A list of random things about me:
1. I am easily angered
2. I would rather have a gun in my hand then money in the bank
3. I have a hard time loving people
4. I have trust issues
5. Before falling asleep I try to control my dreams by thinking about something I want to dream about
6. I am petrified of the dark
7. I always feel second best
8. Sometimes I feel unloveable
9. I am happiest when I am in a relationship
10. I hate girly girls, but whenever I go shopping I tend to buy clothes girly girls wear
11. All my best friends move away, I am beginning to think it's my fault
12. I think that college pre req's are pointless and a waste of time, I wish apprenticeships still exsisted
13. I am good with money, when I have it, I hide it, so it can't get spent
14. I am good at making my friends laugh
15. If I dish it, I can take it
16. I have many regrets with past relationships
17. I am obsessed as Ted Mosby about finding "the One"
18. I lie often, about menial things
19. I have a boring life
20. I've been bitten by the travel bug and want to go to all 50 states, Ireland, Paris, England, OK, most of Europe
21. I never thought I could love something so much until I got my dog
22. I have fears that I will be a terrible mother, it keeps me up at night (I'm not even preggars!)
23. I hate just as hard as I love
24. My sister is selfish, even though I have given her anything I can within my means
25. I hate relationship head games
26. My parents taught me to be independent and never let someone see you cry
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Week 8: Prompt 3
When I walk along a city street, I feel almost claustrophobic and unable to fathom what little space people have between their houses and for front/back lawns. I could never live in a house where I could stick my head out the window and lick my neighbor's siding. Even when I was fresh out of high school and doing the apartment thing, I always found an obscure apartment that suited my country needs. When I walk along my street, or on the streets where I was raised, I see nothing but trees, birds, gravel, flowers, and the wind as my partner. When I walk out at night I can see the night sky, count the stars, and revel at the way you can see Venus unaided on a cloudless night.
Week 8: Prompt 2
As a young child, I was raised in a very small town. My mother had been pregnant out of marriage and decided to move back home with her parents, to recollect her thoughts and plan for our future. The road that my grandparents lived on was my grampa's last name, and that city street was the best street around. It was a winding, old, dirt road with plenty of tall deciduous trees, framing it in on either side. The street was about a mile long and was a sloping down hill, perfect for sledding. You never went so fast that you were out of control, but you never had to stick your arms out and give yourself a shove either. This road was where I drove for the first time, as I bumped along in the truck, following grampa's tractor as I picked up the hay bales he was dropping into the field. I reconnected with cousins as we played hide and seek and made mud pies. Many memories were made. Since my grammy's death a few years back, I have not revisited that road.
Week 8: Prompt 1
Just a passing face on the street. Oh lord, just a passing face, I feel like every look shot my way shoots straight to my sensitive heart. I cower away and try to quickly reach my destination. My hate for strangers grows. I am not fearful or inflicted with anthropophobia, but I have stopped seeing good in all people, and I simply see them for who they are. Call it a gift, or call it a curse, but I don't see a girl's pretty face, I feel like I see who she is, deep down inside-a hateful, jealous, and insecure person who glowers at every beautiful passerby.
Week 8: Vignette
She jumps up on the couch and lays down in her usual spot. The cushion at the end of the couch is where she always lays, and it is easy to spot because it is the only cushion bent down and twisted, when compared to the rest. She lays her head on the window sill and stares into the outdoors. I glance outside and see the wind knocking off the brown colored leaves and blowing them into the driveway. The orange leaves still wave freely from the trees and their brilliant colors seem to mock at the leaves on the ground, not knowing that they will meet the same brown fate. I turn back to my dog. Her brown eyes flicker over the activity outdoors, and briefly a whine escapes her lips. I know she wants to go outside, but this time of day is too dangerous with all the vehicles driving up the road, to and from work.
Suddenly, as if to drive my point home, a car speeds up the driveway. She is suddenly up and her paws mash into the couch cushion, deforming it a bit more. Her hair on her spine spikes and her jaw goes tight as she alerts me to the intruder who dares to pass our home. I gently pet her and utter soothing words in hopes of calming the rage. She quietly succumbs and sinks back into the cushion. As she does, I cringe and lament my sad looking couch.
Suddenly, as if to drive my point home, a car speeds up the driveway. She is suddenly up and her paws mash into the couch cushion, deforming it a bit more. Her hair on her spine spikes and her jaw goes tight as she alerts me to the intruder who dares to pass our home. I gently pet her and utter soothing words in hopes of calming the rage. She quietly succumbs and sinks back into the cushion. As she does, I cringe and lament my sad looking couch.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Week 7: Prompt 2
Who's the first person you remember?
First memories are hard. It's difficult to discern between an actual memory and people telling the same story over and over about you that you feel like you do remember it. The first real memory that I have is my mom. I was watching Barney and a commercial came on. I think it was a mayonnaise commercial. After watching the commercial, I became inspired by the little boy that made his mother a sandwich, and the mother was so happy to receive that sandwich. I promptly went to the kitchen and selected a knife and a tomato. I attempted to slice the tomato, but instead I knicked my finger. Man did I scream. My mother of course came running, and after glancing at my non-life threatening wound, she chided me for trying to cut the tomato. After I explained myself and blamed the TV (2 points to me for not taking credit!), I could see her expression soften a bit and she held me close. I am sure that I probably could think of an earlier memory if I tried, but this is one of my favorites.
First memories are hard. It's difficult to discern between an actual memory and people telling the same story over and over about you that you feel like you do remember it. The first real memory that I have is my mom. I was watching Barney and a commercial came on. I think it was a mayonnaise commercial. After watching the commercial, I became inspired by the little boy that made his mother a sandwich, and the mother was so happy to receive that sandwich. I promptly went to the kitchen and selected a knife and a tomato. I attempted to slice the tomato, but instead I knicked my finger. Man did I scream. My mother of course came running, and after glancing at my non-life threatening wound, she chided me for trying to cut the tomato. After I explained myself and blamed the TV (2 points to me for not taking credit!), I could see her expression soften a bit and she held me close. I am sure that I probably could think of an earlier memory if I tried, but this is one of my favorites.
Week 7: Prompt 1
Take a look at a photo of a person. What do you see?
When I look at a early photo of my mother, I see happiness and carefree-ness. Very unlike her expression now. Not to say that my mother is not happy, she has many laugh lines and crinkles at her eyes, but true mirth rarely escapes her lips, her laughs are usually not genuine. In her photos she has blonde hair, which we are a family of dark skin and hair, and the glinting of the blonde seems to capture every good feature she has. She often talks longingly of her blonde locks, but my dad shoots it down with his sarcasm and all around grumpy behavior. The best part of old photos of my mother is the fashion. Jean jackets, bell bottoms and her humongous glasses test the limits of my laugh meter.
When I look at a early photo of my mother, I see happiness and carefree-ness. Very unlike her expression now. Not to say that my mother is not happy, she has many laugh lines and crinkles at her eyes, but true mirth rarely escapes her lips, her laughs are usually not genuine. In her photos she has blonde hair, which we are a family of dark skin and hair, and the glinting of the blonde seems to capture every good feature she has. She often talks longingly of her blonde locks, but my dad shoots it down with his sarcasm and all around grumpy behavior. The best part of old photos of my mother is the fashion. Jean jackets, bell bottoms and her humongous glasses test the limits of my laugh meter.
Week 6 Theme: Place
For some, a childhood home brings about many nostalgic memories. For me, my childhood home was overshadowed by the misery that dwelled within that home. Whenever I was able, I would escape and run outside to pass the time. Since I was so imaginative, I would create places, friends, and story lines all over my parents 16 acre property.
My proudest invention to date is the S.B.G.M also known as the Small But Good Mall. This was my playhouse turned store that was littered with shelves of knick knacks and hand made objects, I even had acquired a receipt book and cash register at the Kiwanis Auction. My little playhouse was not very big and only a 5 year old could stand up straight in it, but I played in that little store for years. Over the years I collected many different objects to enhance the look of my store. There was a open/close sign, an ink stamp with our logo that went on the outside of the shopping bags, and a drive thru option for convenience for the busy person on the go. My siblings have since reverted it back to a playhouse, and the store items are stuffed in a corner.
My other escape was a pair of pine trees that were probably about 12 feet tall, and they had grown very close together. The bottom branches didn't start until about 4 feet up, so I had a very small crawlspace of an area that I called my lab tree. Here, I would be an evil scientist, afflicting my evil ways on anyone who dared enter. The only thing that dared enter were fire ants, and I had a hell of a time experimenting on which type of solution ants would die in quicker. I tried mud, bubble solution, water, and a concoction of sap and other things lying around my "lab". I determined that the viscosity of bubble solution was the winner. The mud and the concoction were too hard to see into.
My proudest invention to date is the S.B.G.M also known as the Small But Good Mall. This was my playhouse turned store that was littered with shelves of knick knacks and hand made objects, I even had acquired a receipt book and cash register at the Kiwanis Auction. My little playhouse was not very big and only a 5 year old could stand up straight in it, but I played in that little store for years. Over the years I collected many different objects to enhance the look of my store. There was a open/close sign, an ink stamp with our logo that went on the outside of the shopping bags, and a drive thru option for convenience for the busy person on the go. My siblings have since reverted it back to a playhouse, and the store items are stuffed in a corner.
My other escape was a pair of pine trees that were probably about 12 feet tall, and they had grown very close together. The bottom branches didn't start until about 4 feet up, so I had a very small crawlspace of an area that I called my lab tree. Here, I would be an evil scientist, afflicting my evil ways on anyone who dared enter. The only thing that dared enter were fire ants, and I had a hell of a time experimenting on which type of solution ants would die in quicker. I tried mud, bubble solution, water, and a concoction of sap and other things lying around my "lab". I determined that the viscosity of bubble solution was the winner. The mud and the concoction were too hard to see into.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Week 6; Prompt 3
A picture postcard view and you hate it, because postcards belong to anyone with the money to buy one. If the tourists ever got past the obvious, they'd see what you see....
They would see that Maine is a dump. Maine is not vacationland, it is retirement/drug land. In my opinion, half of the drivers on the road should have their license revoked. Most are too old and senile to be able to make quick and accurate decisions about their driving choices. My grandparents included. One has Parkinson's so bad he is bent over at a 90 degree angle, and the other is so senile she barely recognizes anyone but her four german shepherds. Both have caused numerous accidents, yet still have their licenses without restriction. If you live in Bangor, and happen to walk ANYWHERE AT ALL, you will meet several unsavory characters. For example, I used to walk from the parking garage by pickering squre to exchange st. That short 1/2 mile distance has given me enough stories for a lifetime. It was common to see many people curled up with all their earthly belongings, with a paper bag bottle in their hands and an incoherent song on their lips. The park benches that they decided to sleep on had to be repainted often, due to the filth that they left behind. Other times that I would walk that walking bridge I would come across drug deals and sketchy people inserting said drugs into their bodies, a nauseating sight to be sure. However, the worst was the duck. On the walking bridge, the city had set up sporadic baskets that hung over the edge of the bridge. These baskets were full of pink petunias and purple pansies, in an apparent effort to try and spice the place up. A duck decided to take up residence in one of those baskets and lay some eggs. I feared for the duck due to the disgusting people that frequented this area and I tried my best to conceal her. I planted flowers in front of her to shield her from the eye, I even called the warden service to have her moved to a safer location. Unfortunately, my efforts failed. I walked to work one day and came upon a gruesome scene. The mother duck's head was hanging lifelessly over the edge of the basket, her small beady eyes were staring off and unblinking. I winced and moved forward to the basket. All the eggs were smashed. Fresh spray painted figures and tags were all over the bridge and I shook with anger as I surveyed the scene. I immediately reported the situation, but there is not justice for mother duck.
They would see that Maine is a dump. Maine is not vacationland, it is retirement/drug land. In my opinion, half of the drivers on the road should have their license revoked. Most are too old and senile to be able to make quick and accurate decisions about their driving choices. My grandparents included. One has Parkinson's so bad he is bent over at a 90 degree angle, and the other is so senile she barely recognizes anyone but her four german shepherds. Both have caused numerous accidents, yet still have their licenses without restriction. If you live in Bangor, and happen to walk ANYWHERE AT ALL, you will meet several unsavory characters. For example, I used to walk from the parking garage by pickering squre to exchange st. That short 1/2 mile distance has given me enough stories for a lifetime. It was common to see many people curled up with all their earthly belongings, with a paper bag bottle in their hands and an incoherent song on their lips. The park benches that they decided to sleep on had to be repainted often, due to the filth that they left behind. Other times that I would walk that walking bridge I would come across drug deals and sketchy people inserting said drugs into their bodies, a nauseating sight to be sure. However, the worst was the duck. On the walking bridge, the city had set up sporadic baskets that hung over the edge of the bridge. These baskets were full of pink petunias and purple pansies, in an apparent effort to try and spice the place up. A duck decided to take up residence in one of those baskets and lay some eggs. I feared for the duck due to the disgusting people that frequented this area and I tried my best to conceal her. I planted flowers in front of her to shield her from the eye, I even called the warden service to have her moved to a safer location. Unfortunately, my efforts failed. I walked to work one day and came upon a gruesome scene. The mother duck's head was hanging lifelessly over the edge of the basket, her small beady eyes were staring off and unblinking. I winced and moved forward to the basket. All the eggs were smashed. Fresh spray painted figures and tags were all over the bridge and I shook with anger as I surveyed the scene. I immediately reported the situation, but there is not justice for mother duck.
Week 6: Prompt 2
The safest place in the world....
My home is the safest place in the world. It's not much on the outside, but it has a lot of heart. It was once a trailer that was remodeled quite nicely and now resembles a quaint little house. However, the salmon colored siding with the green rood would not have been my first choice, that's the first thing to go. Once you step inside, you enter a small entry way with a beautiful oak coat/shoe rack. The yellow walls nicely offset the light colored wood. Unfortunately, my terror of a puppy chewed the corner off of the cabinet, so we try to not look at it, I swear it's on my "to do" list. After the entry way you get to the kitchen and living room. My boyfriend's unnecessarily large TV is center on the wall surrounded by a sectional couch. The kitchen is small but perfect for me, The hallway and the bathroom is littered with my "creepy" art. Trust me, I didn't give them this label, but I like odd and unique art and my nephew is so terrified he won't go near them. The bedroom is the only part I am proud of. It used to be two rooms, but we knocked out a wall and made it a master bedroom. I painted the walls this sky blue color and offset it with a bright white trim. The whispy curtains give it a ethereal appeal and the lighthouse, vacation, and ocean themed decor give you an insant air of relaxation. The top off to this wonderful room, is the bed. It's king size and a memory foam to boot! You simply sink into it without a care in the world and you feel as if nothing could go wrong, and everything it as peace.
My home is the safest place in the world. It's not much on the outside, but it has a lot of heart. It was once a trailer that was remodeled quite nicely and now resembles a quaint little house. However, the salmon colored siding with the green rood would not have been my first choice, that's the first thing to go. Once you step inside, you enter a small entry way with a beautiful oak coat/shoe rack. The yellow walls nicely offset the light colored wood. Unfortunately, my terror of a puppy chewed the corner off of the cabinet, so we try to not look at it, I swear it's on my "to do" list. After the entry way you get to the kitchen and living room. My boyfriend's unnecessarily large TV is center on the wall surrounded by a sectional couch. The kitchen is small but perfect for me, The hallway and the bathroom is littered with my "creepy" art. Trust me, I didn't give them this label, but I like odd and unique art and my nephew is so terrified he won't go near them. The bedroom is the only part I am proud of. It used to be two rooms, but we knocked out a wall and made it a master bedroom. I painted the walls this sky blue color and offset it with a bright white trim. The whispy curtains give it a ethereal appeal and the lighthouse, vacation, and ocean themed decor give you an insant air of relaxation. The top off to this wonderful room, is the bed. It's king size and a memory foam to boot! You simply sink into it without a care in the world and you feel as if nothing could go wrong, and everything it as peace.
Week 6: Prompt 1
You haven't been there since you were little. Now you go back...
There is one place that I look fondly upon with the greatest of memories. One would assume that it would be a childhood home, but in my case it's not. I grew up with a very rough childhood, always moving, fighting, and cramped quarters; however, my best friend Casey had a life I envied. Her parents were perfect. They had 6 beautiful children all tanned and big eyed with the sweetest disposition. I was the "bad" friend that most people didn't want their kids hanging around, but Casey's parents accepted me with open arms. We had many a good time in Casey's house. The sprawling lawn with the tree that grew sideways, the sun room, her bedroom where I hid from my mother when it was time to go...The time we spent there was always happy and fun. Then in middle school, I transferred schools and Casey and I lost touch. Thankfully, in high school we reconnected, but she was ripped from my life as soon as she re-entered. Her father's work enticed him to go to Texas, and in a matter of a week, she was gone. Due to their sudden departure, their house did not sell quite as fast as they might have hoped. It was bought months later, but recently was put up for sale. Since Casey's old house was less then a mile from my parent's house, I decided to make a drive by. Seeing that the house was for sale I decided to stop by with the guise that I was an interested buyer. To my luck, there was an open house. I entered, closing my eyes, expecting the worst. When I opened, the kitchen was exactly as I remembered. The doorway opened to a huge kitchen, the oak floors gleamed from the brass light fixtures overhead, the large stove and kitchen area in the back was minuscule compared to the giant stone fireplace. The whole kitchen still had some of Latina flavor left behind by Casey's mom. I intuitively glanced down at the socket next to the door, the CO2 alarm was gone. I had always been curious about that alarm, my parents had never thought it was needed, but Casey's doctor father had insisted. I walked to my right to the entry way, this had once been a fish sanctuary. All of the kids had their own tanks, full of colorful fish, Casey even had glowing ones that were activated by a uv light above their tank. Straight ahead was the sun room, I felt like it hadn't changed. White wicker furniture was scattered throughout, with mint green pillows and cushions. In my memories, this had doubled as the playroom, we had even spent a Halloween night here telling each other ghost stories s we lay propped up against those green pillows...we didn't sleep for days.
The rest of the downstairs consisted of a dining room, with an elaborate wood table and chairs, I quickly walked through it so that I could get to the back stair case to find the bedrooms. I walked the steps, having the number of them memorized by heart. It was almost as if I could see my 8 year old self zooming down the stairs, messy hair flying as I ran to the outdoors. When I reached the bedrooms I paused, a memory hit me of being dropped so hard by Casey and her sister that the wind got knocked out of me. I smiled. I walked into the room. It used to have two 3 beds for the 3 girls in the family. We had once even snuck some makeup in here and experimented with ways to use it, the lipstick prints still clung to the inside of the closet where we had pretended to be movie stars kissing our most loyal fans. It hurt to come back here, to realize all I had lost. I quickly hurried out and ran to my car. Behind me, the old treehouse beckoned to come play and knit more fake spider webs. Its dilapidated roof almost gave it the illusion that it was winking. As I drove away, that wink was the last thing I saw.
There is one place that I look fondly upon with the greatest of memories. One would assume that it would be a childhood home, but in my case it's not. I grew up with a very rough childhood, always moving, fighting, and cramped quarters; however, my best friend Casey had a life I envied. Her parents were perfect. They had 6 beautiful children all tanned and big eyed with the sweetest disposition. I was the "bad" friend that most people didn't want their kids hanging around, but Casey's parents accepted me with open arms. We had many a good time in Casey's house. The sprawling lawn with the tree that grew sideways, the sun room, her bedroom where I hid from my mother when it was time to go...The time we spent there was always happy and fun. Then in middle school, I transferred schools and Casey and I lost touch. Thankfully, in high school we reconnected, but she was ripped from my life as soon as she re-entered. Her father's work enticed him to go to Texas, and in a matter of a week, she was gone. Due to their sudden departure, their house did not sell quite as fast as they might have hoped. It was bought months later, but recently was put up for sale. Since Casey's old house was less then a mile from my parent's house, I decided to make a drive by. Seeing that the house was for sale I decided to stop by with the guise that I was an interested buyer. To my luck, there was an open house. I entered, closing my eyes, expecting the worst. When I opened, the kitchen was exactly as I remembered. The doorway opened to a huge kitchen, the oak floors gleamed from the brass light fixtures overhead, the large stove and kitchen area in the back was minuscule compared to the giant stone fireplace. The whole kitchen still had some of Latina flavor left behind by Casey's mom. I intuitively glanced down at the socket next to the door, the CO2 alarm was gone. I had always been curious about that alarm, my parents had never thought it was needed, but Casey's doctor father had insisted. I walked to my right to the entry way, this had once been a fish sanctuary. All of the kids had their own tanks, full of colorful fish, Casey even had glowing ones that were activated by a uv light above their tank. Straight ahead was the sun room, I felt like it hadn't changed. White wicker furniture was scattered throughout, with mint green pillows and cushions. In my memories, this had doubled as the playroom, we had even spent a Halloween night here telling each other ghost stories s we lay propped up against those green pillows...we didn't sleep for days.
The rest of the downstairs consisted of a dining room, with an elaborate wood table and chairs, I quickly walked through it so that I could get to the back stair case to find the bedrooms. I walked the steps, having the number of them memorized by heart. It was almost as if I could see my 8 year old self zooming down the stairs, messy hair flying as I ran to the outdoors. When I reached the bedrooms I paused, a memory hit me of being dropped so hard by Casey and her sister that the wind got knocked out of me. I smiled. I walked into the room. It used to have two 3 beds for the 3 girls in the family. We had once even snuck some makeup in here and experimented with ways to use it, the lipstick prints still clung to the inside of the closet where we had pretended to be movie stars kissing our most loyal fans. It hurt to come back here, to realize all I had lost. I quickly hurried out and ran to my car. Behind me, the old treehouse beckoned to come play and knit more fake spider webs. Its dilapidated roof almost gave it the illusion that it was winking. As I drove away, that wink was the last thing I saw.
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