My sober thoughts that sound drunk.

I want everyone to find their own person they'd kiss with face lotion on.

Fri, 05 Oct 2012 00:04:45 -0400

I usually write about what annoys me or what I hate about the human race but not today. Yes, I have been annoyed with the human race still, but it’s not as serve as usual. Lately, I have a different view on things. May be it’s because I am super tired or because fall seem to bring everyone together and you get to see friends laugh together again over beers at a tailgate. I just can’t get over how positive I’ve been about the little things. I guess it all started when I decided I should start washing my face before bed.

I normally don’t wash my face before bed because honestly, I hate doing it, but I started to again just recently. It’s really weird because as I scrub away what’s left over from the day off my face, I remember when I was little, around 6, and I would ‘gossip’ with my mom in the bathroom as she got ready for bed. God only knows what ‘gossip’/lies would come out of my mouth at that age, but I am sure they were gems. As my mom just nodded in agreement to whatever story I just had to tell her, I do remember the routine that she did; brush teeth (which I still prefer to do in the morning or after a Mexican meal, but never before bed), put hair in soft curlers, because she claimed it helped ‘straighten’ out her curls-it didn’t, wash face and lastly she would put on face lotion.

After all that was said done, she would put me in my bedroom where the lavish stories continue on. She would gently tell me to go to bed and tuck me in, even though I hated it. I would give her a kiss good night on the cheek and tell her I loved her. Even as an ‘adult’ I still remember that feeling on my lips due to the lotion she just had applied to her face. I would wipe my lips off on my hand and saying, “ugh, gross”. She would then say, “Sar, go to bed.” Even though I got grossed out by the feeling of lotion on my lips, I still gave my mom a kiss every night. Shit, I still kiss her on the cheek even though I know how the process goes 24 years later, when I am visiting home for various Catholic holidays.

I think saying “good night” and/or “I love you” before you go to bed is one of the most important things you can say to someone you care about, along with “good morning” but I’m not there yet-tomorrow may be. One thing I want for everyone is to have that person who doesn’t care that you have face lotion on when they give you a kiss good night. I want people to feel loved, whether it be by a boyfriend, girlfriend, child, mother, father, friend, dog, etc. I think when people feel loved they realize that it doesn’t matter what happened or what will happen. Knowing someone cares about is stronger than any put down, or bad grade, or anything of negative nature. People either forget the power of words, or don’t say nice things to one another enough. It’s probably a combination of both. The human race has lost its compassion toward one another and I dare you to argue I am wrong by saying that.

But why? It is because we can Facebook stalk them and notice they are in the hospital, but never call and see how they are doing? It’s totally annoying to me. I care about people, I truly do, and I find that a lot people don’t. Many people chose to go on with their day to day lives, because let’s face it, we’re a selfish breed of people, and caring about people is time consuming. How depressing?! If we don’t care about one another, in the end are we going to be those type of people who won’t give a good night kiss because we hate that feeling of face lotion on our lips?

When I dated my ex-boyfriend, he wouldn’t kiss me good night with my face lotion on. And to the world, it’s not a big deal, but as you can see the portrait I’ve tried to paint for you, it’s more than the fucking face lotion; it’s an indicator of, I guess, for lack of better terminology: it’s an indicator of selfishness and lack of compassion, and actually pass up an opportunity to show one’s love for another. It blows my mind.

I thought about this long and hard a few nights ago, and honestly, even though it sounds ridiculous, it holds some truth. It might not be face lotion for you, or may be it’s eating onions, I don’t know, but if someone claims to care about you or even love you, how can they let something so unimportant stop them from kissing you good night? I love knowing that some day my boyfriend or my husband will hold me close in bed, kiss me on my forehead, look at me and say 5 easy yet powerful words, “good night, I love you.” And then behind my back, wipe the lotion off his lips because it feels weird.

And I hope my children will follow me into the bathroom even though it’s way past their bed time, tell me embellishments of their little days, and as I tuck them into bed they give me a good night kiss.

That actually sounds like an ideal future to me. I only want to surround myself with people who care about people as much as I do. And I hope some day that the people who don’t have time for compassion, find something that restarts that fire within them.

Sex without feeling is the new age sex.

Wed, 26 Sep 2012 22:28:21 -0400

“Sex without love is merely healthy exercise.” -If this true, I am the healthiest exerciser in the world.

I had sex a few weekends ago in a basement laundry room. It sounds as raunchy and unromantic as you think it sounds, believe me. A little back story:

It wasn’t vodka, but moonshine I was sipping on all afternoon on Sunday, while watching a rugby match. I could leave it at that, and either you would understand instantly for two reasons: rugby sunday or the moonshine, but imagine both. It was a weird Sunday. Anyway, throughout drinking the day away on harsh and illegal booze, somehow I ended up swimming in a pond with just my sports bra and panties on. I think this is really out of character for me that’s why I am still surprised I did it. I think ponds are dirtier than sin, and I rarely get near them. Even intoxicated I usually leave the pond to its own business. So after I found myself in the water for about 20 minutes, I realized I was treading water in a smelly pond. I got out quickly.

My soaking wet make-shift bathing suit also doubled as my normal underwear, so it being soaking wet didn’t help. My friend offered to dry my clothes for me. I followed him to his laundry room. We went into the laundry room, and being the lady that I so proudly am, I took my bra off and popped it right into the top load drier (the top load drier part isn’t that important but my best friend said that she hoped we did it while the washer was on, but I busted her bubble when I told her it wasn’t a set up like that).

*Something I need to say here, I am really comfortable with my naked body despite if 5’1 and 155 pounds (150 on a great day) isn’t anyone else’s style.

As I closed the drier door, my eyes met with his. I could tell he was fighting every urge to not stair at my tan lined chest. I gave him a smile, and he laughed a little. This is where I wish I could say something like, “he looked right at me and told me I was beautiful, and then he grabbed me and we made out in the moonlight”, BUT that was far from what happened. I rolled my eyes, sighed and said this, “well, I feel like it’s only fair if we make out since you’re letting me use your drier.” [a loud applause arises at this part in my brain] Really? Good, no, great job Sara. He responded with a laugh, and said, “you’re cute”. And unlike the NHL, tonsil hockey is never on strike nor has enough standards to even think it could go on strike. The game had begun.

At this point, no matter who I am kissing, I can’t stop myself. I can’t just ‘make out’ and pretend to be 16 again. This is what makes me different from other girls; other girls can stop themselves! I can’t! I want sex, and I don’t care anymore about my body or my emotional state, I just want to have. <— that’s bad. I just want sex to be have that feeling of having someone by me, who, for the moment, cares enough about me to trick me into thinking they actually do.

Kissing lead to this and to that, and before I knew it, my arms were on the washer, while this guy was porking me doggie style to the sounds of the drier drying and a party that was still in progress in the room above us. [sigh] The life I live? No, rather the lie I live. The lie being that this slutty life is enjoyable. It’s not.

Throughout the night there was more sex, making out and something new, a conversation! I was shocked, but my friend and I have talked a lot about serious things in our lives before. Each time he hears mine, he gets upset and angry and I do the same for his.

This gets me to this: do I like sex more, or do I like getting to know someone more, because for what I have noticed sex is either the key to unlock many dark things about someone’s life or it closes them off from the world. For the most part, I think of myself as a caring and genuine person. I care a lot about what people go through in their lives. I am curious of the events that cause them to be the way they are. I think I want to be there for someone or people, because sometimes I feel like I had no one to really go to and feel safe. I had a lot people telling me everything I wanted to hear, but sometimes, a strong hug or a kiss on the forehead is more meaningful. I don’t know. Opening up one’s body I feel like is easier now-a-days than opening up one’s soul. I know for a fact, I prefer to just fuck some random, and not getting emotionally connected with them; rather I would rather them know little about me. The more I share with a guy I feel like that makes sex more real. When sex gets real, everything else does too.

Is it safer to have meaningless sex? I do not know, but from what I’ve noticed the less emotions shared while ‘sexy time’ is starting, the easier it’ll be to wake up the next morning, put your sports bra on and leave. No looking back, no wondering, no feelings.. no nothings. It’s just exercise at that point. And I like exercise.

I think a lot of people would agree with me that sex has become something less than special. It’s almost become a task we have to do to make us happy and confident, or kick us out of a dry spell. I would dare to say this generation prefers it that way too, because we are selfish fucks, and we want sex and we’ll get it. I doubt that we, as a generation, want feeling with our sex (I am speaking generally). “Hi, I’ll have a one night stand, but please HOLD THE EMOTIONS AND FEELINGS. I just don’t have time for them, I mean….I am allergic to them”

May be I will have those weird feelings about sex again, but until then, it is what it is to me, something to do and to make me feel alive. Sex has become just sex, and the world has become a selfish place.

“She wants sex, and she doesn’t care how she gets treated”

Untitled until further notice.

Sun, 09 Sep 2012 23:01:35 -0400

I don’t know if the things on my mind are any different than the usual thoughts I seem to have that drive me crazy at night, but something isn’t right. I keep fantasizing about how I could have acted differently in situations to have them play out for the better in my head. Or worse, I keep dwelling on things that I could not have changed; it was going to happen whether or I had anything to do with it or not. My brain just keeps going and going and thinking and dwelling. It’s exhausting being ADHD. It’s hard too. I don’t want my brain to go a million miles a minute but it does, and it totally sucks. Like today, I was on elliptical for an hour thinking of this guy from my past who I cared or may be even still care about, tremendously, and I kept thinking of ways that everything could have turned out differently for us.

This guy and I go back to my freshman year of high school. Him and I got a long great. We both were loving, compassionate people, which later would turn into our faults. We liked meeting new people, carrying on conversations, being goofy.. we were the same person to extent. As we moved through high school, we remained good friends. The difference between us was that I had a family who loved and supported me, and at some points forced me to work through my frustrations through school. I had tons of friends, could do any sport you put in front of me, performed in choir and theater, but when it came to the actual school work I fell apart. I remember crying with such frustration trying to figure out simple math problems or reading Shakespeare. But instead of letting me give up my mom would sit with me late into the night and try to help me. She would let me cry and storm away from the table, knowing I would return because I couldn’t let myself quit. I was so young and filled with so much hatred toward myself and my ADHD that now, at the age of 23, I can’t imagine what I must really have felt during those hard nights. I was a child for God’s sakes feeling that type of powerful, raw emotion. All I wanted was to get good grades and get recognized for the hard work I put into getting a B or an A. (Later I realized it wasn’t about grades or intelligence level, it was about the person you are that will get you far in life)

I had my family to support me, whereas my friend didn’t. His sister, while paying for college herself, paid for him to attend West Catholic. His brother was addicted to drugs and got arrested monthly. For his parents, they were loving but they weren’t there for him. They weren’t there around the kitchen table listening to him trying to figure out what the hell he was even doing. He struggled with school as much or more than I did. I didn’t let myself get labelled as the ‘dumb kid’ even though one of my English teachers did ask me if I was stupid. He just didn’t have what I had. He was labelled the ‘dumb kid’ and he got caught up in a party crowd. Given we all dabbled with drugs and booze, but there’s a difference dabbling when it becomes your life and that’s all you’re known for. He became the go to guy for any drug or any party supply needed. Him, like me, just wanted a real group of friends that cared and had the same zest for friendship we did. His zest caused him to get a DUI when he promised to come and see my play. I don’t think I ever forgave him for that.

I got news of the DUI, and I was broken. I felt like I should have done something to save him from that lifestyle, but in retrospect now, that lifestyle he was living then is mine times over now. And of course he was arrested when my mom was working. Of course. He told my mom how he cared about me. He thought I was going places in my life and he didn’t want to slow me down. He told my mom that I was the kind of girl he wants to end up with because he knew I would always care about him and never judge him for whatever he did. He wanted so much for me and we were only what, 16, 17 years old. We were that young and he believed in me that I really could do anything I wanted. I dated guys, I slept with many guys, and I can say with confidence that no guy ever cared about me achieving my goals in my life like that kid did. No one understands people like us. I attribute that to our ADHD because people with ADHD are proven more compassionate and caring than most.

After we graduated, we went our separate ways. I went to Western and he started working construction. We went our separate ways never to see each other ever again. I hoped my feelings toward him would just go away. I was mad at him for saying all of that stuff about me. I shouldn’t have been mad but I was because it took me years to be fine with myself and not need any… whatevers from anyone. I never felt like I really fit in, but when he said all that I finally felt like someone gets me. Someone understood what I wanted and all I wanted was to fit in and have someone else understand me and the way my brain thinks. Then to have someone say that about you, well, it’s hard to realize that you’re not alone, despite how you think when you make a joke that no one gets because you can’t turn brain off, or having someone understand your need to feel loved and understood. Each of us made an impact on each other and I doubt either of us realize yet.

My first year of college was an utter joke. I was out of control. I was a rugby princess who found herself in several horrible situations. I started making my rounds with the male rugby players, until I found Ben. Ben was boy from a hick town and who had big dreams but the parties and drugs fogged those dreams. I saw an opportunity to fix Ben the way I should have fixed my friend. (NO ONE SHOULD BE FIXED! GUIDED MAY BE.. FIXED NO! RED FLAG!) I saw my friend through my at the time boyfriend. I wanted to make Ben successful, little did I know that him even going to college already made him a home town hero. Ben had a couple of DUI’s under his belt and I later found out he had an assault charge (before me). He wasn’t fixable. Throughout the time Ben and I dated (2 years I’ll never get back and 2 years of crazy shit I don’t know if I want back) I still thought about my friend. Every time Ben and I fought, I thought of him. When Ben made me happy, I still thought of him and how he was doing, and what he was doing. Ben and him met at a rugby tournament one time. I was there, but I wasn’t the one who introduced them. In fact, Ben along with his jealousy issues, found my friend in a crowd of ruggers and went up to him. It was like watching a car smash into a biker who was just biking a cross to get to wherever they may be going. The guy who I was supposed to be in love with, who I was fixing to be everything I wanted, going up to the guy who cared so much about me and my future to let me just go on with my life without any type of fight, meeting at a rugby tournament.

The only reason I wanted to fix Ben is because I felt like I wasn’t there for my friend when everyone was labeling him as a ‘dumb kid’ and the ‘stoner’ and the ‘loser’, I didn’t say anything which makes me just as guilty. I was too busy trying to cover up the fact that I could have been in the same boat as him. I heard people who clammed to be his friends say things like that about him, and like pussy I ignored it. I was a stronger person back in high school because I didn’t have anything other then my learning disabilities to make me cautious about the cruel world, and even then I didn’t say anything. I didn’t start to say something to those comments until well into my senior year. That’s too late. I was too busy trying not to be labeled as dumb myself. So stupid, I should have done something, but I didn’t. And so, trying to fix an alcoholic, abusive hillbilly was the closest I got to shutting those people up. Ben was nothing like my friend and he never will be. My friend was never a coward. Ben was the biggest coward I’ve ever met.

About half way through Ben and my relationship, Ben beat me up. I was in hospital and I was a mess. It is what it is. I am not going to go into again, but it was bad. Before then I was my parents’ child, but after then it’s the same. I am an adult now, I guess. I am still blamed for my decision to be with Ben in the first place. As I worked through the actual idea of my serious boyfriend beating me up, I got word my friend was in jail. He didn’t do anything wrong this time. He chose to do the jail time for his DUI rather than pay the fine. And lucky me my mom was working again. Yup, believe it. Only me I swear to God… anyway. Him and my mom talked about me-mind you this was literally three days after the Ben insistent, so there was a lot my mom’s mind about me. The worst part about the insistent up until I got word about my friend and my mom was that I looked that guy from the Goonies, but now it was the things he said.

He asked my mom how I was doing. My mom told him everything, which is fair because it’s the grieving process, but it’s just so much to hear. I guess my friend broke down crying. He didn’t say anything for awhile and just sat there and cried quietly to himself. He asked the usual questions like, “how? Why? How?’ My mom didn’t have answers because I was her daughter. I was the one who she stayed up with at the kitchen table listening to cry about how much I hate school or how the girls in junior high were so mean. I was her daughter who she wanted from the day that she found out 5 months into her pregnancy that she was pregnant. She prayed for little girl every night, and now 19 years later I was the same girl who had something unspeakable happen to her and her friend from high school who wanted nothing more than her happiness was sitting in holding cell at a jail. It’s a lot. He got angry at Ben. He demanded to know where he lived in Kalamazoo because he promised my mom that he was going to beat the shit out of him for touching me. My friend was so upset by what happened he was willing to risk his life for me. He wanted to punish Ben for what he did. He told my mom that I deserved so much better but I mainly deserved to see Ben get his teeth knocked in. He was just as upset about the situation as some of my close friends and my family. He wanted so much to put Ben in his place, but my mom couldn’t allow it.

Ben and I broke up for obvious reasons and I started my downward spiral. I caught myself from the spiral that was boxed wine and easy guys, and I started my trek from bottom to top (or as close as I can get to the top). The worst part about the trek is that I couldn’t stop thinking about my friend and how he would have never let this happen to me. Better yet, he would have NEVER in a million years done this to me. As I fucked my way around Kalamazoo and through my emotions I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I couldn’t stop thinking that all he wanted for me was for me to have whatever I wanted. At the time I fell weak to the college lifestyle which was what I wanted but when I started realizing what the college life was, it wasn’t what I wanted really. College is a lot people who think they are something or stand for something, but they aren’t. They’re just as confused as you, pretending to love history or love business but really have no care in it. College is a jumble fuck of shit and the only way you can pretend to get through it is beer or money you get from your parents. I am still not sure if I want this lifestyle, but I digress. My friend was just heartbroken about my life decisions as I was. He still cared about me.

A few years past and he would still make an occasional appearance in my thoughts. Last year we bumped into each other at a party. It was like nothing changed when we first saw each other. We looked different but every emotion was still there. We still cared about each other and.. it was just nice. The rest of the party we talked a lot. We talked about my past, his past, everything. One thing I respected about him is that he never spoke about women is a derogatory manor. He is a just a caring guy and from everyone guy I’ve met, may be 2-3 can measure up to his love for others. He is just different than any guy I’ve met. I still think about him. I think about him daily. I wonder if we remained good friends what my life would be like now. He understood me. He got my ADHD and my emotions. I think about calling him and seeing how he’s doing, but I get too nervous. But someday I will. And I think it’s going to be reassuring that there are still guys or people for that matter, who care about others rather than themselves and their successes.

I just hope he can still see me for the girl I was and still long to be, rather than the girl who is lost within her anger and rash decisions, rather than the girl who wants someone to understand her and her way of life.

I've had 3 too many mental breakdowns this summer.

Wed, 15 Aug 2012 10:46:00 -0400

My friends have nick-named this summer ‘the summer of no bra’. I have nicknamed it ‘the summer of I don’t give a shit’, but what it really turned out to be was ‘the summer of the mental breakdowns’. I had three of them myself. They were bad, as if there is such thing as a good mental breakdown. After a while I think I lost control of my life, my emotions, my thoughts, everything. I came off really upbeat and normal to my friends, but several times I felt like everything was too much. I thought about popping a ton of pills and waiting to die on my tomato red couch because I was so lost and sad and I thought no one believed me, and they probably didn’t. That’s not normal. I haven’t felt like death was the only way out in a while either. It’s not that I considered ending it because I was sad with myself or I was doom and gloom, rather I was sick of trying to be something I wasn’t. So in a sense, yes, but no as well. I’ll explain: I didn’t get up each morning and think, “fuck this, I hate everything”. I woke up each morning giving my day a chance, but by the end of the day, it was more like, “fuck this, I am exhausted to do pretending I am something I am not.” It’s a weird feeling thinking of suicide. I have everything a lot of people don’t have, but I think I am better at pretending that’s enough for me, when clearly it isn’t. I didn’t do it because I am a pussy, but because I know how disappointed my family and friends would be. I hate disappointing people who see me try so hard to try and get back on top. That brings me to my first mental breakdown kind of.

The month of June was alright for me. (my bad one was July) While in Washington D.C. with two of my best friends, something in my brain snapped one night. It probably was the mix of straight vodka drinks I was drinking and the party we were at that pushed me over the edge. This party seemed like a good idea at the time, but holy shit, it was not looking back at it now. My friends know how to get me to a party that I would most likely NEVER attend by saying the two simple words, “single guys”. Count me in now. We get to this party where everyone looked to be about that age where girls start getting their periods and guys have horrible acne, but with the intelligence level of a senior at Yale. It was a little mind blowing. The party was a costume party. It was a costume party where there were specific rules on who to dress up as. Party goers had to dress up as his or her favorite philosopher. You read that correctly. I could may be tell you three to five philosophers that I know of, and by know of I mean I know the name, I have not the slightest idea of their preachings. In my defense, can you see now why I was drinking straight expensive vodka drinks? See.

I was walking a thin line between blacking out and maintaining a decent attitude when I started talking to a guy from London. He was not cute, but, there is no but, I was bored talking to the in-transition party host so this was my other option. We were talking and he made several assumptions that I was less than him. He started to be very condescending with me and changed his tone in his voice. Not up in here. I snapped back at him a few times. Then I started to feel as though I was defending my intelligence level. What? I shouldn’t have to do that. “What are you going to do with a communications degree?” he asked me in his stupid accent. I looked at him puzzled. And he didn’t know how to take the confused look on a blond haired, 5’2, drunk girl’s face. I responded, “Wait, what..in..the..fuck are you going to do with a philosophy degree?” I wished the entire room went dead silent because I wanted everyone to hear that, then answer that. I bet you all are going to get your doctorates, but bummer for you all, my philosophy professors I’ve had at a small community college all have their doctorates too. But the room didn’t go silent because everyone was having educated arguments about libertarianism. This British fuck looked at me and dickishly said, “I only went to American University because I thought it was ironic”, and walked away. That is when I really knew this party and night was going to go into the toilet. I should have told him that if I were in his shoes I would love to go to an IV league American university to get away from the incest-filled government and poorly dressed country that he seemed to have so much pride for. Instead I choose the ‘I’m a stupid drunk girl’ path and told him that may be he would enjoy attending American University more if he stopped being a prick and let some drunk girl (not me) suck his dick, and I stormed out. Not my proudest moment, but, yea no, totally not a good choice.

My friends stormed out after me, telling me to calm down. I couldn’t calm down! I just had to try and make conversation with a ton of people who were belittling me to my face. I can’t ignore that, also, I drank a half of fifth of vodka so I totally can’t ignore that. I marched my ass out of the apartment and outside where my friends and I got into a screaming match over everything. They yelled at me for not giving the party a chance and I yelled back defending the fact that we didn’t fit in there. Whenever I feel stupid I lie to make myself look like I fit in, and even at that time I couldn’t tell anymore lies nor listen to their bull shit anymore. I finally told my friends that is the life I want. I want the prestige schooling, the money, the intelligence; I want all that so bad for my life. I am still mad at myself for fucking it up for myself. Honestly, I want to be seen as a smart person who has everything and who has everything together. It bothered me that they had everything and took it for granted. On went the argument and the screaming until I got in a cab and adventured around the city by myself while I was having a mental breakdown.

I have not ever screamed at someone like that before. I became emotionally exhausted. That makes me seem like I am crazy, but it’s really true. I want my life to be like that. It’s not a pity party or anything, but when I surrounding with people who have everything and their lives are all in place, it makes me want that sense of normality where struggle isn’t something that handicaps you for life. May be I feel this way because I really haven’t done anything super huge in my life. I haven’t traveled aboard in some beautiful country. I haven’t graduated yet with my bachelors degree. I haven’t found something that really makes me happy for a long period of time. I’m 23 and I think I haven’t done that much. It bothers me everyday actually, but that day and that party set me off. I did not want to yell at my best friends but I had to. I couldn’t stress enough to them how much I wanted my life to be different and I still do.

When I returned from Washington D.C., I took a step back so I could watch my life before my eyes. I didn’t want to be apart of it for a while because I was ashamed I lost my cool and I was more ashamed that I was ashamed of my life. I cut back on my drinking and my eating. I actually stopped eating because that’s what I do when I get depressed, I stop everything. I could start to feel my body getting tired. Not like, hard workout tired, but like physically, emotionally, mentally tired. When your body hits a point of exhausted I think you start to look at things that you have never noticed before. I would stair at the wall for no reason other then to stair. No thoughts really passed through my brain. You start to just listen to things and let them roll off. Exhaustion causes you to stop caring about shit. And I did. I didn’t care about anything because I was mad at myself and sad about everything. So logically, when you’re feeling down in the dumps with no reason other then work to wake up, you should have sex with one of your friends.

NO you shouldn’t. Sex is one of my favorite things about being a human and for the time being when you’re doing it, everything is manageable again. One of my friends, actually we weren’t really friends. We just knew each other and had the same group of friends, so by default, we were friends? Anyway, we hung out one day. The two of us talked about a lot. For some weird reason we were really good about listening to each others’ past, probably because we didn’t really know each other. It’s always easier to listen to someone when you have no ties with them and no prior judgements. We talked about some deep events, and I was fine with that. I like when people don’t just see me as Hollywood; the wild, crazy, asshole, but actually the sincere, kind person I think I am deep down. I invited him over to watch a movie with me after we talked. We drank, watched Animal House, enjoyed the company of someone new, and then me being the lady I am, turned to him and asked, “can we make out?” Stupid. So stupid of me. At the time: awesome; future: stupid. We started cuddling after that on my tomato red couch. RED FLAG! I don’t like to be cuddled because deep down, I am a girl, and I do like that feeling of being held in someone else’s arms. It makes me feel as though for once I don’t have to be my own protector like I usually have to be. I can let my walls down and be innocent again. Do you see where this is a problem?! I do! I can’t go around cuddling guys because I can’t get used to that feeling. I can’t get close to someone because I don’t want them to know the real me. The real me is not like the me people know me to be. And for the mere fact that I do not trust people, therefore I can take care of myself and cuddle with a body pillow, because I trust myself, and that body pillow seemed legit.

So the best way I like to cut guys off is have sex with them. We had sex. I usually can cut them off after I have sex with them because usually, it’s bad sex and half way through it I don’t feel like doing it anymore because I am bored out of my mind. This sex was really good. Like, straight out of left field great. Just awesome sex. And like a girl, I mention morning sex. WHAT AM I DOING?! CUT IT OFF! We wake up, sober, and go to his house and have some more awesome sex. This is horrible, well, I needed it, but my mind can’t fight my girly urges. The best part about this is that we both liked the idea of keeping it a secret from our nosey friends, who in the end, got involved.

We had sex a few more times, and it made me happy. That is when I should have listened to my brain and delete him from my life which is my go to move when I feel like I am getting emotionally attached. I didn’t though. I should have. Later that week, our friend was drunk at the bar and starts giving me so much shit about us sleeping with each other. She caught me at the wrong time, because if I wasn’t so emotionally tired from my last mental breakdown, I would have defended it more. When she was giving me shit about us sleeping together, I really just wanted to be like, “why? what’s wrong with me sleeping with him? I don’t care who’s in your box, and you shouldn’t about mine because let me tell you, if you wanted to care, you’re a lot too late. She’s been active now for awhile”, but I just left instead.

That weekend was some friends’ wedding. Long story short, she was a dick to me again. I drove Sunday morning from the hotel back to Kalamazoo when it happened, I just started uncontrollably crying. I was crying so hard and with no real meaning that I had to pull over at a rest stop because I couldn’t see the highway I was attempting to drive on. I cried in that rest stop for two hours. I cried about my life. I cried because I felt lonely. I was with most of my friends the night before, I had my five month sex intake, but nothing of that made me stop crying. I was crying over my parents horrible marriage. I cried thinking about how I don’t want that at all in my life. I cried in a fucking rest stop about things I couldn’t change and yet it still bothered me. All I could think about was my family and how no matter who you are, your family is always a fucking mess, but you tell yourself it’s going to be alright, and justify it with everyone else’ family is just as bad. You can justify your life, your family, but at the moment when either your life or your family does something completely out there, no thought process can convince you that you’re going to be fine. It hit me that day that I couldn’t convince myself that things were going to be okay, so I cried. I cried so hard I couldn’t breath. At some point I could only feel the tears go down my cheeks; I couldn’t feel the rest of my body. I was so sad and tired of everything in my life at that point, I couldn’t make myself feel better.

The next day I went into work, still upset from the entire day before. The guy who I was hooking up with worked with me, and knew something wasn’t right but there was no time to talk. Later that night he offered for me to come over and vent and like an idiot girl I did. I think I needed someone new to talk to, but I still should have cut this situation off. I think talking to another person is one of the most genuine acts another person can do toward another. I would drop anything I was doing to listen to someone who needed me but I feel like some of my friends wouldn’t. I don’t care if my shit gets done, it matters to listen to someone more. I opened up to him about my feelings toward our friend and my family problems. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop myself either. I have been so sad and none of my other friends believed me, saying things like, “it’ll pass”. It felt too good to have someone listen to me, without judgement. I left feeling better, but I knew then I was emotionally attached. Fuck me.

A day or so later, I asked if he wanted to come over and have sex on my mattress that was on the floor in my family room (we broke the bed frame.. doin’ it). He turned me down. I should have cut this off days ago, damn it.. He mentioned that he didn’t like the way our friend was treating me, and how he ruined one of our friend’s friendships and he wasn’t willing to do that again. Instantly I thought “fuck you”. It bothers me when guys act like they caused every problem and they have to be the one to fix it. I am 23 years old. I fix my own problems or else I take them back to Target. I will fuck whoever I want without a repercussion of a ‘ruined friendship’, please. Fucking please. I can take care of myself and my own situations. I was more insulted that he cared what she thought. I don’t care what people think of me. I stopped caring when I realized their opinions do not matter what so ever. I almost wanted to say, “who do you think you are that you’re that important?” but I refrained because I don’t think he would understand what I meant. And what I mean is this, no one is that important to ruin anything in anyone’s life. People need to take responsibility of their own misdoings and actions. Just because you dated a friend of a friend does not mean you are at fault for ruining their friendship.

Whatever. The next day he came over after work and we drank bloody mary’s. I love bloody mary’s. We were drinking pretty strongly made BMs if I remember correctly, and with that means we were sharing some pretty strongly emotional things about our lives. I don’t remember how or why, but my shitty-ass ex boyfriend was brought up. The next thing I remember was crying and telling him the story. (I should I have cut it off weeks ago for this reason alone) I do not tell anyone what really happened, other then that time I wrote it all down and turned it in for a grade in my creative writing class, but.. I mean, most of my close friends do not know any of the details of it. It’s too embarrassing for me and it has made me who I am today which isn’t the fun loving, cute, full of life the girl I used to be. I’m still mad that I shared that information with him. With a ‘random’ is how my brain sees it. After that, the next thing I remember was either him showing me a picture of a girl who he likes or who he used to like. I felt a new emotion when that happened! I think it’s called floored. I was appalled that he did that. I just told you about my shit-storm train crash that was my past and then you ask me my opinion about some perfectly composed 248 (nickname I gave the girls from Detroit, whether they be from the 248 area, I do not know). What the fuck?! No, really, what the fuck? I instantly felt ugly and again, ashamed, and embarrassed. I felt like a loser, with a broken past, who is damaged goods. I am damaged goods and this is why. I trust too soon in a friendship. I do not trust people because they will always let you down. I only share that shit with guys who I feel like we could take it more than friends. Weak moment in my life for sure. I never instantly felt not good enough, until that moment. I know he doesn’t hold my life against me, but now I hold myself against myself now. It was a bad idea in the first place to slowly get emotionally attached, and then I drunkenly open up about my life and then curve ball. It still hurts my feelings but I can’t feel sad for myself because I did it myself. I don’t know what I wanted from him or how I actually felt toward him, but I know that I can’t let myself feel that way again. It’s not about meeting someone, or dating, or anything of that nature, but it’s about feeling so comfortable with someone that you do share your most deepest darkest secret with them. It’s different than just friends zone, it takes on so much more, for me at least. I am sure that puts me in a permeant friend zone since I’m a girl, and that probably applies to dudes as well after they share horrible situations. But I didn’t want it to be like that. I don’t know what I thought or what my emotions were doing, but for once I felt like I was talking to someone who seriously listened.

He slept over and the next morning I woke up drunk. He left and I started drinking because I was emotionally drained at that point and I really don’t know why. Everything hit me. My best friend is moving away, people can’t mind their own business, and I felt ashamed about everything. I was really hurt by his actions, mad at myself, and just lost. I don’t trust anyone, especially guys, and I doubt I ever will. I can say that confidently. I sat on my porch with a mug of wine (similar to the one I am currently drinking) and let my tears pile up in my eyes. It’s harsh to say I felt like a freak, but I couldn’t compete with a posed, put together 248 and I never will be able to. I can’t ignore anything in my life long enough to even be in competition with them. I felt like I lost a really good friend, but I couldn’t just be friends with him because I was too emotionally attached. Fuck good sex. Why couldn’t of it been average?! Damn it. I couldn’t deal with things in my life and that set me over. I cried all day. I was drunk. But I wasn’t just crying because of him, God no, but rather, everything hit me. I realized my best friend is moving away to start her big girl life, and I am here. I have a few good friends here, but I already feel lonely and old and she hasn’t left yet.

Needless to say my friend drove me up camping that day and let me drink wine.

Everything is about to be so different. It’s really scary. I try not to think at all in general, but mainly about my friend leaving. I would kill to get out of Kalamazoo. This place has my soul and it’s not giving it back. I know when I do leave and do great things, I’ll miss it though.. I’ll miss the people not the events in which occurred here.

oh well.. I’m done.

Cheap tequila gets everyone into trouble.

Mon, 09 Jul 2012 14:49:07 -0400

May 7th is not, I repeat, not Cinco de Mayo which means one should not drink cheap tequila voluntarily. And, if found in such situation, logically, finding a way out as quickly as possible is the smartest thing. Trust me, it’ll only get worse because potent taste of the bottom shelf tequila will sneak its way into the body by pretending to become tastier as the night and the shots keep rolling on. I wish I had this fair warning a few years back. My life would be so much different if so, and different in a very positive way.

On May 7th, 2009 my at-the-time serious boyfriend Ben and I were planning to go to a party which consisted of many of his friends. It’s not that I didn’t like his friends, we were for lack of a better word extremely different. Different in every way imaginable. I was born and raised in a fast paced Grand Rapids, by two parents who were police officers. My mother was the cop in the family to be feared, despite my father’s efforts. My mom is a real bitch, but in a good way and I am her baby girl; you harm me and you just woke the sleeping mother bear and should say your good byes to the people you love. I went to one of those private Catholic schools where the children would wear white collared shirts that would almost never make it to the end of the school year still maintaining the same crisp whiteness, and navy blue pleated pants. I went to a private high school where I shined in sports, the arts, and volunteering. I really made a name for myself in the best way possible. Ben’s friends were from the country where little to no goals were made for college or for that matter, even moving from the small town which they reside in.

As Ben and I were getting ready for the party, I could tell I already was already getting agitated by the littlest things. It was a very humid night for being in May, and nothing was going my way. My hair decided to explode into a frizzy mess, and on top of that I was sweating my ass off already. I really tried to convince myself to stay at my house instead of going, but I couldn’t. The idea of at least getting out of the house for a few hours was too appealing to me. It also didn’t help my case that Ben’s friends loved me for some odd reason. They would spoil me with free booze, free food, anything really I wanted and Ben couldn’t give me, they gave me. My friends think it’s because they even knew I was out of Ben’s league, because back then all I talked about was graduate school, traveling aboard, traveling in general, volunteering to help people; I wanted to go places and do things. Ben never wanted to do anything or be anything. But, I was young and thought he was going to change. Now, thinking about it, a couple of the guys I think thought I was very attractive… yes, that makes sense now why they were always sucking up to me.

Anyway, Ben, El Toro, and I started walking toward California street where yet another Vicksburg high school reunion party was held. As we talked from his house on LaFayette, we were already at each other’s throats. We were arguing about him, his friends, and his addiction to drugs. Every time he was around these guys, he smoked weed, popped different color pills, ate shrooms, and became a different person toward me. I hated it. Now, being older and looking back on this, I should have turned right around, headed back to my house, after he said he was going to be doing drugs that night at the party. I could kick myself everyday from then on.

When we arrived at the run down apartment complex we were greeted by the usual group of guys standing huddled in a circle passing around a joint. And let the festivities begin. As I walk into the apartment I notice it’s a pure sausage fest. Great. I am welcomed by all the guys with big cigarette smoked fill hugs. I did my rounds to everyone as the nice girlfriend I was, and walked into the kitchen where my night started to go down hill. I pulled out my favorite shot glass, my pill bottle for my Conserta. Looking back now, that’s a new low me. I take that little red sombrero off the El Toro bottle and started pouring shots. After the first three I take, the burn of rubbing alcohol goes away. After about 45 minutes of not knowing where Ben was, he appeared from a dark back room, blown out of his mind. He joins me in the kitchen and instead of pouring a shot for himself, he took large pulls right from the bottle, kissed me on the head and left to the back bedroom. He only emerged when he wanted to a pull.

After a few hours of taking shots or in Ben’s case, straight pulls, the bottle was empty. I went back to the back bedroom to see if he wanted to head home because I was starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Ben, can you walk me home? I’m too drunk to be here.” I said to him.

With a glassy eyed look he looked at me and rolled his eyes.

“Why babe? Aren’t you having fun? I want to stay here,” is basically what he said between the slurred words and puffs of a cigarette.

I looked around the room. I looked at each of the guys in the eye. They seemed dead inside, as though this is what they want to do for the rest of their lives. They didn’t want to become doctors or teacher, they wanted to waste their lives pretending to go to college. I was sick of supporting a loser.

“Ya know Ben I’m leaving. Don’t call me or come after me. I think we’re done.”

I gathered my things and fought back my tears and stormed out of the apartment. I couldn’t believe he was going to choose that lifestyle over me. I shouldn’t have ignored or even put up with him putting me on the back burner. We might have been young and dumb, but I knew I had more to offer the world then following my boyfriend around like puppy, but at the same time, acting like his mother. If I only knew what I know now.

“SARA! GET BACK HERE!” Ben yelled as I was almost out of site of the apartment. I could hear him, he was running toward me. I turned around right as he grabbed my bicep. I tried to wiggle out of it, but it only made it worse. He had a strong hold on me.

“Ben! What the fuck! Let me go!” I screamed as I tried to push him away from me. But not matter what I did he was holding on for dear life. He knew that if he let me go, I would run away from him and never look back. He would lose the best thing that will ever happen to him.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going by yourself? You’re so selfish! I am so sick of you Sara!” He screamed in my face. While I was still fighting to get away from him, a glare from the street light came over his face. His eyes weren’t soft and kind anymore, but rather red and glassed over. As he was using more force on me, I slapped him in his face, which shocked him and I both. He let go of my arm and the feeling of my fingers came back. I felt the tears in my eyes turn from tears of sadness that our relationship was to tears of anger. I call tears like that lava tears. Those are the type of tears that your body produces when you’re so angry you can’t find words to speak.

From that I started to run home. He ran behind me telling me to slow down and how he wanted to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk, nor did I slow down. I made it back to my townhouse, and as I tried to franticly open my door, Ben caught up with me. My roommates said we were screaming at each other. They tell me I was screaming at him to get away from me, while he was trying to hug me. I don’t really remember that part. I do remember being in his bedroom all of sudden.

I pushed the door of his house open and ran down stairs to Ben’s bedroom to grab Miley (our/MY dog). As I walked threw the door, I noticed Miley chewed up something of no importance what-so-ever but because of the circumstance, it became a huge deal. I went to grab her and pick her up in my arms so that Ben wouldn’t have time to lay a hand on her. He seen the chewed up thing, and lost it. He pushed me with so much force I hit the plaster wall and lost my breath. Miley ran under the bed, but that didn’t stop him. He flipped up the mattress, grabbed her by the back of neck, and slapped her so hard in her little puppy face that she instantly started whimpering. I gathered some strength, pulled myself off the floor, and with all my might I punched him directly in face.

He let go of Miley, where she ran and hid in the corner under the bed. And it was like something out of a movie because I realized what I did, started to slowly make eye contact with him as I moved away. I stood my ground as I stared at him while he walked closer to me.

“Ben, please, leave us alone.” I said to him and I did start to cower.

He jutted toward me and grabbed my arms. He threw me against the wall. The back of my head hit the wall so hard that a little plaster fell off. I was loosing the feeling in my finger tips again. He was about two inches from my face screaming at me. He was screaming the meanest things I’ve ever heard one human being scream at another one. He called me worthless, a tramp, a slut, a whore; he told me I’ll never be happy. He let one of my arms go just so he could punch me across my face.

I stopped crying after I felt his fist on my cheek. This just became a life or death situation. I was 19 years old and I had to try to figure out how to out smart my attacker so I can live to see another day. I kicked him in the gut which got me a few seconds to grab my cell phone and call 911. My cell phone was no where to be found, and by the time I knew it, he was on the attack again. He threw me on his bed where my head now hit the cement wall. I got a little disorientated for a few moments which gave him power. He got on top of me and put his hand over my mouth and nose. He was trying to kill me. I was going to die. I was fighting with staying conscious. As he continued to scream heart wrenching things inches from my ears, I kicked him off of me, but that was all the strength I had. I couldn’t fight him off anymore. He jumped back on top of me. The force he used on keeping my nose and mouth shut make it feel as though he was standing on my front teeth. I stopped screaming because I figure no one could hear me. I fought to open my eyes and looked at him, then just like that he stopped. He got off me, and started walking around the war zone that was he room. I’d like to think he realized what he done. I slowed my breath down and looked around. There was blood everywhere. My 20 year old girl blood was all over his white sheets in the bed where we used to sleep. There was a little hold in the wall where he threw me against the wall. I tried to talk, but I couldn’t. I wasted all my energy on trying to yell for someone to save me.

“I.. I.. I need to go to the bathroom.” I softly said to him as his back was turned to me.

“Fuck no! You’re going to run again you stupid little bitch!” He screamed at me.

“I’ll piss right on your bed, right now. Let me use the bathroom!” I said with a little, but not much more force in my voice.

Fuck yeah I was going to run and find help! And that’s what I did. As soon as I walked out of his room, I bolted for the door upstairs. I ran out of the house and started to run faster then he tackled me from behind and I hit the ground. I got the wind knocked out of me and couldn’t breath but I knew I had to get help. I started screaming for some to help me before he could get ahold of me again. He grabbed me and put his hand over my face again, but it was too late for him. Four big hockey players ran over and took him off me. I had no strength to get up and move, so while two of the guys held Ben away from me, one of them picked me up and carried me to my house.

When I could see my front door, I jumped out of the guy’s arms and ran into my house. I ran upstairs to where my roommates were.

“Help.. me.” I said and I feel to the ground in her bedroom. And she called the police.

I made it. As I laid on the carpet, bleeding everywhere no doubt, I could hear Ben fighting with the guys. He fought his way threw and upstairs to where he could actually see me in the light. He fell to his knees and started crying. He finally understood what he did to me. My eyes were red. My mouth was full of blood. My nose was dark blue and swollen. The skin on my face around my mouth was raw from him. My jaw was so swollen I couldn’t really move it if I didn’t have to. My lips were like those red candy wax lips, large and bright red. My arms couldn’t move. My legs wouldn’t work. He did that to me and now he could see it.

When the police took him away and I got cleaned up they asked me some questions. After the questions were done they had someone take pictures of me. Have you ever been humiliated? It’s a horrible feeling. It was humiliating having to stand in my family room with strangers, friends, and have a person take pictures of the damage done to my body.

“Can I just go get my dog?” I asked the police officer.

He, along with my roommates, walked me over there and to my fucking surprise there was someone passed out on the couch. He woke up when we all entered the house.

“Hollywood! What’s wrong?” He asked me.

I was so angry I started to cry. How could he just sleep threw that?! I was screaming for help. Ben was screaming at me. I don’t understand. As we made our way down stairs we all walked into the room. My one roommate started to cry, but tried to hold it back because she wanted to be strong. I grabbed Miley up in my arms from under the bed, looked at the damage, and walked out, not speaking to anyone.

To make matters worse, which who knew was possible, my friends all know I call my mother KK so while I was getting Miley, they called KK on my phone, which isn’t my mom, it’s my best friend from high school. That’s awkward. Now, I have my friend super worried about me, and still no call to my family. I handed over my phone to my roommate and told her my parents’ number is under ‘home’. (DUH!)

My mom drove down to Kalamazoo. She made it here in 22 minutes from Grand Rapids. She walked in the door and gave me a big hug. Hugs in those situations, for me at least, make everything worse. It makes me feel like I did something wrong, or I’m weak, or I don’t know, I just don’t like them. She helped me into the car, where for some odd reason she wanted to talk about this situation. I got punched in the jaw by a 20 year old man, I really was able to talk, nor was I in the mood.

When I woke up the next morning, she yet again wanted to talk this out. Honestly, I would have but I physically could not. She dropped me off at my house and told me she loved me and that I needed to take care of this situation before she kills him. I opened the door and got out of the car. I walked into my house. I did not want to deal with anyone, so I went right down stairs. I got my bath robe from my bedroom and went into the bathroom, where for the first I really looked at myself. What a mess. The part in my eye that’s supposed to be white was bright red, and my face was so swollen I could hardly recognize myself. I cried. It even hurt to cry, but I had to. I wasn’t going to lie to myself and tell myself everything was going to be fine, because it wasn’t. My life was ruined.

After my shower I had to go to the down to the courthouse. I remember walking in and trying to fight my tears back. This was real. I opened the heavy court house doors and in I walked. The two police officers who were standing inside felt instantly bad for me. I bet no matter how many years they have been working, it’s still hard for them to see a beautiful young girl, scared and beat up.

“Excuse me, where’s the elevator?” I muttered.

“It’s down the hall to the right, miss. It’s going to be okay.” One officer said to me as he gave me a light pat on my shoulder.

I went up to the third floor. I knew I was in the right place because the gigantic sign that was placed where as soon as the elevator doors were opened read DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. I checked in, muttered all my words because I could barely open my mouth.

“Sara, we’re ready to talk to you now,” a lady called me into her office, where yet more pictures were taken of my face, arms, and neck. She talked in a very calming voice and asked me simple to the point questions and before I knew it the pain of the meeting was almost over. I got up to leave and she asked that I sat back down.

“Sara, I think you need to go to the hospital. You might have internal bleeding. Your eyes are red, filled with broken blood vessels. I have seen tons of cases where the victim in this situation ends up dying because they never got themselves checked out. I don’t want to see that to you.”

Fuck. I knew it was serious, but I was in no mood to go to more place in the public. I called my friend and she drove me to the hospital, and it gets worse. A close friend of the women’s rugby team is a detective in Kalamazoo and guess whose case was the first one on her desk? Yours truly. She looked at me and I have never seen a grown, hard-ass, lesbian cry, it’s scary. She immediately wiped her tears from her face, and motioned for me to sit down next to her. She gave me money so I could get my prescription filled and gas money for my friend to drive me. I’ll never forget what she told me: “Hollywood, I know you’re in a lot of pain, but you’re going to be okay.” I don’t know why of all people I interacted that day but coming from her, I felt as though I was going to be okay. I knew the scares would clear up and the swelling would go down.

She left me to go into the ER where I would find yet another moment to add the roller coaster of this situation. I walked up to the desk and started to fill out the paper work. The receptionist looked up and her mouth fell open. It was a girl I worked with at American Eagle. She took me under her wing when I first started working there when I was right out of high school and came to Kalamazoo. She was speechless. She had to have another one of the receptionists take over for her because she was horrified by my appearance.

The plus side of having a closed head injury is that you don’t have to wait in the waiting room for hours. I got admitted within five minutes.

“On a scale of 1-10 what’s your pain level at?” The nurse asked me.

I hate, HATE, this question. The nurse points to the scale where cartoon faces resemble how much pain you are in. I don’t know what took over me, but I think I was just sick of everyone. I stood up looked at my face in the mirror, looked back at scale, then looked back at the mirror really scoping out the damage on my face, then back at the scale.

“I would say a high 9, possibly 10.”

The nurse was not having my sarcasm, but I was. I just had my face beat in by my college boyfriend, how dare you ask such a stupid question. My life is really messed up right now. I could barely open my mouth because of my almost broken jaw and my lips and gums were so black and blue and swollen shut I barely could answer the fucking question. Feel out the situation before you ask a stupid thing is what I am taking from that interaction.

As I was rolled into my room where I would spend the next day and a half, it was once again real, but I couldn’t cry anymore. I couldn’t find any reason to cry anymore. I wanted everything to be different.

“You can turn on the TV, Col, it’s cool, I think my insurance cover cable,” I told my friend who took me to the hospital. She looked at me and laughed off my statement.

“Ms. Czarnecki?” The nurse looked at me.

“Yeah,” I responded. Does anyone just assume the obvious anymore?

“I am going to take to get a CAT scan and some MRI’s done.” And she rolled me away from Colleen.

She rolled me down the long hallways to the x-ray department. I could barely keep my eyes because I was so tired, physically, mentally, emotionally, every way possible. But I perked up when I hear a little girl talk to her mom about how scared she was of shots. I was scared of shots too. I was someone’s little girl too.

“Mommy, mommy, what’s wrong with that girl’s face?! Is she going to be okay?!” The little girl asked her mother as she couldn’t take her eyes off me. I held back my tears until the nurse rolled me into yet another hallway closer to the x-ray section of the hospital.

After all those brain tests were doing, I was rolled back to my room where Colleen was waiting for me. We both fell asleep before a knock on the door woke us up. My doctor walked in. My first thought was that this doctor looked very familiar. He was handsome like Benicio Del Toro. Then it came to me. I’ve seen this doctor three other times I’ve been to the hospital!

“You were my boyfriend’s-I said with hesitation- hand doctor a couple of month back.” (Ben broke his hand back in March)

“Oh yes, I was. How is it doing?” He asked as he picked up his head from my paper work as I responded: “Obviously good” (you can laugh- it was meant to give some comedic relief both then and now) . That might have been too soon because Colleen started to tear up a little and the doctor was very uncomfortable, but once again, I’m sure it said domestic violence somewhere on those papers. I don’t feel bad for saying it. Anyway, he went on to say that yes I could have died if I didn’t come into the hospital. I had a mini aneurism and without medical attention it could have got a lot worse. He wrote me some prescriptions for my pain.

As Colleen took me home from the hospital, I looked at myself in every car window until we got to her car. I didn’t talk much because I was dead inside.

“Hollywood, do you want to watch ‘Blue Crush’ ?” Colleen asked me.

I laughed. I laughed really hard. I started crying. I hated that stupid surfer movie, but I couldn’t stop laughing. I lost all control of my emotions. I looked over at her and I nodded my head. We got into her car and we drove to my house to watch a stupid movie about surfers. I will never watch that movie again nor will I go near El Toro.

I need to grow up?

Tue, 26 Jun 2012 17:02:00 -0400

Being 23-years-old is really awkward, and if anyone tells you different, don’t listen to them; they are lying right to your face and now you should be less trusting toward them. You don’t know if you are adult enough to file your own taxes, but when something doesn’t go your way, you are sure as hell adult enough to say that you’re an adult. I’m 23-years-old and I don’t know how to feel or what to do, or how to act in almost all situations. In all honesty, I don’t even know what to wear. It’s as though I just discovered swearing and heavy drinking at the age of twenty-two, and now I am expected to be a respectable human being, give all that up and say words like ‘democrat’ or ‘espresso’ or ‘recycle’ ? Stupid society and its stupid standards. Who makes up these standards anyway? If it’s our generation’s grandparents, well let’s just say my grandparents don’t make left handed turns, and think that Big Boy is a respectable establishment. And because of these reasons they shouldn’t be allowed to set standards for any up and coming generation. Even though society as of 2012, makes me as sick as the cafeteria food made me a few weeks ago, I have learned to deal with it for the time being and grow up at my own pace.

As I get on Facebook and waste time looking at people who I couldn’t care less about- unless they died, but you get what I am saying- I notice that everyone is having story book weddings and starting beautiful families. What?! I must have thrown that memo out along with the pictures of my shitty ex-boyfriend. I thought in your twenties you are supposed to make mistakes, watch ‘Say Yeah to The Dress’ or whatever it’s called, and dream about that princess wedding that you are totally going to have, and binge drink because honestly, guys just suck. Now with everyone getting hitched by twenty-three, I am led to believe I should have done all my extreme partying when I was in my teens; which totally makes sense now why I am seeing billboards that tell me that the average drinking age has become twelve. Shit, they have to start drinking by that age because they are going to get married at twenty-two, twenty-three, and then become grandparents at about, let’s see, mid fifties. They are running out of time to be young and reckless.

I sent a picture of a turd to my friend because it was in the shape of a penis, and I just found out the talented Adele is my age, twenty-three because my eyes wondered when I was checking out at the grocery store. That’s a lot to take in after one sends a picture of a piece of shit on the sidewalk. Adele- 1, Sara-0. What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t blame myself for this, because it’s truly funny, but I do blame the magazines.

Magazines are such assholes. Magazines are that friend that everyone has that knows every stupid detail about the rest of your friends for no other reason than to bring up when situations are going perfect. Magazines tell you what styles are in and out and what celebrity looks fat at the beach. I don’t care! Tell me something really cool, like, George Bush had a threesome with an alien and an octopus. That’s some fucked up shit! I see girls my age obsess about celebrities and fashion, in which I have a boat load of questions for them. Main questions are ARE YOU BRAIN DEAD, and how are you the one getting first? Instead of being nice to others or just doing something out of the kindness of your heart, these so called adults obsess about which shade of black the Kardashians are wearing. May be I’ll turn into Indiana Jones, like in ‘Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom’. You know, where he returns that rock to the village and all the children run into their freakishly old parents’ arms; I’ll return sanity to society, or at least to sanity to girls my age! “Stop obsessing with expensive clothes and cracked out celebrities! Stop acting as though you are the center of the world, and just be nice to others. It’s amazing feeling! So go and do something nice!” And as I am saying this with my arms wide open, tons of puppies and bufferflies will fly out of my ass because realistically, we’re fucked.

Girls my age for the most part are idiots, but not in a funny way, in a sad way. We are really selfish and materialistic. We aren’t strong women like we used to be. We see these women in magazines who are stupidly skinny. Their waist size is the same as their ACT score. For some reason we want that. I don’t want that! We see women on TV who are two reality shows away from a book they didn’t do anything to get, but a life everyone is going ape shit crazy to know about. It’s a mess. A complete and utter mess. And they girls who follow these bogus magazines as though it is the Holy Bible, are the ones getting married while I am the one getting the dirty glances for being single. “Stripes are totally in this spring!” Well, fuck you because stripes look dumb on a 5’1, stocky, girl. “Bright colors are the new navy!” Oh really? Why should I trust you now? You told me last year that navy was the new pink. I find that you don’t know what’s really in style, and according to your last month issue, you said to buy clothes that are timeless; clearly pink isn’t timeless? I’m not falling for your dumb shit lies anymore Style magazine!

I woke up this morning and couldn’t find a matching sock so I just went sock-less to work. I did not wear socks to work today as a twenty three year old young, BECAUSE I WAS TOO LAZY TO LOOK FOR SOCKS. That’s really fucking weird, but I continued to do it anyway. Those newly weds can’t do that, because they are respectable adults. They are setting the bar for all of us twenty-year-old idiots really high, which sucks, because I’m really short. Sometimes I like to say, “fuck”. I just like it. But my mother (who’s a real bitch but I love her) informed me that girls my age don’t talk like they have been on ‘Deadliest Catch’ for the past seven years. I’ve watched Deadliest Catch, and I never once heard them say, “fuck”, probably because it doesn’t phase me to hear it anymore. I bet those adult twenty-three year olds, never swear. They probably don’t have a reason to, their lives are perfect.

My life is not perfect. I am unsure what perfect is, but by watching the Food Network I can assume the perfect life is get married early, having great cookware, and always have cocktails with your girlfriends, oh yeah, and be extremely good looking. That’s misleading. I have drinks all the time with my girlfriends. Sometimes so many that the bar lets us know by cashing out our cards for us. As you can gather, none of my friends are married, yet I do feel some creeping up in the near future, which sucks. I look at the Food Network and all the people who are happily married by twenty-three, and I just don’t get it. I stair at the TV in amazement. I start to feel bad for myself, shit, I got a deep frier for my twenty third birthday, not a set of copper pots and pans. I wonder why I am not in a serious relationship or why I can’t have nice cookware. I get really upset about it, then I come to my senses and change the channel (Deadliest Catch is on).

I wonder if I were to get married and grow up early in life, if I would grey hairs earlier? I doubt it, but really. Like, that’s how my brain thinks. My very wise mom told me that she sees me having kids, but never getting married. I am not into guys like I used to be. I am not gay, so chill out, I just am very into myself. I said, I like to swear and drink a lot, I just don’t have time to give that up. Those are serious habits! Habits are hard and time consuming to break! I still have my random hook ups. Hey, a girl’s got to eat, plus I consider myself a good looking girl for the midwest, but just not what guys in college are looking for. I just don’t see myself settling down, may be ever for that matter. I am adventurous, wild, and really ADHD, and I don’t like to take showers like normal girls do and my hair is really frizzy. I don’t wear ugly, spandex, cheap dresses from girly stores, and I don’t take pictures of myself in the bathroom mirror with my friends and then edit the shit out of them so I look like a sepia monster with duck lips. Guys my age are really into that, trust me. But then again I am only twenty-three I have my entire life to figure out what guys are into and I am very sure that it will take me that long to figure it out.

At the rate I’m going, it’ll take me my entire life to figure out what I really want to do with my life. How in the world do these young college grads make it look so easy? They blow through college with grace and a serious boyfriend and a love for the medical field and then graduate, get married and have a perfect life. I can barely figure out which light bulb to buy for my fridge, or manage my money, they can balance everything with ease. I can’t balance in general and now, because they raised the bar on awesomeness at twenty-three, I have to figure out how to balance my entire current life, future life and be classy. May be classy just isn’t in the cards for me, then what? I just have to balance? That’s weird.

Speaking of class, I got my nipple pierced. I think as I am growing older I am doing more and more thoughtless things. May be these constant thoughtless decisions are due to a lack of thought I have because I tried to balance my check book today. I have a mustache tattoo and a nipple piercing for the mere fact that it’s funny to me. Normal young women don’t do things like that, and if they do they are way better at keeping it a secret than I am. I guess if you do those things in the first place and keep it a secret anyway then what’s point? (touche` myself) I am just more open to the fact that perfection, to me is controlled chaos at a very idiotic and immature level. That makes sense enough to me. Twenty-three shouldn’t be the age you get married and settle down. It should be the age that you speed things up and loose brain cells. Try to do things out of the box, par-take in a riot. Lose a bunch of weight because during exams you only eat red vines, sleep with your ex-boyfriend’s best friend, memorize the bar specials for each night of the week, listen to awesome music, and fight for your right to party on a Wednesday night, which will lead you to then fight the puke feeling on Thursday morning, Rage!

I think that these twenty-three year olds have sold themselves short. You have your whole life to be boring, be married, and have normal sex with the same normal person, but why can’t they be okay with making mistakes. It’s as though to them a mistake will ruin the entire life that they have yet to live anyway. If the mistake is good enough, it might actually make your entire life worth living. It’s a gamble. If I haven’t stressed my opinion, here it is: no one is understanding with making mistakes anymore. Society has made it hard for people like me to make a huge mistake and learn from it. When I do something I feel like doing, I shouldn’t have to feel guilty because that’s not what normal twenty somethings do. I am not normal so fuck you. And you can pretend that what they’re doing is normal, but you’re only lying to yourself. I’ve noticed that perfection can be broken with one little tap that causes a crack (example: Michael Jackson) Whereas un-normal people, like myself, are used to being cracked therefore it’s easier for us to come together, if that makes any sense.

I like to think and/or convince myself what I am doing with my life is real fucking awesome shit, I am proud of it. I manage with what I have, and what I have is ADHD, no money, a zest for life, too many rugby tshirts, a weird smile, and a huge whale mural above my bed. That’s a lot to take in. So what if I am not married or have awesome cookware, I have lived this life to the fullest that I can on a paycheck from OfficeMax. I am happy for those people. I really am, but I am only happy for them, if they are really happy and not just settling due to fear of being alone, because at the end of the day we’re all alone and all what we have is the glory we have made for ourselves. I will also be happy if social networking wasn’t as popular, because that’s the real problem here.

THAT IS SO TRUE! I love rainbows but I can’t say it...

Mon, 25 Jun 2012 11:09:54 -0400

THAT IS SO TRUE! I love rainbows but I can’t say it proudly anymore in fear of being called a queer. You go little girl

Sun, 24 Jun 2012 01:03:43 -0400

I hate a lot of things, but one thing that is in the top 10 would be a goody two shoes, also know as a fake person. I HATE HATE HATE goody two shoes..

(more to follow)

Photo

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 22:57:47 -0400

My dog has premature gray-ing.

Thu, 21 Jun 2012 19:28:39 -0400

My dog has premature gray-ing.

The beach sucks.

Wed, 20 Jun 2012 23:58:19 -0400

The beach sucks, and you know it to be true. I like to go to the beach to do the 3 R’s, read, relax and make myself a recluse from the world. Today none of that happened. I got there, I laid my stuff down and started listening to the sounds of young parents lighting up a cigarette, as their children swam out further then they could be seen. I open my book and start to doze off into it when I heard some young group of guys talk about how they were going to ‘jack’ stuff from people’s areas. Instantly I open my eyes and sit up. Three red haired, freckled fucks, and two younger boys quickly notice me noticing them. Don’t steal other people’s shit when you’re wearing elastic band swim trunks. You’re not cool if you do that, and you’re never going to be cool unless you can change the way your undeveloped body looks. You look like three Rick Astleys and two Joey Fatones before puberty. Kill yourselves.

As I go back to reading my book, I hear two women walk past me. (And one thing I’ve noticed is that whenever someone walks by someone in the laying position, most of the time the one laying has to see who is walking by-that is a fact) I look up at the older than middle aged women just as one says to the other, “I don’t want to go somewhere where’s there’s a lot of traffic… Yes I do want to be by the water.” May be it’s just me, but she looked like she popped out several kids in her day so she should know; KIDS ARE HIGH TRAFFIC AND LOVE WATER. You can’t have both lady and for the you can’t have either of them. Just sit your ass down whenever you find a spot and deal with it. If you don’t want traffic also know as other FREE BEACH goers, then save up your money and get a lake house because bitch, there’s going to be high traffic.. on a public beach.. in Michigan.. during the days where it’s 95 degrees.

An hour or so has past where I stopped concerning myself with other people and just sneak a snoozey in before the beach really got crowded. I met up with my friends who were stationed about 25 yards away from me. I gather my things and lay down. Finally, the sun is out, I am clam, I am ready to do nothing, but my friends have ants in their pants and can’t sit still. Jesus. Sit still, and close your eyes and think about happy things! I feel like my mother (big bitch), who would tell me that when I couldn’t fall asleep when I was younger-and now whenever I can’t sleep when I am at their house. I realize I won’t be getting any RRRs so I just join in with the pointless banter of nothing.

Then it happened.. it’s like all the douche bags decided to come and sit by us. This guy, along with 4 girls, which that’s already weird, finds a spot on the beach near us. At first his American flag swim trunks made it seem as though he was cool and loved this fine country, but soon we found out he was the exact opposite and was a complete embarrassment to it. When he got closer, we realized he was one of those guys who is the actual definition of a douche bag. He was wearing a Miller Lite baseball cap, had several tattoos in which one was a sweet barbed wire going around his untoned bicep, and NONE went together, Johnny Knoxville mirrored aviators, a straight up potty mouth, and a disrespect for women that only small dicked man would tell about. One of the gems that he spouted off was that he has had sex with 9 different people- people, not girls; I’ll let it slide- but he couldn’t remember what 3 of their names were. Of course he couldn’t! He was probably black out on Jagerbombs! He’s so cool! Or the 3 girls were fat and he doesn’t want to look bad in front of his…bo… girl friends. Or because IT JUST DIDN’T HAPPEN. I have had relations with 15 different men. If the ones whose name I didn’t catch or didn’t want to know, I still gave a nickname to. It’s just out of respect.

Everyone of my girlfriends heard this and it was though we all had the same thought, “this guy sucks and now my beach experience is ruined.” He had a raunchy mouth as well as a disrespect for the public beach. Don’t get me wrong, I love swearing and talking about the weird shit I’ve done in beds across Michigan, but there’s a time and a place, and the place isn’t a family beach. It’s just not. It’s not cool to talk that way nor is it attractive. ”Fuck this” and “fuck that” Fuck you guy in a Miller Lite hat you’re acting like a fool; shut up. “All these seagulls are literally DICKS” No they aren’t. A literal dick is that small thing you play with in your jean shorts when a pretty girl with a lower back tattoo walks by at the local Wal Mart. “I’m getting my FUCKING NIPPLES PIERCED FOR BIRTHDAY BASH” Hm.. That’s not that original when you think about the circumstances; Country Music’s FREE concert at a speedway somewhere. Something tells me, it’s been done before. He went on and on yelling different sentences with different forms of FUCK in them and complaining about the seagulls. “Where’s a cookie I’m going to throw it at those dicks!” I have never witnessed a meth head before this day. It was crazy! The only reason why I think he was on meth is because WHAT NORMAL PERSON OVER THE AGE OF 8 GIVES A SEAGULL FOOD THINKING IT WILL LEAVE?! The answer is absolutely no one in their right mind would do that. That’s what terrorists do at beaches to ruin the American way, and make people hate them more.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. I gathered my things and left. I was even offended by the way that kid talked and I don’t have children. I hate people.

Used Hot Dog Carts For Sale

Sun, 17 Jun 2012 17:35:42 -0400

Used Hot Dog Carts For Sale:

doing it.

I will say VAGINA all day because I am proud of mine and I a...

Sun, 17 Jun 2012 13:21:39 -0400

I will say VAGINA all day because I am proud of mine and I a proud woman. No one will silence my rights as an American woman.

DW.. story of my life sister.

Fri, 15 Jun 2012 19:53:08 -0400

DW.. story of my life sister.

thefluffingtonpost: Hunting Dog Squadron Naps in Formation The...

Tue, 12 Jun 2012 18:54:06 -0400

thefluffingtonpost:

Hunting Dog Squadron Naps in Formation

The Barking Banshees, a hunting dog squad based out of Ossining, NY, is so dedicated to its craft that the group has learned to nap in perfect formation. The English Setter puppies are currently training for a summer hunting show tour, on which they will be utilized as a recruiting tool for the National Dog Force, a government backed canine outfit that operates under the purview of the Department of Defense.

Via Bunnystrength.

funnyordie: Funny Or Die’s ‘The Occasional’ Our iPad magazine...

Mon, 11 Jun 2012 11:48:24 -0400

funnyordie:

Funny Or Die’s ‘The Occasional’

Our iPad magazine is the biggest innovation in interactive entertainment since the Nintendo Power Glove!

latenightjimmy: Http://www.BlowYourPantsOff.com or iTunes...

Sat, 09 Jun 2012 15:44:54 -0400

latenightjimmy:

Http://www.BlowYourPantsOff.com or iTunes (Taken with Instagram)

theblackballerina: Murray - French bulldogs playing on a beach

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 22:06:02 -0400

theblackballerina:

Murray - French bulldogs playing on a beach

bitch, I’m modern…. and grossly obsessed with my new...

Sat, 02 Jun 2012 21:30:14 -0400

bitch, I’m modern…. and grossly obsessed with my new couch.

uncommonly smooth or should it be uncomfortably smooth?

Sat, 02 Jun 2012 21:26:45 -0400

uncommonly smooth or should it be uncomfortably smooth?