Oh GURL please...

I posted on facebook a couple days ago about how terrible I am at being a girl. The truth is I am not THAT bad but okay I'm a little bit bad. But I thought this would be a future funny chapter in my memoir book when I'm famous for being so hilarious and beautiful.
Reason one: I don't like wearing heels. Many ladies think that it is an accomplishment that they survived the entire day in five inch heels. Good job ladies feminists hate you because guys are just staring at your sessy legs. By the way sometimes heels are going to help your legs, becausee you are blessed with something called "ugly legs." Kidding guys(not about the ugly legs that's a real problem), I think it's an accomplishment that you wear heels all day, I just need an excuse to hate heels so I don't seem like a weiner when I say they hurt my feet so badly I feel like becoming a pirate and screaming lots of swear words right after each other. GODDAMN TOE KNUCKLES! Also paying more then 45 dollars for shoes pains my soul for something I'm goint to rip off my feet yelling, "YOU DON'T OWN ME YOU FILTHY SCOUNDREL!" I think men created heels and it makes me feel like shouting at the man. They've created great things called tennis shoes, and they are like awesome and feel like the opposite of shoving your toes in triangles. I am okay with only occasional wearing of these death traps, that's what I call them because although I danced for years I almost crash and break my face open and then I can no longer be famous for being beautiful, because I'll be dead.
Reason 2: I eat lots of food. Not that girls don't eat food, but I'm talking about eating out with the opposite sex. As a teen (I also was bad at being a teen) I was constantly having speed eating contests, mostly because eating in 20 minutes is really difficult and I NEED A FULL MEAL PEOPLE! I would often win by the way and this was verses some growing boys. Salad, no thanks you, unless I really want a salad. I will always eat the whole meal, unless I had a whole meal 20 minutes before then I'll only eat half the whole meal, or like 3/4 a whole meal. Don't you worry about it though guys, so far I haven't gotten fat. I probably will eventually get fat, and at that time the world will probably be ending so it's okay, I'll get REALLY skinny by then.
Reason 3: I really enjoy comic book movies. Not really comic books, because reading is for chumps (I am kidding I really like reading I just don't have a reason for not reading comic books okay?) Now let me tell you something, I love my share of rom coms but there is a special part in my heart for com boo actsh... (comic book action films). Super powers are RADICAL! And any woman who denies this is a liar. I would date the shit out of any comic book hero, even the lame ones. If anything watching a com boo actsh makes me more of a woman. Those bods won't quit.
Reason 4: I need my nails short and sweet and unpainted. Don't get me wrong, the idea of painted nails is just great. I think they look nice when they aren't those square white tip claw daggers. My question is, WHO HAS TIME TO LET THOSE SUCKERS DRY? It will say quick dry on the nail polish and yet, 20 minutes later you've got the smudges, which eventually leads up to picking off the nail polish. I have another question and it was how do people keep their nails clean? It's impossible. IMPOSSIBLE! Do people just not touch anything at all? Also if you paint your nails while your pregnant with a male child he will have a low sperm count, true story.
Reason 5: I hate to admit it but I fart.

A lil' sumptin'

Viola had this problem where she always wanted what she couldn’t have. Her mother called it the “Viola complex”. When she was seven years old she wanted a Dalmatian puppy so badly. She asked her mother every day if she could just pretty please have one. Of course the answer was no because no six year old needs a puppy because it wouldn’t be the six year olds puppy but the parents puppy. It turned into an obsession. Viola would only watch 100 Dalmatians. Her closet was fully of 100 Dalmatians attire. She had an imaginary friend named Dina the Dalmatian, although she was a mixed breed of human and Dalmatian. It got to a point where her mother sat her down a year later and said, “Sweet Viola, I know you think the best thing in the world would be a Dalmatian puppy, but you know what they don’t show you in the movies? Poop. Dogs poop in real life. Dogs also don’t talk in real life. They bark, a lot. You know that part when the dogs are barking to each other to communicate? That’s not real, they just bark for pretty much no reason,” she pet Viola’s head and smiled, “I know a Dalmatian seems like the best thing in the world but there are a lot of things that aren’t that great about them, but you aren’t thinking about those things are you?”


This happened a few times throughout her childhood and now into her teenage years. Viola would paint a picture in her mind about how wonderful something would be, but the reality of things were, that they aren’t as good as she imagined them. It’s like the moment when Viola saw this beautiful head of hair in front of her on the bus; she could see a tidbit of his ear and cheek. In her head he was exceptional looking. He had beautiful green eyes and a smile that could drain the blood from your heart into your cheeks. The problem with this was this was all in her head. When he turned around, he was a great disappointment. He turned out to be quite ugly except for the gorgeous hair. This was how she was about most things and that’s why it was called the “Viola Complex”.

Fate, you lousy son of a gun, that is if you exist. It's easier to blame fate then to realize your life is the actual pits, yes you are living in a smelly hairy pit of man who hasn't showered in years, it takes all your guts not to vomit out your breakfast everyday (and breakfast is the MOST IMPORTANT MEAL).
I've decided I must be a little phsycic or as my 7th grade algebra teacher would say, I'M PSYCHO, because he got the two words mixed up every single time it was a ball of laughter under our breathes that should've hinted to him that he was saying it wrong but he didn't even seem to notice (maybe it was his high pants that were blocking his ear drums). Is it my fault that I had a dream about a bull shark eating my sister and I didn't warn her and then the next day she broke her leg after a BULL dozer crashed into her car? I thought it was strange that I kept thinking in my subconscience mind of sleep it's a BULL shark that's trying to eat my sister. Specifically a bull shark, strange, I guess I know why now. I should've warned my sister about anything that had to do with the word bull. So now I have all this preasure to pick apart all my dreams and warn anyone that gets hurt. That is a lot to put on a human being.
Another instance. I was listening to the good old song Singing in the Rains by beautiful dead Gene Kelly, such a shame they haven't invented a rebirth syrum to make him alive again, then I thought of the good old sentence: when it rains it pours, last heard from the tv show 30 rock. And then as I was walking out of work the other day I feel rain drops on my forehead, but the clouds that it should've come from were not present. Then I realize someone just threw up off the building onto my head. I should've known.
Most people would look at these instances and say, GIRL YOU ARE CRAZY THEY HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH EACHOTHER.

November 5th and 6th

With every running step little splashes of last night's rain hit the back of her calves. She couldn't help but to imagine someone watching her and thinking to themselves "That girl is kicking ass." She was up to 10 miles a morning and it was a tough terrain. Her heels touched the ground with every beat of her music. It was still dark because she was all about the early morning run, seeing her own breath and feeling a little tense, it was her favorite. By the time she reached her halfway point the sun was usually rising, there was nothing more beautiful and more dreamy than the sun rise after a run.
Distracted by the weird tree that looked like something innapropriate suddenly she crashed, her face crashed into the asphalt. The right side of her face was numb. She rolled over on her back staring at the starry sky. Warm wetness dripped down her face. Grateful for the shock protecting her from the pain that she knew would be coming shortly as she wiped her face that was dripping with hot blood.
"Great," she moaned as she tried to sit up without mixing her brains and fainting. Taking a deep breath she rolled on her stomach and pushed herself up onto her knees. Droplets of blood fell into the puddle in between her knees.
A groan came from a mouth that wasn't her own. She glanced behind her. A limp soaked body lay behind her. She was sure it was a murder victim and then she remembered it made a noise. Murder victim, not yet! She crawled next to the lump of human that looked to be a male kind.
"Oh my god, are you dead? Please don't be dead."
She hovered her hand above his mouth. She felt his warm breath on her hand. For a moment she felt a little creepy noticing his oddly long eyelashes and wondered what color his eyes were underneath the lids. Wishful thinking leads to definite happenings. His eyelids open to reveal a blue and green eye.
"Alive!"
The male lump of human turned into a very strong man and shoved her away with a great force.She landed hard on her bottom. She was sure her tail bone was broken, another numbnessshe'd have to deal with later.
"Hey!" she crawled next to him not so close for the fear of being shoved across the street again,"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm like five times smaller then you!"
"Where am I?"
"On the side of the road. Up Big Creek Canyon. Why are you up here? What happened?"
He started breathing hard and looked around frantically. He grabbed her shirt that was soaked with sweat, rain, and now blood.
"I don't know, help me."

Nov. 3rd (ode to halloween okay?) and 4th

When I saw her strangely white but still very much human skin I almost remembered what it was like to breath, breathing that was uncontrolable. Not like myself now. The purpose to breath is to smell for blood, mostly for sport. Because I can survive years off of one tiny little human.
She reminded me of my human self, although the memory is slipping away like a puff of smoke disinigrating into the atmosphere, an almost ghostly appearance as if she was made to be something supernatural. She had a small heart shaped face with big brown eyes that had so much life in them. Her hair was thick with tiny white blonde curls. It seemed that Rondolfo had a type, for all of us had this look about us. All 27 of his what he named "followers" but the girl would refer to us as his victims as she cried out for mercy. But she was asleep, somehow peaceful although could tell nighmares were running across her eyelids. She didn't understand how it was yet. But she would. She hadn't seen Rondolfo. The most beautiful creature to exist on this planet.  He had the skin of a stone statue, magnificent beauty beyond a belief. In his presence you feel like you are the luckiest person to have lived...once. His eyes, although a  haunting red, they were dazzeling.  The only things I ever think about is thirst and him. It was a common feeling umong us "followers". I call myself his partner. I find myself being the most important out of the 27. All of them were wishing it was them who were turned last. But it was me and I was the last and I was the longest of the last. He hadn't turned anyone for 58 years, the longest he had gone. The difference between Olive and I was only 10 years.
Rondolfo told me that he saw her and he knew she needed to be his. I hadn't been alive for quite some time but I had a feeling deep inside me, so forgotten that I didn't know what to call it. But then I saw her and it was worse. I was once in her position. There was a time when Rondolfo saw me and told Olive to go fetch me like I did with the girl who called herself Lottie. I knew I was feeling what I once called jealousy.
The girl called Lottie opened her brown eyes that would soon turn into red. I didn't say anything to her just stared. I knew I had to tell him she was awake. I had to take a moment to realize I was no longer the last one.
"Don't you know he's trancing you all? You all think you're in love with him but he's only trancing you. Please don't let this happen! You were once alive like me," she grabbed the hem of my dress. Her warm fingers gave off an extreme heat, "I am supposed to be getting married in just a day. Please!"
I felt a twinge of pity for her.
"How long has she been awake for? Why didn't you tell me?" Roldolfo's presence filled the room. I can't help but to freeze. I've been with him for 58 years but he still has the same effect on me.
The girl stood, without saying a word and walked towards Rondolfo. She seemed to be floating her hair flew behind her as each step was taken. Rondolfo brushed her face and the girl called Lottie closed her eyes and kissed his hands and then his neck. For a moment the girl's veins began to pump in my brain all I wanted was to destroy her and then it was gone.
It all happened faster then a breath. Rondolfo was there and then he was nothing but a pile of dust on the floor. Lottie's body was shaking as she held a wooden cross in her hand the end sharpened. Rondolfo was dust, just dust and nothing more to me. A moment passed and I had forgotten all about him. I looked at Lottie but her vulnerability did not suit my thirst. It was too easy.
I was released.
I gaver her a smile, letting my teeth gleam, something I wasn't allowed to do with Rondolfo.
"How kind of you," I smirked.
It was my turn.

Red.

I believe in the color red. It’s the color of my ukulele, my favorite Betsey Johnson coat, and my glasses. For some unexplainable reason I have never admitted it, it’s my favorite color. It’s the name of the Weezer album that includes my favorite Weezer song. It’s the color of Standford, my very crappy car whose windows don’t roll up and you can’t get out of the passenger’s side. Red is the color I am constantly dying my hair when I’m bored and too afraid for the cut. Red lips can tell you I am sexy, even if I’m dancing like a nerd by myself. You can add a little white with red and a different, innocent pink effect is the result. I turn to it when I want a pop in my outfit, but it’s a color I’ve chosen to take granted for until now. Red is the longest wavelength seen by the human eye. It’s one of the primary colors. Red is important. If I could choose to act like any color, I would be red.


Red is the color of blood, the color of life. Open me up and I’m red, open you up and you’re the same. It’s the color that connects us. No matter how different we appear on the outside we all bleed red blood. Red blood is what makes my cheeks blush when a romantic boy tells me I mean something to him. Red means love. When someone hands you a red rose you don’t assume they want to be your friend. Red blood pumps in your fluttering heart as you get nervous to tell someone you love them. Red is the color of lust, which in all rightful terms is what creates life.

Red is the color of southern Utah the place I grew up in every summer weekend. It’s what I know. The red earth of southern Utah can be the most beautiful sight one can ever see. Picture a gorgeous canyon, you’re standing at the top of this natural made phenomenon, it has just finished a light rain and the sun is about to set. The fiery sky reflects on the surface of the red earth, and there is nothing you can say because no words can explain the feeling, and you think this “is this is what feels like to be in complete awe.”

How can a person believe in a color? It already exists; we can see it with our two eyes. For me, it means me much more than a color. Red runs deep in me. Red is the most human color.

(Picture taken by my pa aka William Bruce Reeder (somebody should convince this guy to do a booth at the arts fest yes?))

Middle Seat

All Diana wanted wast to sit by the window on the plane. She begged her dad to to please get her a window seat. All she wanted was to day dream about the clouds, dancing in them, jumping in them, do the things you are supposed to do when day dreaming in the clouds. But he wouldn't do it. It only cost 10 more dollars to be in group A so she could board first, but no, she was in group C. When she boarded the plane every single window seat was taken, in fact the only seats that were left were middle seats.
Wretched middle seats why were you even invented?
There were three choices. One between a fancy looking proper boy and a scary looking man woman (couldn't be too sure about which gender it was (not that there was anything wrong The last was between a very old man with a surprisingly full head of hair and a middle aged business man. Third choice was the best choice. At least she would feel the cleanest afterwards.
She stood smiling at the business man glued to his blackberry, waiting for him to notice her presence, waiting for him to move. She cleared her throat. The really old man gently shook his arm. He looked up at her and smiled.
"Sorry little miss, I always just payin' too much attention to this thing," he stood and let her sit.
Diana didn't want to talk. She wasn't the type of person who sat on planes and shared fun little facts about herself with strangers on planes. Never.
"Going home?" the middle aged business man asked her. Diana was disgusted she was pretty sure that his tie cost more than her entire outfit, including her most expensive shoes she ever purchased in her life (60$).
"No, going to school."
"You look like a California girl."
Diana wasn't sure if it was a compliment or a creepy compliment.
"Oh yeah? I am a native Wisconsiner, but thanks," she tried to make the sentence into a conversation ender but it didn't quite work.
"What are you going to school for? Don't tell me let me guess," he smiled, "Home economics."
She frowned.
Who does this guy think he is?
"No. Never."
The flight attendant began to speak but this didn't quiet the man he kept on yacking on.
"You going to one of those cosmotology schools? Doing hair all pretty and things?"
Diana was offended. This guy was a sexist.
"Uh nope."
The man laughed.
Diana rolled her eyes.
She could just imagine what mister sexist was like when he was younger. He was probably one of those guys who loved the football and the cheerleaders and would take them under the bleachers and take advantage of then and whisper sweet nothings in there ears until they gave it up to him. The next day he would tell all his football loving friends that she was a skank who would do anything. Then when he finished high school it was off to run his father's business. That out of pure luck it blasts off into success. Oh dear, then comes the shot gun wedding after accidentally impregnating the prettiest girl in town. Her life was instantly ruined but he didn't care, he trapped her. Someone he didn't deserve. The first baby they'd name something like Lori or Donna. He'd never see her grow up but knock up his wife probably three or four more times. But she'd keep fit and cook him dinner because that's what she was told to do by this husband of hers. This fake story burrying itself in her head and made her hate the guy.
It's fake. You made up the story.
Then (she though) she'd grow up and realize she was the prettiest girl and she needed no man and divorce his fat ass. That's why he was on this plane, because he was taking a moment to think about his terrible aweful life.
"You aren't much of a talker are you? I bet you got a line up of young men begging for your attention."
"Sorry I guess I'm not used to sharing tid bits about myself to strangers is all," she tried to sound polite as possible, but it didn't work and she sounded as bitchy as she felt.
The man laughed again and plugged his ears with head phones and he went back to attending his blackberry even thought the flight attendent made the announcement to shut off electronic devices just moments before. Diana would blame this man if she died in a plane crash.
"What an asshole," the older of the old men said to himself. Diana was taken back but the swears coming out of the pompadoured haired man who had to be at least seventy (she wasn't too good at telling age after the age of fifty) her grandparents scoweled at dirty words. She actually thought it was very refreshing that an oldy pie agreed with her.
It was weird, she thought about it sometimes, that old people were young once. It was so long ago. They don't even look the same. They become an uglier depressing version of themselves.
This really old guy used to be the coolest guy around once, most likely. He has a pompadour and tattoos.
He was the rebel without a cause type, she could tell. He had a motorcycle when it was REAL cool to have one. He would ride up on his bike with a ciggerette in mouth and a pair of aviators on his face and make all the poodle skirted girls melt. His name was most likely Jonny, it fit him well. At one point he had dark hair in the same style. He would wear leather jackets and the rolled up jeans with a pair of converse. He used to play the harmonica in the bleechers during PE because he hated running, and also during the drive in movies to bug the squares. Then one day... a girl arrived in his life. She was as beautiful as all the pin up girls combined, even more so. She wouldn't give him a glance though, because she knew his type. But little did SHE know that he was a romantic. He would say hi to her every day even though she wouldn't say it back and even though it made him look like an idiot, he would do it every day. He even wrote a song about her (because he also played the guitar). Then one day he rescued her from a boy, a square, that was also an asshole. She rode on the back of his motorcycle, holding onto him real tight. Then from there they lived and loved. They traveled the world together, spreading his loves songs for her all over the place. Jonny was actually going home to her. He was playing his last show ever in California and his wife would meet him there the next day because she was babysitting the grandbabies.
If only Diana's story was true, then she'd be sitting by someone famous.
The plane landed and she looked at the old man.
"Very nice meeting you!" she smiled and he looked at her very oddly. No words we exchanged between them.
"You need to be grateful for your wife mister and stop talking to young girls about chasing boys okay?" she said to the business man who took out his head phones and stared at her blankly.
"I'm not married."
Diana ignored it and grabbed her bag from the overhead bin. She didn't get to dance with the clouds but maybe in someone elses head she was someone radically cool or possibly a bitch, but then again she had a strange sort of mind that invented stories about other people and she wasn't too sure that someone shared the same hobby. Not likely, but maybe.