no paper. Something old, Something new, something stupid I must allow

In fifteen minutes I'll be awake for twenty-four hours. That was last night, or this morning. Last night the smell was dreadful, the bums were out, more ruthless than normal because of the red carpet after parties, littering the gum spattered side walks. All confused over Hollywood, why aren't they a celebrity and why haven't they eaten for two days and why won't this girl give me money? "I just gave you two dollars man, just MOVE ON," said Patty blacked out drunk, and then she proceeded to threaten him with drug use, "I know two dollars isn't enough to buy meth but three dollars is! Just go!"

We sat and watched to see if we could recognize anyone. I only did when I heard names in the background, and made my own connections. Oh yeah, Jan from the Office, I don't want T.V. Someone said they saw L.L. Cool-Jay I'm pretty sure I've seen him in person before meaning that my excitement level would not exceed its current level, a burnt sienna on the rainbow scale. Yeah, that one time behind the scenes of the music video, I was totally there.

The scale was all over the bathroom. The sweater just popped out of the detailed painting with eyes like hollow commas and it made everyone's eyes look the same. Except for Patty's of course, hiding behind those expensive and smart looking glasses. The sidewalk smelled of soap and water, a loud purring of the trucks sounded and now I heard it again but from my kitten, Tony, sleeping next to me with his little paw resting me assurance. She glowed in the darkness as they walked in side by side, the three dykes linking arms like a bunch of fucking chaps when really all they do is question the meaning of their relationships by asking and trusting everyone but each other, and each one have it all wrong. She hugs me from behind, her skin cold form the outside and mine sweaty from the insulated cum stains on the walls. I trusted her to stay behind me for some reason. The band was playing, each member with a different tempo, but somehow with in milliseconds it all came together enough to make some sort of sense, but not enough to the most stubborn dyke at the moment, who has the BALLS to yell louder than the band, "THIS BAND FUCKING SUCKS!" Half of them looking like they are having the time of their life (only one time), and the other half looking bored as hell, as if they have to be up there, playing the loudest most noticeable instrument on the sidelines, but the one that takes the least amount of blood and sweat to play (synth). Barely even dancing. At least her skirt was stylish. It was great though, beautiful even to watch her talk so loudly with her hands yet still inaudibly to the birthday girl who they all came to see., but only for a moment before the alcohol took over and the night became a dream. Her backs to the synth player whose butterflies invisibly drop dead to the bottom of her nonexistent stomach.

Everything in my body says not tonight, everything in my body says no.

A couple months ago, actually more than that ago, when I had bronchitis, I ran into my high school Spanish teacher Mr. Juell, in the elevator at the doctor's office. He was paralyzed from the waist down, in a wheel chair and half his face was droopy but not from a stroke, but Guillain Barre. It's a neurological sort of AIDs, where your immune system attacks itself but your limbs and such are out of control, something. I had it as a child and all I remember was a tingly feeling in half my body making it hard for me to walk. Anyway, he was FUCKED UP. When I saw him, he had just gotten into the wheel chair and out of the bed for about two weeks, unable to sleep but and only able to scream and cry from the agonizing pain from doing nothing. Aside from talking about that, he and his cute wife with braces asked me how I was doing, what I was doing about school and so forth. At that moment I was contemplating dropping out of school, it was last semester, I remember now. They suggested that I don't do that because I'll just regret it later. I guess I'm glad that I didn't. If I were to move out to a cute little house in Fullerton and work my ass off just to get drunk and have a good time every night, I would surely slip into abuse again. I guess keeping busy keeps me away from that sort of settlement.

Anyway, I ran into Mr. Juell AGAIN at work yesterday! (I wasn't even supposed to be there that day!!!) And I was on my lunch break, I had just clocked out, but we talked for about fifteen minutes. He bought all the items I told him were good, haha. He's so nice. He was a Spanish-speaking missionary in some country in South America or maybe Mexico. He's a total dork. Found out he has hypOthyroidism and they thought he had cancer for a second there, I remember that actually. But he's been mobile for about five months now. He said he just keep getting better and better each day. He said that it shouldn't be much of a problem unless it starts "hurting relationships" hmm....
--

I've been living my life day by day, they get shorter and shorter when you have things to do. I also feel like I've been embracing every minute while not checking the time every second. The day goes by a lot faster and it seems less stressful though, when I plan my day out hour by hour... spend two hours doing this and that... it's easier for me to keep the important things constantly on my mind like a draw card, when I'm ready, or when I happen to have a surprise two hour period of no plans, I can fill it with something important or necessary. Unlike right now, when I woke up early enough to start writing my non-fiction, I made coffee and watched the Cooking Channel (not the Food Network*) and now I have 14 minutes until I have to take a shower.
-
Nikki took my car for some reason at 7am and she needs to be back by one cause I have to work at 130........ useless info.
-


Last night I went to Burger Records for the movie night. I missed the first one, but the second one was some old Clint Eastwood Western. For some reason I had this pulling sensation in my brain, as if telling me to think about someone or something because of this movie. But I just thought of it... that one guy whose name was also Clint. The aspiring author, musician, artist, sensitive brain eater of the picking coy variety.

After the movie we, me and 7 other peoples went to the Brea Dam in the early morning to throw golf balls up the incline of the giant storm drain/ parking lot where no cars are allowed to park/ massive roller blading arena/ concrete slab. The echo wall. Clapping goes on forever, we howled like wolves, or coyotes if you will. The houses are far enough away that we could be pretty loud. The closer you got to the edge, you can feel the change in gravity and the second you bounce the golf ball it leans back down to the grassy area at the end of the concrete. The moon was a lop sided oval, too bright to look at, and it faded some stars. The sky was a grayish purple with a red exterior ring from the "city" lights. No clouds. We also found some hells bells, near a sign that read: "Caution. Infested fruit, do not eat." So I picked one, it's on the dresser. Wow, completely wilted. I'll post a picture. Smells like gardenias, my Mom's favorite flower. I haven't seen my mom since Tuesday.


Happy Birthday Lizzie!

"They never understand the way I walk, and you know it's the way I talk that keeps me from knowing when I should see the things you're showing me" - Lifetime

Something's in the back yard...

Hello! It is really fucking hot outside, today I believe it hit 107 in Anaheim, but that's just according to someone's Facebook update. What should I listen to as I write... punk?

Hot Snakes... not so much punk.

I got asked out on a date today, by the best grandma in the world... TRUDY! Our romantic weekend getaway awaits us in late September. HEHE:D

I came here to write about stuff. By next week I must hand in some sort of non-fiction draft. I have so much to write about, but where to start? The work place? The sex? The violence? The rawness? Or the happiness, the ineffable, the hoity toity, the ideal... where's the fun in that? Happiness is overrated anyway.




There was a work bbq today at Eisenhower park. Everyone was talking about how they grew up in that park and love it so much and how much it's changed... I wanted to bring up how I was arrested at that park one morning at about 3, when I was 15 and a half, drinking and smoking and driving, and waiting for a car full of boys to meet up with us. That was a disaster. The scariest part for me was hoping that the cops wouldn't find my defecation just below the cement ramp near the wood chips. That's illegal right?


back to the work thing
So little bunny foo foo just text messaged me, randomly bringing up another coworker who is married and has children (not that that makes any difference to what I'm about to say) and foo foo just accused him of being gay, in fact a "gay demon," a closet case, that he loathes him aside from "everyone else in the whole wide world." Sounds like foo foo wants to suck a dick or two. Or three. Maybe even go as far as to give up vagina altogether and be a full time cock sucker. So I replied and told him to make out with him, that it would be the ONLY way to know, and then he said to me, "Fuck off jerko!" Did I deserve that? He was the one that brought it up. Whoa man, Foo Foo is a vicious fucking rabid beast. Foaming at the mouth and chewing on his long hair. Then he said, "Whatevs bout that fagle (LOL<). Let's get stoney sometime. I promise I won't be a drunken bad lover or anything :)" And then I said, "Haha, fagle. Ya let's get stoney." Then he said, "I'm. down. as. fuuuuuuck. :)"
AND SHE WAS ALL, AND I WAS LIKE, OMG, LIKE LIKE LIKE OMG, I WAS LIKE TOTALLY FUCK!
and I said nothing.

Nothing needed to be said.

Can I say that I ... my life? I feel something about my life. Maybe I don't love it because of things like this... but it's definitely something to laugh about.

AHHHHHHHHHHH





-----
Or I could write about you and how much you've let me down. I could sit there for hours and calculate it out. How many times, when and where and who was present. My theory as to why, and also include that I can't be the only one... not the only one. I can include interviews of others and compare and contrast their experiences to mine. Even though that has happened before, I could organize a dialogue that makes it easier for the reader to understand, to PAINT A PICTURE, of exactly what happened. Exactly how I, we all felt. It will be surprisingly similar. I could give it all right back to you, my revenge, and then I guarantee your tail will sting me right in the tendon or the eye ball, fucking me up for EVER!!!! Then I'd feel like shit and then I'd write about how much you have changed me as a person, a woman, an independent... all of the above. How you've boosted my everything and anything. My motivation, my horizons, my hopes and dreams, my posture, my voice... and how it was never for me or that other person but for you. Only for you. Not even your allies at the moment. But you're a special breed of human, like Jesus or something reefuckingdiculous. Something so indefensible, something so fucking prime, exceptional that there is nothing any victim could do to reach victory. Fuck. Impossibility does exist.

--
I swear I didn't mean for it to feel like this, like every inch of me is bruised.
---

Today I shared my love for the beats: the Buk and Kerouac. Margaret Atwood, and the graphic novels I've read... Swamp Thing... Black Hole... Others shared their love for the Palahnuik, Hemingway, fucking Twilight, Clancy... My teacher, awkward, unable to run a class smoothly and timely, a pushover, a flower child unable to take a rock and throw it on the floor

"I'm throwin' rocks at your floor, I'm breakin' down your front door, I'm desperate tonight and I just wanna fight"

and say what they feel instead of letting the wind do it for them. PSYCHEDELIA! HUMANITY! TRANQUILITY! Our anger is meaningless

My writing is sparse tonight. Doin' fine

Sometimes perfection can be perfect, how perfect....

Lower back aches.

Vacations come and gone too late. There's too much sun where I'm from, had to give it away.


What is romance?

11:11

Hot like Mexico, enjoy.



I am forcing myself to write right now, because that's what my creative writing teacher suggested. The class seems fun, but I am/was totally not prepared for school as I have been in the past. The first week is already gone, and I've only attended two classes. My English teacher is a hippie and has a long white pony tail. The textbook we are supposed to be using talks a lot about journaling, and keeping a journal is a requirement for the class, so yay, I'm already ready for that part. And we get extra credit for reading our shit aloud to the class. Vanessa mentioned reading vulgar ass shit and I must say that is not a bad idea.

I'm listening to Lady GaGa and drinking wine like this






Now I may force myself to read because my teacher also said that he'd laugh in the face of the writer who doesn't read. Of course it makes sense. Go ahead, laugh at me.


But he likes the Buk, and he likes the beats, and he hates the south. He's from Jersey. He used to write obituaries for the paper. He is soft-spoken. We went around the room talking about ourselves. The first kid went something like this (I was the third kid): "HEY! My name is Eric and I'm an English major. I love reading and I absolutely love to write, especially poetry. Um, something interesting about me is I am a musician, yeah, I play guitar and I just want to be a teacher, I also hope to write a novel one day, that is my ultimate goal."

The second went like this: "HEY! I'm Katy (or something) and I'm also an English major. I work at a comedy club at night both on stage and behind the scenes doing lighting and such. I am part of an improv drama/comedy group. I love reading poetry and writing it. I am also an actor and think that this class will help me in all aspects."

Then I went like this: "My name is Ta- Tatiana. Uhm, I have an undeclared major, and I used to live in San Francisco."

Teacher: "Do you miss San Francisco?"

me: "yes, I visit like once a month."


Half of me was super nervous because my heart was hella pounding because I was too focused on listening to the same 10 seconds of "Just Dance," in my head, and the other was really not caring about school or this class and putting myself down, thinking that I'm stupid for wanting to write or excel or get "better" at it or what have you... delusional shit. I left minutes before the class was let out anyway, in the middle of a reading, stupidly, egotistically. My ego was shrunken by these "wonder women," miss I have two kids and work two jobs and go to school full time, Mr. I sing in an a capella band and used to make guitars by hand, miss I love Biden, Mr. funny man who was the only one who stood up to introduce himself.

I was just over it. And there was a Miss I can read a book in four hours, oh, and this one time, I read fifteen books by the same author in one weekend HEHEHEHEHEHEHHEE.


All I can say is that I lived in San Francisco two years ago, I work too much, I don't read enough, I write a lot of bullshit, I update various journals, I have not shaved my legs in over a year. Good for you, Tati. I have a love-hate relationship with the bleeding heart liberal. I used to play drums but gave up - I used to care but gave up (not entirely true). I used to not think and now I do too much of that. My hair doesn't grow.




Though I did enjoy hearing people say that they first got into writing creatively in high school, because they had this one really rad teacher. Maybe that will be me someday. PShhhhhh.....

-

I wished for "everything to work out."

Another update...

I just got back form my doctor's appointment with Endocrinology. It went fine... so guess what they told me to stop doing? Smoking pot - apparently it suppresses the pituitary gland, which signals the thyroid about the TSH levels which I have high levels of. Since the pituitary gland releases hormones based on the TSH levels, in order for everything to be regulated with out influence, I must stop smoking pot for just a couple months so further tests can be taken, measured to see if I really even have this disorder/disease. The nodules I have won't even be touched until 6 weeks when I have more blood work done. This concept does not seem to be out of wack, or completely and utterly ridiculous, but actually seems like a good plan because of course, the palpitations occur most frequently and intensely when I smoke weed, a major symptom for hyperthyroidism. All the other symptoms, hunger, wacky moods and hormones are symptoms of the hyper thyroid... but also of chronic marijuana usage, no?

Along with this prognosis I was also issued a low iodine diet meaning I can eat basically nothing. No salt. No dairy. No red dye. No soy. No sushi. No turkey. But veal? <- fuck that. But hot dogs? <- fuck that too. But egg whites <- I can do that. No ketchup or mustard. No liver or other organ meats... thank God.

Anywho, she said to try my best on this low iodine diet, not NO iodine diet. In two weeks I'll have another "scan," whatever that means, and in six weeks I'll have more blood tests. So yay for not dying at the moment.


-

In other news, I am hungry and don't know what to eat. My class starts at 11:30 and parking is going to be just a ball. I am not so worried about this treatment process because I have noticed changes in hormones due to smoking pot in the past... I feel a weight lifted...

*Fun Fact*
I have two symmetrical swollen thyroid nodules, and two symmetrical under-the-skin cysts on my 'majoras. WOoooWeeeEE . Both mean nothing, but perhaps add a little, as my co-worker would say that I have that he likes, PIZZAZ.

It's art

The ass mug, the trunk of your car, the way the shoes fall, the messy dresser, patterns in the depth of the dust on the lamp... what you've touched and what you've decided not to.


Drinking a glass of wine before bed, called Rendezvous. It was $2.99 and had a girl kissing a boy holding a picnic basket - product of France. They said I got the last bottle but that's never the case.

Today he was nice to me... one of my coworkers asked if I thought he was cute. I said yes and so did she, but it followed with "but I don't know why...." haha. I don't know where to begin about thinking about this shit.

My heart remains vacant, awesomely. No kiss goodbye to Liz, again my fault, unless she didn't want it. Again, it was up to me, or was it? Sigh....

--
(I really hate how specific I am going to be right now)

I think that two people of the opposite sex in a hetero-normative mindset can cuddle maybe even kiss nonsexually, under the moonlit sky, trains going by, wind blowing; just as two queer (polysexual -- blogger isn't giving me the corrections I want so I have many a red dotted line on the page) people can cuddle, even kiss in a tent, under a blanket, in a private or public setting (hand holding) nonsexually. I can't quite grasp what I'm trying to say right now, but I do know that it is something about sex positivity versus negativity... that NORMAL SEXUAL FEELINGS for someone, anyone, are to be expected but not always with romance. What is romance? Does a relationship once in love turn into companionship, Platonic sexuality? That doesn't exist? Will someone answer this for me?

I asked him straight up an obnoxious fucking question: What is the difference between recreation and recreation? Recreation: recreational center / recreation of the "self/ego/person." I'm not a meth head but there really are ants crawling all over my body. I can feel them.


It's like that time he asked to hold my hand during conversation. What a sweet person. "Is it okay if I hold your hand right now, is that cool?" This blog is absent of names...








i am a visitor here, i am not permanent

Excuses for not believing in God...

The world is just too fucked up for him to exist at all. But he exists anyway whether we like it or not, in constant questions of the centuries...

I came here to write about stuff but now I can't think of anything that's really truly bothering me at the moment. Maybe my thyroid is in sync now with other things in my body. It's not being a little bitch today... I've been listening harder and deeper into the things that I see or feel or hear of course - tones of voice, body language (listen very hard), listen to their eye movement/contact, their smiles, when and where they smile. It's been getting me out of the dark lately because I've been more in tune with my surroundings, or so I like to think, unless I'm being very nicely deceived.

I feel like I've finally come down from the acid. Yes, more than a month ago. The only thing I learned maybe was to NOT do acid. I must be in the right state of mind and the right state and the surrounded with other minds that I find to be "right." But we are all segments of the universal mind... I can't just be ok with thinking I'm so right and comfortable in such a tweaked mindset, I can't just be there alone, by myself, surrounded by others who are on common ground.

blah blah blah blah blahb albh



I met someone last night and we botch offered our shoulders to each other if we ever needed or wanted to cry. Then we talked extensively about shitting and/or farting, burping...

And when I thought about doing or saying this... and I didn't... and I regretted it ever since.

----------
"And something happened on the night I last drank with you in the neon glow.
Now I don't see you anymore. "

Bug Stomp

It felt good to let go...

It felt good to embrace the nervous flutters and ride on the butterflies...

I've changed from yesterday to today. Thanks for reminding me of who I used to be or something, even if it wasn't intentional.

I smoked 16 cigarettes yesterday.

Yer blowin' my mind

How's it feel to have a burden in your life?

The plasticity.

I have made a horrible habit I guess, of taking things literally and trying not to look too much into the things that people say or do... It's working fine lately... but I refuse to believe anyone's invulnerability to life itself. And I try so hard not to bullshit. I refuse to acknowledge the exceptions people make for themselves... except mine of course (duhhh). Just tell me straight up, your thoughts... I'm not going to cry - that's a lie. But I'd rather hear about you than this or that thing. Things that are static.


Let me know the truth... let me knooow the trruuuuth.

Blow me (off)!

It hurts to be reminded of myself

Oh ?
like eyes murdered in sin
oh did you forget
all the words you ever spit

love love love
this isn't it
love love love
you wouldn't know it
if it hit you

oh erase my name
from here on out
it's only pain
I can't tell you why
you hate me for living
won't let me die
-Giant Drag



I gave in!

I've spent the evening talking like I don't usually do and thinking to myself. I spent the evening quiet, at home. In my room. Something I never do and for some reason, always try to avoid. I feel safe here though. Feeling internal. I've been getting picked up from work by my parents lately, and dropped off. I spring thoughts on them and like to listen to their feedback. It's weird when I can predict the exact thing that they say. It's easier with my mom. She always has something clever to say, tonight she caught me with some new ones I haven't heard yet. Usually they are cliches, proverbs, tenacious... Clever though. My dad always says something in a strange tone of voice. What he says usually has an underlying hostility or arrogance... violence... it was making me smile today as it was happening. Just the terms that he comes up with... like the Bush dictionary, you know? I don't know if that really exists. But I feel like he feels confidence in intimidating people it doesn't really matter WHAT he says but HOW he says it and to WHO - it's just a sales technique. Psychology.

What if I have cancer?


I talked to an old friend today. I was thinking, calculating (makes me think of the lame guy from class last semester, the one with the hair and the bow tie, the one who used the words CALCULATIVE REASONING but this isn't that him) the months since we've met. It's been about a year, in November, or Thanksgiving. I miss the flashing lights he produced - the immediate indulgence I sought at any hour really, I knew he'd be there to answer. Because his hand was half-phone. If I get my thyroid fixed am I still going to think about things like this? Will the curing of my thyroid make me think differently?

Maybe I'll get scarification over my foot tattoo?


"A life with out love is like a year with out summer." - Swedish proverb (apparently)


"Do I love you because you're beautiful, or are you beautiful because I love you? Am I making believe I see in you, a woman too perfect to be really true? Do I want you because you're wonderful, or are you wonderful because I want you? Are you the sweet invention of a lover's dream, or are you really as beautiful as you seem?" - Oscar Hammerstein II

I'm dumb, she's a lesbian

But that's just a stupid dream that I won't realize... 'cause I can't even look in your eyes with out shakin' and I ain't bacon...


Today is Em's birthday, I think she turns 29 today! I remember when we first met and I was 17 and she was 26 or something... I was surprised because she acts so much "younger," whatever that means. My dad has to drop me off at work again today... blah.

School starts in two weeks! I have nothing important to say, the news has that one covered I guess. I'm just here to vomit.

"This there and stare, like a goat chewing a wood chip, at the wall for an hour maybe, thinking nothing, like the average goat."
-
"I’m sleepy now. After all these unruly wishes being made – gluttonously seeking, scrounging. Oh no loosing... "

Blushing, not caring...





I do and you like me too... I'M READY LET'S DO IT BABY!
=======w

Knock me out and let me go back to sleep...

Something beautiful about chaos, blah blah blah...

Times change but people never do...

Avoid cliches...


Weezer on Saturday...

So it goes...