Paint

My house was on the corner between Delightful Lane, technically the road I lived on, and Prodd Boulevard. Prodd Boulevard was on a steep hill. A few friends of mine lived at the bottom, while I lived on the top. A few of my other friends lived nearby on Delightful Lane.

There was a house that my friends and I would always hang out at. It was my friend Jenkins' house. He was a good friend, or so I thought.

Now, I can't tell you how I met Jenkins but that's only because I can't even recall our first encounter myself.

His house was a two-story apartment. It had a porch with a large stoop, as well as a balcony. It had one door to the left, and in the foyer, you could choose to go upstairs to Jenkins' apartment or you could go in the door to the right into some cat lady's apartment. Once you reached the top of the stairs you could go into his apartment.

Jenkins was the center of our group of friends, although none of us saw him often. He always hung out in the other room, in the back of the apartment. A few of us would talk and hang out like kids do. I don't remember what the conversation consisted of but I do remember that it was never of my primary memory at the apartment.

We would paint at Jenkins'. The walls were white throughout the whole entire apartment. It had mediocre generic furniture, and had a distinct, clean smell.

Of the few times I visited over that long summer, I remember painting. We repainted the whole entire living room white. The walls were bare and untouched so I don't know why we would have needed to paint, but we did. I don't recall the smell of paint, or the feeling of it, I just remember the cleanliness.

I can see myself, so young and stupid. I was on the opposite wall of the apartment toward what would be considered the front of the apartment. I was painting, alone. In my content, I was called on upon, by request, into the bathroom.

The tragedy took place here. My most embarrassing, traumatic memory took place in that bathroom. It had a plain floor and plain walls, just like any other part of the house. I had no idea that such a disgusting and degrading event was occurring, yet I proceeded with Jenkins encouraging and comforting words.

Oh, please believe I said

Baby, there's a shark in the water.

Or at least there was.

Life Lesson #1

Life Lesson #1: Only Be Submissive During Sex

With little common knowledge regarding the topic of gay sex, anyone can figure out that there's a controlling role and a submissive role. In real love affairs, there is always one who enjoys one role better than the other. This is normal, but real love affairs also have an even trade off, if you catch my drift.

Friendships don't have to be like this. You can play either role you like during conversation. Since this physical aspect never comes into play (for those of us who aren't slutty whores and don't have friends with benefits), we see a power struggle for the more masculine role, if you will.

If you're willing to successfully be the aggressor THEN DO IT.

Why get walked all over when you could be known as the wittiest bitch on the block. While some may find you guarded and rude, you know that you're sweet as candy. My advice to you is only treat others this way given the following circumstances:

1. They try to get sassy with you--put them in their place!
2. No one likes them--make a name for yourself and be the first to stand up the the baddest bitch around. Just like Cady Heron did to Regina George in Mean Girls.
3. You don't want to be friends with them anymore--it's easy to get rid of people, drive them away.

You don't have to treat everyone like this. Just do it to those who deserve it. You can open up to people that you've gotten to know and who have seen that there's more to you than just your exterior. I've opened up to a few select people, and I must admit that it's nice to not have EVERYONE know "who you really are" inside.

I know that I will never shed my icy skin.

Work

I arrived at GAP Outlet around 1:50PM. I was 10 minutes early for my shift, which was only 5 hours long.

The day started off well since I wasn't zoning or on register. I was working with most of the people I don't like, until 3 new people that I don't really know at all came in shortly after. A manager that I always have to keep in check was closing, but that's alright since I really do enjoy running the store unofficially.

I was putting away clothes when I took a moment to listen to the music. The following lyrics played:

"I hate my job."

I can't say that I hate my job at all. As a matter of fact, I am IN LOVE with my job. I am a retail whore. I live for this shit on a daily basis. A lot of what I do is so that the store is a success. Most of my coworkers do their job because they get paid. In part, I show up for the check but genuinely I do adore the customers, the hustle and bustle, and the all around knowledge of knowing I made something happen.

Now I would proclaim that I am the best at my place of employment, but that wouldn't be fair to others. I have not been told that I am the best, and several other coworkers of mine have been voted employee of the month.

I am the self-proclaimed best person at GAP Outlet. I am able to do any task well, not to mention quickly. I'm efficient in everything I do. I know the dos and don'ts.

Good guys finish last? I forgot

It looks like I'm going to be waiting a little while for the recognition that I've earned.

At least I'm not holding my breath, waiting.

Sans Les Cheveux

I decided that it was time for change once again. This Sunday I decided to have my hair cut (1).

This haircut is one that I've wanted for a very long time. I never really expressed it to anyone since most people would have tried to convince me against it. I'm tired of reaching out to people and getting negativity. Although I am one of the most pessimistic people that I know, I do not immediately give negative feedback. I know that I don't know best. I know that I know what I like.

I've never had my hair this short, and I can't even being to explain how liberated I feel.

Although it doesn't have the effortless look that I wanted it sure is effortless.

Some of the opinions expressed by others included, "What did you do? You had such beautiful hair!" Hair grows back so I don't get why people are getting all bent out of shape? I mean it's not like they just shaved their head in the middle of January. "Aren't you cold?", has also been a popular response. No shit I'm fucking cold. -__-

Other people have said things like, "YOU'RE A GOD", "You're so sexy", "You are so fierce, I can't even handle it." It's amazing how people can change for a good opinion of me to a great opinion. I know that I look more attractive. This haircut opens up my face making how I perfect I am inherently obvious. Makeup further enhances this (I know I didn't think I could improve on perfection either).

But wait! A third party exists believe it or not. That would consist of those who have made no positive or negative comments, even no comments at all. At work, some people said, "You look so much older", "You look so masculine", and "You have amazing bone structure." At school I even got, "You look more like a girl now." That was a little funny since I don't think I look like Shuga. To address those who haven't said anything, thank you. Assholes.

Even though it has only been 4 days, it will continue to feel like the first day for a week or so, I'm sure.

I may have done a lot of things to please myself, but I have altered those things time to time due to unimportant opinions. It feels great to finally realize that I don't need to listen to the negative criticism of my 'friends.

Everyone's a critic.

Myself included.

Bipolar?

This week as been quite the week, and with how fast paced it has felt this should come as no surprise. But there are two more days left to this week and today has been the most eventful by far.

Around 12:00am I had an episode.

Around 12:45am an old, almost boyfriend wanted me to have phone sex with him. Um, no.

Around 7:50am I downed a cup of coffee and headed to school and actually arrived on time.

Around 1:00pm I starved myself because I had work to do, that wasn't collected.

Around 4:00pm I started to drive to work, I drove 40mph the whole way there.

Around 4:30pm someone wouldn't sell me cigarettes because they thought my ID was fake. I fucken took my business elsewhere. Fuck that shit.

At 5:15 I finally went to work. Now this is where the stories start.

As I came into work, I counted down a drawer, since I was going to become main ringer. I've become closer with Stacy recently. This is due to the fact that Bovan now works at WAL-MART and that I'm one of the few members of the night crew who has been working there for more than 3 days.

The night was slow therefore Stacy and I spent most of our time mildly gossiping about customer experiences, and funny family stories while we folded. She had informed me that she had a very important story that she couldn't believe that she had forgotten to tell me. I immediately thought it was just an extra saucy story about one of our regulars--I was right in part.

Stay started to tell a story with the regular customer coming up to 2 newer associates and claiming, "I need a new outfit for court that doesn't make me look like such a fucking slut, like I normally do." The associates informed Stacy that they were uncomfortable. She was the perfect customer to create a bond with but whatever.

Stacy then took it upon herself to assist the customer. She knew her superior customer experience would aid her in not feeling like a pansy uncomfortable idiot. The customer had revealed to her that she had to go to court for domestic abuse, and that she may have her children taken away.

This only made Stacy feel worse because the woman showed her a GIANT tattoo (a tribute to her children) that she had gotten earlier in the week that was causing her physical pain on top of her emotional pain. Stacy did help her find a nice pair of khaki pants, and a black camisole to go with the denim jacket she had wanted. She looked plain jane, just how her lawyer had asked of her.

At the end of the story, Stacy informed me that she had forgotten one crucial part. The customer had said to Stacy and one girl who isn't new, Mae Ling, "Where's the cute little gay boy who always helps me?" Unfortunately, they had to inform her that there were not any males on staff until 5:15pm. When Stacy had to inform her, she told me it was when she really noticed that the poor customer had officially hit rock bottom

The worst part of it all is that it was one of MY regulars. I feel terrible that I couldn't have been there when all she wanted was assistance from the person who always aids her. I could have been her crutch. In her hard time she needed a familiar face who never judged her. I had her on my mind all through the rest of the night.

Around 8:15 I went on my cigarette break. I had that customer on my mind. While sitting outside, and old man was walking into the mall. He said to me, "Those cigarettes are that good to make you sit out in the freezing cold?"

I was in no mood, and couldn't believe the audacity of this old piece of shit and replied with, "You don't know what you're missing."

Expecting a chuckle from the bitter old fuck, he sassily replied, "It's a nasty habit."

As he reached for the door, I said in a firm, irritated, yet informative voice, "Fuck off." The old bastard shook his head as he walked into the mall. Go ahead and walk into that mall. Do you know how many worse things happen everyday than a teenager smoking a cigarette outside of the mall?

It killed me that he didn't understand how I felt. My emotions have been across the board all week, not to mention today. I felt frustrated, depressed, sad, ugly, beautiful, sassy, angry, hurt, excited, jealous, even happy.

Call me Sybil, but I'd much rather be called Caesar.

Family

For the past few months, I have grown to realize that I really am the only family that I have.

I've never really had a normal life as far as my family is concerned. When I was around 4, I remember my dad kicking my mom out of the house. I remember sitting at the top of the stairs as my dad yelled at my mother, and she left for good. As the door shut, I ran to the porch, just to get one last look. I felt like my life had ended.

My parents had broken up since my dad had put the pieces of the puzzle together, and realized that my sister, wasn't my sister at all. My mother was notorious for meeting strangers, and handing out her phone number. Afterwards, when someone would call, she would claim that she didn't remember giving them the number. This should come to no surprise, since she had a brain aneurysm at 18, and was left with severe short-term memory loss.

My dad knew that my mother was seeing another man, or at least he had a hunch. And after they had their third child he had gotten verification. As my sister got older, my dad realized that she was quite tall, and she had blond hair. My dad is 5'9" and my mom is 5'5". Both of them have black hair also. It didn't make sense. My dad knew who the other man was now.

My dad had had a paternity test done. He was not the father. This led to their separation. My mom left her two sons for her new man. And my dad had just raised a child for 3 years, and come to find out, it wasn't even his.

I had visited her on weekends for a long time, since my dad knew how much I loved my mom. He knew that I was her favorite, despite her leaving me. I remember she would call me all the time. And since she had such terrible memory loss, she would call me A LOT, because she would forget that we just spoke on the phone a few hours ago. Knowing that I was on her mind often, made me feel better about her not living with me.

After a while though, my mom and my sister's father, as well as my sister moved into a house after living in apartments for years. My mom's fiancée had accused me from stealing from his home when I was around 10. After that he prohibited my mother from talking to me. I never heard from her again. It wasn't for quite some time until this really began to sink in.

The next year a friend's mother had proposed that I move in with her. Now, I know that she didn't just ask me, and see if I would do it. I know my dad had asked her if she would. And the thing is that no one has ever told me that, even though I'm smart enough to figure it out.

After moving out with family friends I realized that my dad gave me up. My dad didn't care about the past 11 years. The only thing he cared about was living his life the way HE wanted. I was a great child. I can only remember a small handful of times where I really made him mad.

But my disobedient older brother was the one he decided to keep. He decided to give up the perfect child who was destined for the stars. I bet it was for one of those stupid reasons like he just wanted the best for me. Honestly, his life has been a downward spiral since I left, and it's unfortunate.

As far as I'm concerned though--I don't have a family. I just have me, myself and I. That is all I will ever need. I'm not going to allow the poor life decisions of other people define me.

If people weren't pulling me in 8 million different directions, it would be easier for me to truly convince myself that I only need myself. As for right now, I couldn't feel more alone.

I can't wait for someone to come along and remind me of what it's like to feel alive.

Teeth

It was a typical summer day. The sun was shining, and there was a slight breeze. At the time I was 8 years old.

As a child, my dad let me go anywhere, alone. I decided I was going to go the public park about 6 blocks down the road. I walked since the bike I had last summer had broken. Like any other visit to the park I immediately sat on a swing. I began to go as high as I could go, feeling the wind in my face, and listening to the sound of the swing creeking. For one reason or another after I got tired of that, I'd always find myself just sitting there on the swing, hardly swinging or not swinging at all reflecting on my thoughts.

It wasn't that I was racist or anything, but whenever I saw black people I had always stared a lot. It was strange to me, and I didn't quite grasp it. I went to a Roman-Catholic Elementary School, therefore, black people were foreign to my culture. Not only that, mentally handicapped people were obscure in my mind. I just couldn't comprehend why they couldn't act like 'normal people.'

I sat on the swing, thinking and rocking. Walking down the path, toward my location, I could see two black boys. Thet appeared to be larger, and older than me. I stared a little, and tried to act as innocent as possible, since I was kind of terrified of black people. As they got closer, I must have been laughing to myself, in between staring (which I didn't realize that I did, until now). The kid came over to me, with his friend behind him.

I began to get incredibly nervous. I was just unsure of how to act, how to portray myself. The kid piped up in a slurred, almost uneducated voice, "You making fun of my brother?" He had a serious attitude problem. I treated him with respect, since that was how I was taught to act no matter what the circumstances.

I replied with, "No, I wasn't. I don't even know your brother."

I was thinking that this all must have been a misunderstanding until he said, "My brother is mentally handicapped. It ain't right that you're makin' fun of him."

In my head I remember thinking that this kid had to be retarded. His yellowish eyes looked in two different directions. In my memory, he was slightly hunched over, and seemed to be drooling, with his mouth hung open like a barbarian. He even had an irregular breathing pattern that only seemed to be noticeable due to the peculiar weezing noise he made.

Now in fear, after taking my first good look at his brother I said, "I wasn't making fun of him. I'm sorry if you thought I was. I didn't even notice." Those were just about my exact words. Since I was genuine, but clearly appeared to be kissing ass, he wasn't happy and left with his brother.

At this time, more fear had set in and I waited a normal amount of time, and then started on my way home, where I knew I would be safe.

I was within 2 blocks of my house and had just crossed the street to the side which my house was on. I had turned with complete paranoia to find that him and his brother, were riding on bikes behind me in the street. For the next block, I told myself that they were just passing me. Before I knew it, they were completely caught up with me.

Without even thinking about it, I had opened my mouth. "My house is right up over here, so you can stop following me," I piped up. In the scariest cluster of disoriented seconds in my entire life, he had come up behind me, jumping the curb with his bike, silent.

I had frozen. He was close to me, looking me in the eyes. His eyes were similar to his brother in the fact that they were yellow. This extra dark completion only enhanced the yellow which glowed from his scleras. He said in an aggressive voice, "What did you say?"

Stammering, I attempted to mutter the words once again. I was unsuccessful. He drew his arm back, and before I knew it, he had punched me in the face. Like a sling shot, his hand drew back slow, but it retracted with multiple times the force. He had hit me on the left side of my face. He had knocked me to the ground. He quickly left on his bike.

It was my teeth more than anything else that hurt. Yes, my cheek and jaw were throbbing also. I had ran the last 20 yards or so to my house crying, and wanting to die. I thought, how could I have had allowed something like this to happen? I had a revolting taste in my mouth, and could feel bits on my tongue. In time I had realized that two of my teeth were chipped in the event. Not many can say that they know the bitter taste of bone marrow, but I can.

I have been looking forward to getting my braces off for years. I've always plotted how I could go about exposing them for the first time since I got braces. When I get them off in a few months I'll be excited but when I smile in the mirror I will still hate my smile. I don't know if I'll ever be able to overlook the chips and love my smile after my braces are removed. As far as I know, almost 5 years of braces will be worth nothing because I will still hate my smile.

No, Lady Gaga, I will not show you my teeth.