Yes

I am coming back.

Broken/Open

Today was a bad day. My disco ball, the one relic I kept from my parents restaurant after it closed, shattered in a million pieces on the floor. Apple refused to fix my ipod even though it was broken by no fault of my own. Things are breaking all around me. Not just the material things, sometimes I think that maybe I too am broken. Unable to love, unable to be loved, unable to be serious even for a moment, unable to be anyone other than myself. It's a hard thing to admit to myself, that I'll never be anything more than I already am. And eventually, I'll keep trying to be something that I am clearly not, that I'll just bend until I break too. I just want someone to help me pick up the pieces. I just want someone to give me a chance.

A Chance

Sometimes all I'm looking for is a chance, an opportunity. I wish someone would just give me a second glance. That's all I want right now.

H.L.D.

My grandfather died two days ago in the early morning hours. I feel like I can say that without any sadness. I barely knew him, because in his days of living he was a stubborn, unforgiving man. And today at his funeral as everyone waxed poetically about his virtues they all sounded like far fetched lies to me. That was not the man I knew. I'm not trying to speak ill of the dead, but I do feel that in covering up who he really was I'd be dishonoring his memory. I never met my grandfather until I was ten years old. He had a long grudge against my father for reasons unknown to anyone but him. He finally let it go when I was ten, but the resentments were always there, we always walked on eggshells around him. Things were never easy between us. Our conversations were awkward and stilted. He asked me about my schooling, and where I was working. And in my answers he heard the voice of a boy who had come from a man he never could stand. And in his questions I heard the voice of the man who had never treated my mother the way she was meant to be treated. When he looked at me, he never really saw me. When I looked at him I saw a giant of man, that I would never understand. He never asked me about my friends, about my interests, about my personal life. I don't know if he didn't ask because he didn't care. Maybe he just knew that a line was drawn in the sand, and there was only so much I was willing to tell him.

When I was seventeen the questions stopped. There was a fight, I started it. though some have said that if it hasn't been because of me it would have been because of something else. The fragile ice we had been skating on all those years had finally cracked. I didn't speak to him again until he was almost too weak to respond. Finally five years later when he was sick, and it would have looked to horrible not to visit him I saw him again. The questions started again, though this time with a slow and measured breath. Now, he would ask them repeatedly, because he couldn't remember having asked them in the first place. I didn't mind them as much now. And I was glad not to be asked about anything that was actually important to me. And in the five years that had passed he had become so much smaller in my eyes. Whether it was because of the curvature of his spine, or the lack of respect I now had for him, I am not sure.

Today as I was sitting in the pew during his memorial service, it struck me how conflicted I felt about the entire situation. Here was a man, who was more closely related to me than nearly anyone else in my life who I truly love. Yet, I felt no affection for him at all. I felt no stir of emotions at all as I looked at his casket. I felt nothing. And in feeling nothing, I felt everything. I can't believe how dead inside I was concerning this man. I just couldn't understand how that could be, as I am the most emotional person you will ever meet. I never realized I could hold such resentments that I never even knew I had. And as the rest of the people attending the services began their procession out of the room the family made it's way to him. As my mother and her mother, and her siblings crowded around him I found myself shying away in the corner. They finally left, and I realized I was alone in the room with him. I couldn't tell you when the last time that has happened. I walked up to his coffin, and said goodbye. And as I walked out of the room, I forgave him. I only hope he can forgive me too.

The Sad and Hidden Truths

I'm finding out a lot of things about myself I think I may have been better off not knowing lately. For instance I willingly watched almost two hours of UFC fighting with Bryant recently. And even worse than just viewing this masochistic display of manhood, I kind of got into it a bit. Apparently somewhere deep inside me is a prehistoric man who is craving bloodshed. I do believe that's something I could have lived without knowing about myself. Although I have always shied away from any sort of physical activity including watching others partake in it, and never allowing myself to participate in it. But for all I know there is a Ultimate Fighting Championship lover in me. Maybe if I had known this earlier I would have been one of those thirteen year old white trash boys who wore WWF shirts to school and told everyone that would listen how much they loved Stone Cold Steve Austin. I totally could have been that guy, and is there anything worse than that really? I kind of doubt it.

I'm also starting to realize that I may be a compulsive liar. Not in the "Oh No Officer, I didn't savagely beat and possibly rape pop star Rihanna!" kind of way. But a less malicious story telling kind of way. I don't even know how it happens, I just find myself having simple conversations with people, and in the middle of which I find myself bored and start weaving these completely ridiculous tales. And believe it or not, I actually have a pretty good poker face. So most people think I'm telling the truth. And I do eventually tell them I'm lying, and that most of everything I say is a boldfaced lie. But I don't understand how I find myself in this situation in the first place. I'm a good person right? Good people don't lie, do they? I mean sure they lie to get out of jury duty, and helping the homeless. But beyond that normal people don't' go around telling fairy tales so good that they could have been penned by J.K. Rowling herself do they? I don't think so. I need to find a way to stop myself.

My first job: food service

I will never serve food for a living again.

My first job was when I was fifteen at the restaurant my parents managed at the time. I think my official title was "busboy", but I also was used as a guacamole maker, tortilla warmer, chip fetcher, drink refiller, and most importantly my father's bitch. Mostly I just followed him around, and did things for him all day. I was too young to get a paycheck so it was all cash. I was always pretty sure they were shorting me though. I should have a talk with my Dad about making up some of that lost income. That time could have been better spent doing things I did when I was fifteen like watching MTV, and learning to drive a car. I wish I had spent that extra time learning how to drive, because I am awful driver today seven years later. I think there's a lesson there somewhere.

If I had easy access to a helicopter, I'd fly to New York this weekend

I'd like to experience a big city but only in a small dose. I think I'd feel to lost and out of place to stay there for two long.

My ideal Super Bowl halftime show would include Britney Spears and Reba Mcentire

Britney Spears
I don't think this really needs much explanation other than the fact that she's fucking Britney Spears.

Reba Mcentire
Because I'd really like to see her do a duet of "I'm A Slave 4 U" with the abformentioned Britney Spears.

If I were a superhero, I would certainly wear tights

My name would be SONIC BOOM. My abiliities would include being the loudest motherfucker in the world, and filling the awkard pauses in conversations with obceneties.

When I realized I was a grown-up

Although I am three years over the usual standard for being an adult I still feel like I'm not quite there yet. And to be pefectly honest I kind of feel like I'll never relaly feel old.

In defense of my vice: Britney Spears

When she came out I was in the seventh grade. She immediately did a backflip into my heart and I could never stop listening to that bitch now if I wanted to.

Three overplayed songs I love anyway

Ignition Remix by R. Kelly

This song takes me back to the summer after I graduated. It was everywhere I turned, but I loved it anyway. It reminds me of going to the park and drinking Mountain Dew LiveWire and eating gummy bears.

Imagine by John Lennon

Even though this song is trotted out by some overdone artist at every event for charity/children/AIDS/poverty, I still love it even if I hear it by every other American Idol contestant every year.

Dolly Parton. by I Will Always Love You

Because it is so much more fragile and beautiful than the overwrought cover by Whitney Houston.

Disconnect

Bad things happen sometimes, it is an unavoidable situation. Girls break up with their boyfriends, and pets die. People die all the time actually. It's the natural way things are supposed to happen I guess. My Grandfather is dying. And I don't say that in a way that begs for sympathy because I honestly don't want any. I have no relationship with my maternal grandparents and haven't had one for years. It's always been an off and on kind of situation. And the only reason it's on at the currently is because he is dying. And I feel so many things mostly for my mother who is torn between her resentment of him, and the guilt she feels for not having a good relationship with him, and the underlying grief she feels. And I don't know how to make sense of it. It is an odd feeling to know that you should be sad, but know that you're not. It is an odd sensation to know that you honestly don't feel anything at all about a particular person. No bad feelings, no good feelings, just nothing. That's the exact way I feel about the situation. I thank him for having a part in bringing my mother into the world because she is an amazing person and for that I thank him. but after that I want nothing from him, and nothing to do with him. And I know that's wrong, and I know that makes me a bad person. I just can't help it. I surprise myself sometimes how disconnected I can be. I think I need help. I know this doesn't make any sense to you at all, and that's because it doesn't even make any sense to me. I'm sorry.

Things You May Not Know:

My sister signed all of her Christmas presents to me "To: Bitch Tits From: Marilyn"

I once was the victim of a run by kicking by a complete stranger at the Calcasieu Parish Public Library.

There are 479 songs by Britney Spears in my Itunes library.

I nearly named this site "Heartbreak is a Mother Fucker" but then decided that Postarita was probably a better fit.

A week ago I ate one of the best honey buns of my life. Easily in the top ten of all gas station pastries I've ever partaked in.

I am attempting to build my life's library a'la Alaska Young by going to garage sales every weekend.

I am intentionally listening to a Clay Aiken song at this very moment.

My mother got an mp3 player for Christmas. She asked me to fill it with music for her. As a joke I filled it with gangster rap, and line dances from the eighties. Oddly enough she loves it.

I can never decide if meatloaf is one word or two.

A few weeks ago me and Nicole found the entrance to Hell, and it's in Jefferson Parish.

I love writing nonsensical lists.

I do what I like and you like it

Usually my predicament is not having enough to say. Right now I'm in the position where I have a lot to say, and not enough time to sit down and say it. I had a good Christmas, and an adequate New Years. In fact, I was taking a dump at the stroke of midnight. Which I think is a good indicator of things to come in 2009. I have lots of things to tell you, updates coming soon.

Shake Up

I cleaned my bedroom today, which is not an extraordinary event worth writing about for most people. Only for me it happens bi annually at best, and never at worst. It's not that I'm too busy or anything, in fact for the most part I have absolutely nothing going on in my life. But for some reason I choose to live in filth for six months at a time. I am always amazed at the sheer amount of crap that I can accumulate in such a short span of time. It consists mostly of empty coke cans, and receipts for crap I didn't need to buy in the first place. But also I usually find a stack of notes that I write to myself in the middle of the night. For some reason I get most of greatest ideas while I'm asleep. Or at least what I think are great ideas at four in the morning. These notes usually turn out to be not so legible at best, and just doodles of what appears to be two stick figures having sex at a German carnival at the worst. These notes cover my night stand, and spill out on to the floor. They only contain stupid little things that in my sleeping state I think are critical to have down on paper. Whether it be jokes that I think are funny, or song lyrics, or ideas for a blog. Tonight, I found a note haphazardly written on the back of an old photograph that simply read: "Red headed lesbian goat farmer in Bogota, New Jersey" Apparently I believed at one time that this was relevant information.

So I guess that good news is that I can finally make my way to my bed without tripping over nineteen books in my way. The other thing I want to talk about is what I mentioned earlier that I have absolutely nothing going on in my life right now. I like to have a project, I like to have something to do at all times. I like to keep going, going, going when possible. I am my happiest when I'm busy, when there are people to see, and places to go. I can't understand why my appointment book is not filled to it's fullest extent. It makes no sense to me, I am amazing to be around. In fact I'd go as far to say that I'm the most amazing person I've ever met. And if I was another person and happened to meet myself I would do everything in my power to spend as much time with me as possible. I guess I'm just upset that I haven't been able to do anything productive as of late. In fact I'd go as far to say as the only productive thing I've done in the past month is to take a dump. And that's not even so much productive as it is filling up the sewers and polluting the ground water of Louisiana.

I guess what I'm saying is I need to meet that red headed lesbian goat farmer. I need to meet anyone, and everyone that brings some fun back to my life. I need a shake up. Yes I do.

It's Begining To Look Alot Like...

I just found this picture while doing a Christmas project for my parents. I'd like to say that I was incontestably adorable. I look really happy, but for all I know I might have been molested by the mall Santa minutes after this picture was taken. I really don't remember, so I couldn't say for sure. I'd also like to say that if anyone could find me that exact same shirt in my current size I'd greatly appreciate it.

All That Glitters

There's not a whole lot of things not to enjoy about this time of the year. Although most people redundantly refer to it as "their favorite time of the year" as if anyone out there really hates Christmas. I don't see how they could, really. This time is so special and not just because of the crowds and the forced merriment happening all around us. There's just something good in the air around this time, and it stings with a certain crispness that you won't find in July. People who sit in their homes day after day only thinking of themselves are suddenly filling their buggies and emptying their wallets for their loved ones. I swear even music sounds better during December whether it be the gentle tones of "Silent Night" even the amazing new Britney Spears album "Circus" sounds better this close to Christmas (Side Bar: Buy Yours Today!)

Sadly, I think I have finally found something to dislike about this season, and that would be glitter. It's barely big enough to see with the naked eye, but it is big enough to fuck up my entire day. I find it everywhere, on everything I own. It's on my shoe laces, and on my favorite wool peacoat. But that's only because everyone is insisting to add it to everything they touch this time of year. It truly is everywhere, on everything I see. It's on ornaments, and greeting cards, snow globes, and ceramic angels, garland, and wreaths. It is on everything.

It is almost as if the Christmas decoration creators of the world have begun to think the same way about glitter as most American chain restaurants think of chocolate. Which is: "If chocolate is good, then wouldn't more chocolate be better?" And then they answer themselves with: "Why don't we only serve deserts with approximately ninety seven different layers of chocolate? We can have a chocolate fudge cake, layered with chocolate icing, and topped with chocolate gannache! We could top it with chocolate ice cream, and pieces of chocolate candy! We could follow that up with chocolate whipped cream, and chocolate sauce with chocolate sprinkles! And then we'll serve it on a plate with ornate drippings of chocolate sauce!" You can almost see fat Americans everywhere sink to their knees and start thanking God at this proclamation.

But, it is perfect thinking, if you stop and consider it for a moment. We are a glutinous people. If we like something, we want as much of it as possible. We want it in as many different ways as we can have it. We want it all at the same time and please be quick about it. This kind of thinking only hurts those who just wish for a simple bowl of vanilla ice cream, or God forbid something with fruit in it. It is not enough to just want something simple anymore, it has to be adorned to the maximum extent. It has to be bigger, and better than what the people next door have. Whether that be with a fifteen foot high chocolate monstrosity that some waiter in a Chili's in Bogota, New Jersey is limping under the weight of. Or it could be the subtle way that neighbors silently compete over who has the most ornate Christmas decorations in their front yard. Which is all fun and games until someone brings out the airport landing strip like strobe lights to display their life size collection of wooden cartoon characters painted in their holiday finery. I'm speaking from experience as such a rivalry has broken out not two houses down from mine.

Apparently your house is not festive enough this holiday season unless every single ornament and yuletide trinket is covered with shiny fragments of metal. I cannot stand near enough to a decorated Christmas tree to admire it without coming away with it all over my face, and hands. And when I do purposefully touch something with glitter on it, I can almost see the glitter rise in a cloud above the object in question just in the wake of the gentle pads of your fingertips. I accidentally inhale it, and for the next month I am coughing and sneezing out the shiny pieces. I cannot walk down the Christmas aisle at Walmart or the stork I work in without looking like I just came from a strip club and was boobie slapped in the face by a coked out Russian stripper by the name of Charisma wearing a glitter and sequin studded g string.

I swear to God that yesterday I saw glitter in my pee. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but I swear that's what I saw. So I guess what I'm saying is that it all has to stop. The constant war of outdoing one another, the constant slathering on of our favorite things on every thing we see. Not everything is better with chocolate shavings, or red and gold glitter. Not everything can be fixed that easily, and that's something we need to learn. It really came to a head when I woke up this morning fresh from a horrible dream I had the night before in which I somehow got a piece of it in my eye during a parade gone horribly wrong. I then had to succumb to an experimental glitterectomy in which I lost my sight. I remember the feeling of relief I had when I woke up realizing that I still had the ability to see my surroundings. I felt so lucky, and fulfilled. Then I accidentally passed to closely to our Christmas Tree on my way to the kitchen and my whole fucking day was ruined and I think you know why.

Forture teller says maybe you won't go to hell

He sounds so sure of himself. He sounds like he knows what he's talking about, and he makes me want to take his words for truth. He's in a place that is much different then than the place I find myself in on a day to day basis. He has his entire life planned out for him. He knows what he'll do, and he knows who he'll be with when he does it. He knows where he'll be and, who he wants to be. I feel completely different about the future. I feel like I have a million ideas, and a million passions, and none of the resources or knowledge to do anything with any of them. I feel like the seeds of a dandelion when you blow gently on it's petals. I'll just float in the wind until I land. And maybe I'll end up somewhere that I can flourish and finally become what I was meant to be. Or maybe I'll end up in a pile of scurrying ants (which I'm allergic to). Or maybe I'll land on someones driveway, amongst the steel framed cars and skid marks. I don't think that dandelions can grow through cement but maybe I'll be the first.

I just feel like a few years ago I had everything, and then in a matter of unconnected moments I lost it all. It's like I went to a fortune teller and there was a crack in her crystal ball. And she had no idea what to say to me about a life marred with cracks in the fragile glass surface of my life. And that scares me, but it also thrills me. I like not knowing, even though not knowing is what keeps me not sleeping. But I guess what I'm saying is that he might have it all figured out, and maybe I don't. But I guess I'm not scared at all, of the cracks in the crystal ball.

Nothing

Remember those times when I was full of funny anecdotes and maudlin tales? This is not one of those times. I am so absolutely empty in life right now that I have absolutely nothing to talk about. So sorry for the lack of updates.