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Birds and Their Feathers

Birds seem to like me. Their gifts that they gave me just showed me how much I know of their love. So many little splots of love all over my car. This just made me think that spring was in the air. Or even, maybe, that one single bird sitting on the branch above my car perhaps had too many tacos the night before. I could see, so many yards away, that my car had, had chocolate rained upon it and I could just imagine how much fun the little birds must have been having. I, too, consume too much on more than one occasion, but never have I ever gone to the bathroom on another person’s car. Not that I recall, anyway. So, now I know how much fun those little, “turdgrals,” were having when, they were more than likely, just sitting around, each having a branch to themselves, chirping their problems away when one of them decided to begin the good old fashion “Truth or Dare”. How mature of them. They would so innocently start with the beginner ones, where their deep inside teenage selves would be dared to kiss one another. Or the truths would be coming out and all their virginities would be on the branches in no time. After a few more small dares is when the big ones would start coming. That’s more than likely when one of the tougher birds would dare one of the smaller birds to crap as much that he had inside of him all over the closets car; mine. And he would, just so he could prove, to himself and the others that he belonged. So, I thank you little birdie out there, for having all of this poo inside if you; three car washes six months later I can still see little pieces of your brown poop on a black car.

They seem to like me at the zoo as well. They are drawn to me, all those wild ones. Even in the new, beautiful bird exhibit, I can sense them all nearing in on me as soon as I enter. It’s almost as is if they’re stalking me, almost as if I am they’re lunch. Not all birds are carnivores, though. I don’t believe the ones flying around my head were looking down on me, thinking, and “hey look! A sandwich!” I was getting the new friend-sense from them, which I would for sure be if one just swooped down and made my shoulder his home. This Polly would for sure receive a cracker from me.

One little birdie that would never receive a gift like this from me, would be the one who had done the worst to me in my life, even worse than what had been done to my car. He had done one of my most embarrassing things I have ever had to endure on what I had felt was beginning to be my most fun filled day at the zoo in a very long time: he pooped on me. And not just a wee bit of poo. This little fowl, whoever he was, piled the most enormous load of crap on me that made me feel as if a heard of ostrich had just flown above me, had they been able to. I was also oblivious to this turd on my face, yes my face, as I thought maybe a bug had hit me in my eye. So I walked around for a few moments, with the piles on me, when my pal pointed out “Hey, you have crap on your face.”

Thank you, Embarrassment Fairy, I could not have asked you for a better day. Please make sure to repeat all of the above on my wedding day.


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The Lonley Fox

I’m standing. It is still in one piece, my life. But why do I even write about it? Does anyone, other than my mother, even read about it? If you do; raise your hands. I need to be acknowledged in some way. I need to not be ignored anymore. You may say that I’m not, but I feel like I am. When I think plans were made between me and a person, my excitement builds up as that day approaches. I repeatedly glance at my phone, expecting a reminder or a mention of what we had spoken of a few weeks prior to this date. Then, when that day arrives, and I awaken out of bed with a big smile on my face, excitement building up inside me, my phone remains empty, my messages are ignored. My emotions of loneliness and aggravation begin to rise inside of me. My poor stuffed zebra, Zack, begins to endure the pain of me squeezing out all of these irritations onto him. Poor guy.

I will in the middle of a conversation when, suddenly, another person feels that what they have to say cannot wait a single second longer, so they must explode into the middle of my discussion, drawing all attention away from me. I am not able to talk my way back in. When I try to, word over word take over; nothing. I can’t even try to begin a new conversation when there is a few seconds of silence. I begin to speak, yet another speaks and BAM! All attention is on them. So, I just slink back into my dark hole.

From my dark hole, I saw you that guys were having some fun this weekend. From all of those pictures you felt you should share with the world, it looked like you and a bunch of other people were just having a spur of the moment gathering. One question, though: was your phone broken? Mine wasn’t. I do understand if this was a family celebration, but when I see that it’s being held at our home or perhaps you all gathered at a small bar, I can almost feel my dark-hole calling to me again. Especially when I know I had called you that night, the rings continued until the only voice I heard was that of your mail.

My dark hole needs a light switch.


Dear Mom and Dad

I love you. I love you to the core of my heart. I can never express this enough. All of the hugs that I wrap you in will never be able to squeeze into you all of the years’ worth of thankfulness that I can never seem to give you enough of. I could never show you enough gratitude for all of the days, months, and years full of love that you have given to me. You two have devoted so much to me, even the days that you were filled full of sleep and pain, yet were still able to take a deep breath and put in more hours for me. Nothing I ever say or give could ever match all that you two have dug so deep inside yourselves to provide for me. My five minutes of love will never be worth the billions of long hours you have devoted these 31 years to keep a roof over my heard and food on our table. So I thank you. I thank you with all that I can find inside myself. Every tear of love and happiness is meant for the two people I could never say “I love you”, to enough, so that you would truly know how much that I do. But I do. I will forever. I love you.


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I hate my body. I’ve hated my body for the past twenty years. I’ve never been a healthy size. When I was a young girl, I always had to shop in the “Grown Up” section. I didn’t ever get to enjoy the teen girl clothes that were in style. Even now, at 31, I still feel like I don’t have nice attire. I walk into a store and the small amount that I have to choose from reminds me of something my grandmothers would wear. I poke and pull all these extra pieces hanging from my body and this constantly makes me wonder if this is the only reason I sit alone on a Friday night, because my body wasn’t good enough for that last guy I had sent a wink to.

When will our countries join together as one? Will we ever agree with each other? That one dude on one side has an opinion about Topic A so then it seems the gentleman on the complete opposite side of the world has to disagree with him, just to piss the first guy off. So then a war must begin. Bombs must be dropped, innocent people must die just

Another Friday night has just passed me. My couch was my only companion. The Lifetime movies were ever so entertaining, though. They seem to be my new addiction. I can never take my eyes off of who the new abuser seems to be or why this woman feels she needs to be putting the moves on another woman’s husband. These movies seem to only focus on three different issues: domestic violence, wives trying to figure out why their husbands left them, and a teenage girl falling in love but needing to lose her virginity. I can never be drawn away from them. If I have no plans for my Friday or Saturday, BAM, Lifetime Movie Network here I am. You have a new addict.

A third attempt at my surgery is vastly approaching. I still have that feeling deep in the back of my mind wondering if it will be worth it. Will chopping my stomach in half really work? I know that I’ll still have to work my ass off to get all of this fat off of my body. I know that as soon as this happens, I won’t be waking up and being a size two the next day. The hardest thing I’ll have to work at is to stop drinking all of this cola that I just cannot seem to give up. I worry, too, that if after the first twenty pounds falls off so quickly, how much longer it would take for the rest. I worked hard before, but once I had hit a certain point, it all seemed to stop. That’s what worries me about this surgery; will it be worth it?

I haven’t worked in almost four years. I have no legitimate reason. I can’t just use my excuse that I haven’t found the “perfect career”. I don’t feel that I am cut out for anything in this world. I wish that I could achieve my goal to be the legal assistant to the best damn lawyer out there. I would even be happy being the greatest office assistant this state has ever seen. Yet, I sit on my couch, sending my resume to office after office yet receiving nothing in return. When I do get the great opportunity for an interview, the nerves inside me begin to move around, awakening all of my anxiety and filling my head with even more negative thoughts about myself. As if there was anything positive floating around in there.

Will I ever be a grown up? Will I ever have a job? Will I ever find my husband? Will his name even be Bob? And those previous four sentences were all sang out loud. For, lately, my life has been a musical. I feel that all of our lives are, in some way, is a musical. All emotions and problems can be done away with or solved just by the swinging of our hips. I sing along with the radio. I am the proud member of a fantastic karaoke group, who I get up on stage in front of then show them that I am the greatest rapper there ever was. So no, I don’t think that I will ever be a grown up. And given how my applications have been getting filled out these past three years, I don’t think I will ever have a job. When it comes to a husband, I’ll just look over how I’m doing on my third dating site attempt. After that’s all finished, I’ll just go sing it all away.

I Am a Pisces

My mind wanders. I know that this is true because it has taken me ten minutes just to type this sentence. When my heart and body is stuck on one person, I am devoted to them until the very end. When a Pisces is tired of all of this bullshit that is going on around me, I begin to speak my sarcasm fluently. This is what helps me become much better at sarcasm, it being my first language. Cursing being my second. As a Piscean woman, I have many beautiful qualities. I can be very seductive, passionate and caring. I am generous and sweet. Nothing is, surprisingly, able to get by me. I can often zone out, though, wanting to be somewhere else, doing something else. But do not cross me. I have the strongest gut feeling amongst all of the other signs. One minute I may be extremely happy, but the next, I will be extremely depressed. I am a highly emotional person, constantly craving love and affection. Longing these, as a Pisces, is why my biggest fear is being rejected. I am always making up bad things in my mind and way over thinking them. This is what steers me toward my bad moods. I fear that I will never find the right person to love. When I find them, though, they must be my more dominate partner or I will fall more into my ditch of self-pity. I need other people to keep me grounded, for Pisces love to float around my world of imagination. I know that me being such a caring, compassionate person and by being a Pisces, I could cry over a dead animal laying on the side of the road but then I would feel no remorse about mowing down any humans that I hate. So don’t piss me off. I am a very emotional person. I am constantly tired of putting up with all of this bullshit in life, so my mood changes a million times in one day. When I am being independent, my creativity makes it’s shining depute. I am unable to be on my own for long before my mind begins to wander, though. I need other people to help keep me grounded. I always wondered if I had my vast imagination for any reason other than just for me. But Pisces are imaginative, compassionate and kind. I would go out of my way to help a friend. I am selfless and unworldly, intuitive and sympathetic. But I can also be mysterious, and vague, weak willed and easily deceived. I need a strong, positive friend to help keep me strong. I myself know how easily misled I have been in my aquatic zodiac life. I as a Pisces, my personality is hard to pin down, being very peculiar. I can become molded by my surroundings. Perhaps, though, my sixth sense that can never be explained will one day help me out. I know that I need to find my Cancer, or else I am most likely to die falling out of a window or get run over by a truck, me being so clumsy. I do walk into my walls all day. This all must explain why I can remember what I wore on July 8, 2012 but I sometimes forget how to spell my last name. And we all know that I have no sense of direction. I thought this was just me; but now I can blame it on me being a Pisces. One of the best parts of being a female Piscean is that I may appear innocent, but in reality, I am the most sexually game female in the zodiac. Bazinga!


My Life is a Musical!

Sunday, November 18, 2015. 11:41pm: My life has become a musical to me. I walk around, singing all of my problems away. I break out into a song when I think about an update I had just read that seemed to dash my ego in half. A song makes its way out whenever I go over my ever deducting bank account. One even seems to find its way into my life as I apply for my 762nd job. They appear to be trying to brighten up the moments that I have been trying to improve up the moments that I usually over dramatize in some way. We all know this is what Facebook is for.

My musical life is seeming to come out a lot more as my surgery approaches. Perhaps my body is just trying to keep itself calm so the one organ that is to be operated on does not explode from all the stress I have been going through this past week. But, again, this is what singing is for! And beer.

All of my songs that have been singing in my head have been making me want to create a real musical about my life. Not about “Meme”, but about me. A half fiction, in a way. I know there’s a term for it.

Maybe. I can just see it now:

Act 1, Scene 1: She awakens in her bed, and wanders into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she begins to take a swig of her left over 7-11, but sees that it’s empty. She returns the cup back into the fridge. Now she wanders back into her room and picks up her phone. As she begins looking at it, the music begins.

Girl: I look at this app, every day,

and I feel that it is always the same.

Nothing new is in all of our lives,

except some new husbands and wives.

My updates are so boring,

even my mom is snoring

I really need some new exciting crap.

And then the song can continue on, her just complaining about how boring her life is, because let’s face it, mine is a huge snore.

Act 1, Scene 2: Now, our heroine has found herself a table at her favorite coffee shop. Thankfully, they have her salted caramel mocha so she can now continue to survive in life. She finds it so wrong that they make this a “seasonal” beverage, for what is so “seasonal” about caramel that is salted? How is this at all related to the winter or Christmas?

Sitting at her table, she begins to search her computer, unsure of what to look for. Should she be searching for that one career that she just seems a hundred more applications away from. Or perhaps she is just one more wink away from receiving a response from her future husband on her 18th dating site attempt. Her eyes then come across a certain update on her other page that her attention always never seems to wander away from:

Girl: What is this?

Another Party?

Where’s my invite?

And who is that?

Another baby?

Oh my god!

Excuse me while,

I go jump off,

this buildings green roof.

Judging by my likes, no one will care.

After she has danced around the shop, singing and complaining about her life some more, one of the coffee cashiers comes over to her and asks her to leave. Something about being too much of an inconvenience. Apparently, this coffee douche just doesn’t understand the point of life being a musical.

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Pulling Up My Pants

I’ve read, that a Pisces takes a long time to get over people. It’s one of their biggest flaws. I may not be perfect, but there are parts of me that are pretty awesome. I know that I will never be truly happy if I continuously hold onto the things that make me sad, so I need to let them go. I need to realize that the pity train has just derailed at the corner of Suck It Up and it might have crashed into We All Have Problems, before coming to a stop at Get the Hell Over Him. I sometimes find it ironic that when I needed him, he wasn’t there. But when I finally started to pull up my pants and move on, he seemed to come crawling back. This made me really want to write “I miss you” on a rock and then throw it at his face just so he can know how much it hurts to miss him. I even wish you could realize that you are the dullest, emptiest, vessel of a human being I have ever encountered. You are, honestly, the weirdest person I know. And that’s why, I for some reason feel that we are meant for each other. At some point I need to realize that certain people can stay in my heart but not in my life. Maybe everything does happen for a reason. Perhaps the reason is just that I am stupid and make bad decisions. I know that life is too short to stress myself with people who don’t even deserve to be an issue in my life. I don’t care if the world is composed of billions of people. I want him, end of story. Even if this means that I plan on bugging him every single day. Sometimes the best way to get this persons attention is to stop giving them yours. I don’t know the way down this path in life, but I’ll be there soon. You are my favorite pain in the ass, after all. There are times when I hate you, and then I love you. It’s like I want to throw you off of a cliff and then rush to the bottom, as fast as I can, just to catch you. You do need to just admit it; your life would totally suck without me. If I have to force this, I just need to leave it all alone. Relationships, friendships, ponytails…I just need to leave them all alone. One day I will solve my problems with maturity. Today, however, I know that alcohol will solve them all. I know that a person who truly loves me, will see what a mess I can be, how moody I can get and how hard I can be to handle, but they will still want me. I need to stop looking for my happiness in the same place that I lost it. Yes, I am smiling but you are not that reason anymore. I need to be with those who will bring out the best in me, not the stress in me. And it’s okay to walk out of someone’s life if I don’t feel like I belong in it anymore.

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Too Many Reasons

I have so many reasons I am perfect for you, whoever you are. There are almost too many to even tell you. First off; no one will try to steal me from you. Do not deny that. I can tell that you are the only person that wants me. Then there is the fact that sometimes I’m funny. Sometimes. Maybe there was this one time. I think anyway. So these would be the greatest reasons for you, whoever you are, to come find me.

I am always grateful, too, that I don’t have a gap between my thighs. There was this one time that I was on my phone and I almost dropped it into the toilet, but these ladies saved the day. They also make a good resting place for my coffee at times. I know there is a man out there that loves the big hips, and he cannot lie.

I have been single for what feels like my whole life and I have to say, I sense that all is going well. I do feel like everything is working out all hunky-dory. I even think that maybe I, am the one. Or perhaps I’m just single because I have such crappy taste in men. Either way, I may like it right now, but I’m really still expecting for Sal Vulcano to finally realize that I am for him.

I’m waiting for my celebrity to come find me because every ordinary guy appears to suck right now. I may seem like I’m waiting for the right guy, but we all know that I can’t even hold up three seconds for anything. So how am I supposed to wait another six months for “him” to find me, not to mention, if I ever even had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t know what to do with him! Do I feed him at certain times? How often would he need to use the bathroom?

I have heard so many times that if I stop looking, the right person will come along. Maybe mine got hit by a truck. Could be the only reason he’s taking forever.

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Stuck In Confusion

Why do I want you so badly? I didn’t so many months ago. Is it only because I cannot have you? If you had no one else, would I want you so badly? I wonder. If you hadn’t sent me a simple “hello”, would I already be moved on and happy? I keep trying to leave this road I feel lost on, but you seem to reel me back to the same path every day. My head is empty of everything except you.

You must realize that the only times I try to express what is eating a hole inside me is when I have consumed too much of my Wellness. You know how I can be when that liquid has taken over my mind. I want nothing more than for me to be able to take every advantage of you that you will allow. Though, this time, I cannot touch you. You care too much for that one, the one who I am trying to persuade you is not your piece that you are supposed to be with. She is not your person. She is merely a figment of imagination, helping you to pass time until you finally stop being a dumbass and realize you are facing the wrong direction in life.

Or maybe I am. Maybe I am only stuck on you because you like that you have your one thing and then another who wants you so bad, making you feel in control of everything. I try to resist you.  I keep thinking I can change the direction that your heart is facing. I notice when it’s been a few days that I have not contacted you, my phone rings. Yet, again, when you see my face, I still cannot touch yours. So I retreat. Then my phone rings. And men talk about woman being confusing.

I wish you would just admit what you want: me. You are just too scared that I’ll leave you again. Well, so am I.


I’m Singing Right Now

The last time I sang out loud was about five minutes ago. I was singing about much I wanted to be sedated. I can’t help it, I’m a singer. If a song I enjoy is playing, I always chime along. Right now, on my Pandora, a Blink 182 song that I love has just begun and I am pretending to be a member of the band.

When our past winter was starting to come to an end, I had stumbled upon a new group on my Meet-Up page. They were this quiz night/karaoke type that would gather on certain nights of the week. I figured I would give them a go. I have the balls to get in front of a strangers eyes to pretend I know how to sing and I would like to see what theses “Quizzo” things were. I figured they weren’t the ACTs, so I might know some form of history or science.

Depending on my mood for the day, I can sit down with a group of people and never shut up, sometimes a good thing. Other times, I can sit down with them and perhaps say three words the whole night. It all depends on how my brain wants to function. This first night, though, I immediately felt like I was at home. I felt like these were my people. A small piece of the happiness I had been searching for.

These guys have been getting my off of my couch at least once a week; helping me feel like there’s a reason to keep my pants on. Whether I would be playing the overly odd board games or singing some Bruce Springsteen along with all of them. I will be there.

And, of course, this past Sunday, at one of our last minute gatherings, I had to sing my all-time favorite song. I sing this one at every one of my get-togethers. I actually pull out my inner rap goddess more than anything. She is needed to proclaim how much Baby Got Back, after all.


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