit presumptuous, but really, what isn't? And besides, it'll take care of those long customer service lines on December 26th.

I also woke up this morning with a thought. There's this school trip I've heard about from time to time. 12 days in Italy and Switzerland. Yeah, folks, I've talked to my parents. Bon Voyage. This isn't your mama's field trip. Come May you're invited to a Birthday Bash/ Graduation Party/ Going Away to School Shindig/ Bon Voyage Bruhaha. And you know what that means, quadruple the presents. Holla. Another one of my friends is also going, so I'm not going to be totally alone in a foreign country. And even if I was, I have major plans for picking up a foxy Italian boscotti boy for myself anyway. I can hear it now, "Dimme testa."

Seven years of Italian ought to be good for something. I don't want my elite skills going to waste. Afterall, I may as well put my parents taxdollars to good use by using my broken Italian to hit on un tesoro sesso per me (a sexy treasure for me.)

This laptop is cutting into all my stare-at-the-ceiling-because-I-can't-sleep time. And it also has been preventing me from my usual I-feel-like-dying attitudes. Maybe they should just hand out gifts in technology's name to every asylum from here to Timbuktu. Downloading porn never depressed anyone. Why is it that everything that feels so good is said to be so wrong? Fork that. I say everyone should download porn and rip off their mattress tag while eating ice cream out of the carton with a spork that was stolen from the hospital cafeteria.

And to all a goodnight.

Hunger hurts.

I feel worn out, exhausted, mentally and otherwise. Last night was one of the most draining nights in a long time. The combination of family, alcohol and depression lead me to a sleepless night and phone call out of desperation.

I don't know why I called. Or what it was that I wanted to talk about, or, more importantly, what I wanted to hear. I knew nothing was going to change, the same way it never changed before and the same way it will never change.

I called Mario. And bawled my little heart out.

I felt like screaming, like pounding my fists into pillows, just for some release, a little resolve. I dream about him and think about him all the time, it's constant, like this thick heavy fog that never lifts. And I don't understand why. How many times do I need to hear the silence after an "I Love You" to get that he doesn't want me?

It's silly, I know. I must seem like such a trainwreck, a stalker or something. I wish I could just leave him alone. He doesn't need this. I don't need this.

But then I think, maybe it's not him I want. Maybe it's what he could give to me that I want. A relationship. Love. Someone to love. Maybe I don't want to be alone anymore, or forever for that matter.

But why Mario? Is it true that we all want what we can't have? Is he my proverbial forbidden fruit?

Well you know what I say to that?

Neither do I. I've got nothing.

And what makes it all the worse, is that I cried to him. And when he wasn't there to listen to me anymore, I still cried. Alone. In my bed. In the rain. (The rain makes it more tragic sounding, I think.)

I love that he was there for me, that he wasn't angry and he's so good to me and I don't even deserve it. I've done some awful things and yet he's still here. I like to lie to myself and say its because somewhere, deep down inside, he loves me too and wants to be with me, but I know that in reality, he's just one of those "good people" you read about in the Chicken Soup books. 

No wonder why I can't get over him.

 

"Paper Bag"- Fiona Apple

I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star
To pray on, or wish on, or something like that
I was having a sweet fix of a daydream of a boy
Whose reality I knew, was a hopeless to be had
But then the dove of hope began its downward slope
And I believed for a moment that my chances
Were approaching to be grabbed
But as it came down near, so did a weary tear
I thought it was a bird, but it was just a paper bag
Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love
And I went crazy again today, looking for a strand to climb
Looking for a little hope
Baby said he couldn't stay, wouldn't put his lips to mine,
And a fail to kiss is a fail to cope
I said, 'Honey, I don't feel so good, don't feel justified
Come on put a little love here in my void,' he said
'It's all in your head,' and I said, 'So's everything'
But he didn't get it I thought he was a man
But he was just a little boy
Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love

 

AHHHHHHH

This update is brought to you by MY VERY NEW LAPTOP! :)  MERRY CHRISTMAS - from the Marissa formerly known as Scrooge.

No.

And its this moment of weakness that catches me off guard with its inappropriateness. I'm am not okay, I am not this or that, I am lost. I will never be who I want, what I want, with spontaneous affections of love and you. Give me you, give me us. Give in to the power you have no control of. What is right tonight is only what is wrong with the world. I will never remember, I will never forget, I will never understand why. Take all that is lost within the forces of nature that pulled us apart. You don't know, you never did, but I never let go. Forget me, I am lost to you, a part of the world which never existed. Cut open these unhealed wounds and watch as I bleed red wine unto your white rugs, take it away from me. Give it, leave it. It never was mine. I am no longer in control. You don't know me. Forget everything.

Knack on wood.

It seems everyone has a "knack" for something nowadays.

Tom Brokaw had a knack for broadcasting the same way Martha has a knack for cooking. Ken Jennings had a knack for jeopardy just as George Carlin has a knack for telling jokes.

But I ask you, what is this knack? And why does everyone and their mother have one? Where do you get one?

I think I may be the only one in the world who doesn't have one of these knack-things. Up until my cheesecake went up in flames (literally) today, I hid behind the facade that I too was on the Martha Stewart bandwagon. Well guess what, ladies and gentlemen, I'm not a baker! I do not have the knack for it!

I'm lacking a knack. I'm a knack-lacker. One without a knack.

I can't sing. I can't fly an airplane. I can't even walk and fart at the same time. I must face the god-awful truth, I was born knackless.

How often do you hear this come up in conversations: Our Johnny has a real knack for tying his shoes.

You don't and youknow why? Because tying your shoes is not a knack! It's a survival skill. Save it Johnny, you have a knack for pedophelia, your parents just don't know it yet.

Knack Knack.

Whose there?

Marissa who?

Marissa doesn't have a knack.

Laughter ensues.

 

I'm not laughing.

Someone get me a papkin...

2004, the year of the useless.

2004 ... lessons learnt

Borrowed from SpiceysLife

 

1. What did you do in 2004 that you'd never done before? Stayed single all year long! Skiied. 
2. Did you keep your New Year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I don't think I made any. I just got really drunk and walked into a couple of walls. And jumped atop Anthony and tickled him while he snored on the couch. Haha, remember that?
3. Did anyone close to you give birth? No. Thank God.                  4. Did anyone close to you die? Julia Child. Her and I were BFF.

5. What countries did you visit? Veto. You know this is kind of making me feel bad about myself.
6. What would you like to have in 2005 that you lacked in 2004? More sex and less stress.
7. What dates from 2004 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? July 17th, 'twas the day I set off for California for 3 whole weeks.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? Not contracting an STD. Getting a job. Passing Bio! Passing Stats! SKIING!
 9. What was your biggest failure? Not doing any of things I said I wanted to.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury? I seriously injured my finger playing dodgeball. Plus I recently discovered a goiter.                11. What was the best thing you bought? SHOES! FABULOUS SHOES! AND MY FABULOUS COAT! And I bought marijuana a couple o' times as well, not gonna lie.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration? What the hell does THAT mean? Anthony's I 'spose, since he's my only friend. He's achieved so much and has been there for me ALL year, he totally deserves a mega-pat on the back. And Ron's. I mean, he's just as Fab as myself.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? Mario's, Charley's, Steve's and Sean's. And my own.
14. Where did most of your money go? Shoes. In the bank. Fribbles. Love me some Fribbles.
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? Friggin' the Christmas episode of Southpark! And Aquateen's cybernetic ghost of Christmas past future. I was excited when Anthony and I made our maiden voyage in his shitanic to go see my cousin.
16. What song will always remind you of 2004? "Dazed and Confused" by Led Zeppelin
17. Compared to this time last year, you are: Extra-fabulous, more fucked up then ever, still wanting to jump off the top of the Hollywood Squares.
18. What do you wish you'd done more of? Studying. Recreational drugs.
19. What do you wish you'd done less of? Wasting my time with useless feelings.
20. How will you be spending Christmas? With my family, cutting through the tension with a butter knife, probably miserable but looking fabulous.

21. How would you rather be spending Christmas? In bed with a boxcutter. 
22. Did you fall in love in 2004? You might be able to say that.
23. How many one-night stands? Hahaha. What about a 3-in-one-night stands? You think I'm kidding.
24. What was your favorite TV program? Sex and the City and Jeopardy.
25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year? Yes. Always. Patricia fuckin' Hirsch.
26. What was the best book you read? Some books about the Presidents and the things we didn't know. Like that Gerald Ford would constantly fart and blame on it his Secret Service men.
27. What was your greatest musical discovery? Um, Led Zeppelin, Milla Jovovich and Tom Waits.
28. What did you want and get? Um, shoes I guess.                      29. What did you want and not get? Sanity.
30. What was your favorite film of this year? The Hours.
31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I turned 19 and it didn't turned out the way I planned at all. I wanted me and my friends to take the local city bus, which is painted like a ghetto trolley, around the city while eating ice cream cake and wearing party hats. My friends didn't have the same idea. 'Twas just me. (God, that story really tugs on my heart strings.)
32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? If I went away to school.
33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2004? Stuck in the 80's, great shoes, great garb, I'm hot.
34. What kept you sane? What do you mean "kept"? I was never sane to begin with. A pact with a friend kept me alive.
35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Bill Clinton and SJP.
36. What political issue stirred you the most? The gay marriage issue.
37. Who did you miss? I miss me.
38. Who was the best new person you met? There's a few...Mario, Bryan (rub one out!), Roland, JENNIFER, KATHLEEN, Brian, Gina, HEATHER (<3) .
39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2004: You will not die from a broken heart.

The pictures above are a highlight from my year:

Picture 1: Gina and myself looking great in our ghetto togas, only hours before I did 6 shots of tequila out of a dixie cup.

Picture 2: Me and Anthony at his suprise birthday partay over the summer.

Picture 3: Me as a dinosaur on Halloween.

Picture 4: My favorite shoes, Glare.

Picture 5: My cousin and his boy, Bryan. Two of the crunkest people to ever walk this earth. (Right behind me and Anthony of course.)

Picture 6: Ron, Heather and Anthony. <3 them.

 

Marissa takes on the 12 Days of Christmas

When you're one half of a couple, you don't take as much notice to the rest of the pairings you're amid. However, when you find yourself single, alone, the one and only, it seems you can't go anywhere without seeing two people holding hands, or, in the worst case scenario, sucking face.

And as if its not bad enough seeing those things every time you go out in public, due to the insane Christmas libido that is heightened with the sound of jingle bells and the presence of Satan's---er Santa's---sleigh, you have Christmas carols and Hallmark cards to constantly remind you, not praise you, but to remind you, that you are--shudders-- alone.

Take that worn-out, tedious ol' tune The 12 Days of Christmas, for example. All the even numbers, 2,4,6,8,10,12, it can be inferred, are matched up, together. The turtle doves are shmoozing under the mistletoe (and I heard the female turtle dove is a mistleho, if you know what I mean,) the four calling birds are all calling each other, conveniently, I imagine, if they are "in" (cellularly speaking, of course,) the six geese-a-laying are, a-laying all over the place with their significant other, the eight maids-a-milking are essentially comprised of four horny moms-to-be and their four dads-to-be, who serve not only as their next orgasm but also as their houseboy. Delving into the double digits now, we have the ten lords-a-leaping, which is basically the final hoorah of the aforementioned dads-to-be, consider it the quadruple bachelor party with six guests and a hooker. That'll get any ol' lord-a-leaping. And finally, the twelve drummers drumming are not bangin' on no percussion, they're screwing the piccolo players on the holiday float in the town's parade.

But what about those in the odd pairings, 1,3,5,7,9,11? Ever heard of the third wheel? I'm sure Bessie, the third french hen has. While her other friends, the hens, Lola and Pat are busy dyking it out at the movies, Bessie munches on something else---bon bons. And what about that fifth golden ring? Sure it gets alot of play in the Olympics, but in this case, like the cheese, it stands alone. Presumably on a middle finger. And those seven swimming swans? Tragic story, really. Rumor has it that there were actually eight swans-a-swimming, but since the eight maids-a-milking were already under strict contract, the head of the Craptastic Tunes, Inc. actually drowned one of the swans-a-swimming. And the nine ladies dancing, well, you know how it is. It's a big Friday night at the line-dancing club, Lesbian Lounge, and there's always that one not-so-hot friend that you feel bad for so you bring her and she just ends up dancing by herself in the corner to Endless Love by Luther Vandross. Next we have the eleven pipers piping. Consider this a bulk version of Half-Baked. Picture it: passing the peace-pipe around the circle and by the time it gets to you, numero eleven, the hash has turned to ash. Poor bastard. And finally, that god-forsaken partridge in a pear tree. ONE bird in a PAIR tree. Anyone catch the irony? It doesn't get any more pathetic that that.

And do you think the Hallmarketeers would, I don't know, maybe create a card that celebrates singledom? You see Anniversary cards, I Love You cards, Thinking About You cards and especially now, Merry Christmas, My Love cards. Pssssh! Who needs it? Although I did see one lonely Chanukah card specifically designed for someone not of the coupling persuasion, it read: Happy Chanukah to Jew! Not Jews, just Jew!

And the rest of those songs could use a little tweaking, I think, to make them more viable for those who are SBC, single by choice.

One of the ones I started working on was Walking in a Winter Wonderland - In the meadow I can build a snowman, and alone, I will pretend that he is ...Carson Daly.

I think it's coming out good so far.

I was also thinking of redoing Baby it's Cold Outside, by making it just the one person singing instead of two. I'm not quite sure how that will work out though.

I've been working on a few other songs as well:

Sidney, the fake man I created out of snow.

What I really want for Christmas is a new toaster.

Dear Santa, Your Mother.

Slip, slidin' away     (not to be confused with Simon and Garfunkel's version, this one is about a man driving home after work during a snowstorm who loses control of his car and slides into oblivion. I was thinking about having children sing it.)

O, who shall I regift this to?

And finally, the one lonely Jewish song of the myriad:

Damn, this is a good latke.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Merry Christmas to all and to all...a pleasant sundown.

 

 

Why can't we be awesome like you?

I eat Oreos in bed.

I've started 4 different books now and am not halfway through any of them. I can't commit.

I'm being harassed by a deranged girlfriend of a boy I met once. Do you smell that? Smells like jealousy. And a little bit like cat piss, I must say.

I refer to myself as "girlfriend." Even when I'm alone or at work. "Girlfriend needs to put this Polymer Clay back before she goes to the glue aisle to huff."

Favorite songs? "Only the Good Die Young" - Billy Joel, "Big in Japan" - Tom Waits, "Gentleman Who Fell" - Milla Jovovich

Favorite movies? Top Gun, Fight Club, Resevoir Dogs, Dirty Dancing

I watch the Disney Channel.

At my funeral there will be cake and punch. I love punch. And the cake will read, "Bon Voyage."

My brilliance sometimes suprises me.

Another alter-ego (the first and only being "girlfriend") is surfacing. I think her name is Allie Linklaller. She's a self-help evangelist with a cameltoe.

Whenever I watch the news, I can't help but think about the meteorologists breaking into song and dance called the Meteorologist Rag. It makes me laugh every time.

My favorite topic to talk about is myself. Can you tell?

I'm bad at listening and have a very short attention span.

I have a goiter.

I think muskets are underrated. Everyone MUSTGET a MUSKET! Picture it: A drive-by shooting, the streets are dark and a LIMO SUV (also affectionately known as a SUMO) pulls up next to this really good looking homeless couple on a bench. "I'm gon' shoot!" He screams and he begins to pack his musket. It takes a couple of minutes but finally he's ready to shoot. "Damn, they got away." It's defintely a good way to stop gun crimes. Americans are impatient.

Me: I should be a philosopher

Anthony: Why because you have opinions?

Me: Uh, yeah.

I once invited a Johovie in for breakfast.

My cousin and I want to start a business where we mess up people's orders for pinatas. They'll order one with candy in it for their small child's birthday party and we mess it up by putting batteries and entrails in it. Our theme song is "It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want To" performed by an underpaid Mariachi band. And our slogan is "because anything in a pinata is funny!"

I'm always thinking about creating competition for well-known businesses and setting up shop right next to them. Like Burger King would obviously become Hot Dog Queen. However you don't go there for food, you go for sex. And salons that specialize in bikini waxes would lose money when I open up my "glue-on bush" shop right next door. It's the new Brazilian. We call it HAIRRIFIC. (Some say horrific, but tomato, tamato.)

I can recite the entire Kaopectate commercial from the early 90s. Just a couple of spoonfuls of creamy, soothing Kaeopectate is all it takes. For those of you not in the know, Kaeopectate has the same effect as pancakes on me. In computer terms, it's "logging off."

Religion is bullshit.

I sometimes find myself laughing all the way to the bank, though, I really don't know what was so funny.

Words that I think are funny: roast, beef, curtains.

I feel like everyone would want to buy my book.

Have you heard about the new corderoy pillow? It made headlines.

Get it?

You've been PUBED! <--- Another show I'm trying to find the network backing for. I'm thinking primetime, right after "Aquaintances" and "Bloodfeast" on NBC's Must-See Thursdays. I'm also trying to get public beheadings to make a comeback.

I also want to start a little shin-dig on here called "Pimp My Journal." (Seriously.) It's where one journaler pimps another journalers journal by giving it mad props for all the other journalers to see. That way the other journalers can read the pimped journal. I think it might come with some crunk sticker or something to put on your journal. It'll be a picture of the SunMaid Raisin lady but she traded in her bonnet for a doo-rag. Underneath it'll say "I got pimped!" 

 

I also have many-an-idea for bumperstickers:

Cannibalism, it's no longer just for Dahmer.

Dude, it's red.

If I were like you, I'd kill myself. That way, you'd be dead.

They really do look like roast beef curtains.

Florida doesn't like sketchy Joe. (classic!)

I'm into leather.

And here are just some things I wonder about:

If there were three toucans sitting next to each other, would they be sixcans?

How is Kenny G in every elevator? And what does the G stand for? Is it just like his personalized version of homie-g? If he was brilliant in school would every one call him G-whiz? Then I have to wonder if he even knows where the G-spot is.

Why don't they make vibrating clamps to make your gynecological exams more bearable as well as slightly enjoyable? Or at least put some posters of the Backstreet Boys on the ceiling so we have something to look at.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is 911, whats your emergency? Uh, I think my vagina is going to explode.

Nothin like drooling over a man in uniform to take the Crap outta the Crap store, I always say.

A friend of mine dropped in to say hello, as well as pick up some Christmas decorations for his workplace. And by his workplace, I mean his ambulance. And by decorations, let me just say, he's turning Kunkel into CRUNKEL with some PH-to-the-IZZAT multi-colored festive lights, 100 count. I think he also said something about making his sirens play "Siren Night."

EMT must stand for Extreme Man Treat, because LAWD, if I wasn't on the clock, I'd dance him right on over to the cake decorating aisle and show him a good time with frosting, sprinkles and a cakepan. Let your imagination run wild with that one...

We made a date for tomorrow morning, for coffee and conversation, although he's on call and swears, "People die at the most inconvenient times." Ain't it the truth.

I almost felt like pretending to choke on my own tongue tonight, just so he'd have to give me mouth to mouth, but something tells me I won't have to fake...ever.

Here's to falling off the horse...and riding it. Again and again.

*raises glass*

   i'm off to get off!

Whose Afraid of Marissa Woolf? I am.

Virginia Woolf: Orlando. You are a challenge, for outer events, the outside world, the time etc. play no importance to you. Your focus is in writing, in gender issues, and inside your own head. Self-analysis and exploration of yourself as well as the outer world hold great importance to you.

Which Literature Classic Are You?

 

This is my generic entry for the evening.

What I've been up to.

Just wanted to drop a line (not an anchor) to let you all know what I've been up to the last week and a half.

What I've been listening to: Modest Mouse, Tom Waits, Milla Jovovich

What I've been seeing: Snow, scenes from a possible screenplay I'm going to write, Anthony strip in public places.

What I've been reading: "When Will Jesus Bring the Porkchops?" - George Carlin, "Teach Yourself to be a Madman" - Valentin Papadin, "All the President's Pets" - Mo Rocca

Who I've been seeing: Anthony as always, creepy men with cameras (see above photos) creepy men with Turkish accents (see story below), Brian at work, Crystal.

Who I've been talking to: Amee`, Gabi...missed them so much. Roland. (Remember him? Cutest boy ever. Turns out he's even cuter on the phone. If that's even possible.)

What I've been obsessing about: skiing, going to Maine, Southpark, Helen Keller jokes, my GPA, going away to school.

Current mood: Not gon' lie, I'm feeling a bit...okay, for once. It's been like that alot lately. No huge freakouts. Yet.

What I've been writing:

And the darkness is pulled from underneath me

like lace from china dishes

the depths of its bones rattling

like music to my ears

In fear of forgetting

I spoke to soon

so it's absence wouldn't haunt me

for lying

I was lost in my self

for a moment

forgive me.

What I've been living by: "Acceptance is the cure for guilt." - Gabi, "Those of you who don't find life entertaining are missing the point." - George Carlin, "My brilliance sometimes suprises me." - Myself.

Current ideas: I want to write 3 different screenplays, ideas for each which have just popped into my head. I also have an idea for a BRILLIANT stage show which I think could really work if I just put my everything into it. I also want to introduce spray-on gravy to the world, but I don't think they're ready for it. Would you use it?

Some funny stories:

The pictures above were taken one night at school while I was working the coat check room for Irish Jig Night. I was bored whilst sitting amongst the stale-smelling coats, so my boss came over with his camera and told me try the people's coats on and he'd take pictures of me. The first picture is of me in MY NEW FABULOUS COAT. It was my first splurge with my hefty paycheck I picked up after working 30 hours. The next coat won the prize of the SECOND UGLIEST COAT and was also nominated THE ONE AND ONLY FLOORLENGTH RED EYESORE COAT of the evening. He told me to look sneaky while I tried it on. The next picture won THE UGLIEST COAT as well as TOP GUN WANNABE COAT. And the last picture is for the COAT CHECK SLUTS Website. By the way, those are my new shoes. The epitome of FABULOSITY. And check out m'new nerdy glasses. I wear them to read. OLIT. (Old Lady In Training.) Working in the coat check has made me realize just how over-protective people are of thier belongings. It's insane really. It's not cold in here. Leave your coat. I would even try to bargain with people.

Me: Sir, would you like me to check your coat?

Man: For what?

LICE! Drugs! The HERPS! What do you thinnkkk?

And the people who are actually okay leaving their jakets with a complete stranger at Jacket Day Care tip very terribly. For 30 coats, I made $7. I should've sprayed red paint all over the mink or shat in one of the Starter jackets pockets. What the hell? And it's not even like I get paid to do this work! ARRRGH! I contemplated stealing them and donating them to the Goodwill. Cheap bastards.

And then I was sitting in the tiny little dark room, reading O magazine when this Turkish man approached me. I knew him from a friend of a friend and I also knew his reputation as a "creepy fuck." So needless to say, I was uncomfortable. He was talking crazy.

"I like Satan. Look, I got his name tatooed on m'arm...You ever go in a haunted house? My parents are all in to God. There house says BLESS YOU and then there's my room and it says FUCK GOD...I don't believe in God, you know. I'm crazy. Are you crazy? What are your parents like?"

"My parents are dead."

"Oh really?" Silence ensued. He wouldn't even look at me. "I'm sorry, sorry Lady." And then he left me alone.

Hypothetically, if my parents were in fact dead, why would he leave me alone? Did he think I needed time to grieve? Or was he just uncomfortable? Because that's what I was shooting for.

I don't know when I'm going to write again. I'm trying to find a moments contentment. I miss all of you guys and I miss my journal, alot, but I don't feel like I'm writing for me anymore. It doesn't feel like me and I don't feel right. I will leave you with something else I haven't written recently, its untitled. It feels weird to share this, but it's all I really have right now.

Empty pages to fill

with my shattered heart

I stain the earth with my filth

I shame the night with my presence

Take it away

The moon has fallen

beneath your breast

and I fear my darkness

may never be lit again

by your fire

Never letting go

I'm stitched in vain

with silk

to decorate translucent scars

with impending heartbreak

My sorrow.

 

My sorrow.

 

Until then...

Letting Down.

It's been a weird couple 'a days over here.

I think I need a little time.

Please be here when I get back?

Until then...

Riverless.

I don't know when the crying stopped and the sleeping began. I only know that somewhere in the middle there a volcano erupted within me to create and so that's what I did. My pen took flight and eased my aching heart temporarily. The happenings of the last few days are drawing inward and you can see it on my face. I find myself deleting every little thing I write on here for fear of offending, for feelings of guilt, for tiredness of being a drag and grasping every opportunity to show it with snide remarks and constant complaints. Maybe it is time for this year to be over.

"River" by Joni Mitchell

It’s coming on christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
But it don’t snow here
It stays pretty green
I’m going to make a lot of money
Then I’m going to quit this crazy scene
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I made my baby cry

He tried hard to help me
You know, he put me at ease
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I’m so hard to handle
I’m selfish and I’m sad
Now I’ve gone and lost the best baby
That I ever had
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
Oh I wish I had a river
I made my baby say goodbye

It’s coming on christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on

A little faith

Little do we realize that every ounce of food we throw away can feed a starving child, and help him or her last a few more days. Nor do we consider all the wasted money spent on unnecessary material items can help buy clothing for those who can't afford it. The outrageous prices for luxury vehicles that we pay to show off our social status could send a less fortunate future doctor to school. The world could be a better place if it wasn't filled to the brim with power-hungry, money grubbing incompetency and was replaced with people who have honest hearts, good souls and a genuine love for their country as well as their people. If we all could change a little, we could change alot. Why is it taking so long for everyone to realize that the outdated methods we use to try and create a peaceful, healthy nation is just one destructive disaster after another? If we gave faith in ourselves and others a chance, maybe we wouldn't be living in such a mess. I can't wrap my mind around the direction we are choosing to take. Stop giving in to the pressures of society and realize that all of those around you are not your competition, nor are they your enemies. They are a reflection of who you are and what we could be if we learned to all work for one common goal, the human race.

Give us shelter from the storm.

It's the most depressing time of the year.

It started to snow here today, so naturally it just heightens the already sky-high Christmas libido of everyone in town and I can't help but feel like an outsider. Mother and I went to the mall today to pick up some things for our family's little rendition of Secret Santa and within 15 minutes my quasi-good mood was shot to hell. I've never been big on the whole Christmas thing. I don't know if I just get overly emotional or overwhelmed or if the holiday's depress me since my Grandfather's death. But I do know that there's nothing harder than being labeled a "Scrooge" and being made to feel bad about not wanting to participate in the egg nog laced activites and reindeer games. I even told myself that this time I'd try to get into it, maybe that way I'd be so involved that I'd forget how much I hate this time of year, but already it's not working. I can't lie to myself about my feelings.

I don't understand why people think it's okay to spend so much money for a day just like any other. There's no reason to buy meaningless gifts that just collect dust anyway. People buy things just to buy things. Why do you need to shower the person you love with gifts? Because Hallmark tells you to? Who died and left Hallmark in charge? What happened to just telling someone you love them? And who decided you should only do that once a year? You should do it everyday. You can't measure how much someone loves by the amount of money they spend on you or how much you wish to douse them with material goods. How do you even justify the commercialization of a once religious holiday? I am not one to go waxing religion on someone, but why is it that parents buy their children buttloads of stuff to celebrate some guy who died thousands of years ago? They didn't know him, what's the big deal? Is it maybe just an excuse to spoil them rotten for being little banshees all year long? Isn't that what birthdays are for? Everyone has one of those, celebrate them then. Don't use a religious holiday as an excuse to run up a huge credit card bill that you'll work your ass off the rest of the year to pay off.

I wondered if my odd Christmas behaviors are so emergent this year because of my ever-growing cynicisms that have piled up over the last few months. Could be. But what can I do? I don't understand happiness. I especially don't understand happiness in a world that is so disastrous. How could you possibly be happy with all of the starving people in the world, with all of the soldiers being shot to death for a reason unknown, with all the violence and rape and murders? How can you call the world a beautiful place? That's what I don't understand. It's not beautiful. We are not beautiful.

Maybe one day I will be able to erase all of these destructive thoughts and that'll uncover a smile on my face and love in my heart. But there's no drug out there that can fix that and that's why I consider myself broken.

"You can't change the world, you can only change the way you feel about it."

I've heard that more times than I care to mention. If I could change the way I felt I wouldn't be sad all the time, I wouldn't be in love with someone who could care less, and I wouldn't be letting down everyone around me with my bitter attitudes. My guilt is tremendous and I sometimes fear that bad feelings are the only ones I allow myself to feel.

I think my Mom is starting to see the depression now. It's hard to hide, I guess. "Are you unhappy?" She just asked me. I couldn't bring myself to tell her just how unhappy I am. She stood in the doorway for a minute and stared at me but I didn't look her in the eyes. I was crying.

And it doesn't take a certified psychiatrist to tell me when things aren't quite right. I can tell. And it's been a long time since anything has felt even semi-right. I think my entire existence is simply wrong. Like I wasn't meant to be here. Someone else who deserved to live should take my facade and turn into a true existence. Someone who can touch the lives and hearts of others and feel nothing more than love and happiness for those who surround her. I am not that person. I can't do those things.

Let me fall.