Two Angry Women

I had a debate with my mother last night. For those of you who know my mother, she is a very sweet individual, and easily appreciates everything she sees, even if upon seeing it I cringe in ways I have not done since the song "It's Hard Out There for a Pimp" won an Academy Award. My mother especially likes to appreciate things that are amazingly cliche. This is what last night's debate falls under the category of. Not the debate itself, but the subject matter.

It started when my mom was showing me and my dad a slideshow of profound quotes. About 8 quotes into the slideshow, I made a comment, quite casually, about how the quotes would never have been remembered if the people who said them had not already been famous.

She immediately launched into a tirade about how the people who said these quotes had more experience and had acheived more than the rest of us, therefore they could think up of these profound quotes. I obviously begged to differ, as it was my opinion that many of these quotes were not profound at all, and I or she, or anyone for that matter, could come up with such things, but nobody would remember them since we are not famous.

Now, here is the best part. My mom spent the rest of the night arguing with me. This is okay. What is not okay is that she spent the whole night arguing my point. She debated with me to prove my own opinion. I don't know if this has ever happened to any of you, but it is extremely hard to argue with somebody who keeps defending your statements, because you end up having nothing to say.

She then ended the debate saying that I have become far too cynical, and I should stop hanging around Jake so much. She was also under the impression that I was very angry, perhaps because I was arguing back rather than sit there and nod at everything she said. Usually, I am too tired or busy to argue back with my parents, so I just take everything they give me, because usually they shut up faster that way.

It was most certainly an enlightening debate, not on why the quotes were profound, but rather why I should continue to avoid arguing with my parents. I think I will continue to keep up the facade of a personality that they think I have.

Also, a note about the previous post: I know I said I was going to post the final draft of the poem next, but upon editing it, I didn't change anything major, so I decided to write this lovely pointlessness for you instead.

The Twelve Days of Romance

The effects of my attempts to fulfill my homework for English, which consisted of: write a rough draft for a love poem that tells a story, and never mentions outright the concept of love itself. A little bit of a longer poem, compared to what I usually write. After we do peer editing, I'll give you a final version of it:

The Twelve Days of Romance

The first day I saw you it was unexpectedly dark
So maybe I didn’t really see you at all
It was raining down pollution and the raindrops
Didn’t only taste bitter, they were my bitterness

The second day I saw you it was far too early
And my eyes had not adjusted to the light
The sun was blinding and I saw spots behind my eyes
Which were closed, so still I didn’t see you

The third day I saw you it was for the first time
My eyes were open, I could see,
And I walked right by, not sparing a glance
Because really you just blended into the crowd

The fourth day I saw you I knew I had seen you before
And maybe I had even been looking for you
We did an awkward dance around the topic of
Conversation, then we turned around and decidedly left

The fifth day I saw you I knew it was not
A coincidental meeting that we could pretend to
Avoid, so I walked up to you and I said
“Goodbye” and didn’t give you a chance to say hello

The sixth day I saw you I did a double take
I thought my message had been perfectly clear
But then you looked in the other direction
And I walked the other way

The seventh day I saw you we knew it was fate
So we talked and you got me a cup of
Lukewarm coffee and I knew that it had
Truly and really begun

The eighth day I saw you I shook my head
Despairing at the preplanned qualities of
My life that seemed to fall into place
Just as I had wanted it not to

The ninth day I saw you we went out to lunch
I had a salad, with honey but no dressing
You had a sandwich, which looked a little dry
We both had a conversation, it cost $12.40

The tenth day I saw you we got coffee again
This time it was quite warm, and my insides
Were feeling a little jumpy that day
But ignoring them I continued on my way

The eleventh day I saw you, I began to wonder
Why neither of us had yet made a move
We amiably chatted about the effects of
A mother’s diet on the sex of a newborn baby

The twelfth day I saw you we shook hands
And I detected the glint of something on
The fourth finger of your left hand
I don’t recall ever seeing you again

The Appreciation Post

Well guys, we have 36 more days of school left. In honor of this number seeming so small, even though I know it will feel very large, I am writing the post of all posts. Since we are nearing the end of another year, I decided to appreciate all those who have made a difference in my life, namely everyone who reads this blog (I hope). So, I am going to write a small little note of appreciation to each of you, and thank you for improving the quality of my life. If you read this blog and I didn't appreciate you, I apologize, but I didn't know you read it, since you never COMMENT!

'Do:

Me and 'do have been pretty much joined at the hip this year, and I don't know how much she has enjoyed this (probably very little), but I have enjoyed it a whole ton. It's a great feeling to have a free and know that there is no possible way you have no friends in it, because 'do is waiting for you in the counseling center. We have had many deep and philosophical conversations, ranging from topics such as faces like a happy pizza, to how much life matters in the long run. So, thank you 'do, for making my year a happy pizza.

Turtle (you know who you are):

I still find it hilarious that a few years ago we were practically at war. You have made my evenings infinetely (I don't know how to actually spell this) better this year by always (ALWAYS) being on gtalk, so I always know I have someone to bitch to. Because this is what I do with turtle, I bitch. Thank you for listening to all my stupid and idiotic complaints, mixed in with a good and healthy slice of drama beyond dramas. I do love you so...

She who goes by her last name:

I don't think I will ever be able to think of you as your first name now... I think I got to know you a lot better this year, strangely, even though I probably saw you more in 8th grade. My favorite aspect of you is how you always seem to be unfazed by my drama queen nature, offering me a rational solution to all my problems. Thank you for being my problem-solver, I need one more than you know.

Tranny Mess of Fierceness:

It kills me to admit this, it really does, but I actually think you are brilliant writer. You have the right mix of humor, sarcasm, and angst. And somehow you seem to have the best experiences to write about. I mean, come on, the pleasure chest! What are the chances any of the rest of us would discover something so magical? I also enjoyed having arguments with you (yes, I enjoyed it), because you are really good at arguing. Thank you for making me see that you are always right, and I am always wrong. Even if I'm right.

Fwahe:

I have gotten to know Fwahe a lot better this year as well (as far as I know), and I realized that he is very different than my first impression. He is actually really sarcastic and cynical, but in a way that makes me not realize that he is being sarcastic or cynical. Also, I love your ability to seem more spazzy than all the rest of us put together but at the same time actually be a lot more normal than we are. I'm glad I got to talk to you more this year, and as my brother would say, "it was fun".

Cool-and some:

I love you. That pretty much sums it up. You are the most spazzy person I will ever meet, and you are an amazing organizer of events. I know we didn't get to hang out a lot this year, and I hope next year makes up for that, because you are really awesome to be around. I would love to go back to living at your house, so we can set that plan into action next year as well. God, every time I say "next year" it scares me...anyways, Cool-and some, you are amazing.

I think those are all the people that read this blog, and if I missed anybody (like the weird poetry person), I apologize. If you comment angrily, I will add an appreciation note in my next post.

Gracias to all of you...
rapunzel.in.black (and thank you to tranny mess of fierceness for giving me that name)

Grounding

It's amazing how one experience can send you crashing back down to reality. I've been living my life lately, not thinking about how I was living, just going through the same basic routines over and over. I kept wishing something new would happen. It did, but it wasn't good new. I know better than to offer sympathy, because it never makes me feel any better, but I do want to take a moment to acknowledge the impact Mark Sheppard had on my life.

I never thought of him as a mentor, or an inspirational figure, but I realize now that I should have had more respect for him than anyone. He was truly devoted to his passion, and I realize now that I truly did enjoy Drama because of him. In the same way Mr. Brandon's "Brandonisms" are used all over the school, Mr. Sheppard was a fully integrated part of our community, and although I thought of him only as a teacher, I realize too late that he did have an impact on my life. He inspired me to continue taking Drama, and to specialize in it. He encouraged me to let go of the numerous inhibitions I had made part of myself when I was acting, allowing me to do any number of things.

I never imagined that it would affect me the way it did, but I spent most of today in tears, the rest of it on the verge of breaking down. I realized that although I might get used to having Carys teach our class, some part of me would always remember Mr. Sheppard. I owe him for all the play reports that I didn't send in on time, not bothering to think of whether he had other things to be doing than reading them. And I also owe him a lot of respect, which I wish I had showed more often. I truly hold him in the highest regard for what he has done.

rapunzel.in.black

It Wasn't Love

If I put my writing into genres, this one would be HORROR. I don't know what came over me when I wrote this, but here it is. Also, there is some hinted schmexy-time. Nothing explicit...

That night was as good as any, even though the couch might have been a bad decision. My back was sore from the arm of the couch, did you not know that I was lying on it? Or did you like the flush of my cheeks when you realized I was in pain?
Maybe I did let you hug me and kiss the base of my neck. Maybe I didn’t want you to stop. Maybe the goosebumps on my skin were really from my pleasure.
But too bad it wasn’t love.
Lust is a terrible thing, really. It’s what makes me keep coming back, every Friday night. I’m giving you a false sense of security, and you’re giving me one too. But maybe I won’t come next Friday, and what will you do then? Will you still want me, just as badly? Or will you turn me away the next time you see me?
We both know it isn’t love.
We are very similar in many ways, perhaps the most intimate of ways. Like how fascinating blood seems to be. You are beautiful in life, imagine how beautiful you will be in death, when the blood stains your face. When your restless eyes are blank, and they fulfill my wishes to look me in the eye.
And even in death, when you are beautiful.
Even then it won’t be love.
But at least there will be beauty, if nothing else.
So don’t worry, I will be there next Friday. I will still be waiting on your doorstep. I’ll be coming every Friday, until I can no longer control these darker desires of mine, and I finally bring my three sided, antique dagger to your house. And somewhere amidst the thrashing of limbs, there will be a wonderful scream, and it won’t be one of happiness. And horror will set across your face, transforming it in those last moments. For the first time, it will be beautiful.
Too bad it wasn’t love.

Doubt

I've been half working on this for a long time. It's not horribly long, but it's about as long as my writing gets (that's a complete lie). I actually have just been writing it on and off, and finally got bored of it, so I wrote the ending. The story of my life. So here it is....

Doubt

The fire danced behind her closed eyes with spots of purple contrasting the violent flames. She opened her eyes again and took a long drag from the cigarette in her hand, then stabbed out the cigarette on her arm. A gasp, the sting, and then it was over.

Life sucks, she mused, wishing she had another cigarette to ease blows that she should have seen coming. Staring out at the waves it looked like each one was beckoning her, but at the same time warning her away from the vast emptiness of the ocean. She could hear the cars rushing behind her, but she found that for the first time she didn’t care who was driving behind her, wondering what she was doing, sitting on a bridge staring off into the horizon. Damn it, she couldn’t even see the horizon, another sharp reminder of how far she had gotten off track with her life.

She had always wanted to be an individual, unique, and different from those around her. All that got her was an identity that was wonderfully boring and exactly the same as every poser who walked down the streets, because in reality, they were all posers, trying to manipulate life so that it fell into their own hands, trying to play hide-and-seek with fate. Hell if they didn’t realize at some point or another that it was useless trying to play hide-and-seek, because fate didn’t have to seek. It was carried around in your pocket every day, and didn’t wash out with soap and water.

Fate was what told her to become an artist. It was what told her that she would be successful, rich, and famous. At least, that’s what should have happened. In reality, she had been blind to fate’s actual intentions, making them fit her own parameters. And thus, fate had caught up with her, leaving her with almost no money to her name, no house to call her own. Fate had left her eating off the McDonald’s Dollar Menu every day, and at nights, sleeping on the floor of the room she was renting, but couldn’t afford furniture for.

She didn’t quite know when it had become too much for her to handle. For a long time she had just been following routine, so it wasn’t too much pressure. But the routine had also created an aura of meaningless existence, which soon enveloped her in an uncomfortable blanket of worthlessness. Her life no longer had a direction, a goal, or a point. But they were all the same thing, because when having a direction there had to be an end, a goal, and to have a goal there had to be a point.

Biting back tears was pointless now, so she let herself cry, first out of sorrow, then out of anger, and then just because it felt good. What did it mean now to be strong, and hold back the tears. What did it mean now to grin and bear it, to suck it up. Nothing, it meant nothing, because there was nothing left to bear. No more weights on her shoulders, not allowing her to continue with her life in peace. No more anything, because the decision was made.

Standing up, she looked back towards the waves. They only looked beckoning now, no warnings in the shadows of the white crests. Climbing over the railing, she heard a car behind her screech to a stop, and wondered with a smile if they were stopping for her. She was over the railing now, but still holding on to it, waiting for something, but she didn’t know what. Five minutes passed in silence, until she heard the murmur of a crowd behind her. It was now or never. She let go of the railing. There was the faintest flicker of doubt. A gasp, the sting, and then it was over.

Religion...is useless (for lack of better wording)

I haven't written anything new in a long time, thanks to my preoccupation with the stupid para entregars for Spanish that I haven't done. But the good news is, I am working on them right now (in between writing this post). The even better news is that I have some older writing that I might as well post, because I am rather fond of it. So, here is an essay that I wrote a little while ago for English class. As a summarization if you aren't going to read it, it is a criticism of religion, in response to an essay by Salman Rushdie.

RELIGION

Religion is considered by many a necessity to life. But Rushdie disagrees, and I disagree along with him. Religion is not a necessity, because it does not contribute value to life. It is not successful in uniting people, in fact it is only successful in separating them. It is true that all members of a certain religion do have some bond, but it is also true that they lack this bond with members of another religion. Why stratify society more than it already is? To make matters worse, some religions consider themselves above other religions, better people, with a better God. They also try to convert other people to their religion. In all, this causes more trouble than there would be if religion was non-existent.

On the other hand, there should be no boundaries to belief, and I disagree with Rushdie’s idea that a greater being does not exist. He states: “They didn’t get it right. There was no celestial churning, no maker’s dance, no vomiting of galaxies, no snake or kangaroo ancestors…” (518). But he offers no alternative to these beliefs. He offers no “right” answer, and in this he negates his argument. People don’t believe in these stories because they actually consider them possibilities, but rather because there is a need for explanation, and a thirst for knowledge about how we did come to be. So, if we cannot find the true explanation, we settle for stories, which do not only exist to explain, but also to entertain.

But while there are no boundaries to belief, there can be no religion. Religion sets these boundaries by stating in firm law that these specific rituals must be completed, that those specific prayers should be recited, and in general, that this God should be believed in. Perhaps it would be alright if people could choose which God to believe in, which religion to believe in. But more often than not, we are born into a set of beliefs, and blindly follow them until they become our reality. We have no opportunities to step out of the cycle, and find out for ourselves what truly is and isn’t. Rushdie is right in saying that when you are not trapped by a set of beliefs, “at once the sky’s the limit” (519). Once you are not guided and spoon-fed by parents and the community of loving but smothering adults around you, opportunities are endless.

I also agree with Rushdie’s idea that some religions are too radical. It is even possible to take it a step further by saying that being a religion, all religions are too radical, because they offer no escape from traditions that have lasted centuries. They seek to change the world with what they offer, but they all offer these ideas, so it is impossible to know which one is right. To make matters even more confusing, every religion proposes itself as the right religion, either through violent force, or through subtle messages. Some religions are more obvious than others in doing this. Islam is known for being a more forceful religion than many, Muslims known for being strongly set in their beliefs. But Buddhism and Hinduism on the other hand are more peaceful religions, preferring to allow other religions to coexist with them without putting up a fight. However, they still project themselves as the “correct” path to choose, in fact using their peaceful approach as propaganda.

There is no right or wrong to an argument to which there is no correct answer. Each person must see for themselves which side they choose to take. As for me, I choose a path in the middle, to believe in a greater being, but not to constrict myself to only one way of believing. I don’t choose a religion, but rather just believe for the sake of belief, and not for the benefit of my family or my community. I would rather believe for the benefit of myself.