FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!

Ok, so we had to write a story based on a picture from Mr. Lilly’s picture-site (http://www.panoramio.com/user/461591) and I (finally) did the assignment:

My eyes were shut so tight tears were leaking out of the corners faster than a dripping faucet. The speed of the train speeding down the track was jostling me around so hard I was bumping into Sadie and Nate and, with my hands clasped together over my mouth trying to hold the air in, I simply went where the train threw me.

I knew I was going to die. The tunnel seemed so long, too long to hold your breath through, especially with ten year old lungs. But I knew, I knew, if I didn’t not only would I not have my wish come true but I would be called a baby by Nate and Sadie for the rest of the summer. It was only June.

The air began escaping, twisting between my fingers and flowing out in little puffs no matter how hard I tried to keep it under control. I could hear their patronizing voices in my head (‘You’re such a baaaby! You couldn’t even hold your breath all the way through the tunnelll!!) and I knew I had to keep a cool head and get through it.

I clenched my teeth, shut my eyes even tighter and calmed down. I breathed deeply, my head against the cool window, and almost as soon as I got my lack of breathing under control I felt my eyelids grow warm  and I opened them, discovering the tunnel about a hundred feet behind us.

My eyes grew wide, and I opened my mouth, while jumping out of my seat. “I did it! I did it! I held my breath all the way through the tunnel!!” I danced around the compartment my family had reserved, turning in the largest circle the cramped thing allowed.

Aunt Debbie turned and looked at me, a smile spreading slowly on her face. She loved her kids, but if she knew they were wrong, she made sure they knew they were wrong, too. “Good for you, sweetie. Not even Nathanial and Sadie here could hold their breaths the entire way through.”

I couldn’t help but lord it over them the entire summer.

If you want, I can post on here why exactly you have impacted my life. If you aren’t on the list, I can still tell you something pretty awesome about yourself. Well… I can try but I’ve only got so much to work with, you know?

1.       Darla Blackmon

2.       Penny Bays

3.       Stevie Bays

4.       Terry Wallis

5.       Dreama Scott

6.       Morganna Marks

7.       Brittany Hawk

8.       Beau Jackson

9.       Rebecca Burch

10.   Eddie Flint

11.   Danielle Moore

12.   Lindsey Thomas

13.   Ariana Laster

14.   Sarah (Salli, Cat, etc.) Quinnelly

15.   Jeremy Schrader

16.   Aleah Walker

17.   Joscelyne Atkinson

18.   Jason Lilly

19.   Christine Weirick

Quote of the year, courtesy of a very good friend who’s going through some shit with a person she thought was a very good friend. (A curse upon that whore for making her cry):Swallowing your pride never hurt anyone, but it does leave a bad taste in your mouth.

An umbrella that I really, really, really need (10 Princess Points if you know what it says without looking it up): http://www.raindropsto.com/product/Adult_Umbrellas/Unique_and_Novelty/MIP_umbrella.html

“I don’t want to die anymore.” She whispers, looking up at me and feeling for the bullet hole in her shoulder. I can see white fragments in the pool of blood I’m sitting in and I think the bullet must have shattered Leslie’s collar bone.

Why does blood turn fabric brown, when on the ground in such great vast seas of it, it looks black? It seems blacker than the night sky looming overhead with the big white moon useless to aid my friend.

I shake my head. I disgust myself. She’s dying and I’m thinking about how to get blood stains out of my pants. I smooth her perfect almond-skin hair back from her china skin and smile at her. “It’s ok, kiddo. Just be still. No one is dying here tonight.”

I’m such a liar. Such a good, fucking liar.

She’s gasping now, touching the newborn baby pink  of the skin around the black hole that is her demise. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die anymore.”

“What do you mean ‘anymore’?” I ask. Will talking keep her alive of kill her? Is she going to pas out from blood loss or the effort of talking? Too late. Always too late, ‘cause now she’s whispering, loud enough for me to hear but not loud enough to be considered talking.

“I’ve been dead before. So dead, so before this. I’m dead right now. I’m going to be dead in few minutes,” I start to shake my head but she swallows hard and rasps a little and I shut my mouth. “Same old shit, you know? I can’t break the monotony. I can’t –‘scuse me, couldn’t– get out of that trap. All my mom’s pathetic attempts to make my dad love her while she makes excuses for his drinking problems and his abusive hands that fall on her. She conveniently forgets about his affairs, and while she’s forgetting about that, she forgets about me and Bry. That, paired with my stupid, sinking grades and all my stupid boyfriends. All the lovers I had, and not one that I loved half as much as Lee; is that irony or isn’t it. He’s the only one that didn’t deserve to kill himself,” She has this little moment of a hacking cough before continuing. “His death. Mom. Dad. School. Everything. Does it seem like everyone’s dying this summer, to you? I wanted to die, ‘cause I was so down. But not now. Not anymore.”

She blinks a lot after this. Like she didn’t expect to finish what she was saying. I’m a little surprised myself.

“I didn’t expect it to hurt so much. God! It hurts!” she says, clutching her hand over the wound and looking at me with wide, doe-like eyes. “Am I going to Heaven? I haven’t been too bad have I?”

“No.” I whisper, softly combing her hair and smiling even though I want to rip the drive-by shooters to shreds. Smile, even though I want to kill the paramedics who won’t get here in time. I comb her hair and whisper, “No. You’ve been so good. I know you’ll go to Heaven.  You’ve been too good, at least. You changed me, kiddo. Not many people have that on their resume. Not many people could pull that off.”

“I’m tired.” She says, her eyes closing slowly, trapping the fading light behind alabaster lids.

“It’s ok,” I say. “Go on to sleep, kid. I love you. See ya’ later.”

And her eyes close, and she falls just the tiniest bit off my lap before I clench her shoulders tightly and hoist her back up so that she’s leaning against my arm. Bleeding through the wound onto my sweater. I close my eyes and let the tears slide down my cheeks, wetting her hair, as the wail of an ambulance fills the parking lot where we lie.

So… apparently Rachael Ray signed a contract that allows her to appear in ads and marketing for Dunkin’ Donuts. (Can I just say its doughnuts not donuts, because otherwise it would be pronouced ‘do nuts’… which just sounds really filthy, doesn’t it?)

Does this seem evil to anyone else? I hate Rachael Ray! I hate her with a passion hotter than hell!! She is a stupid little twit who can’t cook and has one of those pill-head smiles. The kind of smile where you know she snorts Prozac, and that’s the only reason she’s smiling.                                             

I know that doughnuts are the most wonderful, soft, tasty, and warm invention that anyone has ever stumbled upon, but it’s not the doughnuts I’m worried about. It’s everything else on their menu. Out of morbid curiosity, I went to their website and after poking about for about five seconds, found the nutrition section. I was horrified, shocked, appalled, sickened, disgusted, stunned, and any other synonyms of the aforementioned words.       

The ingredients listed for the “Bacon Egg Cheese Croissant Sandwich” is, not only obnoxiously long, but is also hard to pronounce. What is Disodium Dihydrogen Pyrophosphate? I googled it, and guess what? In leather treatment, it can be used to remove iron stains on hides during processing! How handy. My main concern however, is what kind of iron stains do you have on a croissant that need removing in the first place? I’m utterly surprised that I didn’t find ‘crank’ stuck onto the list for good measure or something.       

The fact that Rachael Ray who, let’s face it, does have a loyal fan-base and who is trying to be a role model for kids, is going to be in commercials for Dunkin’ Donuts, basically telling children to eat foods that will stop their hearts faster than if Julia Child poured butter into an IV drip connected to their little chubby arms, seems morally unjust somehow.       

See, I have nothing against eating unhealthily and all that jazz, its just that I think you could make better, less heart attack inducing decisions – even fucking McDonald’s is better than Dunkin’ Donuts. I mean, in Dunkin’ Donuts “Supreme Omelet on a Croissant” (They seem to be found of them, don’t they? What the hell ever happened to biscuits?) there are 530 calories. In a BigMac, there are 540. Sure, as far as the words ‘disgusting’ and ‘ohmygodwhywouldyoueatthat???’ go, they’re equal… however, if you’re talking about the word ‘filling’, I’d probably eat the 10 extra calories, to get 30% more a meal.        

So, go ahead. Eat your Big Bacon Classics, your Filet-O-Fishes, your Classic Whoppers, but for the sake of Jesus Christ’s pogo-stick, do NOT eat fucking Dunkin’ Donuts. LEATHER TREATMENT, PEOPLE, LEATHER TREATMENT!!!     

Of course, maybe I’m a little biased, because I’m a Krispy Kreme girl, after all…

Why are we so driven by the need to feel accepted? To have something we create or experience or covet loved by someone. Why? Why no want to break out on your own and worry about what people think of you or your beliefs?

Why has it become popular to like certain authors only after their books have been turned into a box office smash? Why can you only read Jane Austen or Chuck Palahniuk after watching Kiera Knightly or Brad Pitt? Why has it become popular to love things that other people have loved all their lives? Why is there no originality?

Or perhaps it is the originality that draws people to these things. Perhaps it is this pseudo-originality that people seek.

 Another question: Why do silly girls try to be philosophical when they have only a base knowledge of the subject? Better yet, Why do I enjoy wasting my time by writing this in order to waste other people’s time.

Germany. Germany. Germany.

TOMORROWWW!!!!!

Most people, I’ve gathered, write about how awkward it is to keep a blog, about how they aren’t sure they can update every day, about how they don’t want it to be a place to only bitch and moan for their first post. However, I do not plan on doing this, because I rarely bitch and moan. That was sarcasm, for those of you who are a little slow in the brain.

So, lets have all this personal crap out all at once, eh? I am short, loud and sometimes obnoxious. I’m an emotional roller-coaster and vaguely evil. I’m also slightly redundant and possibly schizophrenic. I am not from Djibouti (yes it’s a country, in North-eastern Africa), great at math, or the motherfucking princess. I like writing, records, Antique/Thrift stores, bubbles, your mother, and amazing shoes. I don’t care for the way spiders move, girls that look scarily like Michael Jackson, Holden Caulfield, Avril Lavigne, and your ugly face. I have two dogs, a swift kick to the shin if I don’t like you, and too few bookshelves. I would like to have a few million dollars, another few tattoos, my very own computer, a pair of Doc Martens, lots of presents, and Johnny Depp.

Also, I’m great at telling stories and fixing good food.
So, get me presents and pay my food compliments and I’ll love you forever.
Except you Chris Dowell, because I know you’re reading this.

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