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.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Sunday, November 6, 2011
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."
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."
Friday, November 4, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
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?))
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.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
The Dick.
You’ll never fit in anywhere unless you go somewhere.
A phrase constantly said into Goldie’s bedroom door by her mother (who was prom queen all the years she went to high school). It was boomeranging through her brain still four years after high school. It was what she was thinking when she the house party she promised to attend with her friend Nicole. Even before she walked in the house the boomerang phrase came weaseling back into her frontal lobes. She had told herself that parties were for people with no goals who wanted to die early, but she didn’t really know, she was a college party virgin.
“I can tell you aren’t enjoying this already,” Nicole yelled over the music.
It was a common effect Goldie had, a face that looked like she just took a bite out of an apple to find half of a worm. She was no good at hiding her discomfort.
“No, this seems like so much fun,” she choked out.
She paid no attention to whatever Nicole was trying to shout over the ridiculously loud and tacky music that was bombarding her ear drums. She saw him. His name was Richard Baird; he was her biggest crush in high school. He was always looking so cool and not to mention good looking, mostly good looking; she didn’t know him at all so she just assumed he was cool not knowing if it were true. He was one of the bad boys who played in a band and had long gross hair that somehow was ridiculously sexy.
For the second time ever in the history of Goldie, he looked at her. She looked around herself to make sure it wasn’t a mistake but he smiled and waved at her and again she looked around to find it was her that he was waving at. She felt like she was back in sophomore year when he opened the door for her (this was the first time in history he made serious eye contact with her). But she forgot to look at her friend Nicole, who he was actually waving to. Goldie had no choice to first feel absolutely ridiculous for being excited that someone waved at her and secondly to get herself together for the first interaction with him in pretty much ever. Nicole wasn’t one to ignore an attractive boy. Goldie followed shortly behind her.
He grabbed Nicole in a bear hug as Goldie stood awkwardly by.
“This is my friend Goldie,” Nicole said hardly paying any attention to her at all keeping her eyes on the good looking man in front of her, “This is-“
“Richard,” she covered her mouth and felt creepy that she would know such a thing when he didn’t even slightly recognize her, “We went to the same high school,” she grabbed the nearest drink and chugged it.
He glanced over at her and broke his embrace with Nicole, “We did?”
“Yeah, You were friends with Natalie and my friend Jared and her were good friends.”
“Oh yeah I know Jared! You’re his friend?”
“Yes, I am.”
“He’s hilarious.”
“Yes he is.”
Nicole walked away unenthused and ready to find someone who would give her their full attention. When Goldie noticed she had a ball of nerves in her throat that wouldn’t go away no matter how much she tried to swallow it down. She grabbed another drink.
“So you still in that band you were in in high school?” she asked nervously wishing Nicole would come back and rescue her from her embarrassment she was sure to havoc on herself.
“Uh, ha, no. You remember that?”
“Sort of I guess,” she shrugged feeling a bit dizzy, “I had the biggest crush on you,” her eyes almost fell right out of her head right after the words left her mouth.
“Oh did you?”
Her eyebrows raised, “Yeah…”
“You want come with me somewhere?”
Goldie wasn’t the type of girl who went somewhere and did things with people she didn’t know. But a little make out session never hurt anyone. Most of the time it actually made people feel great! It was going to be the pay back for high school. She never liked high school and it crept up on her every once in a blue moon. It would be the releasing the dove of high school, or something like that. He grabbed her hand and took her outside.
“Is this what you always wanted in high school?”
“Hmm? Well it wasn’t the top of my priorities obviously, or else I probably would’ve talked to you before this moment.”
“Want to make your high school dreams reality?”
“Well I wouldn’t go so far to say it was my drea….” She trailed off when she noticed a stupid on his face and him giving her a drunken seductive face pointing at his crotch.
“I’ll go put on my prom king crown if it will help with the fantasy.”
“Wow. Really?” she said sarcastically, Richard didn’t quite catch on.
“Yeah I still have it.”
“Oh my god, you do?”
He grinned and nodded his head vigorously.
“You know, I am just dying to help you out with your little situation in your pants, but,” she paused, “I just can’t.”
“Oh so you have a boyfriend?”
She couldn’t hold in the laugher and it just busted out of her, “No, no I don’t. But I’ve just realized I have so much more appealing things to attend to, like eating a live bird for instance.”
“Wait what?”
“I am super into guys with no future who are counting on getting famous for their crappy music and good looks, who drink every night to the point of blacking out and think popping pills a competitive sport.”
“What is your problem?”
“My problem? I don’t have one. You’re the one who has a serious problem. You’re the type of person whose highest point in life was high school and you’re scared to move on so you travel on the same road and it gets you nowhere. You aren’t going to be young and gorgeous forever bucko and all the drinking and drugs is going to catch up to you. And then you’ll be ugly, then what are you going to do?”
“Wow, I like you.”
“Excuse me?”
“I like you.”
“Ugh, get a job,” she started to walk away and he followed.
“Marry me.”
“Goodbye.”
High school ended four years back, and returning was a seriously bad idea. It’s like following a tornado, it seems dangerous and interesting, but no good would come from it. Just be grateful that you survived and leave it behind you. Only return upon the tenth year reunion to laugh at all the pretty girls who got fat. Before that leave it alone, pretend it didn’t happen.
A phrase constantly said into Goldie’s bedroom door by her mother (who was prom queen all the years she went to high school). It was boomeranging through her brain still four years after high school. It was what she was thinking when she the house party she promised to attend with her friend Nicole. Even before she walked in the house the boomerang phrase came weaseling back into her frontal lobes. She had told herself that parties were for people with no goals who wanted to die early, but she didn’t really know, she was a college party virgin.
“I can tell you aren’t enjoying this already,” Nicole yelled over the music.
It was a common effect Goldie had, a face that looked like she just took a bite out of an apple to find half of a worm. She was no good at hiding her discomfort.
“No, this seems like so much fun,” she choked out.
She paid no attention to whatever Nicole was trying to shout over the ridiculously loud and tacky music that was bombarding her ear drums. She saw him. His name was Richard Baird; he was her biggest crush in high school. He was always looking so cool and not to mention good looking, mostly good looking; she didn’t know him at all so she just assumed he was cool not knowing if it were true. He was one of the bad boys who played in a band and had long gross hair that somehow was ridiculously sexy.
For the second time ever in the history of Goldie, he looked at her. She looked around herself to make sure it wasn’t a mistake but he smiled and waved at her and again she looked around to find it was her that he was waving at. She felt like she was back in sophomore year when he opened the door for her (this was the first time in history he made serious eye contact with her). But she forgot to look at her friend Nicole, who he was actually waving to. Goldie had no choice to first feel absolutely ridiculous for being excited that someone waved at her and secondly to get herself together for the first interaction with him in pretty much ever. Nicole wasn’t one to ignore an attractive boy. Goldie followed shortly behind her.
He grabbed Nicole in a bear hug as Goldie stood awkwardly by.
“This is my friend Goldie,” Nicole said hardly paying any attention to her at all keeping her eyes on the good looking man in front of her, “This is-“
“Richard,” she covered her mouth and felt creepy that she would know such a thing when he didn’t even slightly recognize her, “We went to the same high school,” she grabbed the nearest drink and chugged it.
He glanced over at her and broke his embrace with Nicole, “We did?”
“Yeah, You were friends with Natalie and my friend Jared and her were good friends.”
“Oh yeah I know Jared! You’re his friend?”
“Yes, I am.”
“He’s hilarious.”
“Yes he is.”
Nicole walked away unenthused and ready to find someone who would give her their full attention. When Goldie noticed she had a ball of nerves in her throat that wouldn’t go away no matter how much she tried to swallow it down. She grabbed another drink.
“So you still in that band you were in in high school?” she asked nervously wishing Nicole would come back and rescue her from her embarrassment she was sure to havoc on herself.
“Uh, ha, no. You remember that?”
“Sort of I guess,” she shrugged feeling a bit dizzy, “I had the biggest crush on you,” her eyes almost fell right out of her head right after the words left her mouth.
“Oh did you?”
Her eyebrows raised, “Yeah…”
“You want come with me somewhere?”
Goldie wasn’t the type of girl who went somewhere and did things with people she didn’t know. But a little make out session never hurt anyone. Most of the time it actually made people feel great! It was going to be the pay back for high school. She never liked high school and it crept up on her every once in a blue moon. It would be the releasing the dove of high school, or something like that. He grabbed her hand and took her outside.
“Is this what you always wanted in high school?”
“Hmm? Well it wasn’t the top of my priorities obviously, or else I probably would’ve talked to you before this moment.”
“Want to make your high school dreams reality?”
“Well I wouldn’t go so far to say it was my drea….” She trailed off when she noticed a stupid on his face and him giving her a drunken seductive face pointing at his crotch.
“I’ll go put on my prom king crown if it will help with the fantasy.”
“Wow. Really?” she said sarcastically, Richard didn’t quite catch on.
“Yeah I still have it.”
“Oh my god, you do?”
He grinned and nodded his head vigorously.
“You know, I am just dying to help you out with your little situation in your pants, but,” she paused, “I just can’t.”
“Oh so you have a boyfriend?”
She couldn’t hold in the laugher and it just busted out of her, “No, no I don’t. But I’ve just realized I have so much more appealing things to attend to, like eating a live bird for instance.”
“Wait what?”
“I am super into guys with no future who are counting on getting famous for their crappy music and good looks, who drink every night to the point of blacking out and think popping pills a competitive sport.”
“What is your problem?”
“My problem? I don’t have one. You’re the one who has a serious problem. You’re the type of person whose highest point in life was high school and you’re scared to move on so you travel on the same road and it gets you nowhere. You aren’t going to be young and gorgeous forever bucko and all the drinking and drugs is going to catch up to you. And then you’ll be ugly, then what are you going to do?”
“Wow, I like you.”
“Excuse me?”
“I like you.”
“Ugh, get a job,” she started to walk away and he followed.
“Marry me.”
“Goodbye.”
High school ended four years back, and returning was a seriously bad idea. It’s like following a tornado, it seems dangerous and interesting, but no good would come from it. Just be grateful that you survived and leave it behind you. Only return upon the tenth year reunion to laugh at all the pretty girls who got fat. Before that leave it alone, pretend it didn’t happen.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
ClubLove
I just want to go to a club and find the man of my dreams, the kind of man with a bedazzled behind. He is the highest pick of them all. He is communicating to you that he can take care of you for your life that’s why he’s showing off his riches in the form of rhinestones on either his flared jeans or affliction fallen angel shirt. Think of it like a peacock. I want his arm to be as big as my thigh, just because. Protein! Protein! Protein! I want to hear him walk by, sort of like a cat collar with a bell on it, so his shoes must have a heel and extra pointy. I always look when I hear that manly clicking sound. His smell must fill my nostrils with a powerful odor that can out odor any others. The smell needs to go inside my brain so I am not thinking of anything else but his smell. I have to taste it, that’s how powerful it must be. His hair must be so full of product that smoking is a hazard because it may be flammable. I need to know that my man’s hair will not move no matter how strong the wind; it must be able to withstand tornado weather.
The man for me knows how to dance. Body rolls for days and days. And you can’t forget about the all-important fist pump. You know he is sparking the romance with that fist. I really enjoy when he, without permission (because I don’t really know what I want), starts to grind all up on me. I love it. I can’t get enough of it. It turns me onto love like blood to sharks. I know he is asking me to be his future wife. I especially enjoy the dry humping it’s so romantic it makes my heart shiver in a good way.
When he’s buying me endless drinks to the point of forgetting where I am I know it’s out of love. He cares so much about me he wants to be my guide for the night, and eventually life. Where else does love come from other than the club?
The man for me knows how to dance. Body rolls for days and days. And you can’t forget about the all-important fist pump. You know he is sparking the romance with that fist. I really enjoy when he, without permission (because I don’t really know what I want), starts to grind all up on me. I love it. I can’t get enough of it. It turns me onto love like blood to sharks. I know he is asking me to be his future wife. I especially enjoy the dry humping it’s so romantic it makes my heart shiver in a good way.
When he’s buying me endless drinks to the point of forgetting where I am I know it’s out of love. He cares so much about me he wants to be my guide for the night, and eventually life. Where else does love come from other than the club?
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Not yet named project exerpt.
The party was happening, with or without Richie. It was in the back of Ruby’s head to just cancel the whole thing, but Peter’s annoyingly truthful words were on repeat in her brain, “You can’t base your fun off him.” But she had to admit to herself, that’s exactly what she was doing. HE was the reason she had planned the party, and he wasn’t even coming.
Despair pit was ready for her to jump in.
Ruby was a full believer in movie moments, and this was one of them. She stood, with drink in hand in the same place (face in full frown) while people moved quickly around her enjoying their posh Hollywood party at their “friend” Peter’s 3 million dollar home. She was stuck in depression slow motion while everyone else was having a stupid good time. The only solution in her mind was to get completely sloshed. Not Hollywood sloshed, regular sloshed.
“What are you drinking Ruby?” Peter came up next to her putting his arm around her knowing of her disappointment. She always did it to herself.
She looked down into her cup, completely forgetting what she was drinking or what number she was on, something she usually kept in mind. She hated throwing up. She hated the spins. She really didn’t enjoy being drunk at all. It was a bad sign that she was paying no attention to her drink intake, it was an even worse sign that she became wildly dizzy from just moving her eyes from her cup to Peter’s face.
“I don’t know, that guy made it,” she pointed to a surfer bro she hadn’t ever met previous to the moment he handed her a drink and knew he was too good looking to be actually interested in her which made her feel worse about herself. She took the drink anyway.
“Hmm, I say we should probably put it down then huh?”
“I don’t care,” everything seemed
“Stop it Ruby. I told you not to have this party if you were going to base it off this guy.”
“You knew that is exactly what I was doing.”
“Well did you invite him? “
“Of course I did! Jesus Peter! You think I can’t do anything involving men. I’m not that pathetic.”
He put up his hands defensively, “No. I was just wondering. Where is he? What’s the story?”
She sat down on the ground in the middle of everything, not caring what people were thinking. They were the type to think things, especially drunk gangly girls who sit on the ground in the middle of a Hollywood party. She didn’t even know 90 percent of them anyway, “He said he had to work until four in the morning. So there was no way he would be able to come.”
“Bartender?”
“Yeah, at some club called Epic.”
Peter began coughing spastically.
“What Peter?”
“That’s a gay club Ruby. He’s one hundred percent queer.”
Ruby’s heart suddenly became and anchor.
“What? No! I don’t really know if that’s what he said. I don’t know if that’s where he works. Maybe he didn’t say that. Lots of things sound like epic,” she knew it was absolutely ridiculous but she felt the water works starting. She shook her head and covered her hot face.
“Ruby, I sort of got that vibe from him. It makes so much sense now,” he laughed, “He would always sort of smile at me weird, and check me out constantly.”
“Peter!” She couldn’t stay in the room. She couldn’t let these people know she was the type of girl who would cry over a guy she didn’t even know. Not that she cared about these people (but the fact was she actually did care). Her heart was breaking and she didn’t even know if the guy liked the Beatles but for him she would’ve let it slide if he didn’t.
In a drunken stupor she found herself in Peter’s master bathroom sitting in his glamorous rich people jet tub. It was weird, but it seemed every time she drank too much she found herself in the tub.
She took a deep breath and then realized he did say the word epic. He pronounced it with pride. “EP-IC.” He was gay. He was. Ruby had a better chance with Zac Ephron then Richie. Peter had more of a chance with Richie than she did, but then again Peter had a better chance with straight men than her, he was doused with the glory of fame and beauty.
And with that knowledge she began to bawl.
“Ruby?” there was a knock at the door, a female’s voice, “Ruby, it’s Angelica.”
“I don’t feel like talking. I don’t even know who you are!” She positioned herself into a ball hugging her knees to her nose.
“Sure you do, we are at the same agency.”
The last person in the world Ruby wanted to talk to was a pretty model that had no trouble getting any man.
“Like I want to talk to you.”
“Come on Ruby, open the door, we can talk about whatever is going on.”
“Leave me alone. I’m not crying because I’m drunk! It’s because I’m really sad!”
“I know you are,” it wasn’t Angelica anymore, it was Peter, “Please let me in. Please?”
Ruby, very unsteadily, unlocked the door, still whimpering like a baby, and made it back into her tub position. She could here Peter’s fancy shoes click and him sitting next to the tub.
“You’re only crying because you are really very drunk Ruby.”
“No I am not! This is so depressing. Seriously. The one guy I thought was interested in me turns out to be gay. I can guarantee you that the only reason he was being nice to me is so he could see you. He was far too good looking for me anyways. He probably wouldn’t even give me a second glance if he was straight. This sucks,” she put her face in between her knees and tried to keep her sight straight on the white tub bottom.
“Stop it Ruby, you know that is rubbish. Plus we don’t know if he’s gay for sure! Straight people sometimes work at gay clubs. In fact I asked my friend Chris out there, he says straight people do all the time. Bartenders will try to get jobs anywhere. I bet he’s straight Ruby.”
“Shut up. He is gay, we both know it. You said he was constantly checking you out.”
“I was making an ill-timed joke Ruby.”
“No, it’s true.”
“Come here Ruby,” she felt him tugging at her shirt but she didn’t budge.
“I wish it were raining.”
“I know you do. Will you please get up? We can still have fun.”
“I feel like an idiot.”
“Come on, get up.”
Ruby stood up reluctantly as Peter assisted her. She put her arms around his waist and closed her eyes as he let them into the shower room and turned on the cold water.
“Hey look! It’s raining Ruby!”
She frowned. How could someone so married be so nice to her? Peter knew that Richie was gay but as long as it would make Ruby happy he would pretend he wasn’t until it was impossible.
Despair pit was ready for her to jump in.
Ruby was a full believer in movie moments, and this was one of them. She stood, with drink in hand in the same place (face in full frown) while people moved quickly around her enjoying their posh Hollywood party at their “friend” Peter’s 3 million dollar home. She was stuck in depression slow motion while everyone else was having a stupid good time. The only solution in her mind was to get completely sloshed. Not Hollywood sloshed, regular sloshed.
“What are you drinking Ruby?” Peter came up next to her putting his arm around her knowing of her disappointment. She always did it to herself.
She looked down into her cup, completely forgetting what she was drinking or what number she was on, something she usually kept in mind. She hated throwing up. She hated the spins. She really didn’t enjoy being drunk at all. It was a bad sign that she was paying no attention to her drink intake, it was an even worse sign that she became wildly dizzy from just moving her eyes from her cup to Peter’s face.
“I don’t know, that guy made it,” she pointed to a surfer bro she hadn’t ever met previous to the moment he handed her a drink and knew he was too good looking to be actually interested in her which made her feel worse about herself. She took the drink anyway.
“Hmm, I say we should probably put it down then huh?”
“I don’t care,” everything seemed
“Stop it Ruby. I told you not to have this party if you were going to base it off this guy.”
“You knew that is exactly what I was doing.”
“Well did you invite him? “
“Of course I did! Jesus Peter! You think I can’t do anything involving men. I’m not that pathetic.”
He put up his hands defensively, “No. I was just wondering. Where is he? What’s the story?”
She sat down on the ground in the middle of everything, not caring what people were thinking. They were the type to think things, especially drunk gangly girls who sit on the ground in the middle of a Hollywood party. She didn’t even know 90 percent of them anyway, “He said he had to work until four in the morning. So there was no way he would be able to come.”
“Bartender?”
“Yeah, at some club called Epic.”
Peter began coughing spastically.
“What Peter?”
“That’s a gay club Ruby. He’s one hundred percent queer.”
Ruby’s heart suddenly became and anchor.
“What? No! I don’t really know if that’s what he said. I don’t know if that’s where he works. Maybe he didn’t say that. Lots of things sound like epic,” she knew it was absolutely ridiculous but she felt the water works starting. She shook her head and covered her hot face.
“Ruby, I sort of got that vibe from him. It makes so much sense now,” he laughed, “He would always sort of smile at me weird, and check me out constantly.”
“Peter!” She couldn’t stay in the room. She couldn’t let these people know she was the type of girl who would cry over a guy she didn’t even know. Not that she cared about these people (but the fact was she actually did care). Her heart was breaking and she didn’t even know if the guy liked the Beatles but for him she would’ve let it slide if he didn’t.
In a drunken stupor she found herself in Peter’s master bathroom sitting in his glamorous rich people jet tub. It was weird, but it seemed every time she drank too much she found herself in the tub.
She took a deep breath and then realized he did say the word epic. He pronounced it with pride. “EP-IC.” He was gay. He was. Ruby had a better chance with Zac Ephron then Richie. Peter had more of a chance with Richie than she did, but then again Peter had a better chance with straight men than her, he was doused with the glory of fame and beauty.
And with that knowledge she began to bawl.
“Ruby?” there was a knock at the door, a female’s voice, “Ruby, it’s Angelica.”
“I don’t feel like talking. I don’t even know who you are!” She positioned herself into a ball hugging her knees to her nose.
“Sure you do, we are at the same agency.”
The last person in the world Ruby wanted to talk to was a pretty model that had no trouble getting any man.
“Like I want to talk to you.”
“Come on Ruby, open the door, we can talk about whatever is going on.”
“Leave me alone. I’m not crying because I’m drunk! It’s because I’m really sad!”
“I know you are,” it wasn’t Angelica anymore, it was Peter, “Please let me in. Please?”
Ruby, very unsteadily, unlocked the door, still whimpering like a baby, and made it back into her tub position. She could here Peter’s fancy shoes click and him sitting next to the tub.
“You’re only crying because you are really very drunk Ruby.”
“No I am not! This is so depressing. Seriously. The one guy I thought was interested in me turns out to be gay. I can guarantee you that the only reason he was being nice to me is so he could see you. He was far too good looking for me anyways. He probably wouldn’t even give me a second glance if he was straight. This sucks,” she put her face in between her knees and tried to keep her sight straight on the white tub bottom.
“Stop it Ruby, you know that is rubbish. Plus we don’t know if he’s gay for sure! Straight people sometimes work at gay clubs. In fact I asked my friend Chris out there, he says straight people do all the time. Bartenders will try to get jobs anywhere. I bet he’s straight Ruby.”
“Shut up. He is gay, we both know it. You said he was constantly checking you out.”
“I was making an ill-timed joke Ruby.”
“No, it’s true.”
“Come here Ruby,” she felt him tugging at her shirt but she didn’t budge.
“I wish it were raining.”
“I know you do. Will you please get up? We can still have fun.”
“I feel like an idiot.”
“Come on, get up.”
Ruby stood up reluctantly as Peter assisted her. She put her arms around his waist and closed her eyes as he let them into the shower room and turned on the cold water.
“Hey look! It’s raining Ruby!”
She frowned. How could someone so married be so nice to her? Peter knew that Richie was gay but as long as it would make Ruby happy he would pretend he wasn’t until it was impossible.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Not Yet Named.
Prologue
Me falling in “love” with a person could be compared to a shark eating a human being. It’s sitting there, just dangling in front of you. You shrug and say to yourself, “Might as well.” You put all this energy into it and all you get is a lousy leg and maybe a lost eyeball depending on the human being you are dealing with. But the feeling it gives you to eat that human being (if we are still speaking in shark terms) is so worth it and you can’t stop until you are eventually hunted and killed. Now speaking in me terms is I cannot get enough of the falling. I crave that crush. I wouldn’t call myself boy crazy at all. I am in fact a very picky human being. Therefore the men I tend to fall for don’t fall back. This has become a serious issue for me.
My name is Ruby McAllister and I am a hopeless romantic.
(Above is an insert from Ruby McAllister’s diary. (Yes she has a diary, there’s nothing wrong with that))
Ruby has dug herself a hole of depression and thrown herself into it. The girl has fallen for a boy who doesn’t even glance back at her. She can’t understand what has happened. She smiles every single time she orders her drink and he always smiles back. She thought it was something special they shared. Turns out he smiles at everyone and not only that but he often gives other people extra flavor in their drinks for free. He’s simply a nice guy, not a guy that likes her.
It all started with childhood. It isn’t often that a person grows up with parents that are absolutely in love with each other. This is a terrible environment to rear a child in. The child grows up thinking it’s normal to find someone you genuinely want to spend the rest of your life with. Not only that but she watched Disney princess movies like it kept her lungs from collapsing, almost as if it were her oxygen.
As Ruby grew she didn’t know how to do things normally. She had no older siblings to teach her the ropes of crushes. And her parents, well they were no help at all. They were one of those unreal couples that saw each other and just clicked. They were puzzle pieces that were lost all their life until they found on another and fit. They were the cliché “my life didn’t start until I met you”. In other words, if you believe in it or not, soul mates. The advice they gave her was this, “You’ll find him and you’ll know.”
The problem with this is that that’s not how things work for most of the human population, but she didn’t know, how could she know?
Me falling in “love” with a person could be compared to a shark eating a human being. It’s sitting there, just dangling in front of you. You shrug and say to yourself, “Might as well.” You put all this energy into it and all you get is a lousy leg and maybe a lost eyeball depending on the human being you are dealing with. But the feeling it gives you to eat that human being (if we are still speaking in shark terms) is so worth it and you can’t stop until you are eventually hunted and killed. Now speaking in me terms is I cannot get enough of the falling. I crave that crush. I wouldn’t call myself boy crazy at all. I am in fact a very picky human being. Therefore the men I tend to fall for don’t fall back. This has become a serious issue for me.
My name is Ruby McAllister and I am a hopeless romantic.
(Above is an insert from Ruby McAllister’s diary. (Yes she has a diary, there’s nothing wrong with that))
Ruby has dug herself a hole of depression and thrown herself into it. The girl has fallen for a boy who doesn’t even glance back at her. She can’t understand what has happened. She smiles every single time she orders her drink and he always smiles back. She thought it was something special they shared. Turns out he smiles at everyone and not only that but he often gives other people extra flavor in their drinks for free. He’s simply a nice guy, not a guy that likes her.
It all started with childhood. It isn’t often that a person grows up with parents that are absolutely in love with each other. This is a terrible environment to rear a child in. The child grows up thinking it’s normal to find someone you genuinely want to spend the rest of your life with. Not only that but she watched Disney princess movies like it kept her lungs from collapsing, almost as if it were her oxygen.
As Ruby grew she didn’t know how to do things normally. She had no older siblings to teach her the ropes of crushes. And her parents, well they were no help at all. They were one of those unreal couples that saw each other and just clicked. They were puzzle pieces that were lost all their life until they found on another and fit. They were the cliché “my life didn’t start until I met you”. In other words, if you believe in it or not, soul mates. The advice they gave her was this, “You’ll find him and you’ll know.”
The problem with this is that that’s not how things work for most of the human population, but she didn’t know, how could she know?
Thursday, February 10, 2011
V Day
Barbara. Age 23. Status single. The date is Valentine's day aka February 14th.
She hates how everyone pretends that they don't care it's V day. Because they do. They are all liars if they say they don't. Come on, we're all human beings.
She sits and ponders with her hand directly under the chin because she feels like it's the only appropriate pondering position. If she was to use the word ponder in her brain she made it a consequence of her thought to be in the pondering position. Ponder this. Ponder that. Blah blah ponder.
She is single on this day so she gives herself persmission to be unhappy. SHE HAS AN EXCUSE LET HER BE! She refused any party invitations for any single awareness party where people bring their single friends and try to set them up with one another. Everyone if they are desperate enough will find someone. She hated weird situations and she simply could not do it to herself purposefully. Her dignity was still intact and she planned to keep it there... sort of.
Barbara loved the F book. A week or so before V day she decided to be innovative in a way that she knew wasn't going to be usefull because nobody reads those little notes you make about yourself, but it wasn't for everyone (although she was posting it publically in hopes her friends would read it) she was doing it for HER.SELF....ish.
She typed the words with her eyes closed because for some reason it made her feel better.
IF YOU ARE THE FOLLOWING YOU SHOULD PROBABLY BE DATING BARBARA HARRIS.
(she knew it was stupid because well non of her facebook friends would qualify but... maybe, just maybe they would know someone who did and would eventually fall insanely in love with her).
It went like this:
1.Have blonde hair (natural of course) and be one of those guys who can pull off long haircuts until they are in their 30's because that's cool and totally the sexy surfer look.
2. There's something about dark eyes, they are so much more mysterious. Unless you have those crazy steal blue eyes those are nice too.
3. Wear those shoes that sort of look like soccer shoes but they aren't obviously because then you'd look like an idiot and make weird noises everywhere you went.
4. Play soccer. Soccer legs are great.
5.Be a surfer.
6.A foreigner would be prime. Like an Australian which would fit very well with the blonde surfer.
7. Like girls even though they have an old lady name.
8. Permit Barbara to go to Ryan Gosling movies by herself, no question asked, that's just how it is.
9. Vests are a must.
10. Piano skills are grande.... (like a grande piano).
11. Cook mexican food like a mexican.
12. Like it when the person you sleep next to occasionally accidently punches you.
13. Be insanely romantic that even a girl wouldn't think that the situation you would put her in would only happen in a movie created for women written by a woman directed by a woman starring ryan gosling.
14.You could be Ryan Gosling, obviously the foreign part wouldn't matter at this point.
15. Bring girls cupcakes when they are PMSing like an insane person.
16. Drive a convertable (it doesn't even have to be a nice one)
17. Wear ray ban sunglasses.
18.Own a motorcycle that isn't a harly.
This went on until she hit 100. Then she became very embarrassed but then realized nobody reads those so it didn't even matter.
V Day came now and nobody has F booked her and said they found her one true love named Australian Ryan Gosling. She didn't really think it would happen. What do you think this is? A fictional world?
So her V Day turned into Vagina day.
She rented all the Ryan Gosling movies she knew didn't depress her and also mixed in some Brad Pitt and Antanio Banderis in there. She bought her favorite ice cream and ate it using brownies as her spoon. After 8 straight hours of hot man watching she did 50 jumping jacks and 10 push ups.
She glanced at her phone which had a message from her stupid friend Halli who had a Valentine's date:
OMG this is the best date ever.
Barbara replied:
Oh yeah well he wasn't Ryan Gosling, so that sucks.
She immediatly felt better and hoped Halli realized that her date wasn't Ryan Gosling so it really did suck.
She hates how everyone pretends that they don't care it's V day. Because they do. They are all liars if they say they don't. Come on, we're all human beings.
She sits and ponders with her hand directly under the chin because she feels like it's the only appropriate pondering position. If she was to use the word ponder in her brain she made it a consequence of her thought to be in the pondering position. Ponder this. Ponder that. Blah blah ponder.
She is single on this day so she gives herself persmission to be unhappy. SHE HAS AN EXCUSE LET HER BE! She refused any party invitations for any single awareness party where people bring their single friends and try to set them up with one another. Everyone if they are desperate enough will find someone. She hated weird situations and she simply could not do it to herself purposefully. Her dignity was still intact and she planned to keep it there... sort of.
Barbara loved the F book. A week or so before V day she decided to be innovative in a way that she knew wasn't going to be usefull because nobody reads those little notes you make about yourself, but it wasn't for everyone (although she was posting it publically in hopes her friends would read it) she was doing it for HER.SELF....ish.
She typed the words with her eyes closed because for some reason it made her feel better.
IF YOU ARE THE FOLLOWING YOU SHOULD PROBABLY BE DATING BARBARA HARRIS.
(she knew it was stupid because well non of her facebook friends would qualify but... maybe, just maybe they would know someone who did and would eventually fall insanely in love with her).
It went like this:
1.Have blonde hair (natural of course) and be one of those guys who can pull off long haircuts until they are in their 30's because that's cool and totally the sexy surfer look.
2. There's something about dark eyes, they are so much more mysterious. Unless you have those crazy steal blue eyes those are nice too.
3. Wear those shoes that sort of look like soccer shoes but they aren't obviously because then you'd look like an idiot and make weird noises everywhere you went.
4. Play soccer. Soccer legs are great.
5.Be a surfer.
6.A foreigner would be prime. Like an Australian which would fit very well with the blonde surfer.
7. Like girls even though they have an old lady name.
8. Permit Barbara to go to Ryan Gosling movies by herself, no question asked, that's just how it is.
9. Vests are a must.
10. Piano skills are grande.... (like a grande piano).
11. Cook mexican food like a mexican.
12. Like it when the person you sleep next to occasionally accidently punches you.
13. Be insanely romantic that even a girl wouldn't think that the situation you would put her in would only happen in a movie created for women written by a woman directed by a woman starring ryan gosling.
14.You could be Ryan Gosling, obviously the foreign part wouldn't matter at this point.
15. Bring girls cupcakes when they are PMSing like an insane person.
16. Drive a convertable (it doesn't even have to be a nice one)
17. Wear ray ban sunglasses.
18.Own a motorcycle that isn't a harly.
This went on until she hit 100. Then she became very embarrassed but then realized nobody reads those so it didn't even matter.
V Day came now and nobody has F booked her and said they found her one true love named Australian Ryan Gosling. She didn't really think it would happen. What do you think this is? A fictional world?
So her V Day turned into Vagina day.
She rented all the Ryan Gosling movies she knew didn't depress her and also mixed in some Brad Pitt and Antanio Banderis in there. She bought her favorite ice cream and ate it using brownies as her spoon. After 8 straight hours of hot man watching she did 50 jumping jacks and 10 push ups.
She glanced at her phone which had a message from her stupid friend Halli who had a Valentine's date:
OMG this is the best date ever.
Barbara replied:
Oh yeah well he wasn't Ryan Gosling, so that sucks.
She immediatly felt better and hoped Halli realized that her date wasn't Ryan Gosling so it really did suck.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Bea and Wally. EP. 2 Milk and Guns.
When I sleep it's for like an hour and then I wake up. It's a ridiculous cycle that drives me insane. It's probably because of the experiments on my mother when she was pregnant with me. I guess it's what I get for the exchange of my greatness. Because being this great comes with a price. I toot my own horn often, but only to myself, not like Wally. That kid, he's simply ridiculous.
It's three in the morning and Wally jumps through my window, and by Wally I mean the Watcher. There's a difference. Wally is sort of okay. The Watcher is an ass hat. Wally is the one who holds the door open for you when you have bags of groceries and The Watcher is the one who gives you that wicked smile while the elevator doors closes and probably waves at you too. Bitch.
"What are you doing in here? I could've been with someone or something!"
I can see his stupid smirk through his ridiculous mask.
"Good one Bea."
He sits on my bed. Sometimes I wish he'd come to my house in regular Wally pajamas. I wonder what they would be like.
"Hey..." Okay so it's true, it's almost unthinkable for me to be with anyone. I may be really good at bad guy beat down, but catching a so called "catch" well that's not really my forte. Pretty much life isn't really my forte. The only thing I'm good at is breathing and being Beatrice the night owl who catches the creeps, not so much the girl who goes out and socializes and gets the guys and that sort of stuff. Who needs that when you are me?
"Here," Wally hands me a drink. I look at it and then at him and take a small sip, "Are you trying to kill me?" I ask.
I have two weaknesses. Guns because they will kill me and milk because it makes me violently ill.
"What?" he asks,"It's a latte, it's not poison."
I raised an eyebrow,"With milk? Yeah. Thanks. Lactose intollerant genius," I walk to my bathroom and pour out the beverage.
"Can I ask you something Beatrice?"
"No."
"Are you scared you'll never have a normal life? Do you ever wonder if you'll ever get married and have children? Do you ever sit there and ask yourself if it will ever be possible? Is it like all the old comic books where you can't ever be with anyone because there's always the threat of them getting hurt? Do you get what I'm saying?" he asks with his brilliant presence.
It's weird but it's something I think about constantly, but you never tell someone you don't trust that. His brain seems to be almost identical to mine in that way. I have this intense need to throw up, but I hold it down.
"No. I don't," lies.
"Oh."
"Yeah you are pretty weird," I let out a fake laugh.
"Really," it is not a question. He knows I'm lying.
"We should probably go, you know, scouting for bad people and stuff....." I itch my head in nervousness.
"You know, I am the one with the costume but I feel like you're the one trying to hide from everything. It's weird. I wouldn't say I'm the weird one," he puts on his mask with a smile.
We find ourselves in our new lair. Yes "our" new lair. I had this thing inside me that sort of needed to have a little more reassurance that I wouldn't be dead at the age of 20, so thus I have agreed to work with the guy. It took everything I had to say I would. I almost vomited in seven times before I officially agreed and I eventually had to write it down on a note because I couldn't say the words. I guess it's ridiculous but I'm an independent.
He lies on an abandoned table throwing a yo-yo of all things. I hate yo-yos.
"Will you stop please!" I grab it out of his hand and throw it across the room and it breaks in half. I smile wickedly, "A yo-yo? Really?"
He sighs, it has no effect on him whatsoever, "Wouldn't it be so easy if we just liked each other? We wouldn't even have to worry about the other one most of the time. Both of us are pretty capable of taking care of ourselves if someone tried to kill us or whatever people do," he sits up and takes off his mask because he, for some reason, thinks he needs to wear it at all moments when we're in the lair, but I suppose right now is an exception.
"Why do you keep saying this weird stuff. It creeps me out," I stand away from him because looking at him makes me cringe.
"I'm just saying. I know it would never happen, I was just saying how much easier our lives would be. I am not saying we should. Okay? So stop being awkward."
"No, you stop being awkward," I turn around and Wally is too close. He smiles and lets out a chuckle, "I'm just kidding," he steps back.
The thing about guns is that they are much worse then milk. Milk makes me want to throw up. Guns make things really painful. You'd rather not breath then feel the pain.
Wally and I rush to the first scene of the night. I feel like it's way to early for a drug bust, but people try to throw curve balls, I don't know why, probably because they are idiotic fools that think that they won't get caught if they do it an hour earlier then they did it before. (Good one guys.)
It's so dark everywhere but we can't be obvious so we have no light. I can hardly see anything, I don't understand how anyone can get anything done around here. I begin to pace because I am easily bored. I need stimulationn. Don't throw me in the dark and say wait here. I begin to wander a bit. The Watcher (because that is what he now, he is no longer Wally) stands his ground, silently. He won't talk to me at all.
"Alright I am going crazy," I whisper and wander off to scout the location.
They never tell you when you witness someone being almost dead (or you THINKING they are almost dead) that you see their life flash before your eyes.
A gun rings through the air. I freeze in my spot and almost wiz my pants. I don't think Wally or The Watcher would use his gun unless it is a one hundred percent need for it. I sprint in the direction from which the noise came. I am not calm and collected, I am frantic. I have trained myself for situations but there's this thing called being a human and everything you've once known goes out the window and all you do is panic. That's how I am at this moment.
I see Wally on the ground and I immediatly point and stun the man who was running down the alley way. I know there has to be more so I stand over Wally checking each possible hiding spot. I take down three more in the matter of minutes.
I take a deep breath and look down at The Watcher and take off his mask. His face is wet with sweat. This is when it happens, his life flashing before my eyes. He was supposed to get married with a girl that has like beautiful dark hair that blows in the wind appropriately and never gets stuck in her red lipstick. He was supposed to have babies, lots of them, at least three, and all of them would have his blue eyes. He was supposed to have the house with the fence and the dog. I am the one who will never be happy with that sort of life, but he would be. I should be the one shot, because I can almost predict this is how I will go.
I quickly drop to my hands and knee and look for the spot where he's been shot. There is two in the shoulder. So most likely no death. He rolls over and throws up on my shoes. It's gross but I'm relieved.
I look up and let out a breath of tension.
"Thank god. You idiot you got shot," I say stepping away from the vomit and deciding to lay next to him, "Don't worry the ambulance is coming."
"Good," he says in a wincing voice.
"Yeah, you can't get out of having those blue eyed babies. It would most likely cause damage to the world."
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh. Nothing."
It's three in the morning and Wally jumps through my window, and by Wally I mean the Watcher. There's a difference. Wally is sort of okay. The Watcher is an ass hat. Wally is the one who holds the door open for you when you have bags of groceries and The Watcher is the one who gives you that wicked smile while the elevator doors closes and probably waves at you too. Bitch.
"What are you doing in here? I could've been with someone or something!"
I can see his stupid smirk through his ridiculous mask.
"Good one Bea."
He sits on my bed. Sometimes I wish he'd come to my house in regular Wally pajamas. I wonder what they would be like.
"Hey..." Okay so it's true, it's almost unthinkable for me to be with anyone. I may be really good at bad guy beat down, but catching a so called "catch" well that's not really my forte. Pretty much life isn't really my forte. The only thing I'm good at is breathing and being Beatrice the night owl who catches the creeps, not so much the girl who goes out and socializes and gets the guys and that sort of stuff. Who needs that when you are me?
"Here," Wally hands me a drink. I look at it and then at him and take a small sip, "Are you trying to kill me?" I ask.
I have two weaknesses. Guns because they will kill me and milk because it makes me violently ill.
"What?" he asks,"It's a latte, it's not poison."
I raised an eyebrow,"With milk? Yeah. Thanks. Lactose intollerant genius," I walk to my bathroom and pour out the beverage.
"Can I ask you something Beatrice?"
"No."
"Are you scared you'll never have a normal life? Do you ever wonder if you'll ever get married and have children? Do you ever sit there and ask yourself if it will ever be possible? Is it like all the old comic books where you can't ever be with anyone because there's always the threat of them getting hurt? Do you get what I'm saying?" he asks with his brilliant presence.
It's weird but it's something I think about constantly, but you never tell someone you don't trust that. His brain seems to be almost identical to mine in that way. I have this intense need to throw up, but I hold it down.
"No. I don't," lies.
"Oh."
"Yeah you are pretty weird," I let out a fake laugh.
"Really," it is not a question. He knows I'm lying.
"We should probably go, you know, scouting for bad people and stuff....." I itch my head in nervousness.
"You know, I am the one with the costume but I feel like you're the one trying to hide from everything. It's weird. I wouldn't say I'm the weird one," he puts on his mask with a smile.
We find ourselves in our new lair. Yes "our" new lair. I had this thing inside me that sort of needed to have a little more reassurance that I wouldn't be dead at the age of 20, so thus I have agreed to work with the guy. It took everything I had to say I would. I almost vomited in seven times before I officially agreed and I eventually had to write it down on a note because I couldn't say the words. I guess it's ridiculous but I'm an independent.
He lies on an abandoned table throwing a yo-yo of all things. I hate yo-yos.
"Will you stop please!" I grab it out of his hand and throw it across the room and it breaks in half. I smile wickedly, "A yo-yo? Really?"
He sighs, it has no effect on him whatsoever, "Wouldn't it be so easy if we just liked each other? We wouldn't even have to worry about the other one most of the time. Both of us are pretty capable of taking care of ourselves if someone tried to kill us or whatever people do," he sits up and takes off his mask because he, for some reason, thinks he needs to wear it at all moments when we're in the lair, but I suppose right now is an exception.
"Why do you keep saying this weird stuff. It creeps me out," I stand away from him because looking at him makes me cringe.
"I'm just saying. I know it would never happen, I was just saying how much easier our lives would be. I am not saying we should. Okay? So stop being awkward."
"No, you stop being awkward," I turn around and Wally is too close. He smiles and lets out a chuckle, "I'm just kidding," he steps back.
The thing about guns is that they are much worse then milk. Milk makes me want to throw up. Guns make things really painful. You'd rather not breath then feel the pain.
Wally and I rush to the first scene of the night. I feel like it's way to early for a drug bust, but people try to throw curve balls, I don't know why, probably because they are idiotic fools that think that they won't get caught if they do it an hour earlier then they did it before. (Good one guys.)
It's so dark everywhere but we can't be obvious so we have no light. I can hardly see anything, I don't understand how anyone can get anything done around here. I begin to pace because I am easily bored. I need stimulationn. Don't throw me in the dark and say wait here. I begin to wander a bit. The Watcher (because that is what he now, he is no longer Wally) stands his ground, silently. He won't talk to me at all.
"Alright I am going crazy," I whisper and wander off to scout the location.
They never tell you when you witness someone being almost dead (or you THINKING they are almost dead) that you see their life flash before your eyes.
A gun rings through the air. I freeze in my spot and almost wiz my pants. I don't think Wally or The Watcher would use his gun unless it is a one hundred percent need for it. I sprint in the direction from which the noise came. I am not calm and collected, I am frantic. I have trained myself for situations but there's this thing called being a human and everything you've once known goes out the window and all you do is panic. That's how I am at this moment.
I see Wally on the ground and I immediatly point and stun the man who was running down the alley way. I know there has to be more so I stand over Wally checking each possible hiding spot. I take down three more in the matter of minutes.
I take a deep breath and look down at The Watcher and take off his mask. His face is wet with sweat. This is when it happens, his life flashing before my eyes. He was supposed to get married with a girl that has like beautiful dark hair that blows in the wind appropriately and never gets stuck in her red lipstick. He was supposed to have babies, lots of them, at least three, and all of them would have his blue eyes. He was supposed to have the house with the fence and the dog. I am the one who will never be happy with that sort of life, but he would be. I should be the one shot, because I can almost predict this is how I will go.
I quickly drop to my hands and knee and look for the spot where he's been shot. There is two in the shoulder. So most likely no death. He rolls over and throws up on my shoes. It's gross but I'm relieved.
I look up and let out a breath of tension.
"Thank god. You idiot you got shot," I say stepping away from the vomit and deciding to lay next to him, "Don't worry the ambulance is coming."
"Good," he says in a wincing voice.
"Yeah, you can't get out of having those blue eyed babies. It would most likely cause damage to the world."
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh. Nothing."
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