DQ has a special of two double cheeseburgers for 3.99. They can do burgers well. I ate the first one, and I HAD to take the second one home to eat with my pants off.
They are that good.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Epilepsy is Dancing
I haven't always been the poetic type, unless I am carrying certain feelings in my heart. Lyrics never have been the first thing to pop out at me when I listen to a song. I'm in it for the music. So, this song caught my attention first for it's sonic brilliance, then the lyrics caught on:
Epilepsy is dancing
She’s the Christ now departing
And I’m finding my rhythm
As I twist in the snow
All the metal burned in me
Down the brain of my river
That fire was searching
For a waterway home
I cry “glitter is love!”
My eyes pinned inside
With green jewels
Hanging like Christmas stars
From a golden vein
As I came to a screaming
Hold me while I’m dreaming
For my fingers are curling
And I cannot breathe
Then I cried in the kitchen
How I’d seen your ghost witching
As a soldering blue line
Between my eyes
I cry “glitter is love!”
My eyes
Pinned inside
Sea green jewels
Hanging like Christmas stars
From a golden vein
Cut me in quadrants
Leave me in the corner
Oh now it’s passing
Oh now I’m dancing
People on Youtube are all in a mess about what he means, and people are hyper sensetive to the epeleptics' cause. He's not mocking epilepsy. I think he means to find the beauty in something that's painful or otherwise unpleasant to witness.
Epilepsy is dancing
She’s the Christ now departing
And I’m finding my rhythm
As I twist in the snow
All the metal burned in me
Down the brain of my river
That fire was searching
For a waterway home
I cry “glitter is love!”
My eyes pinned inside
With green jewels
Hanging like Christmas stars
From a golden vein
As I came to a screaming
Hold me while I’m dreaming
For my fingers are curling
And I cannot breathe
Then I cried in the kitchen
How I’d seen your ghost witching
As a soldering blue line
Between my eyes
I cry “glitter is love!”
My eyes
Pinned inside
Sea green jewels
Hanging like Christmas stars
From a golden vein
Cut me in quadrants
Leave me in the corner
Oh now it’s passing
Oh now I’m dancing
People on Youtube are all in a mess about what he means, and people are hyper sensetive to the epeleptics' cause. He's not mocking epilepsy. I think he means to find the beauty in something that's painful or otherwise unpleasant to witness.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Tired...so tired
I did not prep for today at all. It's my fault. After the party ended last night(before 11), I got home and checked gmail. When my computer burnt out (again), I hooked up my old Sega Genesis. I suck at video games. I got whooped so bad on my Wrestlemania game, hockey never was good. I never did understand "off-sides" . Mortal Kombat, FATALITY!
So I got frustrated, found a B-movie on tv and fell asleep.
Ding!... Ding!
Two texts came in from 40404 at 2/2:30 AM. My Twitter chimes as late as an hour after a friend Tweets. Oh cool, one of them is a response to my message I sent from the party. I was complaining about porn being on so early in the evening. I responded back, then shut the sound off my phone.
I woke up with the sun. I thought it was later in the morning. My phone had a message from Carla. She was wondering how much heavy stuff I had left to move at mom's. She and her boyfriend are helping out. She used to hang out here all the time, especially with my brother. She sort of mentioned the memories that we're leaving behind with the house. I sort of blocked any happy or even infamous memories from this place, because it...sucks how this all had to happen.
But what am I leaving behind? Virginity.Pukey alcohol moments . Crazy flasher friend-of-friend (gross, believe me). Boyfriend therapy sessions for Jen. Rendezvous point for other adventures. These come to mind now.
When we moved in, we figured it would be hard work. There were rose bushes in the front, but dog poop left in the back. That's some sort of poetic justice right there, because that was the experience for me.
The previous owner left tons of car paint in the garage. There was a huge dirt mound in the back next to the garage from the people next door digging out a space to park their semi tractors. The dirt was pushing in the cinder blocks on the one side of the garage and mud seeped in. Eventually, the utility door in the garage did not close. Let's see.. missing or broken windows, no door on my bedroom ( I had to get crafty with a sheet).
The work that was needed did not get done. We painted outside the garage once because of city ordinance. I mowed when the grass got too long, I hacked tiny trees as they grew, and I pulled weeds when they got unbearable. It was always too hot, too cloudy, or too rainy for anyone else to do anything.
My mom lost the income that she had when she got the house. I felt scared for her, I felt obligated to stay. I could have contributed more money, more muscle.... But I didn't see the reason. I was tired of it all. When it was a sure thing she was "letting it go", I stuck for a bit longer. I realized "I don't want to be stuck with mom forever."
I left swiftly, so I could leave this problem behind. My friends and relatives asked questions about mom and the house. I hated answering them or even thinking about this situation.
Now that I'm helping her move , the reality of everything is back in the forefront of my consciousness. I hate it. Most of the move is done. Dad brought a produce truck and we loaded it up. I am not in pain from lifting now, just tired.
I'm leaving behind a hole in my bedroom wall. It originated from frustration with a certain someone dear to me at the time (see "virginity" above). It was a swift punch into the drywall. It expanded and peeled away over time. The crack goes all the way down to the base of the wall. It's like I inflicted a scar on the home.
So I got frustrated, found a B-movie on tv and fell asleep.
Ding!... Ding!
Two texts came in from 40404 at 2/2:30 AM. My Twitter chimes as late as an hour after a friend Tweets. Oh cool, one of them is a response to my message I sent from the party. I was complaining about porn being on so early in the evening. I responded back, then shut the sound off my phone.
I woke up with the sun. I thought it was later in the morning. My phone had a message from Carla. She was wondering how much heavy stuff I had left to move at mom's. She and her boyfriend are helping out. She used to hang out here all the time, especially with my brother. She sort of mentioned the memories that we're leaving behind with the house. I sort of blocked any happy or even infamous memories from this place, because it...sucks how this all had to happen.
But what am I leaving behind? Virginity.Pukey alcohol moments . Crazy flasher friend-of-friend (gross, believe me). Boyfriend therapy sessions for Jen. Rendezvous point for other adventures. These come to mind now.
When we moved in, we figured it would be hard work. There were rose bushes in the front, but dog poop left in the back. That's some sort of poetic justice right there, because that was the experience for me.
The previous owner left tons of car paint in the garage. There was a huge dirt mound in the back next to the garage from the people next door digging out a space to park their semi tractors. The dirt was pushing in the cinder blocks on the one side of the garage and mud seeped in. Eventually, the utility door in the garage did not close. Let's see.. missing or broken windows, no door on my bedroom ( I had to get crafty with a sheet).
The work that was needed did not get done. We painted outside the garage once because of city ordinance. I mowed when the grass got too long, I hacked tiny trees as they grew, and I pulled weeds when they got unbearable. It was always too hot, too cloudy, or too rainy for anyone else to do anything.
My mom lost the income that she had when she got the house. I felt scared for her, I felt obligated to stay. I could have contributed more money, more muscle.... But I didn't see the reason. I was tired of it all. When it was a sure thing she was "letting it go", I stuck for a bit longer. I realized "I don't want to be stuck with mom forever."
I left swiftly, so I could leave this problem behind. My friends and relatives asked questions about mom and the house. I hated answering them or even thinking about this situation.
Now that I'm helping her move , the reality of everything is back in the forefront of my consciousness. I hate it. Most of the move is done. Dad brought a produce truck and we loaded it up. I am not in pain from lifting now, just tired.
I'm leaving behind a hole in my bedroom wall. It originated from frustration with a certain someone dear to me at the time (see "virginity" above). It was a swift punch into the drywall. It expanded and peeled away over time. The crack goes all the way down to the base of the wall. It's like I inflicted a scar on the home.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
My Heart Goes Out
In the early part of my childhood, I didn't realize anything was different about my upbringing. I was two when the divorce happened, so it was not unnusual that it was just my mom, brother, and me.
My dad was always in my life and I used to hang on his leg every time he came by. Also, I was also very upset when he didn't come when we expected him. He had a lot of jobs to help pay child support to his three kids (I have an older half brother), and keep his house.
The three of us moved around a lot. We went around to different duplex's and we gained and lost new friends along the way. I remember 448 Sherburne the most. I was there until I was 5.
There were neighbors to the left who were African immigrants, who had two boys. I was jealous of their flexi-blocks. Our neighbors to the right were Hmong. I remember staring through the fence and talking back in jibberish. I wasn't mocking, I just wanted to talk to the kids.
The neighbors 3 houses down were a white man, his deaf Hmong wife, and their kids. I was there tons. We played whenever we could. Even when the kids weren't out, I would run over in my Superman pajamas and use their swing.
We drank powdered milk and ate food from white and yellow boxes. Hot dogs and Mac and cheese. PB & J. When I needed a snack, it was often peanut-putter on a spoon or, my favorite, cinnamon toast. Or, she would say "Go drink water."
We were given a good amount of freedom. My hair was always an unkempt mess, but it was curly and it looked cute on me, so it was okay. I learned to dress myself pretty early. I'm not sure I coordinated my wardrobe well, but I could do everything but tie my shoes. She worked as a hotel maid during this time, so I remember our "vacations" at the hotel.
There were boyfriends. My mom worked at a bar for extra cash and always seemed to get the musicians or deadbeats. She wasn't confident in herself to go after much better. There were some nice guys, then there were some abusive jerks.
One boyfriend in particular impacted us the most. For one, he moved us away from 448 Sherburn to this new duplex his brother co-owned. This new place had mean kids in the neighborhood. He and his Indian brothers got drunk together all the time and ate hard boiled eggs. They played "covered wagon" with me. It was just very unpleasant. We moved on to an apartment on Marion, I remember this guy was always coming over drunk (or as it turned out, high on coke). He used to ring the downstairs buzzer button to the tune of "Shave and a Haircut". That turned into a major anxiety trigger (another blog topic for later). As soon as he was in, he and Mom would have crazy arguments that would drive her to tears, then me. I was scared. My dad threatened, but never belted me. This guy lashed me once at the duplex. Eventually, thank God, he was out of our lives for good.
Meanwhile, my dad had re-married and I was able to see him on a much more consistent basis. My step-mom was very loving, very encouraging of my educational achievements, and has always had an infectious laugh. She seemed very different when she was angry at us, but only because she was unmoving in her discipline. If you want to be a good parent, love your kids A LOT! Show it often, so your disappointment breaks their heart. So in retrospect, she did everything right.
But, there was a certain tension when we were there. Partly, because we NEVER brought good or clean clothes to do anything that weekend. Also, because it seems we only showered on Saturday nights over there. They both truly felt they got the shit end of the stick. They encountered much of the financial burden (in addition to child support), but didn't have the benefit of having us there. "What is she doing with my child support?""What does she do all day?"
I always just got by without knowing specifically what was going on with our lives. I didn't think different of it. I was in 2nd or 3rd grade when I asked mom "Are we on welfare?"
Which she said "Yes."
What was welfare? Welfare kids always got shit from the other kids in school. Am I now inferior, now that I know.
What did mom do? Well, there was a period when she was going to school for accounting. But, she eventually gave up. She watched soaps, did laundry. Sent us on errands, like getting donut stix and nutty bars from the gas station. She spent a bunch of time at bars with her other fat welfare friends, checking out bands. We were baby-sat by our half brother often. It was fun. I learned how to curse, watched booby movies on Showtime, and had vodka snuck into my kool-aid (he claims now just a little bit to get me to sleep). Or, we would be left alone. I would've been just short of 10, my brother was 12 when she started doing this.
And gosh, the a-holes kept coming... they each left a mark on my life some how
Just before I was in high school, she was slowly getting herself off of the system. First it was part time work at Blockbuster Video. Then, she got a new job at Godfather's Pizza. She eventually worked herself onto salary as a supervisor. Enough to think about buying a house... and that's where I end this chapter.
She was on government assistance it because she needed help moving out on her own with kids. This seemed like the only option. Why did we stay on it for so long? Despondent.Depressed. She cared, but then she didn't. What could she do? She just got by in high school and did not drive a car.
I was told by my dad recently that he and my step mom had tried to obtain custody of us when we were kids. I could only wonder how that would've turned out.
Would I act or feel as weak as I do? Would I be as shy of person as I am? Would I've taken to "guy" things, such as fixing things and working on cars? Or depending on when I would be taken in, would I have been set in my ways and my personality.
There's no reason to be bitter now. I am who I am, things were how they were. I should be glad to have lived through this now. It's taught me to appreciate the small things. It's also taught me the greater rewards of hard work.
I am bitter at people who take advantage of the system and plan on kids to get or stay on welfare. There are people who are able, but just don't try.
So why is this blog called "My Heart Goes Out"? Because there are people who do it on their own with little to no assistance. "Girl Meets Geek" is a blog on my side bar. This entry is a response to one of her entries. It always seems to be one step forward and two steps back for her. I want her to succeed in life, more than I wish for my own success. My heart goes out to anyone doing the "right" thing in life, and not looking for short cuts.
My dad was always in my life and I used to hang on his leg every time he came by. Also, I was also very upset when he didn't come when we expected him. He had a lot of jobs to help pay child support to his three kids (I have an older half brother), and keep his house.
The three of us moved around a lot. We went around to different duplex's and we gained and lost new friends along the way. I remember 448 Sherburne the most. I was there until I was 5.
There were neighbors to the left who were African immigrants, who had two boys. I was jealous of their flexi-blocks. Our neighbors to the right were Hmong. I remember staring through the fence and talking back in jibberish. I wasn't mocking, I just wanted to talk to the kids.
The neighbors 3 houses down were a white man, his deaf Hmong wife, and their kids. I was there tons. We played whenever we could. Even when the kids weren't out, I would run over in my Superman pajamas and use their swing.
We drank powdered milk and ate food from white and yellow boxes. Hot dogs and Mac and cheese. PB & J. When I needed a snack, it was often peanut-putter on a spoon or, my favorite, cinnamon toast. Or, she would say "Go drink water."
We were given a good amount of freedom. My hair was always an unkempt mess, but it was curly and it looked cute on me, so it was okay. I learned to dress myself pretty early. I'm not sure I coordinated my wardrobe well, but I could do everything but tie my shoes. She worked as a hotel maid during this time, so I remember our "vacations" at the hotel.
There were boyfriends. My mom worked at a bar for extra cash and always seemed to get the musicians or deadbeats. She wasn't confident in herself to go after much better. There were some nice guys, then there were some abusive jerks.
One boyfriend in particular impacted us the most. For one, he moved us away from 448 Sherburn to this new duplex his brother co-owned. This new place had mean kids in the neighborhood. He and his Indian brothers got drunk together all the time and ate hard boiled eggs. They played "covered wagon" with me. It was just very unpleasant. We moved on to an apartment on Marion, I remember this guy was always coming over drunk (or as it turned out, high on coke). He used to ring the downstairs buzzer button to the tune of "Shave and a Haircut". That turned into a major anxiety trigger (another blog topic for later). As soon as he was in, he and Mom would have crazy arguments that would drive her to tears, then me. I was scared. My dad threatened, but never belted me. This guy lashed me once at the duplex. Eventually, thank God, he was out of our lives for good.
Meanwhile, my dad had re-married and I was able to see him on a much more consistent basis. My step-mom was very loving, very encouraging of my educational achievements, and has always had an infectious laugh. She seemed very different when she was angry at us, but only because she was unmoving in her discipline. If you want to be a good parent, love your kids A LOT! Show it often, so your disappointment breaks their heart. So in retrospect, she did everything right.
But, there was a certain tension when we were there. Partly, because we NEVER brought good or clean clothes to do anything that weekend. Also, because it seems we only showered on Saturday nights over there. They both truly felt they got the shit end of the stick. They encountered much of the financial burden (in addition to child support), but didn't have the benefit of having us there. "What is she doing with my child support?""What does she do all day?"
I always just got by without knowing specifically what was going on with our lives. I didn't think different of it. I was in 2nd or 3rd grade when I asked mom "Are we on welfare?"
Which she said "Yes."
What was welfare? Welfare kids always got shit from the other kids in school. Am I now inferior, now that I know.
What did mom do? Well, there was a period when she was going to school for accounting. But, she eventually gave up. She watched soaps, did laundry. Sent us on errands, like getting donut stix and nutty bars from the gas station. She spent a bunch of time at bars with her other fat welfare friends, checking out bands. We were baby-sat by our half brother often. It was fun. I learned how to curse, watched booby movies on Showtime, and had vodka snuck into my kool-aid (he claims now just a little bit to get me to sleep). Or, we would be left alone. I would've been just short of 10, my brother was 12 when she started doing this.
And gosh, the a-holes kept coming... they each left a mark on my life some how
Just before I was in high school, she was slowly getting herself off of the system. First it was part time work at Blockbuster Video. Then, she got a new job at Godfather's Pizza. She eventually worked herself onto salary as a supervisor. Enough to think about buying a house... and that's where I end this chapter.
She was on government assistance it because she needed help moving out on her own with kids. This seemed like the only option. Why did we stay on it for so long? Despondent.Depressed. She cared, but then she didn't. What could she do? She just got by in high school and did not drive a car.
I was told by my dad recently that he and my step mom had tried to obtain custody of us when we were kids. I could only wonder how that would've turned out.
Would I act or feel as weak as I do? Would I be as shy of person as I am? Would I've taken to "guy" things, such as fixing things and working on cars? Or depending on when I would be taken in, would I have been set in my ways and my personality.
There's no reason to be bitter now. I am who I am, things were how they were. I should be glad to have lived through this now. It's taught me to appreciate the small things. It's also taught me the greater rewards of hard work.
I am bitter at people who take advantage of the system and plan on kids to get or stay on welfare. There are people who are able, but just don't try.
So why is this blog called "My Heart Goes Out"? Because there are people who do it on their own with little to no assistance. "Girl Meets Geek" is a blog on my side bar. This entry is a response to one of her entries. It always seems to be one step forward and two steps back for her. I want her to succeed in life, more than I wish for my own success. My heart goes out to anyone doing the "right" thing in life, and not looking for short cuts.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)