Most of the time I hate dancing.
Wait. I need to clarify a couple of things.
I used to always be seriously tired. Dancing was a little too much effort for me. I hope that I can keep up with the pace that I have last night. Like I actually broke out in a sweat. I smelled bad at the end of the night.
My hair was wet.
My shirt clung to my boobs due to sweat.
And guess what?
I hugged everyone on the way out.
It felt good. Plus, I’m not ever sure boys really care when girls smell. They just looked so damn happy to see me, and that happiness was fucking contagious…well to some extend.
I hadn’t been up to Denton in a while now, and I still stick to my guns that all Denton has for me is shame, parking tickets, and bad habits.
Oh yeah, and my college degree…and that’s really taking me places in life. (I’m being sarcastic at the moment but I seriously deep down inside believe it, and it’s the reason why I don’t play in traffic on 635.)
I hadn’t seem some of the boys since October, right after I turned 30 and took the oath to try to stay away from truly depressing shit. Nothing, my friends, is more depressing then a bunch of folks that you you secretly think the world of tossing their lives down the drain while being disloyal to you.
Allegiance is a game to some people. One friend asked me why I always had to pick a side while we were watching reality TV. It’s honestly just how I roll. I’m either on fire or cold as ice. Helps with decision making–and hey even God is reported not to like folks on the fence. I believe the term is “luke warm”. I have favorites with folks and food, bars and booze–and that’s something to live by if you ask me.
Let’s get back to my allegiance to dancing to 80′s and 90′s music. I didn’t think the boys were going to show up. The trip was orchestrated by a friend of mine who is a solid player. She wanted to make a dance night happen and she saw it through til the end. She’s also really good at knowing when it’s time to go. I danced til I almost feel down and made it all the way home by 1:30. The good just outweighed the bad, and not just on dance night, but honestly for the whole weekend.
I definitely missed all the folks that I saw save one. I do realize that the only way to keep things pleasant is to make trips sparse.
I’m also not good at dancing. I mean I loved dancing when I was a kid, but everyone but my mom will admit that I was an awkward looking child, and for some reason those weird dance moves stuck with me.
Part of the reason why I love music from the 90′s is because I wasn’t allowed to listen to it when my mom became super religious, and I wasn’t really allowed to go anywhere where I could dance save my bathroom, homecoming and prom. I remember riding in my mom’s ’76 Maverick on the way home from school. We called it Charlie Brown because it was really sad like his christmas tree. It was peanut brown on the inside and outside, it squeaked and squealed louder than a pornstar, and it always smelled of gasoline. Now on my way home from school I specifically remember the song “I wanna sex you up” playing on the radio, and my mother was so appalled that it was on the radio before nine, even though the word sex was edited. She turned the radio off, and all we could hear was Charlie squealing all the way home.
When I heard the song during 90′s night, I moved my waist around like I was failing at hula hooping, and that one memory popped into my head. I laughed like a looney.
I’m almost 98 percent sure that anyone who thinks I’m good at dancing is either drunk, or only judges by the amount of fun the dancer is having. I’m cool with that. My favorite dance moves come after about five shots of whiskey. When I’m waiting on shot number six, I literally grab on to the bar and proceed to pop, lock, and drop it…but not like in the videos. I’m just kinda shake my butt a little bit and do like a little 50′s twist move.
For one night, I didn’t hate dancing.
For a little bit of time here, I haven’t really been motivated to write.
I haven’t really been motivated to do very much to tell the truth.
I’d gotten a little bit of financial freedom, a small break from some of my debt. I was so excited about it. When I got the paycheck that was supposed to set me free, I was liberated. I’d forgotten that even though I was going to pay off a couple of debts that I would still need to eat and drive back and forth to work. I did a couple of small things, but at the end of the day I still live in my house.
Sometimes I think this house represents a prison of sorts. I’ve only been in a holding tank twice. It wasn’t a terribly long time. I remember feeling this terrible desperation. I knew that at some point I could go home, but my frustration lied in the fact that I couldn’t understand why you would arrest someone with minor traffic violations. For the first couple of nights in jail I just cried. I don’t think the people who worked at the jail could really understand why I was so upset. I was afraid that this was a forecast for the rest of my life. I am still in some way or another afraid that I will be imprisoned in some manner because I can’t afford to pay minimum dues. Isn’t that why I life in the house where I live? It’s cramped, and dirty. No one takes responsibility for anything. I live in a shoe box with few possessions. I wonder when my mother and teachers looked at me as a child and said that I would do great things, is this what they were referring to? Did they want me to get into a position where I would allow someone to treat me as less than a person because they were able to leverage debt on me.
When I talk to people about debt, they feel so ashamed for not being able to pay. Sometimes the worse thing you can be really isn’t an evil person, it isn’t a person who doesn’t love, but it’s a person who isn’t able to take care of bills. Poor is the worst thing that you can be really. When your friends leverage debt over you, and demand you pay something that you don’t have the money for, your friendship quickly dissolves. Now you feel as if you have to do whatever they want because you took something that was theirs and couldn’t give it back. I know all of these things seem so seriously elementary. These simple thoughts weight me down and carry me off a million miles away. I wonder what new problem my good friend has made for herself that will become my responsibility because a few years ago I borrowed a couple hundred bucks and I couldn’t pay it back. Now when you drive drunk, so do I.
I’ve been in this room for two days now. I’m getting to the point where I don’t even want to watch television or eat anything that I’ve gotten for myself to tide me over these couple of days. I feel the most tired, because basically all I’ve done is sleep, and in my waking moments I wonder how I have so many friends and acquaintances, but when I’m sad I feel that I’ve no one to talk to. Everyone is so busy with their lives, who can really blame them. People can’t be responsible for your lack of ability to develop a life.
So I try to find men who I think are the same amount of broken as I am, so that I can make a connection and not be quite so lonely, but the broken ones run, and the ones who aren’t broken see that I’m a problem before they even speak to me.
I often wonder how my brother grew up in the same house with all the same issues, and ended up not broken. I’m often jealous that he always has someone to talk to, and that I’m often afraid to express myself because I think people will find me contrite and stupid.
I walk into a social atmosphere that is supposed to seem open, but I spend most of my time wondering why the people who are close to me in a social setting are so manipulative. Why do they send so many mixed signals? Why do I have to charm and prove my value every time I see you? Why would a friend set you up for failure?
For this reason, I spend my time around a few select and the rest of my time I would prefer to sit alone. In this modern mental prison that I’ve allowed myself to be shut in.
I forgot to be funny this time.
I find a strange comfort in the fact that comedians and people who seem to be jovial and outgoing are really depressed. I’m not sure what they do about it, it seems a lot of them run on drugs and alcohol. I don’t really have the money for those habits.
I need to do laundry.
If this entry was a newspaper article the headline would read “Badass Driver discovers she actually a scared little girl”.
It was JUST the snow, or JUST the ice—but the road conditions at 1 am in the morning were actually a complex issue. It was a shit show. It was a cornucopia of shitty city planning issues and other driver who had no idea how ice works.
I told Ashley that there was no way I was spending my entire off day stuck in my house staring at the walls. At about five- thirty, I insisted that since my date stood me up we should make our way to the galleria. At this point it was rainy, but the roads were clear. We spent a couple of hours at the mall looking at things we couldn’t afford and participating in mild tomfoolery. At around seven or so, the sales clerks in the store started looking antsy, and some of the stores had already begun closing down early. One lady in Victoria’s Secret told us that the weather had already taken a turn for the worst. I scoffed at her.
Ashley then started showing signs of genuine concern about driving home. Since I didn’t want to turn in early, I decided to go down town and see what kind of delicious foods we could scrounge up during downtown’s happy hour.
The roads on the way downtown were splendid. Yes, we did pass a couple of bad wrecks, but I insisted everything would be fine. We met some really cool downtown people, and even scored a couple of glasses of plum wine.
On the walk home, the rain was super cold, but not frozen. Since I don’t understand what socks or comfortable shoes are, Ashley was kind enough to lend me more cold weather supplies.
When I got into my car to drive home, the temperature reading was 37. When I pulled into my drive way one hour and ten minutes later the reading was a cool 26 degrees.
The streets in downtown on the way to 35 looked completely normal. I felt pretty confident. Somewhere between Empire Central and Northwest Highway, shit got real. Not only did shit get real, but someone turned off the lights. My hands gripped the steering wheel at ten and two. My eyes were the widest that they have ever been, and my back way seriously arched away from the back of my seat. Immy K (the name of my Jetta) and I were a united front, Lady and machine, and we were determined to make it home. In Dallas, even though it was dark and I realized the stuff that I thought was sand was actually ice, I was able to stick to the pathways that the 18 wheelers had created. Typically I am afraid of 18 wheelers because I know most of the drivers are wired on crank and haven’t slept in days. Today was no different but as long as these professionals were driving at a normal pace I knew that I could handle my car.
About half an hour into the drive, the 18 wheelers around me started driving about 20mph and fishtailing. This is when I began to panic.
I told myself that panicking wasn’t going to get me home safely. I took deep breaths, and I turned the radio off.
Not having the radio on was definitely going to help me, because that’s the equivalent of driving on sanded roads.
I was getting closer to the farmer’s Branch area, and 35 was darker than ever and appeared to be completely white with no tire tracks. Out of nowhere an 18 wheeler slid across four lanes of traffic, right in front of me. I just knew at this moment I was going to hang out in the afterlife with my friend Corey who recently passed, and Nelson Mandela (RIP to both).
(That’s right, the truck is freaking me off and because of the snow it’s throwing up, I can’t see anything. At. ALL.)
For some reason, unbeknownst to me and in defiance of the few laws of physics that I understand, the truck and I gained control of our vehicles.
Literally, Jesus took the wheel.
At the moment when I gained a little confidence, I noticed that my car has a little indicator that lets me know when I’m totally not in control of my car. It’s a little orange light with squiggly lines. It’s like the car was telling me, “there’s no traction here, driver, but I’ll be damned if I know what you should do about that. Here’s a really distracting light.”
God bless German engineering.
Lewisville was the scariest city of them all.
Lights out! Don’t’ turn on the radio.
No sand whatsoever. No tracks. Lots of cars in ditches facing the wrong direction: It was like an ice skating rink on the freeway. Because this was the coldest part of the drive, and all the roads were just sheets of ice, I mapped out of game plan of how to get to my house which happens to be in a neighborhood on a hill. I slid over a bridge, almost got hit on 121 by two cars that thought that they didn’t have to obey stop lights because the weather is bad, and passed by three cars that were stuck spinning their wheels. I was gripping the steering wheel so hard that my fingers hurt, and I clenched my teeth to such an extent that I had a headache when the drive was over.
When I got home I let out the biggest sigh of relief. I parked in our driveway, and the car started to slide backward. It was the first time that I’ve had to use the emergency break.
It is only by the grace of God that I made it home tonight. Unless God decides to drive me to work tomorrow, I’m not going in.
Are you feeling left behind in this world? Like you just can’t get an edge up on the competition?
Historically there were fewer choices in life. The average person knew exactly what their destiny was! Life was so simple and pleasant during feudalism. Now there are so many choices and with the internet age that one is never sure what he or she should be doing. This can lead to directionlessness, chronic loitering, and the lack of ability to make decisions.
Life was way easier. You knew where you were, and you knew you weren’t going anywhere…unless the plague or something took you out.
Are you easily distracted? Tired? Have an alcohol problem? Are you distressed from frequently using Wikipedia for self diagnosing?
Fiuqitol is different from other medications in that it will solve all of your problems by administering a heavy sleep aid. A refreshed state will allow developed thought resulting in progress.
Now you’ll have less time to fuck around on the internet. The deep sleep also cuts down on drunken driving, STDs and unwanted pregnancy because you won’t be able to leave the house to get blasted
The first dose of fuquitol is used to saturate your gaming console or home computer so that the damage causes less time on the internet/playing video games.
The second dose is taken internally, causing a deep sleep–when you wake up without anything to waste your time, you’ll begin to wonder why you are not at work
Fuquitol taken once daily will allow you 12 hours of sleep, which will leave you refreshed to make life’s difficult choices.
Side effects include life direction, loss of loser friends, promotions, increased work load and responsibility, happy family life, an aversion to Denton and other college towns, and general maturity–and often times a successful life
“After I turned thirty, I just didn’t know what to do with my life besides watch sporting events from crappy bars. Since I took Fuquitol I make enough money at the job I acquired to actually watch the games in person!” Steven W.
“I often have clean dishes, and I wash myself daily now!” Cynthia K.
“Before I was overwhelmed by life’s choices and would often cry at restaurants because there were too many choices and I had no direction. Now I can just order a steak. Not being a crybaby had made me way more attractive to women without drug dependencies.” Michael A.
Most patients in the study were 30+ aged males without a job, so they weren’t able to consult a doctor before using. We suggest consulting a physician before changing your regimen. More than likely given our user base, you will take a poll of very sophisticated facebook and reddit users.
I have a secret.
It’s time for me to come out to the world.
Deep in my soul, I’m a 40 year old white man.
I can’t stop listening to Paul McCartney. Sometimes when I’m in my car I literally laugh my ass off while listening to Russ Martin. Not literally. My butt is still pretty huge, which is awesome because it allows me to comprehend complex political philosophy.
I thought my butt was just for guys to smack and stare at, but really it’s also the reason why men find me unattractive. “You’re really snarky, where did all that sass come from.” Now I know that it actually comes from my ability to analyze situations and quickly come up with a reply. The reason you started dating me will ultimately be the reason why you’ll come to dread the sound of my voice. All of my powers, my prowess, and my digestive health stem from my bottom.
White men typically don’t have large asses though. I’m very confused about my confession right now.
Okay, so I think older white person humor is absolutely marvelous. But I’m also super liberal and I really enjoy the company of men…
So I’m more like a gay 40 year old white man. I’m a gay white man who can sing like a British deceased white woman.
I’m kinda all over the map here.
Ah! I was going to write about cultivation.
When I meet someone that I really like, I typically look past them. Well, not past them–I see potential. I could meet someone and see that they are lying in a dirty gutter, but I realize that because soap exist and alcohol is not permanent, if they have a spark of intelligence then I know under the right conditions they could be awesome. It’s the woman’s mistake. This is how I’m not like a white man. I like a fixer-upper. I don’t like buying the property as it is. Sometimes I see the warmth in others and I want it for myself. I’m not a gardener, and I’m not a baker, but I just know under the right conditions that people can flourish.
So I put on a pair of heels and a baker’s hat, and I pour in affection and kisses and booze, and I put these men in the oven to bake. I wait patiently as the aroma fills the figurative kitchen of my little heart. Somehow while these men are in the oven, I walk away for a second, and they decided that they would rather be with anyone but me. Literally anyone. It always disappoints me, but I’m not sure whether it’s because these dudes don’t want me, or because I hate being wrong about people.
Let’s not kid ourselves, folks. It’s really about rejection. No one likes it, and it’s always hard to deal with. It also sucks when people just automatically decided that you’re not worth cultivating when you clearly think that they are. I’m going to wait a little bit to get into all my issues about self esteem, but I want to let you know that rejection hits everyone who is able to process it.
While I’m thinking about cultivating relationships, because it is my ultimate fear to end up without friends and single in my old age, I realized that I should start thinking of a cultivating my legacy. I was thinking about doing a video blog or a podcast. Why should I let other people steal my jokes and my stories? I have lived through each of my dramatic experiences, and I have to know that these moments were not in vain. The world is a different place now a days, who will tell this story if I don’t.
Oh! Speaking of telling stories, here’s one about an acquaintance of mine….I sometimes am worried that I’m losing my mind. I want to take a moment to quote someone who has already lost their mind.
“I call dibs on EVERYONE! So stop your F*$&#* each other, you dirty sluts. You, the entire human population of Earth, are my one and only neglected and abused hoe. God gave you to Abraham, he’s dead, and I’m still here. #megalomania… What you gonna do bro when Megalomania runs wild all over you?!?!?!?!??”
I did some mild editing. I am pretty sure, with the implications of this text that this man is suffering from late stage syphilis insanity. There’s a little bit of heresy in the text…and there’s the mention of a gardening tool. I just wanted people of the world to know that a person that would say this exists, and is roaming around all nilly willy without restraint.
Expression is important. I’ll try not to have a breakdown on Facebook… Instead I’m having a breakdown here.
I haven’t really been blogging because I’ve been doing really well at developing the art of procrastination. Also, I broke my R key so it makes it kinda difficult to rant without having to slow down for that letter. I never realize how important that letter is until it’s broken, or I’m pretending to be a pirate.
Notice: I realize that some of these are first world problems and that other people have it worst than I do. When I think about them, and I do often, it makes me even more sad and distracted.
I feel like a moderately well developed person. Most of the time. I have a job, and I make it there on time. It doesn’t pay what I need it to pay, but if I can make it just a little further it will. I have friends who like me enough, and when I have enough money I hang out with them. I am not sure how I’m doing in the dating scene. These are the things that my optimist that lives deep within me tries to tell the rest of me.
This is what I think right before I have a mental break down:
I have no gas in my tank. I have to make it to work twice more this week.
I’m not sure, but because of my current financial situation the 1.68 that I just spent on eggs might overdraft my account.
I don’t have 35 dollars for that fee. I didn’t even have two dollars to buy the eggs.
I’m so tired of eating eggs.
Maybe I can buy Halloween candy after Halloween is over, since I wasn’t able to do anything for Halloween.
Everyone sure looks like they are having fun in those facebook pictures.
Everyone at my job got together for a girl night out, I was not invited.
A potential dating partner told me he was afraid to talk to me while I was menstruating, what did he think would happen? That’s a little offensive.
I’m not dating one guy I just met, but he has managed to send me three messages to break up with me. Am I that horrible before you get to know me, or is it really true that everyone in this world is more worthy of a chance than I am. That idea is seriously offensive.
I finally managed to fit into a pair of jeans that fit me at express, they cost more than eggs and an overdraft fee.
At least I don’t have a kid, because if I did the kid would be starving and probably have an Irish alcoholic father that was set on dumping me daily.
When I get my paycheck, the entire thing will be spent paying people that I owe.
I miss my friends but I’m afraid I have less in common with them everyday. A worse fear is that they never were able to relate to me in the first place.
Being depressive in unattractive, but why is it okay for other people to feel and not okay for me?
How could we all take such similar steps, but at this juncture in the road, I’m the only one who ended up a failure.
Obviously I’m all over the map emotionally, and this is my reaction to the people I know and our interactions. How do you make decision to break a pattern that you aren’t in control of. I meet so many people from so many different places, but at the end of the day it’s hard to spot unique behavior. When you’re at the bottom people scatter. When you’re at the top they are more than happy to rejoice with you. If you’re a person who experiences serious lows, how are you to reach out for support without pulling others down.
I hear- and this is a pretty far fetched story- and I’ve been told that when you’re in a partnership, the other person is supposed to help you the same way you are supposed to help support you’re partner when they are down. I can’t really say that I’ve really experienced this, and it’s becoming more and more difficult to tolerate potential dating folks who don’t show signs of support.
You know, I’ve had friends that were seriously supportive, and the moment our dynamic changed from friendship to romantic, they managed to absolutely drop me on my ass? That used to be my big thing when I was younger…friends with ambiguous boundaries. Now it appears that some people don’t think I’m worthy of the friendship at all, we skip all that getting to know you junk and lead straight in with the crappy treatment. I would vow to never leave my house again if it didn’t smell of curry and wasn’t infested with ants and filth.
I wrote my list, and I got a car and a job–but even though I’m making the right choices the stress alone is making me crazy.
Please don’t respond by telling me how I’m fucking everything up. I already know- How about if you see me maybe try a hug- or a soda pop. If you’re smelly I’d prefer a soda pop, not a hug.
I’m almost thirty years old this year. 20 years before I was born on a military base in the great state of Texas, my mother was just a little girl and her generation was moved by the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in a way that swept the nation. I often wonder if he knew when he was preparing this speech, that it would become so iconic.
Almost 12 years ago, during my very first class of college, Dr. Gloria Cox would play a video of that speech to honor its anniversary at UNT. I remember that I cried, because I felt totally unworthy. I didn’t feel like I was awesome enough for so many people to struggle and give their lives, so that I’d be able to go to a public university, so that I could take public transportation to get there without issue, and so that I could use any facilities available to take my life in whatever direction I wanted.
How could someone know that the movement that they believe in would have such a drastic effect? I think of how my grandmother used to tell me that when she was a little girl, if she was walking on the sidewalk and white people were walking, she’d have to move to the side and let them pass. I can walk anywhere I please, on the same streets where my grandmother walked as a child. There is such a tremendous amount of pressure to be constructive in this world, when you think that whenever someone was hosed down in the streets, or shot down, or attacked by dogs in protest—that was for me.
What is this generation’s contribution? How will we make things better than they were when we got here? Is racism all gone? Absolutely not. Just a few days ago, Colorado legislator made a statement about poor black people and fried chicken having a fiscal impact on our people. Personally, I’ve been called names and refused service. I know that there’s a portion of the population that hides their hatred deep underground. We should not tolerate hatred of any kind. Many LGBT contributors and advocates feel like their cause is identical to the civil rights movement. It is not. Each cause is different, fought by different people, but we have to remember that just because the fight is different, it is not any less valuable—If we refuse to tolerate hatred, then we must advocate equal rights across the board.
Bigotry cannot be tolerated in any form. The only way to snuff it out is to speak out against it in any outlet that is available. Perhaps one of the biggest complaints from the older generation about the Occupy Movement a couple of years ago was that the younger generation was just filled with complainers. How else is a movement really birthed? Our nation was founded by a group of whiners who felt they were oppressed by taxation, and every struggle after that was a response to the expression of discontent amongst groups of people. We have to continuously seek to change for the better and the progress of our society hinges on our disdain for injustice and current conditions. If we never complained and saw what was wrong, what would be our motivation for change?
We have more media tools and the power of the internet now. We don’t have to gather in churches to sit through sweaty uncomfortable meetings. With the power of communication comes the inconvenience of free observation. During the past two elections, I have seen people say some of the ugliest, racist, and fallacious things I think I have ever heard through the internet.
It is my hope for our generation that we take the road paved by those before us and make it better. We have the direction of yesterday and the technology of tomorrow. I hope that we won’t spend our lives occupied with the frills and fringes and neglect what really matters. If we want our children to live in a world that isn’t completely polluted, a world that is not afraid of sexual orientation, a world untainted by prejudices towards the poor and the diseased, a world that accepts each individual—We might want to get on the ball. We have an arduous amount of work to do.