We've Got 5 Years

Eleanor

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 10:26:08 GMT

Note to self:

Consider writing a piece (memoir?) centering around Eleanor. When in Florida, get the diaries. Read them ASAP.

Talk to your mother about Eleanor, her husband (Russell), shopping trips, stories, etc . . .

Start trying to remember things as well (To the moon and back, sci fi, late night horror, the day the earth stood still, George, Heather, William, Brady, band, money, food, shopping, talking through the door, dealing with her when mom and dad wanted to go to bed, holidays, The Happy Prince, gays and lesbians, Mark and Mindy, 99.9 KISS FM, PBS News "those nice students", the doves, the cat (Sarah), the dog who was I think a German Shepherd, letters, Rosicrucianism, spirtualism, mysticism, occultism, bible/Godliness, . . . )

Eleanor Mary Hammill Dunaja - July 6, 1942 - June 18, 1998 (56)

Zodiac Sign - Cancer

The trailer . . . the "computers", ameture radio, (Pump up the Volume), Christian Slater, Rosicrucian.

See what I can come up with. There is a book in this somewhere. What better place to begin?

She always seemed so young and pretty to me . . . hard to believe she was 56. She was exotic looking as well.

Time seemed to be punctuated by visits from Eleanor . . .

Some things that I have remembered . . .

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 08:29:42 GMT

Why Don't You Do A Few Laps Around The House?

I was reminiscing about some things today that I had not thought about in years. Namely, this cousing that I had growing up who must have been in his forties. I think that he was my dad's brother's son, or Uncle Bob's son. Same thing really. I have tried all day to remember his name, and I think that it may have been Jerry, the same as my uncle. I am pretty sure that this cousin is dead now having drank himself to death, although I cannot be certain.

Anyway, this cousin was married to a woman of Asian descent. Maybe she was Vietnamese, I honestly don't remember mcuh about her other than I was not too fond of her. I met these people precious few times in my life but I remember that when they were coming for a visit, for some unknown reason we had to have catfish, hushpuppies, and coleslaw for dinner. As a child, I was not terribly fond of this meal, and although I do get a hankering every once in a while in my adulthood, I cannot say I am terribly fond of it even now. I suppose the idea was that we were highlighting the most famous local dish or something being as Crescent City, Florida is the home of the annual Catfish Festival.

The first time I remember them coming for a visit I cannot have been more than about 3 or 4 years old. I know this because I distinctly remember this event happening in "the red house", the converted goat barn that was my home until some time around kindergarten. I remember my mother and the Asian lady in the tiny kitchen of this shack making coleslaw. My mother was explaining that she would not put sugar in coleslaw because that was not the way it should be, but that's how restaurants make it. Or something. My dad and Jerry were sitting in the living room which also served as my bedroom while I was sitting on a bar stool at the counter which also served as the dining room table. Looking back on this, I wonder where everyone sat to eat, seeing as there were only three or four barstools. Maybe they didn't feed me or something. Knowing my parent's sensiblilities, I doubt they would have let me eat on the couch or on the floor.

Regarding this house, as I said, it was a converted goat barn. That is to say that before my family took up residence there it had been the homestead of a heard of goats. Literally. You see, many years prior, in the 70s I would imagine, my father had had a trailer on the property along with some livestock, including these goats. While in the process of installing air conditioners on the roof of a new low income high rise in Palatka (which to my eternal sadness is no longer standing) he suffered a heart attack and had to be hospitalized. While in the hospital, his "wife", a woman named Del, had his trailer reposessed by the trailer company. Therefore, upon his return from the hospital, he found that there was nowhere for him to stay. So, he set to work, and in what I understand was short time, he cleaned out the shit from a pole barn and made it into a house. I know for a fact that the floor was patched together from various smaller pieces of wood, due to the fact that the strange green carpet is now old and pulling up and you can see where the pieces of floor were pieced together.

This was a simple house for a man of simple needs. It consisted of a front door which led into a very small living room. This was also my bedroom, the dining room, and the office for my father's service call business. There was a large couch, a huge office desk, my double bed, a standup freezer with the small television on top, and next to that was the kitchen counter, which functioned very much like a bar. On the other side of the bar was the prep counter, the sink, the stove, a suspended convection oven, and the cabinets. When one walked in the front door, if one took an immediate left, there was a small hall that contained the washer and dryer, as well as another freezer. Directly across from the laundry room was a small bathroom, which despite it's small window, always seemed to be the brightest room in the house. Then, on the opposite end of the house from the living room was the bedroom where my father slept. This contained a huge shelving unit that held part of all kinds. In front of this was queen sized bed. There was also a record player and a closet, both of which were of great intrigue to me as a child. Some of my earliest memories are of playing in this bedroom, listening to the albums my sister left behind when she moved out (the day I was born) of Alabama and Michael Jackson. I loved Michael Jackson before I knew he was cool, but as a child, I was convinced that he was a girl. That was of no matter though. I loved looking at the Thriller album cover while listening to the record because whoever that pretty lady was, she was hanging out with a tiger, and that was neat.

Anyway, back to this cousin of mine. I don't remember much about him as I said, mainly that I thought he looked a great deal like Tom Brokow. I always liked Tom Brokow and from an early age I was a fan of NBC Nightly News. I was very concerned about the Gulf War, especially since I was told that another cousin, Steven, whom I had never met was serving over there, jumping out of planes. I liked cousin Jerry because he looked like Tom Brokow. I did not, however, like his wife.

Decimated Dreams - Part 1 (2006)

Tue, 22 Jul 2008 12:59:20 GMT

Virginia woke with a start. She never slept well, her nights were plagued with nightmares. She had been dreaming about her ex-boyfriend, Erik. They had been together for 5 years before they broke up last May. Since she was in the 6^th Grade. Since the night her dad died. She was 12 and he was 16 when they started dating. She was 14 when they started having sex, and 17 when they broke up. Now, it was fall of her senior year, she was 18, and things had never been better and they had never been worse.

For the first time since she was 12, she was truly free to live her own life. She could go where she wanted, whenever she wanted, with whomever she wanted, and she didn’t have to answer to Erik. She was free. She was free to be haunted by the ghost of Erik . . .

Every night, it seemed, she was visited by him. It wasn’t really him, more so it was the ghost of who he had been when they first met. The person in her dreams was a kind, gentle, shy boy with high aspirations, manners, goals, and love for her. The Erik that she hadn’t seen in 6 months was none of these. He was a self centered, controlling, bastard who fancied himself an invincible badass. That Erik was a degenerate, and the Erik of her dreams was long dead. Where things had gone wrong, she didn’t know. All she knew was this was supposed to be the happiest time of her life, and she was barely living.

She was barely going to school, because she didn’t want anyone to know how miserable she was. Most days she just stayed home eating asparagus soup, watching silent movies, and listening to jazz. Her favorite was The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Maybe one day she’d wake from this nightmare.

On this particular night, on waking from her nightmare, which involved this ghost lamenting for her and fading away in sorrow, she decided to get out of bed for a glass of water. She had to go to school the next day, otherwise she would have taken a Sominex and slept through the night and half of the day. She had a very important Humanities test to take. She had spent the majority of her night studying, Humanities was her favorite class. There was just something completely fascinating about Mr. Lewis’s* class, despite the fact that most students hated it.

As Trilby crept out of bed, she noticed the clock on the floor by her bed read 2:55. Great, she thought, only five more hours till first period. Opening the door she noticed that there was a light on downstairs. I wonder what mom’s doing still up . . . ? Maybe she’s got to go in early.

Trilby’s mother, a difficult women by all accounts, worked at a local factory making air conditioner coils. It was production work, and very monotonous. Trilby was afraid that might be her fate, despite the fact that she was an honor student and she had a scholarship to a very prestigious school in upstate NewYork. She was currently failing math, and the way things had been going, wondered if she would even graduate.

The light downstairs was more like firelight than anything else . . . it wasn’t cold enough out to have the fireplace burning. As she walked down the stairs, she saw that in fact the fireplace was burning, blazing. She saw a figure dressed in all black in front of the fire, stirring a giant black pot. From where Virginia was standing, it looked like a Halloween silhouette of a witch and her cauldron. Maybe her mom was having a little solitary fun, Halloween was just two days ago, after all.

Virginia had to walk through the living room to reach the kitchen. As she walked behind her mother, she tried to be as quiet as possible, so as not to solicit any unwanted questions about why she was up. She just preferred her mother to not know what was going on in her life these days, as she had been so uninterested for so many years prior. When her dad died, Virginia pretty much took on the role of parent as her mother slowly regressed back into adolescent behavior. She hadn’t been what you could call a parent in a very long time. If she had, the whole thing with Erik might have never happened. Unfortunately, her mother had been too focused on her own selfish initiatives to notice what was going on with her own child.

As she walked by, she heard her mother muttering, and she stopped to listen. She’s finally gone crackers Virginia thought. Then she watched her mother throw something into the pot. I never knew she was this into Halloween . . .

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and her mother turned to look, at which point, Virginia skated on into the kitchen. She looked back around the corner as her mom went to answer the door wondering what on earth was going on. She was beginning to think that this was not a post Halloween celebration after all. At that moment, Virginia’s mom opened the door wide, to reveal Virginia’s father.

Virginia quickly covered her mouth to stifle a scream. He had been dead six years, and man, did it ever show. Tears began to trickle down her face as she took in this whole scene. There he was, standing at the door in the clothes he’d been buried in, a blue button front work shirt and blue jeans. The pack of cigarettes were even visible, peeking out of his shirt pocket. On his head was the Ace hat that she had given him the Christmas before he died.

His skin was a sickening, pale green color, and his eyes were a memory, two black and empty sockets where they had once been. His lips had shriveled and cracked, and behind them she could see his teeth which looked equine in the firelight. His face was gaunt and sunken, the flesh gone in some places, and in other places, hanging. His arms were rot and bone, and his hands were shriveled even more than they had been the last time she saw them, all those years ago in the casket.

Her mother embraced this wraith, and let out – a cackle? Then she turned to lead her husband into the living room, and for the first time that night, Virginia got a good look at her face. Her green face. Her hooked nose. The wart on her chin. This was not her mother. This had to be a dream. That was a witch. Not even a witch. She knew real Wiccans, they were generally, pretty normal looking people. This was a caricature of a witch. This was The Wicked Witch of the West. It wasn’t her mother that had finally lost it, it was her. Virginia waited until it sounded like they were sitting on the couch, and then dashed out of the kitchen without her glass of water, and quietly raced up the stairs.

This couldn’t be real. This had to be a dream. She peered over the banister to make sure that they hadn’t heard her before she went into the bathroom. She knew she’d better not close the door, as it needed to be oiled. Instead, she turned on the black nightlight as she began rummaging through the medicine cabinet. Tylenol . . . Aleve . . . Ibuprophen . . . Sudaphed . . . Effexor . . . Zoloft . . . Xanax . . . Valium! She opened the bottle, took out two and went to her room where she rummaged through her backpack until she found an almost empty bottle of water. She opened it, tipped the water into her mouth, added the pills, and swallowed. She climbed into bed and looked at her hands. They were shaking. That had to have been a dream, but she wasn’t going to peek over the banister again to find out.

This was the third time in the past month that she had seen her father like this. She was afraid she was going crazy. He dad’s been dead and buried for six years and now this latest development, her mom a green skinned witch, what has been summoning him. She now knew she’d gone crazy. She wanted so badly to look over the banister and see nothing there, but if she saw what she had seen before, that would prove her crazier still. As it was, she could lay in bed, attribute it to lack of sleep, or somnambulism, and wait for the valium to kick in and then sleep medicated sleep for the next eight hours. Mr. Lewis could wait, she’d just go see him after school.

Just before she drifted off to sleep, Virginia was sure that she heard her door open a little and her father’s voice whisper “I love you . . .”

Virginia woke up at about 11:30 the next day. She got up and walked downstairs to the kitchen. No pot. No corpses. No witches. Good. It was a dream, she thought. She went to the refrigerator and peered inside. Grabbing the bottle of orange Gatorade and finding nothing that seemed appetizing she closed the door and paddled over to the cupboard got out the peanut butter. She poured herself a glass of Gatorade and proceeded to make herself yet another peanut butter sandwich. That was about all she had been able to stomach since she’d been having all these dreams. When she was done, she took her sandwich and her Gatorade into the living room and sat on the couch.

Virginia began munching on her sandwich as she grabbed the stereo remote. She pushed play, and out came the voice of Cab Calloway, singing, Minnie the Moocher. She sat back and just listened as she ate the rest of her sandwich and drank her Gatorade. She didn’t want to go to school. But she had to. She had to go take her Humanities test.

After she was done with her breakfast, she got up and put her glass in the sink. While in the kitchen, she noticed that the light was blinking on the answering machine. She hadn’t even heard the phone ring. Valium . . .

She pushed PLAY and out came the voice of her best friend, Noel. Virginia!!! Where the hell are you? Don’t you know that this is the third day you’ve been absent this week? Mr. Treen is not going to let you graduate if you don’t start coming to class. Call me back at lunch. Bye!

Virginia looked at the clock, 12:35. Noel had been out of lunch for over an hour. Oh well, she figured that she’d just meet Noel after school before she went to Mr. Lewis’s classroom to make up her test. Maybe I should call Mr. Lewis and let him know what’s going on . . . she thought.

She picked up the phone and dialed the school.

“Hello, River City High School, Ms. Jones speaking.”

“Hello, Ms. Jones. This is Virginia Lexington. May I speak to Mr. Lewis please?” she asked politely. She hated doing this. She really wished that Mr. Lewis had a direct line like Mrs. Wade, her English teacher.

“He’s in class right now, may I take a message?” replied a very bored sounding Ms. Jones.

“It’s 4^th period, isn’t Ms. Jones?” Virginia asked sweetly.

“Yes,” she started.

“It’s his planning period. I’d really rather speak to him myself.”

“What’s it about?” Ms. Jones snapped.

“It’s about making up a test.”

“Fine. One moment please . . . Hey, why aren’t you at school anyway?” Ms. Jones asked.

“I was sick today, Ms. Jones.” She replied.

“Child, you are always sick. One minute and I’ll get you over there.” Ms. Jones put her on hold.

“Thank you Ms. Jones.” Virginia said, rolling her eyes. The phone began to ring.

“Hello, Mr. Lewis speaking,”

“Hi, Mr. Lewis, this is Virginia.”

“Ah yes, Ms. Trilby Virginia Lexington. My most truant student. You missed my test today.”

“That’s what I was calling about. I was sick this morning. Couldn’t sleep . . . I was wondering if I could come and take it this afternoon.”

“As long as you are here right after the bell rings, Virginia. It took some of my students the whole period to finish it.”

“I doubt it will take me long, Mr. Lewis. I studied all night last night.”

“I’m sure you did. It’s not that hard of a test. I’m sure you’ll do well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lewis. I’ll see you at 2.”

“Alright, Virginia.”

“Oh, and Mr. Lewis, one more thing, if you see Noel, tell her to meet me in your classroom after school, okay?”

“Alright. If I see her I’ll let her know.”

“Okay, bye Mr. Lewis.”

“Goodbye Trilby.”

“I hate that name.”

“Oh come on. It’s unique. It’s exotic.”

“It’s from one of your favorite books . . .”

“That too. Have you read it yet?”

“No sir, I haven’t.”

“Maybe I’ll let you borrow it sometime. You might garner a new appreciation for your first name.”

“Maybe. See you at 2 Mr. Lewis.”

“Bye.”

That man was always on about her using her real first name. Truth be known, she agreed with him about it. However, kids are cruel and considering all the other torments that she had to endure on account of her avant-garde ways and gauche sensibilities, the last thing she wanted to catch hell about was her name. And even though she always reminded him that her name was Virginia, deep down, she loved the way he sounded when he said “Trilby”. The way the word on hung on his lips made her feel . . . dirty.

Mr. Lewis was not an unhandsome man. Most of the students at the RCHS thought that he was rather creepy though. There must have been some point in his youth when he turned heads, but as he was now an authority figure by whom most of the student body was intimidated, his sex appeal was the last thing on anyone’s mind. He had red hair that was somewhat wavy and pale blue eyes. He was a tall man and part of his intimidation lie in his overpowering presence. This coupled with his reputation as a brutal instructor struck fear into the hearts of nearly every student. He seemed to tower over the students and the teachers alike, almost lording about. It wasn’t his height as much as his being.

That’s not to say he was a pompous ass. He was actually quite an interesting, down to earth, friendly guy. There was just something about his manner that put most everyone off. Everyone but his worshipper, err . . . student, Virginia.

He wore wire rimmed glasses and listened to classical music and jazz. It was from him that Virginia gained her appreciation for Cab Calloway, Billie Holliday, Robert Johnson, and Louis Armstrong. It was rumored that he had almost gotten his PhD in Music History having everything completed except for his dissertation. Virginia didn’t know because she had never had the nerve to ask about it. He wasn’t old, maybe 28.

He was a new teacher at RCHS this year, having moved from somewhere down south. Most people hated his class, but Virginia loved it. She was interested in Humanities, having taken it with Mrs. Ginsberg the year before. It was because of Mrs. Ginsberg that she got her scholarship. It was a Humanities scholarship to Rochester University in Rochester, New York.

When Mr. Lewis started teaching, Virginia quickly became one of his favorite students because of her interest in the subject, and they spent many hours after school talking about old movies, music, and books, three of Virginia’s favorite things. It was a widely whispered, little known fact that Virginia had a crush on Mr. Lewis. After many hours of calm introspection, Virginia had come to the conclusion that her interest was merely a result of the fact that she had no positive male figure in her life, and Mr. Lewis was filling that void. At least that’s what she told herself, and anyone who asked. Deep down, she knew that if he was a boy at her school, she’d be all over that like white on rice.

She was sure that in his younger days, he had been fairly attractive, and their personalities meshed well. Her biggest secret was the fact that she sat in his class every day, half listening to what he was saying, and half fantasizing about seducing him in his empty classroom after school. Dangerous, but ever so sexy. Of course, she would never act on her desires because in this small town, she was already a prominent black sheep. The last thing she needed to be doing was schtuping teachers. She’d have to go into the witness protection program. But it was a great fantasy . . .

She had convinced herself that this was merely her subconscious manifesting her feeling of attachment and affection for this positive male figure as a sexual need or desire. The truth was that she was so tired, and scarred after the incident with Erik that Mr. Lewis, despite his age, seemed to be the perfect guy. He listened to her. He looked at her face when she spoke to him, not her chest. She made a point of gently teasing him, wearing pants that were a little too tight and shirts that were a little low cut. To her chagrin, he never seemed to notice, but in a way, she never expected him to. It was more a game she played with herself.

Today, she was still so tired and stressed out from the night before, when she walked to the school for her test, she had on just a plain green long sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans. Over this she wore long black knit jacket that had a fuzzy, ruffled collar, because it was a bit cold out.

As she walked to school, there were very few cars on the streets. Everyone was still at school or at work. River City was a quiet town, and the streets were rarely crowded, even after work and school were out. It was safe to walk about, and people didn’t lock there doors. It was common practice for Virginia to walk into her best friend Noel’s house without knocking, simply waltz in and head to the kitchen, which was the familial gathering place. This was small town America at her finest.

She paid little attention the cars that did pass. None of them were blue. She counted blue cars as they were so uncommon. You never think about it, but you always see red cars, white cars, black ones, silver, and earth tones. Hardly ever blue ones. That song made her think of it one day. “We sit counting blue cars . . .”

She made it to school just as the last bell rang. She wasted little time dodging her way through the students who were exiting the building, thankful that the weekend had finally arrived. She entered a rear door and climbed the back stairwell to the English hall. As soon as she stepped into the hall she saw Noel outside of Mr. Lewis’s room.

“Virginia! What’s the excuse this time?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“I see . . .” she said with a sort of indignant look on her face. Who was she to talk? She was the one famous for missing school on account of all day shag fests with her now ex boyfriend. “Well, hurry up with this test. We have to get ready.”

“For what?” Virginia asked in a rather aggravated tone. She thought that they might just go get some salad bar and water and then chill out for the rest of the evening.

“Suzy Lee is having a party.”

“And I care . . . why?” Virginia asked giving her a blank look.

“Listen, Virginia, you are going to this party with me.”

As they walked in to Mr. Lewis’s room Virginia said, “Look, let me take this test and then we’ll walk home and talk about it.”

“Alright, I’ll meet you downstairs. Don’t take forever, okay?”

“Bye,” Virginia said as she watched Noel walk out of the room. For a best friend, that girl could certainly drive her nuts. As she sat down at her usual desk, the last one in the first row, Virginia wondered where Mr. Lewis was. Hadn’t he said as soon as the bell rang? No sooner had she thought this than he walked through the door.

“Trilby! So glad you could make it,” Mr. Lewis said, as he hurried through the door, looking a bit disheveled. He was carrying a handful of papers and was wearing a pair of slightly baggy jeans and a loose green button front shirt.

“Please, Mr. Lewis, Virginia.

“Oh yes, I’m sorry. By the way, I have that book for you.”

“Thanks.” She looked him over. He was looking pretty good today. “Casual Friday?” she asked.

“You could say that. I just wasn’t feeling the Dockers and the tie today.” He smiled at her as he shuffled through the papers in his hands. “So are you ready for this test?”

She took out a black ball point pen. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.

ROTC

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 05:33:56 GMT

I have a friend in ROTC here at college who needs to shave 8 minutes off of her run time in the next 30 or so days. How does one do this? Any suggestions?

In addition

Sun, 13 May 2007 21:00:33 GMT

I also resent his friends!!!!

I am a mean mean mean bitch!

What is wrong with me?

Just thought that I would update on this . . .

Tue, 01 May 2007 17:11:44 GMT

Run a 5k I walked one in March
Do cardio everyday Not so much, yet.
Stop swearing as much Not so much either . . .
Remove GD from my common vernacular Haven't we been over this?
~~Find a church that I like~~ Unitarian Universalist!!!
Go to church I would have gone if I didn't have to work every Sunday . . .
Write More Sort of. Not as much as I wanted.
~~Go to school~~ As I write this I am preparing for my spring finals at UWF!
Do Yoga Not so much . . .
Meditate Yeah right . . .
READ!!!! This is really sad, not doing much of that either . . .
Stop biting my nails Nope.
BE MYSELF!!! I think that this is getting better
Stop caring what other people think of me Eh . . .
Go outside more Hahaha!
~~CLEAN MY ROOM~~ This is done and done. My dorm is tres clean.
~~Move out~~ ~~Did it!~~ Living at UWF! (But going home Friday for 3 weeks . . .)
~~GET A JOB~~ Caregiver at TLC Caregivers, ahem and an RA next year. BAM!
~~Get a Fish~~ His name is SPARTICUS.
Maybe some Hermit crabs Not yet. Maybe before I go to Raleigh this summer.
Communicate better with my mom I think that this is getting better. We will see about that when I go home.
Break my addiction to approval Eh . . .
Do what I need to do for me Actually, yes. For the most part. I sleep alot now.
Be selfish I think that this is coming too. I say "no" more often I feel. It's in progress.

Update

Mon, 23 Oct 2006 02:57:23 GMT

Haven't been here in a while. What's going on with me? I didn't get the job in St. Augustine. I am now cleaning house for a lady in Bostwick. That's not bad. $12.50 an hour, you know.

I'm not doing as much writing as I would like, but I will be participating in Nanowrimo in 9 days. I will hopefully be moving to Pensacola in January.

More later.

An uplifting moment

Mon, 28 Aug 2006 04:09:02 GMT

I am going to try and get a job tomorrow. It's at the ESE school in St. Augustine. $11/hr or more. Not so bad, and getting my foot in the door. I figure, if I can make it at the ESE school, I can do anything. I really hope that this works out. If it doesn't, then I am going to go and become recertified to be a substitute teacher and keep looking for a job. I got a speeding ticket today, so to say the least, I am in a dire situation.

In other news, I went to church today. I think that I have officially decided that I do not want to be a Methodist. I'm not "digging the scene". I think that I would really like to be Episcopal. Of course, all things beautiful can be so easily soiled. Tomorrow begins the Couch-5k, and here it is Midnight and I have such a busy day planned. Gah. &hearts

The Education of Ms. Groves

Sun, 27 Aug 2006 00:46:32 GMT

Oh my God. I am feeling like a complete and utter failure. I am watching this thing on Dateline about a first year teacher. She was only 21 years old, teaching in a 99% black school.

I am a failure. I am 20 and not ever near being done with school. It's scary. Am I going to be able to be the teacher that I want to be? Are my expectations too high? Will I be able to do my students justice? Oh My God.

This is fucking up my world. I want to cry. I want to be done. I want to give it a try at least. And my mom went off on this thing about how she and my sister know how to pick shit with the chickens and how they aren't all that educated, blah! blah! blah!

She was the one who enstilled in me the desire to be successful and to get an education, and now, I'll be damned if she isn't sabotaging it. Why? WHY! WHY! WHY! WHY! WHY! WHY! WHY! WHY! WHY! WHY! WHY! WHY???????

I want to be done and do this. It looks so hard, what this woman was doing looks so hard, but that's what I want to do. Why is this so hard?

Fri, 25 Aug 2006 20:15:25 GMT

BASIC.
1.) Name - Joyce
2.) Age - 20
3.) Location - Crescent City, FL
5.) Pictures (at least 2 clear face shots. Don't be stupid and post more than 5) -

About You.
1.) Hair - Black, currently with bangs (a la Bettie Page *no pics*)
2.) Fashion - Well . . . whatever I can pick up at the thrift store, really. Lots of black, and purple. I like band t-shirts too. I don't really think about what I'm wearing that much
3.) Bands - The Velvet Underground, The White Stripes, Duran Duran, Opiate for the Masses, Bleed the Dream, The Legendary Shack Shakers, Skindred, MCR, Depeche Mode, Blue October, Rammstein, SWANS. The list goes on and on . . .
4.) Best show you've been to(if you havent been to one, tell us where youd like to go) - The Legendary Shack Shakers were really good, as were The White Stripes. Tough call.
5.) Mosh, dance, skank, nod head, tap foot, crowd surf? - Mosh and dance. I think that it would be inconsiderate of me to crowd surf.

FAVORITE.
1.) TV show(s) - Big Wolf on Campus, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, I don't watch alotta TV really. I used to watch Daria . . .
2.) Movie(s) - Stil Crazy, Pieces of April, The Forbidden Zone, Natural Born Killers, Citizen Kane, Svengali, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Intermezzo, Hair, Trainspotting, Resevoir Dogs, Dracula (Bela Lugosi), Bowling for Columbine, Anything in Black and white really.
3.) Record Label(s) - Warcon . . .
4.) Book(s) - Anything by Charles Bukowski or Ray Bradbury, Trainspotting, Lolita, Banned in Boston: Memoirs of a Stripper, Absolute Beginners, The Woman Warrior, Wild Boys, Disco Bloodbath
5.) Sport(s) - Rugby, soccer, running
6.) Genre of music - Glam rock, punk rock, metal, post punk, post glam, jazz, rock-a-billy, new wave
7.) Shoe(s) - The cheapest flip flops I can find, high tops, nothing leather, and heels that are at least 3".

OPINIONS.
1.) Gay/lesbian marriage - A right by the constitution
3.) Racism - Is a bad thing. Very bad. Like "I'm gonna kick you in the face if you look at my friend like that again" bad.
5.) Sexism - I think that sexism is wrong, but I'm not a bra burning femenist either. I'm just going to verbally castrate any man who is being a chauvinistic pig.
6.) Abortion - It's your body and your right to choose. I don't think that it is the government's place to say what can and cannot go on in regards to your own body. Especially a governement that until very recently was making it so hard to get birth control.
7.) Drugs - Again, I feel that's your body and your decision. Not my bag of chips, but hey, who am I to judge?

New Journal

Wed, 23 Aug 2006 04:02:24 GMT

Pushing thru the market square, so many mothers sighing
News had just come over, we had five years left to cry in
News guy wept and told us, earth was really dying
Cried so much his face was wet, then I knew he was not lying
I heard telephones, opera house, favourite melodies
I saw boys, toys electric irons and t.v.s
My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare
I had to cram so many things to store everything in there
And all the fat-skinny people, and all the tall-short people
And all the nobody people, and all the somebody people
I never thought Id need so many people

A girl my age went off her head, hit some tiny children
If the black hadnt a-pulled her off, I think she would have killed them
A soldier with a broken arm, fixed his stare to the wheels of a cadillac
A cop knelt and kissed the feet of a priest, and a queer threw up at the sight of that

I think I saw you in an ice-cream parlour, drinking milk shakes cold and long
Smiling and waving and looking so fine, dont think
You knew you were in this song
And it was cold and it rained so I felt like an actor
And I thought of ma and I wanted to get back there
Your face, your race, the way that you talk
I kiss you, youre beautiful, I want you to walk

Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years, what a surprise
Five years, stuck on my eyes
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Five years
Five years
Five years
Five years