Darth Vader in the Moonwalk with the Mask

55 Fiction - 'Picky'

There’re flowers on his shirt,
one above each pocket.
He looks like a cowboy,
and he plays the guitar.
His motorcycle is out back,
and he calls it his horse.
His boots are old and dusty,
and his jeans are all dirty.

And I want to play with his moustache.

…until I hear his laugh.

55

Sad School Haze

Well, I never did get high on 4/20.

It's probably the first 4/20 in many a year that I haven't.

I miss it, sometimes. But, I just think that while I'm still committing myself to school, I should probably refrain.

Though, this semester is coming to an end.

I think that only really hit me just today.

I mean, I've known all along that the end of the semester was on May the 8th--which is my brother's birthday, so it's an easy date to remember--but only just today has it really dawned on me that after Thursday, I no longer have classes.

Which means that after Thursday, I HAVE TO FIND A JOB.

Because, I decided not to go to summer school.

Not doing summer school means that I can work and make money so that I can afford to go to school again fall semester.

I have two finals. One in English and one in Math. They are both on Wednesday. I am not all that worried about them. In math I will surely get an A. In English, I still have never figured out that Professor and I will surely get a B in that class most likely. If my final research paper is a C, (we haven't gotten them back yet,) then I may even get a C in that class. I don't really care anymore, cos I hated that class. I despise academic writing with a passion and it has no place in my life and never will. For some folks it is the be all/end all of their existence, like my Professor....for me...there exists not a single way in which I would possibly care less about the genre. But, I tried to do well in that class. She never once told us what it is she is looking for. She never once told us what it was about our papers that got us an A over a C. Her comments are redundant and when we get our papers back all of us ask each other 'What does this mean?' and point to a comment on our paper and no one seems to know what it means, but all of our papers say it. But, she does not go over this material in class. Instead she goes over literature texts and we all sit there and talk about how it made us feel in our common and colloquial language, but she never tells us this is how you make your B paper a C in my class. No, she doesn't do that. Instead she spent the whole last class telling us to take her class next semester because they are going to go over the poem 'Ode to Senor Dildo' and the other half of the class passing around her book that was her doctoral thesis. I own a lot of dildos and I use them on a daily basis. I do not deny that this woman is highly intelligent. What I would have liked to have gotten out of her class is a very distinct explanation from her as to how to go about getting an A in her class and perhaps some very specific lessons in class about how she would like us to be writing. Maybe some more in-class writing exercises in which she goes around the class and helps guide us to write in a manner in which she expects us to write in order to get the grade in which we desire. I have not missed any of these types of things because I am in class every day and I am never late and I do all of the readings and I never leave class while it is in session. So, that is not the reason I have not experienced this kind of teaching with her. One cannot learn through osmosis. He knowledge will not merely soak into my being simply by attending class. No. Nor do I possess the ability to read her mind and be able to grasp what it is she is looking for. No, that has not happened either. Instead I have sat in that class day in and day out listening to the people in my class shoot the shit. That is what I have done all semester long. The one girl in my class comes from a very large Latino family and has a very strict religious background and all semester I have heard stories about each of her aunts, cousins, uncles, and I have gotten to know her father really well through these stories she relays to the class as well. There is always something in the texts that seems to relate to some odd thing from her family. Then there is the heavy-set African-American woman who sits behind me, who likes to share with the class about her and her mother do not take any shit from men. Her language is only somewhat more classroom appropriate. Then there is the bisexual boy who came out in class last week. He is heterosexual now. But, when he was 15, he thought he was gay. There is another young man who often talks about how when he was on the track team last semester. There is another woman who is married and hails from Serbia and she always tells stories about how her culture differs so much from American culture. There are several other people who talk about various realms of their life in class that is somehow identifiable with the life of Frederick Douglass, the Death of a Salesman, and Angels in America. I have found each one of their stories truly fascinating. I really enjoy listening to all that my classmates have to say on Mondays and Wednesdays, when this class meets. But, not one of their stories has taught me anything in any way that will get me an A in this class. This is not how you teach a class. Now, if I was supposed to write at ten-page paper on the various types of people in my class, (including the quiet strange girl with tattoos--you know, me,) and how I have learned from that and talk about what I REALLY got out of this class and be able to get an A based upon that knowledge of the diversity of opinion in my class....well, I'd damn well write something that would blow my teacher's ass away. Unfortunately, what we have done on a daily basis in that class has nothing at all to do with our final research paper and our final grade and I feel as though she wasted our time in that class. I am there to get an A. I come to class every day. I am never late. I am always prepared. My assignments are on-time. They are a hard-copy, in her hand and not an 'I will e-mail it to you later today.' No. I don't do that. All I have wanted was to get an A in a class where she refuses to teach us HOW TO WRITE FOR HER SO THAT WE CAN GET AN A. No, we sit around talking about our families. Some of us don't really have a family and have nothing to say so we just listen and take as many notes as we can from the various things that people are talking about but NONE OF IT MATTERS. Because none of what I have done every fucking day for that class will get me an A. None of it. And it's really depressing. Because I am a good student and a good writer and I don't cause problems for the professor and I still have no clue how the fuck to get an A in her class and here it is the end of the semester and all it takes is one lousy professor to get you thinking that maybe you shouldn't be back in school. All it takes is one lousy professor to make you think that it doesn't matter that you have so many points in your math class that your professor has to throw away your extra points cos you are only allowed 25 extra credit points total. It doesn't matter is you have over a hundred percent of the points. It doesn't matter if you have the highest grade in the class. Cos you have this other class where no matter what you do, no matter how much you listen, no matter how much you try to learn and still be you, it doesn't matter.

So, what the fuck is the fucking point?

So, this summer I have a lot of thinking to do.

I know you can't have a great professor in all your classes. But, I usually can figure out the professors. I can usually figure out from the material on my own what I need to do to get an A.

But, with her it has been a heart-wrenching experience.

And it has truly fucked with everything that I need right now.

And I don't know what to do.

I am so sad.

And so depressed.

And I just want to know what I got on my research paper.

I just want to know.

But, she is on vacation.

On the beach.

She said she wasn't bringing our papers with her.

School is over for this class on Wednesday.

I gave her a shining review because I believe in Karma.

And because I don't think it matters what I think.

It only matters to me.

But, her teaching method is not one in which a true writer can learn to write.

I could write a little story about each person on my class that would be amazing.

EACH ONE.

And put it together in a little book.

And hand it in.

And it would make her smile.

That is what I want to do with what I learned from this class.

But, I can't do that.

I'm not getting what I need out of school.

And I don't know how to go about doing that when I desperately need motivation from somewhere to stick with this.

I'm so sad today.

And I'm not sure why.

Sensimilla Street

hee

My Toes

...and my (current) favourite pair of shoes.

My English Professor is Oblivious and Narcissistic and I think she's retarded.

I feel much better today.

Last night, shortly after I wrote that post and had been working on some math homework, my brother called and wanted to hang-out.

PERFECT TIMING, my brother.

So, I finished up my homework and freshened up and we hung-out. He doesn't have a DVD player and bought 'End of the Century,' a Ramones documentary, a while back before his broke and has been wanting to watch it. He's always trying to get me to bring my DVD player over so we can watch it, cos I love the Ramones a whole, whole bunch.

However, my brother has television and I do not have my television hooked-up to receive channels, (slightly on purpose, as well as, slightly due to laziness,) and when I walked in the door, 'Dancing with the Stars' was on.

I have never seen this show. Not a single solitary time. I'm not big on reality television, let alone television. However, seeing it was like an extra-special treat and I told him to leave it on and we'd watch that before the movie.

So, we did.

I think Marlee Matlin, (is that how you spell her name?) should win. She's fucking hot, she fucking shakes her gazongas, and she is so, so, so extremely kind. I was not really impressed with anyone else except for Shannon Elizabeth, (is that how you spell her name?) However, I thought her outfit was a little gaudy. Other than that SHE should definitely get second place, cos she shakes her hips, despite what those assholes say, and she really gets into it and it's so entertaining and her partner danced with FOOD POISONING. Amazing. Everyone else sucked. I thought Kristi Yamaguchi's dance was blah. I don't care how precise it was. It was boring. And so not sexy and so not fun. Besides, her preciseness comes from being a FIGURE SKATER. And I loved her as a figure skater. So, it's not that I didn't like her talents in her given field. But, for this show. Marlee should win and now my brother has to keep me informed.

And then we were hungry so we went for tacos across the street. My brother didn't want to eat there, but I did, so we did. And he had a great time and enjoyed himself. And he was jealous of the fajitas that I ordered. 'Your leftovers look so much better than mine,' he said. Ha-ha.

Of course, I allowed him to pick off my plate the whole time because they give you a shit ton of food.

Then he wanted to go to the liquore store. So, we went to the liquor store.

We bought these little pink cans of raspberry beer. It was the weirdest thing. My brother didn't like it, even though he picked it out. But, I did.

And he bought this cherry ale, but we didn't open that. He'll have to let me know if it's something I would like.

Anyhow, we watched the movie and I learned SO many things about the Ramones that I did not know.

And I got my mind off things.

And now tomorrow I have to go to English class and worry about whether my fucking English teacher overheard my therapy session because I mistakenly chose to take advantage of the FREE therapy at school which AT LEAST I TRIED IT.

I am not giving up on my New Year's Resolution to get my ass into therapy before the end of the year. But, this first attempt at it, (with TWO therapists,) was not my boat of tea. Yep, I said boat of tea.

And I don't know why.

My brother's band is playing a couple of gigs this summer out-of-town at ISU and in St. Louis and he's going to try and have me come along apparently in some way. So, depending on what my job situation is during that time, we'll see what happens.

This is a different band then the one that I went to a gig for on Friday night. This one is with a girl I used to work with who I refer to as Lil.

And Lil's old roommate.

We'll call him Pot.

I don't really know Pot. But, Pot has a cute, cute girlfriend.

And Lil, well, Lil has lots of girlfriends.

And my brother is the drummer.

I went and saw them a few Wednesdays ago. After not having seen them since their first show and they've come a long way in a year, or whatever it's been.

I have a research paper due on Monday that has to be 8-10 pages long that I have not started.

I'm not worried about writing something interesting that can fill nine pages. I really don't have a problem with that.

I just have a problem speaking in language that sounds all uptight and like my shit is better than your shit kind of a way. I have a problem with that.

That's what most academic papers sound like to me.

So, I'm going to have to write something somewhere in between.

And I'm fine with that.

Though, I really want an A.

But, if I don't start it soon, I am sure that it will be a B, because I will just not care about re-wording sentences so it sounds like it came from another human being.

If I didn't blog and have a very distinct voice in which my words are so used to coming from it wouldn't mean so much to me.

When I was in college the first time, I never had a problem with this.

But, now, ....NOW I have a problem with it.

Whatever.

I'm past the point of caring all that much.

I'm not in jeopardy of getting that bad of a grade.

Unless she overhead my therapy session.

Because I had to talk about her subject matter and discussion of spanking and physical violence on children among a group of people from the inner-city who thought it was COMPLETELY okay to 'whoop yo' babies.' And my teacher just egged them on. Granted I do not go to the very best school with the very best professors. But, it is not a bad school and I usually enjoy the diversity and love it SO MUCH MORE than when I was at U. of I. so long ago. I hated that school. So, all schools have their ups and downs. But, sitting in that class discussing subject matter I deemed to be inappropriate because of the WAY in which we were discussing it made me feel as though the class was taking an extremely unprofessional turn and for a woman who stresses so whole-heartedly that we leave our emotions out of our papers, I found it extremely inappropriate for her to not only allow the discussion but to ENCOURAGE the people in the class to sit there and laugh and joke about how....

I don't know. I can't talk about the emotions it brought up in me in this forum either. It was just inappropriate. It's not something you should be discussing in a COMPOSITION class when there might be students in your class who it brings back a lot of things they haven't thought about in a long time.

So, if she heard me talking about how much I didn't like her, I don't really care.

Because she is so fucking oblivious to the world around her.

ALL of the example she gives us to read in class to look at on how to model our papers, are HER PAPERS FROM COLLEGE.

That is the type of woman she is.

I don't read her examples.

I use my text.

It is not required reading and does not affect what I learn in this class.

I find examples in my Bedford Handbook.

Anyhow, I didn't really come to post about my gayass English class that I'm probably going to end up with a B, a C if she overhead me I'm sure, in... I came to post about my cool night with my bro.

And to say I'm feeling better.

So, there ya go.

I am Anti-Social and Depressed and I Don't Know How to Learn to Not Be Those Things

I have had a week from Hell.

I went to my brother's show on Friday night where I had to talk to people that I really would prefer not to talk with any longer.

I had to act cordial and fake and like I cared.

I just wanted to stand there with my drink and leave when he was through.

I was mostly able to do that except for one asshole.

I don't always think he's an asshole. But, in recent months I have been getting to know him again and I am beginning to realize that he is, indeed, an asshole. He is what I like to call a 'justifier.' Instead of explaining his actions or apologizing for them, he 'justifies' them. He defends himself instead of trying to understand what the consequences of his actions might entail.

Because, after all, it is ACTIONS that speak louder than words. So, he can 'justify' as much as he'd like, but it's his actions that will only ever make him into a person that I actually care to speak with at my brother's events. And, unfortunately, I can rarely attend one of these things without him being there.

And I did NOT go up to him or look at him or anything. He is the one that decided to sway on over to me while I was at the bar getting a drink. He swayed on over to me with my ex-boyfriend's step-father next to him, so I really had to be nice then. I think it was an asshole cowardly move that takes absolutely no balls. So, then after I was nice the first time, I like felt sort of obligated to be nice to him after that and I don't know why. So, I sat there listening to him spewing forth some bullshit and when I left later without saying good-bye I get some drunkass text asking where I was with him saying crap that right after he said it he said I should forget it which is the kind of stuff that got us to not really being very good friends any longer in the first place.

But, whatever.

It's not like he takes any initiative to try and apologize outside of seeing me at my brother's shows. I think he's a coward.

But, whatever.

I've known him for twenty years.

I'm sure I'll know him for twenty more.

And I can say this with absolute certainty, even the valedictorian in high school does stupid ass shit simply because he's a fucking guy.

And guys do way kinds of stupid shit all the fucking time.

Which is fine.

Cos girls do too.

But most guys, (and I do mean that MOST--meaning NOT ALL) will not own up to the stupid shit they do. I own up to my stupid shit relatively quickly. Depending on the stupid shit.

And it's not an easy thing to do.

I haven't always been this way. But in the last decade or so I've grown up.

I guess we all grow up at our own pace.


And then today.

Today I quit therapy with the SECOND of the intern therapists that I have tried there. And I'm not going back.

I don't think that going to see the free therapist interns at my school is something that is going to be good for me.

My school does not have the best of facilities and today we had to meet in a different office.

The 'office' was located in the same section of offices as my English Professor.

And I don't like my personal life being noted-upon by my professors. And this is the second time we have had to meet in this room. It really bothers me.

And also, the new intern therapist I have....she always asks me the same questions.

And I keep giving her the same answers.

And it is simply ridiculous.

'What makes you happy?'

'I don't know what makes me happy.'

That is a very short version of the conversation.

But, it pretty much goes in circles.

Last week this was what she had decided.

That if I went and got the application at the sextoy store I wanted to work at that I could reward myself by going out for sushi.

Number One: I can't afford sushi right now. So, it wasn't happening anyway and I tried to explain this to her. But, I couldn't think of anything else that I like to do when she asked me what I like to do.

Number Two: It's not getting the application that is difficult for me. I have a PILE of applications. It is filling them out and bringing them in. It is not even the JOB OFFERS that are hard for me. I have many opportunities that pop-up all the time as the restaurant industry here is rather incestuous. The problem is banking in on one of these opportunities. I tried to explain this to her too. So, basically I was going to spend money on sushi by asking for an application I was going to ask for anyway the next time I bought lube to reward myself for adding another piece of paper to my pile. I told her this. I told her I thought it was ridiculous. But, she insisted that it might work. So, okay. So, I went to the store, bought my lube. Asked for an app. They are over-staffed and not hiring. Understandable. So, no sushi for me, which I would not have gotten anyway cos I simply don't have the money to do it after BUYING MY LOLLAPOLLOOZA TICKET. Yes, that was what I bought.

I don't know what to say to her anymore when she asks what makes me happy. It makes me cry when she asks me that. It makes me cry in the sideroom of the office in the same room as my English Professor and I am not going back.

It's SO retarded.

I need therapy that I cannot afford and don't know when I will be able to afford such a thing.

Cos this ain't it.

And going to my brother's shows causes me more stress and emotional problems than it does him for me not to be there for him and see his band despite how much I know it means to him that I go.

What would make me happy?

If boys I didn't want to speak to were not at my brother's shows. If my ex-boyfriend's stepfather didn't stare at me lasciviously whenever I WAS standing by myself simply because I had on cute heels and looked nice. (I get a look. A look. ONE look. Look. Admire. Stop looking. How hard is that?) Actually, my ex-boyfriend is really nice to me lately when I've been going to the shows. He's always been that. Nice.

See why I don't know what makes me happy? Nice guys do nothing for me. I don't want to talk to assholes at all. I don't like being stared at.

So, what? Wearing high heels alone in the privacy of no one's eyes would make me happy? I don't get how I am supposed to know what makes me happy?

I don't know how to answer her questions.

Because most days I just make my way through them until they are over, passing the time.

Just passing the time does not make me happy.

Yet I have not motivation to even bring back an application.

So, WHERE in that am I supposed to find the answer to her question each week when she asks me what makes me happy?

I am NOT going to continue to see her trying to answer a question that I don't know the answer to, OTHERWISE I WOULDN'T BE THERE, in an office situated next to my English Professor who made us talk about child abuse in class today, so I had to sit there an listen to crap from people who haven't a clue what child abuse is.

Except for maybe the one other kid who is as quiet as me.

So, I quit therapy and had an awful week and an awful day and I just want to pretend like none of it happened.

You know how I know I'm really in a bad place. I don't even feel like doing my math homework right now.

Yeah. I'm that pissed and upset and hurt and mad that I had to have therapy in that room again.

I am so glad I quit.

Cos I can't do it anymore.

I want to have a therapist who helps me learn how to talk about things better.

I want to have a therapist who is older than me.

And I want a therapist where we are in a room that is not a room at my school. I want them to be two separate worlds.

But, I can't afford that. So, right now I am better off with no therapy than crappy therapy.

I know these two girls tried. I know they did. I just don't think they know what to do with me.

That's okay. Cos I don't know what to do with me either.

I don't know if anyone ever will.

Not even me.