Wednesday, March 31, 2010

The Eighth Circle of Hell

So… went to the Cracker Barrel initiation. Was sworn in and worshiped for taking the shitty job at such an age of responsible adulthood. There are some perks to working there, but the overall gash in my dignity is of no value to be compensated by amazing benefits and a weekly paycheck. The pastel hell I will now become familiar with bears no repentance towards my shriveled soul.
Sigh.
I am, however, thankful for the job so I can start saving money to move to Arizona by June or July. At which point I can transfer to another Cracker Barrel and endure the country-style wooden ship amongst the Easter-colored sea of atrocity.
Well, this is one ship I will not being going down with.


Feel the burn:

Ever wondered what's on the menu in Hell?


























Try traveling to Hell with this handbasket
























Feeling left out? Don't worry, everyone benefits!

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

The Many Perks of Being a Self-Deprecator

Good afternoon to Nick Drake and 3 cups of very strong bold coffee. J
I’ve finally found a big, quiet place to sit and listen to my music and write.
I called my mom crying around 2 o’clock after Cracker Barrel called me and told me my background check came through and they were ready to have me come on board.

-I thought you’d be happy you finally found a job
-I’m 24 years old, working at Cracker Barrel, part-time for $7.25 an hour…
-Well, I know it’s not your dream job but it’s a job. Are you worried someone is going to see you, is that what’s wrong?
-I don’t care if anyone sees me, I care what I think about myself

The tone of the conversation was a dramatically comedic, not drenched in self-pity, minus the tears, of course.
Thankfully my boyfriend isn’t above hashing my insecurities and threw a few more punches at my bruised ego after calling to patronize me.

“Well, this is certainly something to celebrate!”
“This is amazing, you have a wonderful career blossoming before you!”

-Dude, I feel like a failure
-You have every right too! [insert laughter]

When I say thankfully, I really do mean that. He’s great at not feeling sorry for me and kicking me I’m down (over bullshit problems) and for some reason, it’s one of my favorite things about him. Much like back in October when I was fired after 5 hours on a temp. job at a costume store for not knowing what I was doing and walking in circles around the store.
He called to see if I was okay and was happy to find me laughing at myself so he could throw in his jokes at the expense of my situation. Self-deprecation truly is my finest quality and has always earned me more friends than expressing sincere concern towards shitty situations.
When being the fat kid earned me no friends, self-deprecation and sarcasm sure did.
I may never be the prettiest person, but I’ll always be the happiest when my life sucks.

More Reasons To Love Your Grandparents

Monday, March 29, 2010

Reasons To Love Your Grandparents

The Satirical Version of my Epically Friendless Childhood

This house is a graveyard for creativity, I haven‘t played my guitar in 2 weeks (a major drought in comparison to the love I generally give to her). I’m not ungrateful, I just wish my door wasn’t a 9ft fragment of cloth that filtered nothing but my nakedness.
I feel like I’m 16 again, whispering phone calls to my boyfriend at 3am so my mom won’t hear me on the opposite side of the house through dog snores and step-dad snore-gargles.
Do you know what it’s like to live with rules again at 24!?
I’m like the fat kid who’s mom thinks she’s cute; packing cookies and Dr. Pepper’s in her lunch with little notes. Oh wait, I was that kid.
I also recall cutting a bad-behavior strip of bangs down to the scalp and giving it a 5th grade girl comb-over. This was successful for about a week until it started to spike through the rest of my rat’s nest.
I was sitting at lunch, pretending to do a news report in my made-up Chinese jargon. Then, when the jezebel’s started laughing, I was like, “Oh cool, I’m fuckin’ hilarious”. Guess who wasn’t hilarious? The fat kid.
Yeah, they were laughing at the stub of bangs navigating North point-blank on the top of my head. Like a drunk version of Alf-Alfa’s signature spike.
Or how about the time Cayla, more like Lucifer, asked me what size my pants were. Want to know what my award winning response was? “I don’t know, my mom buys my clothes.”
That one ranks at number 4 in the book of things not to say when you’re in the 5th grade. My life is full of treasures like these.
There are no diamonds in my rough.

.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Little People/Big Lives

I woke up to a Townes Van Zandt song i forgot to remove from my shuffle (White Freightliner Blues). Though the bluegrass/blues feel is charming, it's a once in a blue moon track. Just because you love an artist doesn't mean you have to love all of his work.
I felt like i was part of the Little People farm clan.
This was Sims circa 1989ish. Had they had access to what i woke up to, it would have been their anthem.

In other exciting news, it looks to be a bleak day filled with Fiona Apple (shameless guilty pleasure), Steve Earle and fresh pack of cigarettes. The tiny office i am currenly inhabiting at my aunt's has become stale and irritable. I miss Dallas and the no-job factor is really starting to weigh down on me. I have to save at least $1000 to move to AZ by June but at this rate, i feel like i'll be stuck here forever. I just want to hurry up and get my shit together and get my life on track. And once i get there, i have to start looking at schools. Gar.
I hate making plans for my life, it's so... not free? And now that i actually have made plans and set a goal, the idleness is killing me.
Life, it's fun until you make plans.
But i suppose love makes it worth it.
Le sigh.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Joplinism - Woman Juice

I had a dream last night about a silent conversation with Janis Joplin.
She was still alive and looked the same but with a leathery face. She was kind and empowering just as all the footage of her reveals her to be. She offered no verbal advice but her presence spoke volumes and the message was a warm embrace encouraging my idependence as a woman. I don't remember verbatim the dream, but she kicked open a door for me, metaphorically.
I love being idependent but sometimes i truly feel like i can't live without my partner and it tortures the hell out of me. But here came Janis, blasting me with her awesome vibrant colors and letting me know it's all okay.
It was a very welcomed dream, especially since i went to bed angry at my boyfriend.
I woke up thinking of the Descartes' mediatation about dreams and reality. I know he "dubunks" his own theory but sometimes i feel i live more in my dreams than i do in reality. I think alot of people experience the same feeling. I live vicariously through a different part of myself in my dreams, a part of myself that i'm a stranger to; some subconcious aspect of my personality that i never partake in.
And although i don't really believe that dreams try to tell you something, i do believe that when you wake up with that feeling in your chest, that undeniable pull that says your dream is significant; i don't think it should be ignored.
I hold Janis very close to my heart and ironically, she was in my dream when i went to bed furious at my "soul mate".
And i just can't ignore that.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

"I feel like I'm taking crazy pills!"

I'm ready to fall asleep and forget the day's events.
Why does my mood seem to be centered around the state of my relationship? Do men have this same problem?
I work very hard against this, telling myself to be more than my relationship because i feel like i let it define me sometimes.
Apparently the stradegy has failed and it's sad because i'm a very independent woman and very self-sufficent. So the affect my relationship has on me is very upsetting sometimes because as hard as i work against it, i always seem to buckle under.
Sigh.

Exercising My Right To Free Speech (in a non-political way)

Aunt Flow still hasn't arrived and I'm sure everyone is enoying the positive experience that comes with her late arrival. What is it about hormones that make women hate men, yet, wield an undying desire for them? It's not a very comfortable place to be, especially when your hormones are all askew, weighing down on one emotion while still maintaing contact with all the others. It's like being stuck on a roller coaster mid-slant on the biggest "hill", mentally. It's actually rather fucked up.
Perks of being a woman? Sex, sex toys, hair styles, the freedom to listen to Aretha, Janis and Erykah and fully understand them, chocolate, chocolate and I'm one of the rare few that loves the curves (once you've bonded with them, you don't wanna live without em). Oh, and the bubbles baths.
Plus, we can fix ugly without plastic surgery though few seem to embrace this. :/
I'd like my face non-plastic please.

The Grrr(!) Factor

The inner turmoil of being a thinker is far worse than anything anyone can ever say. Every relationship i've ever had has benefited negatively due to this aspect of my personality. It's not like a switch that i can easily flip on or off, it just happens. Like a physical reaction to someone throwing a punch at your face; you're either blind-sided or you sheild your face. With the exception that there is no defense to your thoughts, only the turmoil.
Sigh.
Being a thinker entails more than silence. It's a totally different view on virtually everything, because the average thinker is also an observer and anyone who truly observes sees things very differently. Whereas conversation for most consists of exchanging ideas and thoughts, for a thinker, it consists of wondering where the thoughts and words the talker is producing come from and why. So the conversation is more like a piece of art work rather than a casual exchange of words. It's a very confusing place to spend most of your time and though it's not lonely, it can be a very dark place.
I write this because i'm stuck there now. There is no physical forwarding action in the direction i'm headed in right now with my life, so i'm running the race mentally. It's very stressful and i find myself staring at things and trying to pause whatever moment i'm in, in hopes to avoid widespread panic in my brain. I can't say that i'm depressed but i'm certainly far below content.
However, i have stopped biting my nails. Do you know what it's like to scratch with nails after 24 years of scratching with nubs?


post sript:
A chipper, free album download (type in 0.00)
Fancy Feast/Cari Music
Like chicken soup for the vaginal soul.