Well well well, what have we here?
Another liar, ass hole, con artist, and possibly the newest love of my life.
And all of those ^^ wonderful things, have been rolled up into one big douche bag of a guy!
The kicker?
It's the same douche bag from the "Army Wives" I posted a few months ago.
My life.
Here's the story:
Army guy dumped me, and he told me initially it was because he "didn't want any distractions over seas, and [he] didn't want to hold [me] back while [he] was gone..."
Stupid me, I believed him. I find out a few days before he deploys that that wasn't the real reason. The real reason was even worse...
He dumped me because he was in love with someone else. Whom I admittedly had suspicions about in the beginning...but I tried to be optimistic.
Then we stopped talking for a few months because I had assumed he had deployed like he said he was going to. Well, he didn't. He didn't deploy that day, the next time, or even the third time.
Now, he's taking Malaria pills and is packing his things for a deployment sometime this week.
Well shit.
Not only is he deploying on this unspecified day, but on the same day, my best friend is graduating AIT training and I will be there with Tom to pick him up in SC.
What a bitter sweet day that will be.
You intelligent, focused readers of mine have to be wondering by now how does this relate to internal affairs?
Good thing I've seen every episode of House...twice....and can make impeccable metaphors to explain my feelings of hatred and anger as more acceptable and noticeable forms of the warm and fuzzy feelings I have bundled up inside me.
There's a school bus. It holds 72 passengers, including the driver. One can assume each of the other 71 passengers is a student, small enough to slide three of them into one seat 26 times. But, with th eobesity epidemic and the lack of children the size of new born babies, those numbers don't exactly work. You could fit two average size kids into one seat 26 times. Making for 32 kids, and one drive totaling 33 passengers. When we take into consideration the fact that there is always that one 'fat' kid, and a few kids who probably have anti-social personality disorder, which means these kids would be sitting by themselves. Most likely, there would be approximately 8 of these, which means thats 8 other kids that have to find other seats or just not ride the bus.
Needless to say,
I suck at metaphors.
On one side of the bus sits a little guy, completely thrown into the friend-zone.
On the other side of the bus, sits this macho guy trying to be cool and tough and playing with my feelings but he's just my type and I can't help but keep trying to get his attention. What do I dooooo.
I really like this Army douche bag, but I can't tell if he really likes me too. And, the friend-zone invader keeps trying to escape and is no going to give up. I told him I'm not mentally or physically ready for a relationship yet and I quite frankly don't feel that way towards him, and he just keeps on trucking!
How do people do this thing...
How do people relationship?
Maybe I should just wait to meet a handsome hunk that's the doppelganger of Johnny Bravo and call it quits.
Sometimes, I wish you guys would comment so I had something good and interesting and meaningful to write about.
December 7, 2014
November 9, 2014
People.
Hello!
I've been thinking a lot lately about society and how we as people interact with each other. You know, I think these interactions are pretty shitty. So, I wrote a little story -- kind of.
You see, the first part of the story was written two weeks ago, when I was all excited for this school dance with my friends and this guy I really liked -- we'll call him B. So, it begins quite nicely, kind of funny, sort of running with the notions and styles of The Catcher in the Rye and that books notorious main character Holden Caulfield.
Then, I wrote a little last week, when I was feeling quite depressed and lonely. I really just needed to poor my feelings out onto a piece of paper and in a way compartmentalize these feelings as someone else's.
Then, this past Friday, the 7th, I was very angry. Why? Well, because T -- a very well loved and cared for person in my life -- lied about very serious things. And then proceeded to blow them off as if my wanting to know he was safe and okay was the wrong thing for me to do, and thus the anger I felt when I discovered his deceptions was also the wrong emotion to be feeling.
So, me being me, I wrote about these feelings of anger and frustration and continue on what parts of the story I had already written. I have not decided yet on whether or not to continue on this story, or just leave it where it is. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to comment!
(I'm working on building this page to have something like a suggestions page and other things so it's cool and stuff and appealing)
STORY TIME!
Once upon a time there was a princess. If that' what you wanna believe. Let's be honest here -- we all know that is the biggest pile of bullshit ever. There is never a princess who is actually innocent and sweet and does all her make-believe chores. You can be damn sure she isn't really going to meet Prince Charming at the ball, either. She's probably going to her best friends house to hookah and make their Kandi costumes for the up coming rave in the village.
Anyways...
So there she was!, in all her pompous glory. Like the Regina George of fairytale land, she strolled down the corridors of her make-shift castle like her shit don't stink. Not like anyone would really notice her little sister slouching around behind her; acting like her big sister is just the coolest thing ever. Secretly, this little girl is just waiting to watch her sister fall apart.No one else notices the way her older sister never uses her real name Patricia, or how her eyes are always puffy and red from god knows how many countless hours of crying. In the real world, little sisters are spoiled and Princesses never shed a tear.
But here, in this life, we all know the messed up ways in which whoever is in control of our existence gets his kicks; allowing pretty girls to cry, ugly girls to get the fame and fortune, and for our exteriors to look the opposite of our self-decorated interior designs. Who the hell gives a shit why princesses cry? Who cares about her little sister who is harboring hatred and waiting for her opportunity to execute her revenge? No one.
Princess Bitch and Little Sister are just two microscopic specs in a series of chaotic, unorganized, unconventional ink blots tossed onto a piece of paper. Easily burned and torn, with nothing left to preserve or recycle.
No one really gives a shit about anything they have to say because of how stuck up they are. People hate everyone. We just pretend to like certain people to satisfy our need for self-preservation.
Maybe Princess Gold-y-Locks is crying because Prince Douchebag died in a courageous battle against the trolls of the interwebs. Or, what if she learns the King isn't her real father and she has no real ties to the royal family she's grown to love as he own? Her best friend died saving someone from drowning in the moat, her sister was diagnosed with stage four cancer, maybe her brother committed suicide.
But no, people just have to find hat little shred of hope humanity has left and burn it; fueling the fire with their words of hatred, conceit, ignorance, and cruelty. Our princess holds her head high in order to show her strength, the kind of willingness to move forward she dares her little sister to learn and master. What makes this princess seem pompous, over-glorified, self-centered, is exactly what we see in ourselves as evil and undesirable. What makes this princess so untouchable is the reflection of ourselves we paint on her face! Her sister -- in all her whining and neediness -- is the truth! She is the prodigal daughter of humanity, crying out for life and attention. This mini-mistress of hope is too little to be taken seriously, too young to be counted on, too naïve to considered wise and other wise useful.
In the real world, everyone wants to be famous; everyone wants to have the world know our name. But shouldn't it be enough to have and give hope as the last generation to have examples of true hope and value? What makes our dear princess popular is what makes us hate her: her beauty, curves, money, looks, fame.
Everything she is grateful for n life is what we envy for our own miserable pathetic excuses for existence. The sister, everything we dream of becoming but sit idly by as we continue to be astounded when we fail miserably at obtaining these qualities. These girls, held high above our heads as we fight to constantly tear them and destroy them to simply maintain a sense of dignity and self-righteousness.
We are people of hatred, nothing more.
I've been thinking a lot lately about society and how we as people interact with each other. You know, I think these interactions are pretty shitty. So, I wrote a little story -- kind of.
You see, the first part of the story was written two weeks ago, when I was all excited for this school dance with my friends and this guy I really liked -- we'll call him B. So, it begins quite nicely, kind of funny, sort of running with the notions and styles of The Catcher in the Rye and that books notorious main character Holden Caulfield.
Then, I wrote a little last week, when I was feeling quite depressed and lonely. I really just needed to poor my feelings out onto a piece of paper and in a way compartmentalize these feelings as someone else's.
Then, this past Friday, the 7th, I was very angry. Why? Well, because T -- a very well loved and cared for person in my life -- lied about very serious things. And then proceeded to blow them off as if my wanting to know he was safe and okay was the wrong thing for me to do, and thus the anger I felt when I discovered his deceptions was also the wrong emotion to be feeling.
So, me being me, I wrote about these feelings of anger and frustration and continue on what parts of the story I had already written. I have not decided yet on whether or not to continue on this story, or just leave it where it is. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to comment!
(I'm working on building this page to have something like a suggestions page and other things so it's cool and stuff and appealing)
STORY TIME!
Once upon a time there was a princess. If that' what you wanna believe. Let's be honest here -- we all know that is the biggest pile of bullshit ever. There is never a princess who is actually innocent and sweet and does all her make-believe chores. You can be damn sure she isn't really going to meet Prince Charming at the ball, either. She's probably going to her best friends house to hookah and make their Kandi costumes for the up coming rave in the village.
Anyways...
So there she was!, in all her pompous glory. Like the Regina George of fairytale land, she strolled down the corridors of her make-shift castle like her shit don't stink. Not like anyone would really notice her little sister slouching around behind her; acting like her big sister is just the coolest thing ever. Secretly, this little girl is just waiting to watch her sister fall apart.No one else notices the way her older sister never uses her real name Patricia, or how her eyes are always puffy and red from god knows how many countless hours of crying. In the real world, little sisters are spoiled and Princesses never shed a tear.
But here, in this life, we all know the messed up ways in which whoever is in control of our existence gets his kicks; allowing pretty girls to cry, ugly girls to get the fame and fortune, and for our exteriors to look the opposite of our self-decorated interior designs. Who the hell gives a shit why princesses cry? Who cares about her little sister who is harboring hatred and waiting for her opportunity to execute her revenge? No one.
Princess Bitch and Little Sister are just two microscopic specs in a series of chaotic, unorganized, unconventional ink blots tossed onto a piece of paper. Easily burned and torn, with nothing left to preserve or recycle.
No one really gives a shit about anything they have to say because of how stuck up they are. People hate everyone. We just pretend to like certain people to satisfy our need for self-preservation.
Maybe Princess Gold-y-Locks is crying because Prince Douchebag died in a courageous battle against the trolls of the interwebs. Or, what if she learns the King isn't her real father and she has no real ties to the royal family she's grown to love as he own? Her best friend died saving someone from drowning in the moat, her sister was diagnosed with stage four cancer, maybe her brother committed suicide.
But no, people just have to find hat little shred of hope humanity has left and burn it; fueling the fire with their words of hatred, conceit, ignorance, and cruelty. Our princess holds her head high in order to show her strength, the kind of willingness to move forward she dares her little sister to learn and master. What makes this princess seem pompous, over-glorified, self-centered, is exactly what we see in ourselves as evil and undesirable. What makes this princess so untouchable is the reflection of ourselves we paint on her face! Her sister -- in all her whining and neediness -- is the truth! She is the prodigal daughter of humanity, crying out for life and attention. This mini-mistress of hope is too little to be taken seriously, too young to be counted on, too naïve to considered wise and other wise useful.
In the real world, everyone wants to be famous; everyone wants to have the world know our name. But shouldn't it be enough to have and give hope as the last generation to have examples of true hope and value? What makes our dear princess popular is what makes us hate her: her beauty, curves, money, looks, fame.
Everything she is grateful for n life is what we envy for our own miserable pathetic excuses for existence. The sister, everything we dream of becoming but sit idly by as we continue to be astounded when we fail miserably at obtaining these qualities. These girls, held high above our heads as we fight to constantly tear them and destroy them to simply maintain a sense of dignity and self-righteousness.
We are people of hatred, nothing more.
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