Beauty in the simple things.

Recently, I've been struck by how many strange coincidences keep happening in my life. Specifically, there have been multiple occassions this week where I've been thinking about a person or place or situation that I haven't thought about in quite a while, and then something involving that person or place or situation comes up. I can't really remember any of the other ones that have happened, but this one just occured and I found it sweet and... I don't know, strangely beautiful in all its humanness.

Yesterday, I somehow started telling Jane my life story, or rather the life stories of my mom and grandma (sort of) and my other grandma (sort of) and my uncle and my brother and my Kentucky family integrated into my own personal experiences. I should probably write a book detailing an account of all the bizarre relationships and family ties that I have, along with all the bizarre experiences that are tied in to that. Maybe I'll debrief in another post someday. Anyways, last night I couldn't stop thinking about the weird people and things that compromise my past and my family, and I was up until 4am just googling names of my family members and going through my old neighborhood on Google Streetview. I was thinking a lot about my brother, which is strange because I never really think about my brother or the fact that my brother exists or the fact that I lived with my brother for 16+ years of my life. You'd think there would be some sort of connectivity between the two of us, but I always dismiss him as a non-existent part of my life. He couldn't be more opposite of a person than me in most regards. I honestly believe the only things we have in common are drugs and alcohol, and obviously some of the experiences of the family life (Bob Dylan, Kentucky, living in Ravenswood, living in the small house, Gramma, bikes for Christmas one year in matching pajamas and equally corny smiles)
Last night for some reason, though, I kind of reconnected with my brother, in my mind. I was looking at his Facebook, and thinking about how sad he must feel sometimes. It must have been really hard growing up as a male in an all-female household, being the older brother and having so much pressure placed on himself to succeed with a little sister who, in his eyes, is always being favored, being overweight, never quite making friends, awkward teenage years spent adjusting to life with a step-dad, etc. Wow. Maybe last night I grew up a little bit; I was able to see my brother how he must see himself and it made me sad, but it also made me understand why he does all the things that he does. I can't disregard all the terrible decisions he has made or all the terrible things he has said in the last 3-5 years to my mom and myself [and others], and I most definitely can't disregard what he did to my gramma. All of these combined have built up a lot of resentment in me towards him, but I finally just understand and now I'm willing to forgive him.

Aside from these realizations, I was having a strange dream per usual about some contorted high school which perpetually smelled like Italian beef sandwiches, one in which I was doing my best to sneak around and get to the top towers. I was with Jimmy (Jimmy bo Bimmy from H1W) and he kept trying to convince me that something terrible and awful was going to happen. He wouldn't tell me what it was, but he said it was 6 words that he had to tell me. I thought they were "Will you marry me A_____ R______?" which was really fucking bizarre and when I guessed it, really wrong. Instead, it had something to do with what was behind a door labeled 'Maintenance', so I opened the door and behind it was a janitor in a dusty, navy blue jumpsuit, overweight, half-shaven but half-not, crying to himself in an undersized folding chair. Just sitting there weeping, and when I came in, he looked up and said, "you can stay". Just as the dream was getting interesting, I heard the distant sound of my phone vibrating, accompanied by the African garage rock smash 'No Money No Honey", indicating that sum bitch tryna call me. I thought it was going to be Jane asking to go to brunch, and I was prepared to open the phone and scream "You freek go bak to sleep do you know what time it is?????" and close the phone. When I looked at the screen, however, I was surprised to see my brother's name displayed across the screen, our last name cut off halfway. I haven't really talked to my brother since August (except for the occassional, "some drunk girl just tried to call you and thought this was your number but it's mine so call this girl back" or "Do you know gramma's phone number?" or "Mama is calling me repeatedly to tell you to call her because she's calling you repeatedly and I'm sick of it so next time please answer" or sometimes there's the obligatory Facebook chat "waddup"), so it was definitely a surprise on my part. I figured there were strings attached to this call as there always are, but I answered the phone in my groggy, just-woke-up voice.

"Hello?"
"Oh hey. haha, I totally forgot it's like way early there, isn't it? Sorry about that, man. haha."
"No, it's fine... what's up?"
[At this point, I consider the fact that maybe he is calling me for my birthday, and being the type of brother he is, is calling on the wrong day]
"You go to Cal Poly Pomona, right?"
"Uh, no, that's about 5 minutes away. I go to Pomona College, although I know someone who goes to Cal Poly and he's kind of a creep. I met him on the street once when I stole some flowers at 3:30 am."
"How do you steal flowers?"
"Long story. Why?"
"Oh. Well I was gonna say your school fuckin' is baller. I just flipped on ESPN and they were playing basketball, so I thought I'd call you and tell you."
"Oh, well sorry I don't go there, but uh... that's nice of you."
"Yeah, we haven't talked in a while and I thought I should call... y'know, the basketball and stuff... and uh... yeah I guess I'll call you when you're less hungover."
"I'm not hungover. I didn't drink last night."
"Yeah, uh huh, okay, keep tellin' yourself that. Anyways...I guess I'll talk to you this summer then."
"[sarcastically] haha, yeah, you're right I was super smashed last night. And I'll call you sometime soon when I'm less dead. Bye."
"Cya."

Though the conversation itself was completely dull and not really of anything of importance, there is so much in everything that was said. The sheer fact that my brother called me is telling of his true character; I know that he can be a very sweet kid deep down, he just doesn't know how to channel it and I suppose deep down all he wants is to be a nice, likeable guy. Anyways, he obviously thought it was important to call me, and he's probably been meaning to do it for a couple weeks now, but he couldn't think of a good excuse for calling me and he didn't just want to do it because that would've made it seem like he cared. Hearing the name "Cal Poly Pomona" blaring from his probably-now-repossessed TV was the perfect way in which he could strike up conversation with his little sister. I find the thought of him sitting there, thinking to himself how perfect of an excuse it would be to call his little sis without seeming too nice, and sitting there wondering how to greet me as the phone started to ring, the most heartwarming feeling I've had in a long time. It honestly brings tears to my eyes, because I'm realizing deep down that I too have been lying to myself and to others. I do love my brother and I even miss him sometimes, but there is just too much external bullshit and too much history which will forever set us apart, and each of us are too proud to ever pretend like we like each other all that much. Also, the "Oh, I guess I'll talk to you this summer, then" line was so indicative of our relationship. He made his attempt, attempt failed, see you next time. I'm glad I told him I'd call, though, because it kind of signifies hope for our brother-sister relationship which goes beyond smoking in our mom's old car and going to a movie on Thanksgiving. It's kind of....real, even though we're both totally faking it. I like that we're trying.
Not to mention that that is a strange fucking coincidence.

I also never really have thought about the neighborhood I grew up in in relation to other people. I guess it was just...what I knew, and it's never seemed strange to me until just this moment. I still kind of like it though. When I go on Streetview and look at it, not a lot has changed. There are still packs of mangy, hillbilly, thug children roaming the streets with nothing to do but...roam the streets. They'll probably start taking drugs soon. You can see the people's houses falling apart, jimmied together with spare parts and junk that was layin' around the yard. You can see my uncle's house where everything is pretty haphazardly put together and not well-maintained with the beautiful perfect shiny mac-n-cheese-yellow Mustang out front which is his pride 'n' joy. You can see my old house, shrouded by trees and flowers and tacky garden ornaments my gramma has spray painted different colors every time spray paint is on sale at Big Lots. You can see the potholes in the streets, the crackheads congregated on their porches, the "BAIT SHOP" and the abandoned school where I used to play on a "playground" which was essentially a bunch of rusty poles sticking out the ground. That school has since been torn down and the city deemed the space a "park", but essentially that meant planting some new grass and putting up a sign that says PARK. In reality, they were sick of kids sneaking behind the building to do or sell drugs, and they're too afraid to invest in a playground.
This was one of my favourite views...look at those hoodlums. Also, the school in the background is beautiful.

View Larger Map

This is the best one, though. So classically Ravenswood, I'd like to make this a still life painting. It's fucking Americana and I love it. The crazy one-armed man in the wheelchair, wearing a baseball cap as he propels himself down the street, accompanied by some redneck kid, dragging beside him his bike and a lawnmower. The BAIT PLACE in the background, scrawled in struggling handwriting across an extra piece of plywood. The coin laundry. The only two businesses in the whole neighborhood.

View Larger Map

Also, thinking about my roots, I have been thinking about my great-great grandmother who passed away just this summer. Her obituary is here:
http://web1.lovinghonors.com/cgi-bin/CompanyInternal?stdout+116+coxfuneralhomeky.com+102+4+1220
but the part that I find the most touching about it isn't the obituary, but rather the comment one person made on it.

"Eveneus were my aunt. i love her for she were my mother cassie allen sister. i often thought about her alot. she always were kind & show love to anyone went & visite her at her home,i recall many times my husband & i go & see her & Russell when he were live,n . now they bouth gone & be miss by a lot of friends & kin.may god bless you all in my prayers. love you all. "

I can almost hear this woman talking, with her Kentucky accent and such. I think it's beautiful.

Family.

More? I see.....

Lately, all I've been able to listen to is The Smiths and / or Morrissey. I can't decide if this is a positive phase or not... I think it's a sign that I'm "miserable now", but I don't quite feel miserable. It's more like a semi-melancholy state of indifference, but with a positive outlook on the future. I think things will get better, but I don't think it's going to happen here. In fact, I know things won't get better here. I've half accepted my place here and I'm not trying to change it. I'll just let things change around me and see where I end up instead of taking the proactive approach. That's kind of my thing, I think--- letting the problems resolve themselves. Maybe that's what makes me immature, or less of an adult. Maybe I should take a more active role in my own life and actually do something with this head / body / mind of mine. But once more, I go back to indifference. I think things will look better after summer is over. The rest of the semester is probably going to be hell, and I'm fairly confident this summer will be as well. My strange ever-changing semi-non-existent social life is most definitely going to get itself fucked up again as always, and I'll probably have to start over again. I think I'm so socially inept because that's kind of how every relationship [the human kind, not the man-woman kind] I've ever had has functioned.

functions awkwardly --> functions really well --> BFFs --> Something really petty and semi-awkward and terrible on my part happens --> HATRED OF ME --> Giving up on trying to save said relationship because I feel as if it will inevitably fall apart again --> period of temporary loneliness and apathy --> repeat.

Not to mention I make friends in spurts... It's never a cohesive group. Whatever, I'm sick of this bullshitty selfpsychoanalysis. I just fucking like the Smiths.

I specifically am attached to the songs "William, it Was Really Nothing" , "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" "Bigmouth Strikes Again" "Sheila Take a Bow" "Last of the Famous International Playboys" and "Maladjusted". Kind of a long list, but considering the extensive discography of both Morrissey and the Smiths, I think it's a pretty fair summary.

I think that at one point in every middle class white kid's teenage existence, The Smiths would be the perfect soundtrack. I know it definitely is featured on the soundtrack of my 13-year-old self, then my 15.5-year-old self, then my 17.4-year-old self, and now my current 18.95-year-old self. I also believe the book The Perks of Being a Wallflower is required reading / the autobiography for all of us too. Even if we don't like to admit it, blossoming pre-hipster tweens love that fucking book. I loved that fucking book. The kid in that book loved the Smiths. See?

Not to mention Morrissey is completely and utterly the type of rockstar I would like to "get it on" with. You know what I am saying. He's too fabulous.

My band is going to be opening for Wavves if all goes as planned. I can't wait to fuck that up. We have ~4 songs completed and a few that are in the works. We don't have a name. They wear basketball shorts and sandals. I don't care, actually, because Wavves are kind of fuck-ups, too, in the best sense of the word.

I make a lot of Dad jokes.
Y'know, like bad jokes that are out of place and no one understands and only the dad is awkwardly laughing and you kind of have to chuckle a little because you don't want your dad / your friend's dad to be left hanging on his own.
I wish I could write a book of Dad jokes, but I think the only people who would read it would be Dads and apathetic teenagers who are looking for a little irony in life.

Enough of a rant.

stormy weather - m4w - 20

Date: 2009-03-14, 1:48AM PDT

your smile, your persoanlity , your voice , and your attitude are all unbeliveable attractive.



i wish you noticed that i noticed

• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1074326916

SHIT BULLSHITTY TOO

psychedelic rabbit ears & tapestries endangering new- wave destructivism

girl scouts and cigarettes OR the juxtaposition of comically opposite words always makes for a clever title

I quit smoking this month, but god damn it do I have the urge to buy a pack.

Today I broke down, took my crinkly 5 dollar bill, and started on a walk for the Village Market. Lo and behold, God gave me a sign saying, "If you buy those cigarettes, you will make a little girl cry."

THERE WAS A GIRL SCOUT COOKIE BOOTH right in front of the village market. The cookies cost $4 a box. With their awkward, toothy-yet-toothless little smiles and their corny-as-shit vests, these little girls stole my heart. "I was that bucktoothed little bitch behind a table once, too."

Needless to say, I am now the proud, nicotineless owner of a box of Do-Si-Dos.

my life is a big contradiction

I am trying to write a paper about why school and paper-writing are completely trite, unnecessary, and essentially cultural bullshit.

I believe that school and paper-writing are completely trite, unnecessary, and essentially cultural bullshit.

I cannot write this paper.
I "have to" write this paper.
Yeah the fuck right.
But you know I will too.

ALSO http://www.alternet.org/story/51316?comments=view&cID=649604&pID=648971
reminding us that mind-numbing mass education correlates to neither competence nor intelligence. It's all a sham. My critique of the article is that it places emphasis on careers and futures rather than overall life success, but I suppose in most people's eyes careers = success. I think overall, though, it makes a lot of strong points.

Another life irony: most of my homework [which I don't do] consists of reading scholarly articles and critiquing them. I also happen to think that this is more culturally spoon-fed educational whatnot, yet I did just that.

FUCK DA MAN.

dumb shit my creepy friend says to me #1

Today I noticed that 58% of my daily entertainment is derived from the stupid shit a certain boy constantly says to me. So I thinks to myself, "This shit is golden. I need to amass this somewhere on the internet and remember it always."

MEGA CREEPY THINGS SAID TO ME IN THE BEST WAY EVER:

1. "Y'know, California is the perfect state. There's the weather.....the skateboarding....the music scene.....you....."

2. "I smoked a joint in your honor today."
ME: "O rly?"
"I also smoked one for my dogs and one for my mom."
ME: "Oh. Cool. Why?"
"Cause lady, you've got a special place in my heart."

3. "I'm going to come to California and sleep in your bed."

4. "You're so mod. Like gnar mod. That's why I never talked to you, cause you had a shirt with a hot dog on it and that is mod as fuck."

5. so much more

I think, or so I thought,
but through thinking I brought
myself miserly misery and now I'm here.

I know, and it's so knew
I've never known that I knew
until the colors clammered clearly into my sounds
ALL CLEAR

clear is not a color
but it's always been my fave
neon tits and go-go girls
and raves and rants and raves
shallow graves
show me yours
i'll show you mine
but I don't knowwwwwwwww anything
a neat thing
that I know
is nothing
something
strange
IS ME

cartoon characters

Once there was a man and the man was in my head and he was from the third dimension, but not like the third dimension as in the dimension in which we live but the other third dimension like the one in the claymation movies but he wasn't made of clay he was made of nothing...well, something but the kind of something that isn't real but it's real as in i can see it and he's definitely not made of nothing. He is an indian chief of a nondescript tribe and he has feathers and is brownish red like most indians and he has a stern face and a body like that of a barbie...not anatomically of course, but rather as mobile as one, or even more mobile / flexible because he can be controlled like a puppet without strings by my mind and he is breakdancing. he is breakdancing on lettuce and the lettuce is spinning slowly, more slowly than his body when he rotates on his head like a screwdriver of some sort and i am moving him and you are moving him and we are all collectively moving him and it is like a cheap 90s video game but we are all enthralled he makes us scream i scream you scream louder because we are in control we made his universe and we can take it away whenever we want to but i don't want to but you do the screams are getting louder and all of a sudden we can't take it anymore and we STOP. and he fades into oblivion.


THIS IS GOD.

Then we see different caricatures of the same man. Mine looks like this:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/anela/955916330/