Because sometimes my own face really amuses me.
maybe it will do the same for you.
~Marcy Elaine
maybe it will do the same for you.
~Marcy Elaine
Friday, April 26, 2013
Lipstick
I stormed out in a rage, fury building up inside of me and coming out in spurts, executed in disbelieving gasps and clenched fists and hard strides as I walked away from the bar.
I had gone at the last minute with a girlfriend. Daniel had called at about six, informing me that he had to spend yet another late night at the office, and that I shouldn't wait up. I was just about to make some tea and pull out my Friends DVDs when Sofia called, asking if I wanted to meet her and some of her work friends at a bar called Mo's in the city. While curling up on the couch with. Mug of hibiscus lychee and 90's sitcoms is a novelty that most people relish in when given the opportunity, since Dan had started working so many late nights, it had become a regular occurrence. And I was bored.
So, I said yes. I put on some skinnies and my favorite top, even a little lipstick. I hadn't gotten dolled up for an evening out in a long time. It felt nice to wear something other than yoga pants and High School track hoodies in the evening. Even If its not lingerie.
But I wasn't ready to embrace that yet.
I thought about texting Dan to tell him that I was going out, figured it might be a good idea to report it to him. But I decided not to; he's probably pretty busy with his late night, and besides that, I'll be getting him before he does. I settled for leaving a note on the kitchen counter, just in case he got off earlier than usual.
So I met Sofia and three of her squirrelly co workers, all drinking little cocktails with fruit floating at the top. I could already tell that the night would be less than desirable if I was going to be stuck with these pansies who couldn't even handle a beer. I got a bud light and let the pounding bass and the electric lights and the essence of the atmosphere sink in as I half listened to their conversation. They were discussing a "OMG HOTTE" new co worker. I was wallowing in my beer, feeling left out, and regretting coming.
Right as I was about to pull out a textbook excuse (I work the morning shift tomorrow, my stomach kills, wanna see my baby tonight- all lies, but take you're pick, they all work) Sofia strikes up some small talk with me. How's your new apartment? How's work? How's Daniel? So is I smiles and answered all her questions, a more natural conversation started, another beer was ordered, and any thought of excusing myself from a night out was forgotten. I was having a good time.
After awhile, I excused myself to go use the Ladies Room. As I was making my way to the back of the bar, I notice a jacket that looks just like Dan's draped over the back of a chair; fitted black leather. I had just gotten it for him for his birthday last month. Weird- I didn't think many guys liked fitted jackets. But at that table was a blonde woman applying red lipstick through the reflection of a small compact, the effects of her positioning practically forcing her breasts out of her low cut black dress. Those jackets must be more popular than I thought, because it couldn't possibly be Dan's. I pulled at the neckline of my top as I walked into the Ladies Room.
I was just putting my own tube "dusty rose" lipstick back into my purse as I walked back into the atmosphere, and the first thing I saw was those red lips, moving hypnotically as she spoke to the man sitting before her. She looked up at him through her dark lashes. This earned her a kiss. A couple of kisses. Her partner then turned around to retrieve his fabulous jacket.
The one that I just got him, for his birthday.
He had a little smudge of red on the corner of his mouth. Oh, a bit behind his ear, too.
Hot.
Way to go, Dan. Daniel.
I was enraged. So much, in fact, that I didn't even know what to do. That hardly ever happens to me. Naturally, my first instinct was to be violent. But that would mean a fight, and I was not about to get into a bar fight. Because that's pathetic, and pathetic is something that I am not. No, instead, I just left.
I left in a fit of disbelieving gasps and clenched fists and long strides, gripping the railway as i walked down the stairs to the parking lo, willing myself to just be the bigger person, make it home, get my stuff, and leave. Maybe include the name of the bar I went to in my note to him on the kitchen counter that he just might get the hint as to why I was gone, all the while swearing under my breath because WHERE THE HELL ARE MY KEYS?
Just as I fish them out of the bottom of my purse, I catch another bit of red out of corner of my... Eye. Ha. It's his car.
So I scratched my name into the passenger side door. My full name. Eleanore Maria Anderson, because that's what he liked to call me when he was feeling romantic.
Passenger side door, you ask? That way she'll see it, and ask about it. And if we're lucky, he will be so stumped that he will end up telling the truth. That should be refreshing for him.
Punishment words: report, fight, railway
I had gone at the last minute with a girlfriend. Daniel had called at about six, informing me that he had to spend yet another late night at the office, and that I shouldn't wait up. I was just about to make some tea and pull out my Friends DVDs when Sofia called, asking if I wanted to meet her and some of her work friends at a bar called Mo's in the city. While curling up on the couch with. Mug of hibiscus lychee and 90's sitcoms is a novelty that most people relish in when given the opportunity, since Dan had started working so many late nights, it had become a regular occurrence. And I was bored.
So, I said yes. I put on some skinnies and my favorite top, even a little lipstick. I hadn't gotten dolled up for an evening out in a long time. It felt nice to wear something other than yoga pants and High School track hoodies in the evening. Even If its not lingerie.
But I wasn't ready to embrace that yet.
I thought about texting Dan to tell him that I was going out, figured it might be a good idea to report it to him. But I decided not to; he's probably pretty busy with his late night, and besides that, I'll be getting him before he does. I settled for leaving a note on the kitchen counter, just in case he got off earlier than usual.
So I met Sofia and three of her squirrelly co workers, all drinking little cocktails with fruit floating at the top. I could already tell that the night would be less than desirable if I was going to be stuck with these pansies who couldn't even handle a beer. I got a bud light and let the pounding bass and the electric lights and the essence of the atmosphere sink in as I half listened to their conversation. They were discussing a "OMG HOTTE" new co worker. I was wallowing in my beer, feeling left out, and regretting coming.
Right as I was about to pull out a textbook excuse (I work the morning shift tomorrow, my stomach kills, wanna see my baby tonight- all lies, but take you're pick, they all work) Sofia strikes up some small talk with me. How's your new apartment? How's work? How's Daniel? So is I smiles and answered all her questions, a more natural conversation started, another beer was ordered, and any thought of excusing myself from a night out was forgotten. I was having a good time.
After awhile, I excused myself to go use the Ladies Room. As I was making my way to the back of the bar, I notice a jacket that looks just like Dan's draped over the back of a chair; fitted black leather. I had just gotten it for him for his birthday last month. Weird- I didn't think many guys liked fitted jackets. But at that table was a blonde woman applying red lipstick through the reflection of a small compact, the effects of her positioning practically forcing her breasts out of her low cut black dress. Those jackets must be more popular than I thought, because it couldn't possibly be Dan's. I pulled at the neckline of my top as I walked into the Ladies Room.
I was just putting my own tube "dusty rose" lipstick back into my purse as I walked back into the atmosphere, and the first thing I saw was those red lips, moving hypnotically as she spoke to the man sitting before her. She looked up at him through her dark lashes. This earned her a kiss. A couple of kisses. Her partner then turned around to retrieve his fabulous jacket.
The one that I just got him, for his birthday.
He had a little smudge of red on the corner of his mouth. Oh, a bit behind his ear, too.
Hot.
Way to go, Dan. Daniel.
I was enraged. So much, in fact, that I didn't even know what to do. That hardly ever happens to me. Naturally, my first instinct was to be violent. But that would mean a fight, and I was not about to get into a bar fight. Because that's pathetic, and pathetic is something that I am not. No, instead, I just left.
I left in a fit of disbelieving gasps and clenched fists and long strides, gripping the railway as i walked down the stairs to the parking lo, willing myself to just be the bigger person, make it home, get my stuff, and leave. Maybe include the name of the bar I went to in my note to him on the kitchen counter that he just might get the hint as to why I was gone, all the while swearing under my breath because WHERE THE HELL ARE MY KEYS?
Just as I fish them out of the bottom of my purse, I catch another bit of red out of corner of my... Eye. Ha. It's his car.
So I scratched my name into the passenger side door. My full name. Eleanore Maria Anderson, because that's what he liked to call me when he was feeling romantic.
Passenger side door, you ask? That way she'll see it, and ask about it. And if we're lucky, he will be so stumped that he will end up telling the truth. That should be refreshing for him.
Punishment words: report, fight, railway
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Don't Doll Me (Marcy Elaine)
I stormed out in a rage, as soon as I was sure I was out of everyone's view. He followed me, sort of jogging after me, call out to me, using different pet names. It was gathering the attention of others walking the road under the streetlights. But I didn’t really care. A river of utter irritation and betrayal and frustration and sadness was pushing me forward.
“Doll--! Dollface!”
“Don’t you dollface me right now.”
“Doll, I--”
“Don’t Doll me either,” I shoot back, still walking away.
“What the hell am I suppose to call you then?”
I whip lashed back at him with a absurd face, suddenly seething.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe my name.” He stood there, not able to think of a response. That was definitely a dumb move on his part. “Or have you forgotten it? Is doll just a nickname for all the girl’s you forget.”
“Do--”
“I said don’t!” I finally screamed at him. The sound even shocked me. It was actually the shock that made tears choke my voice. He just stood there flabbergasted for a moment.
“You know I wasn’t actually kissing her, she came on to me!”
“Yeah, and you were too jacked to even see it coming. She had been coming onto you the whole night! You were hardly even close to the party! You had been away for longer than you should have. Did you even care where I was?” I nearly squeaked. He had stopped functioning. He didn’t know what to do.
I reached into her purse and pulled out a sharpie. I walked up to him and grabbed his hand and started writing on it. I finished and capped the pen. He looked at it, it only said one word.
My name.
“So you don’t forget next time,” I said, lips trembling before she turned away and continued walking.
(River)
“Doll--! Dollface!”
“Don’t you dollface me right now.”
“Doll, I--”
“Don’t Doll me either,” I shoot back, still walking away.
“What the hell am I suppose to call you then?”
I whip lashed back at him with a absurd face, suddenly seething.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe my name.” He stood there, not able to think of a response. That was definitely a dumb move on his part. “Or have you forgotten it? Is doll just a nickname for all the girl’s you forget.”
“Do--”
“I said don’t!” I finally screamed at him. The sound even shocked me. It was actually the shock that made tears choke my voice. He just stood there flabbergasted for a moment.
“You know I wasn’t actually kissing her, she came on to me!”
“Yeah, and you were too jacked to even see it coming. She had been coming onto you the whole night! You were hardly even close to the party! You had been away for longer than you should have. Did you even care where I was?” I nearly squeaked. He had stopped functioning. He didn’t know what to do.
I reached into her purse and pulled out a sharpie. I walked up to him and grabbed his hand and started writing on it. I finished and capped the pen. He looked at it, it only said one word.
My name.
“So you don’t forget next time,” I said, lips trembling before she turned away and continued walking.
(River)
Sunday, April 14, 2013
The Troll of the Bridge (Marcy Elaine)
Once upon a time, like three years ago, me and my bestie took a trip to the Magical World of Disney. I remember when we were in eighth grade we talked about going for our senior trip, and at the time it was more of a, I wish that will happen, more than a, we are doing this, period, sort of thing. But low and behold... we did it.
This particular gem was in the Tarzan treehouse. Now I don’t quite remember the circumstances but I recall both of agreeing that we had to go in the treehouse. WE HAD TO. I think it was both agreed that whenever we went with others the treehouse was always sort of bypassed. And that was just not happening this time.
If my memory serves me correct, this was right after we went on Indiana Jones, and Splash Mountain. Splash Mountain was close to vacant seeing as how it was cloudy outside, which of course is a green light for shenanigans. We had our fun little misadventures on that ride. Ashlynne got wet, I got SOAKED. Thus the weird hair. I was still half wet in this picture. But I didn’t even care, I was having the time of my life.
I wish I could recall the events that created this picture, but not much. I do remember us both agreeing we wanted a picture somewhere on the treehouse because it was always so rushed and people walking by that we never got a chance before. So I became the troll of the bridge. I think that occupation suits me quite well actually. Disney should hire me.
And oh my gosh I remember those gray shoes!
This particular gem was in the Tarzan treehouse. Now I don’t quite remember the circumstances but I recall both of agreeing that we had to go in the treehouse. WE HAD TO. I think it was both agreed that whenever we went with others the treehouse was always sort of bypassed. And that was just not happening this time.
If my memory serves me correct, this was right after we went on Indiana Jones, and Splash Mountain. Splash Mountain was close to vacant seeing as how it was cloudy outside, which of course is a green light for shenanigans. We had our fun little misadventures on that ride. Ashlynne got wet, I got SOAKED. Thus the weird hair. I was still half wet in this picture. But I didn’t even care, I was having the time of my life.
I wish I could recall the events that created this picture, but not much. I do remember us both agreeing we wanted a picture somewhere on the treehouse because it was always so rushed and people walking by that we never got a chance before. So I became the troll of the bridge. I think that occupation suits me quite well actually. Disney should hire me.
And oh my gosh I remember those gray shoes!
Sakana's Sushi Bar
So this picture is of me and that guy, Steve, that guy that I'm totally smitten with. Funny enough, this picture was taken by you, Marcy :) it was on our first double date together, the first time you met Steve, and I was anxious for your approval.
Because here's the thing. Every girl wants their best friend to approve of their man. And this had yet to happen with any that I had chosen up to that point. It was either that they were too immature, too demeaning, you name it. I just did NOT seem to have much luck picking out a good guy. Maybe it would have been different, had we lived closer.
Maybe I wouldn't have fallen for a 19 year old almost missionary when I was 15, and then wasted nearly two years of my life worrying over whether we would end up together. It turned out that he was a selfish, immature individual who just couldn't handle this much hotness.
Maybe, if we lived closer, I wouldn't have gotten a boyfriend my senior year. That was a disaster waiting to happen. He turned out to be over attached, and worried that I was upset with him if I didn't text him back within ten minutes of sending me something. My "best friend" at the time nearly pushed me into that relationship. You can guess how that friendship is going.
Perhaps, if we had been able to go through high school together, you would have been able to convince me to not run back to Karsten that summer, and completely screw up my life. Maybe if we could have been closer to one another, in each others daily lives, you could have seen the warning signs that no one else seemed to notice.
So you see, it was important to me, that you approve of this Steve guy,the one that I'm smitten with. Because if you approve, I know I must be doing at least one thing right.
Because here's the thing. Every girl wants their best friend to approve of their man. And this had yet to happen with any that I had chosen up to that point. It was either that they were too immature, too demeaning, you name it. I just did NOT seem to have much luck picking out a good guy. Maybe it would have been different, had we lived closer.
Maybe I wouldn't have fallen for a 19 year old almost missionary when I was 15, and then wasted nearly two years of my life worrying over whether we would end up together. It turned out that he was a selfish, immature individual who just couldn't handle this much hotness.
Maybe, if we lived closer, I wouldn't have gotten a boyfriend my senior year. That was a disaster waiting to happen. He turned out to be over attached, and worried that I was upset with him if I didn't text him back within ten minutes of sending me something. My "best friend" at the time nearly pushed me into that relationship. You can guess how that friendship is going.
Perhaps, if we had been able to go through high school together, you would have been able to convince me to not run back to Karsten that summer, and completely screw up my life. Maybe if we could have been closer to one another, in each others daily lives, you could have seen the warning signs that no one else seemed to notice.
So you see, it was important to me, that you approve of this Steve guy,the one that I'm smitten with. Because if you approve, I know I must be doing at least one thing right.
Friday, April 12, 2013
A Broken Heart (Ashlynne Rose)
The more we post our writing, I feel the more jumbled it will get. That's why I put my name :)
So I nannied for a while in high school, best first job ever. I got to play with kids all day! Out in the sun getting tan, inside an air conditioned house with free reign on the fridge...the parents even stocked it with Dr. Pepper for me. I was living the high life.
And what's better is I LOVED THOSE KIDS. I couldn't help but love them. My job was to spend every day with these adorable, lively, rambunctious children that I absolutely adored! Spending every day with them from eight in the morning to five in the evening has that affect on you.
Maybe that's why it made it so easy for their mother to leave every day.
Because you see, usually when people get a nanny, it's because they need assistance with their children due to their job. Which is totally understandable, sometimes you've gotta do what you've gotta do. And in some cases, parents just need another set of hands to help out while they try and make ends meet. I get that.
But in this case, she would leave at about 8:45, saying something in passing about Costco, or a yoga class, or a doctors appointment, or lunch with a friend. She would return at about 4:45, just in time to welcome her husband home. She would leave, dressed to the nines in designer jeans and low cut tops, looking pristine and lovely.
At first, my four little charges would cry and wail and scream for mommy, mommy, where are you going? Can't I come with you? And she would look at them blankly and then leave. After about 20 minutes of this consonant, ringing crying, they would look at me, flustered red cheeks, runny noses and clenched fists, and they would sort of...sigh. A shudder, almost, from the energy or throwing a natural fit, and they would settle down.
They would ask me for a juice box, if I could please turn on Toy Story 2, and then we would all sit on the couch, and they would rest their head on my shoulder or breast, or they would wrap their little arms around my thighs and middle, and as the opening scene comes up, I could feel their sniffles and small shudders, the aftershocks of a child's crying, reverberating in my middle. And it broke my heart.
But what broke my heart more than that, more than feeling their tears inside of me, was when their sad tears for the Mother's departure stopped. When the sniffles ceased and they stopped asking for the comfort of juice boxes and Disney movies, because they weren't so affected by it anymore. They were used to the absence.
Although, they did cry and scream and wail when I left at five every evening. Go figure.
(Consonant, about the fifth paragraph)
So I nannied for a while in high school, best first job ever. I got to play with kids all day! Out in the sun getting tan, inside an air conditioned house with free reign on the fridge...the parents even stocked it with Dr. Pepper for me. I was living the high life.
And what's better is I LOVED THOSE KIDS. I couldn't help but love them. My job was to spend every day with these adorable, lively, rambunctious children that I absolutely adored! Spending every day with them from eight in the morning to five in the evening has that affect on you.
Maybe that's why it made it so easy for their mother to leave every day.
Because you see, usually when people get a nanny, it's because they need assistance with their children due to their job. Which is totally understandable, sometimes you've gotta do what you've gotta do. And in some cases, parents just need another set of hands to help out while they try and make ends meet. I get that.
But in this case, she would leave at about 8:45, saying something in passing about Costco, or a yoga class, or a doctors appointment, or lunch with a friend. She would return at about 4:45, just in time to welcome her husband home. She would leave, dressed to the nines in designer jeans and low cut tops, looking pristine and lovely.
At first, my four little charges would cry and wail and scream for mommy, mommy, where are you going? Can't I come with you? And she would look at them blankly and then leave. After about 20 minutes of this consonant, ringing crying, they would look at me, flustered red cheeks, runny noses and clenched fists, and they would sort of...sigh. A shudder, almost, from the energy or throwing a natural fit, and they would settle down.
They would ask me for a juice box, if I could please turn on Toy Story 2, and then we would all sit on the couch, and they would rest their head on my shoulder or breast, or they would wrap their little arms around my thighs and middle, and as the opening scene comes up, I could feel their sniffles and small shudders, the aftershocks of a child's crying, reverberating in my middle. And it broke my heart.
But what broke my heart more than that, more than feeling their tears inside of me, was when their sad tears for the Mother's departure stopped. When the sniffles ceased and they stopped asking for the comfort of juice boxes and Disney movies, because they weren't so affected by it anymore. They were used to the absence.
Although, they did cry and scream and wail when I left at five every evening. Go figure.
(Consonant, about the fifth paragraph)
Randumb Word Generator
Click for your punishment
((x))
RULES:
~YOU MAY ONLY CLICK ONCE.
Your word is your life sentence.
~ Every day you miss the challenge you must add another word to your list.
~ You must list your penalty words at the bottom of your finished Writing Challenge passage.
((x))
~YOU MAY ONLY CLICK ONCE.
Your word is your life sentence.
~ Every day you miss the challenge you must add another word to your list.
~ You must list your penalty words at the bottom of your finished Writing Challenge passage.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Heartbroken
I guess there has been a few times I’ve felt heartbreak. Never has it involved romance. Maybe heartache, but never heartbreak. I’ve always been pretty in control of my emotions, if I cry, I can stop. If I’m angry, I can stop. But I remember for the first time in my life, not being able to stop crying. And I didn’t want to either. For once, just once in my life, I wanted to just let out all of it. All that I bottled up on it. All I pretended wasn’t there. I just wanted to let it out. It surprised me though, how much of it there was.
I knew Andrew was going the wrong way in life. Andrew despite seeming like it, was never really a confident person. Cocky, maybe, but he could never really do things for himself. Peer pressure was not something he could say no to. And I don’t even know if it was the peer pressure, maybe he just wanted to rebel, but as long as I can I plan to pretend.
That’s what I was doing. Pretending. I knew he was lying. I knew he was drinking. Heavens knew what he was doing up at Ian’s house. I knew he was hanging out with the wrong people. I knew his language was vile. I knew he was gambling. I knew all of that. But I pretended I didn’t.
Ignorance is... bliss... right?
I knew. I knew when one of his old high school friends saw Andrew and me at Smart & Final. He asked if he wanted to get some drinks with him later. They were both still underage. Andrew acted a little surprise and shook his head. His friend seemed surprise. We left pretty quickly after that. I always tried to avoid the subject. I always knew I was important to Andrew. The only thing that really kept him at home at all was me. I didn’t want to screw that up. But I had to ask. I didn’t even look at him when I did, as we carried milk to the car.
So, you done that before? He didn’t even have to ask what I meant.
Once. I don’t do it though.
Promise me, you won’t do it again.
I promise...
You liar.
I knew he was lying. I knew he’d done it more than once. I knew he was going to do it again. But I pretended. I pretended he was telling me the truth. I hoped that lie burned in him. I hoped he felt the guilt of that lie was crushing him. Just like the truth was crushing me.
I knew. I wasn’t as knowledgeable as I lead on. I knew all of it. It wasn’t that hard. My parents didn’t know I knew. I think Andrew was pretending too. Pretending that I didn’t know.
And one night, I’m not even sure why, but it all came out. I remember standing on the stairs, my mom standing on the tile, talking to me. It was late. Really late. And she just started talking to me about all this stuff, because it was all surfacing, it wasn’t something they could keep from me. They actually needed me. They needed that relationship I had with Andrew.
All I could remember saying was I know.
Andrew has been drinking. I know. Andrew has been smoking. I know. Andrew sleeps out in his car when he was drunk to sleep it off. I know.
Of course, I said that all silently. There was not really much I could say. I was trying my best not to cry in front of my mom, despite the fact she was in tears. I remember my bed was in the middle of my room, so there was just this little walkway over by the window so I could get in bed. I sat in the little crevasse and cried. I cried to my mouth was dry. I didn’t even know it was possible to have tears stream down your face till that moment.
Everything. All the things I tried to pretend were just thrown out there. And I knew. I knew, but I couldn’t accept. And nothing quite ever sat on my chest the way that did. And it did even after I cried it out. More tears would come. So many more. Enough that I was almost not ashamed of it. Enough I could talk to my mom about it, help her, because she was more heartbroken than I was, with teary eyes. Enough to call my best friend and yell and cry about how these people, these people who shouldn’t even be in our life were tearing our family apart.
I still hate the tears. I’m glad the those tears are gone. That that weight is gone.
I don’t have to pretend anymore. And neither does Andrew.
~Marcy Elaine
I knew Andrew was going the wrong way in life. Andrew despite seeming like it, was never really a confident person. Cocky, maybe, but he could never really do things for himself. Peer pressure was not something he could say no to. And I don’t even know if it was the peer pressure, maybe he just wanted to rebel, but as long as I can I plan to pretend.
That’s what I was doing. Pretending. I knew he was lying. I knew he was drinking. Heavens knew what he was doing up at Ian’s house. I knew he was hanging out with the wrong people. I knew his language was vile. I knew he was gambling. I knew all of that. But I pretended I didn’t.
Ignorance is... bliss... right?
I knew. I knew when one of his old high school friends saw Andrew and me at Smart & Final. He asked if he wanted to get some drinks with him later. They were both still underage. Andrew acted a little surprise and shook his head. His friend seemed surprise. We left pretty quickly after that. I always tried to avoid the subject. I always knew I was important to Andrew. The only thing that really kept him at home at all was me. I didn’t want to screw that up. But I had to ask. I didn’t even look at him when I did, as we carried milk to the car.
So, you done that before? He didn’t even have to ask what I meant.
Once. I don’t do it though.
Promise me, you won’t do it again.
I promise...
You liar.
I knew he was lying. I knew he’d done it more than once. I knew he was going to do it again. But I pretended. I pretended he was telling me the truth. I hoped that lie burned in him. I hoped he felt the guilt of that lie was crushing him. Just like the truth was crushing me.
I knew. I wasn’t as knowledgeable as I lead on. I knew all of it. It wasn’t that hard. My parents didn’t know I knew. I think Andrew was pretending too. Pretending that I didn’t know.
And one night, I’m not even sure why, but it all came out. I remember standing on the stairs, my mom standing on the tile, talking to me. It was late. Really late. And she just started talking to me about all this stuff, because it was all surfacing, it wasn’t something they could keep from me. They actually needed me. They needed that relationship I had with Andrew.
All I could remember saying was I know.
Andrew has been drinking. I know. Andrew has been smoking. I know. Andrew sleeps out in his car when he was drunk to sleep it off. I know.
Of course, I said that all silently. There was not really much I could say. I was trying my best not to cry in front of my mom, despite the fact she was in tears. I remember my bed was in the middle of my room, so there was just this little walkway over by the window so I could get in bed. I sat in the little crevasse and cried. I cried to my mouth was dry. I didn’t even know it was possible to have tears stream down your face till that moment.
Everything. All the things I tried to pretend were just thrown out there. And I knew. I knew, but I couldn’t accept. And nothing quite ever sat on my chest the way that did. And it did even after I cried it out. More tears would come. So many more. Enough that I was almost not ashamed of it. Enough I could talk to my mom about it, help her, because she was more heartbroken than I was, with teary eyes. Enough to call my best friend and yell and cry about how these people, these people who shouldn’t even be in our life were tearing our family apart.
I still hate the tears. I’m glad the those tears are gone. That that weight is gone.
I don’t have to pretend anymore. And neither does Andrew.
~Marcy Elaine
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
First Crush
I always find it funny when people can recall having a first crush, but nothing about it. Maybe a name, but that’s about it. I was almost the complete opposite. Nick Moffitt. Only reason I know his last name now is because of recent research. But I remember Nick, the things we did, the feeling I got as a 6 year old girl thinking about him. Being a heartbroken 7 year old when he moved.
Nick Moffitt had this extremely blonde hair that was the same color as something you’d expect on a polar bear. Very distinctive nose for a 5 year old. I wish I could recall how we met, but I really can’t remember. But I know it was a sure friendship after that. Him, Bryan, and me became a trio, without any real initiation. I think the reason why Nick was one of my best friends was that he knew I was a girl, accepted I was a girl, knew I like girly thing, but he also knew that wouldn’t stop me from beating him on the monkey bars or trading Pokemon cards. I still remember having this giant blister on my hand the day of Kindergarten graduation, but hey, I beat them.
I can recall all the times we would play pokemon and we would always be pikachu, because he was our favorite. Occasionally, if we were feeling adventurous we would be Didos, that became Pikachus. Good times. We even have matching necklaces. Not girly necklaces... manly... necklaces.... I still have mine. I’m too fond of it to throw it out.
When he moved I was heartbroken. I’m pretty sure he just moved to Valley Center, which is actually really close but it felt like he was moving across the world. I remember after he left there were two mattresses on one of the floors in one of our bedrooms and I squished myself between them and I would listen to the same backstreet boys song on repeat, bawling my eyes out. Such a sad farewell.
But I will give Nick some credit. He actually called me after he moved. So, maybe he only called me twice, but that 7 year old called me, just like he promised! And he tell me about his school and I’d tell him about mine and he’d tell me he missed me, and playing pokemon. Even as a young being, I was rather impressed.
I think I might have a better prospect of getting a good man at 7 than I do at 20 years old...
(sorry, not that great, couldn't quite get into it, I'm a little angry at the moment :P)
~ Marcy Elaine
Nick Moffitt had this extremely blonde hair that was the same color as something you’d expect on a polar bear. Very distinctive nose for a 5 year old. I wish I could recall how we met, but I really can’t remember. But I know it was a sure friendship after that. Him, Bryan, and me became a trio, without any real initiation. I think the reason why Nick was one of my best friends was that he knew I was a girl, accepted I was a girl, knew I like girly thing, but he also knew that wouldn’t stop me from beating him on the monkey bars or trading Pokemon cards. I still remember having this giant blister on my hand the day of Kindergarten graduation, but hey, I beat them.
I can recall all the times we would play pokemon and we would always be pikachu, because he was our favorite. Occasionally, if we were feeling adventurous we would be Didos, that became Pikachus. Good times. We even have matching necklaces. Not girly necklaces... manly... necklaces.... I still have mine. I’m too fond of it to throw it out.
When he moved I was heartbroken. I’m pretty sure he just moved to Valley Center, which is actually really close but it felt like he was moving across the world. I remember after he left there were two mattresses on one of the floors in one of our bedrooms and I squished myself between them and I would listen to the same backstreet boys song on repeat, bawling my eyes out. Such a sad farewell.
But I will give Nick some credit. He actually called me after he moved. So, maybe he only called me twice, but that 7 year old called me, just like he promised! And he tell me about his school and I’d tell him about mine and he’d tell me he missed me, and playing pokemon. Even as a young being, I was rather impressed.
I think I might have a better prospect of getting a good man at 7 than I do at 20 years old...
(sorry, not that great, couldn't quite get into it, I'm a little angry at the moment :P)
~ Marcy Elaine
My First Crush
Aaah, Thatcher Spurling! The amount of hormones that flows through a Kindergarten classroom is truly astonishing, isn't it?
I thought that he was just the most charming individual. With his black, velcro sneakers, heavily gelled hair (expertly styled by mommy), and those alluring T-Shirts that said truly whitty things like "girls love me parents hate me" and "gotta catch 'em all- POKEMON" I found him to be very enticing.
And he really knew how to woo the ladies. At lunch time, he would split his oreo cookies in half, and give me the side with the creme on it. Whenever we were told to sit boy girl boy girl in class, we always sat beside each other on that incredible rainbow rug that every Kindergarten class in the 90's seemed to have in it's possession.
But the ultimate confirmation of their undying love for one another was confirmed in the game of Tag: Boys Vs. Girls. This was how everyone knew that Thatcher LIKED Ashlynne, because he always chased her THE ENTIRE TIME during this war. And believe me, this was a big deal. Everyone noticed who chased who during tag. When a romance sparks amongst this bloody battle, well, it had might as well be a match made in heaven.
We were strong all through Kindergarten, with oreos and tag and Pokemon t-shirts...then came first grade, and we were put in different classes. The distance was truly aganizing, but I stayed strong, so that when he would see me across the feild at the different playground, he would see that it wasn't hitting me hard.
If only he knew.
We didn't reunite until 7th grade, when we ended up in the same math class as each other. While his gelled hair remained the same, the whitty T-shirts had been replaced by back wife beaters, and he liked to discuss things like MTV, and the fact that he could still taste the tacos from the night before in his braces.
I like the memory of the Kindergarten Thatcher a lot more than the 7th grade one. I think that's what I'll hold onto. I'll hold onto the shared oreos and the Boys Vs. Girls Tag.
I thought that he was just the most charming individual. With his black, velcro sneakers, heavily gelled hair (expertly styled by mommy), and those alluring T-Shirts that said truly whitty things like "girls love me parents hate me" and "gotta catch 'em all- POKEMON" I found him to be very enticing.
And he really knew how to woo the ladies. At lunch time, he would split his oreo cookies in half, and give me the side with the creme on it. Whenever we were told to sit boy girl boy girl in class, we always sat beside each other on that incredible rainbow rug that every Kindergarten class in the 90's seemed to have in it's possession.
But the ultimate confirmation of their undying love for one another was confirmed in the game of Tag: Boys Vs. Girls. This was how everyone knew that Thatcher LIKED Ashlynne, because he always chased her THE ENTIRE TIME during this war. And believe me, this was a big deal. Everyone noticed who chased who during tag. When a romance sparks amongst this bloody battle, well, it had might as well be a match made in heaven.
We were strong all through Kindergarten, with oreos and tag and Pokemon t-shirts...then came first grade, and we were put in different classes. The distance was truly aganizing, but I stayed strong, so that when he would see me across the feild at the different playground, he would see that it wasn't hitting me hard.
If only he knew.
We didn't reunite until 7th grade, when we ended up in the same math class as each other. While his gelled hair remained the same, the whitty T-shirts had been replaced by back wife beaters, and he liked to discuss things like MTV, and the fact that he could still taste the tacos from the night before in his braces.
I like the memory of the Kindergarten Thatcher a lot more than the 7th grade one. I think that's what I'll hold onto. I'll hold onto the shared oreos and the Boys Vs. Girls Tag.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Porcelain
(I changed my mind, I'm doing one more similar to yours :P sorry, it's a bit rushed and all I can think about right now is taking a shower haha, so sorry if it's a little scattered brained.)
Porcelain.
That was always the first thing anyone noticed about Marcy; her porcelain skin. You’d think it might be the blond hair but it wasn’t quite the right shade to call your attention to it. Sort of like her brown eyes. If you asked any acquaintance of her’s what color her eyes were, they’d probably blink their own a few times before saying... blue? Blue seemed logical. Blue would match the porcelain.
If it weren’t for the millions of small freckles that covered her, she’d probably be mistaken for sickly. But those little speckles said otherwise. So did that teasing smile. No, she was too determined to prove her strength through any means to ever be perceived as fragile.
Fragile like the dolls she so resembled. Marcy had lost count of how many times she’s been compared to a porcelain doll. Had been since she was a baby. A baby with round full cheeks. Cheeks she never really grew out of. Maybe that’s why she tried to act all tough and boyish. Just out of rebellion to the notion. She didn’t mind looking like a doll by any measure. But she never liked people telling her what she was. That was something for her to decide. Which... would be fine if she was a decisive person. Since she never was, she always just came off as rebellious. Which was oddly ironic considering the fact she’d probably have a panic attack if she ever broke a rule.
Mommy was also something she was called regularly. Even by people she didn’t know. Tough love was her policy. Don’t pick at that, it’ll scar. Dude, I’m all for slouching, but you’re looking like the hunchback of notre dame; sit up. You need to help with the dishes first. No, stand here, with us, not behind us. Put on sunscreen or you will get skin cancer and die. Stop that, you stop that right now; you are a beautiful amazing human being, don’t you dare feel that way, you are not allowed to feel that way. Maybe she didn’t always give kisses and gentle loving words, but the fact she cared was always pretty evident. Maybe she used it with a little force, maybe that was the best way she could care without seeming fragile. Maybe. Who know’s. That’s how she did it regardless.
She was one of those people that was like a dipping sauce at a party. You wouldn’t just eat that guacamole by itself would you? No, that never seemed quite natural. But when you paired her with something, she would become that it’s dancing partner. In a clothing store, suddenly a fashion frenzied diva, despite being seen in t-shirts and jeans. With a funny person, suddenly a hilarious comedic duo, despite not being well practice in humor herself. Got a problem, suddenly the voice of reason, despite not knowing how to solve her own problems. Need a creative partner, suddenly create a universe for your muses to reside, despite lacking motivation and inspiration herself.
Marcy was just a little more complex than anyone ever made her out to be. Not that she minded. She prefered to seem simple, mild. It was inviting. Something comfortable. Something... familiar.
Though it was next to impossible to know what was behind that teasing smile, one thing was certain and one thing would never change. One thing was certain about Marcy Elaine Wahlquist.
Porcelain.
Porcelain.
That was always the first thing anyone noticed about Marcy; her porcelain skin. You’d think it might be the blond hair but it wasn’t quite the right shade to call your attention to it. Sort of like her brown eyes. If you asked any acquaintance of her’s what color her eyes were, they’d probably blink their own a few times before saying... blue? Blue seemed logical. Blue would match the porcelain.
If it weren’t for the millions of small freckles that covered her, she’d probably be mistaken for sickly. But those little speckles said otherwise. So did that teasing smile. No, she was too determined to prove her strength through any means to ever be perceived as fragile.
Fragile like the dolls she so resembled. Marcy had lost count of how many times she’s been compared to a porcelain doll. Had been since she was a baby. A baby with round full cheeks. Cheeks she never really grew out of. Maybe that’s why she tried to act all tough and boyish. Just out of rebellion to the notion. She didn’t mind looking like a doll by any measure. But she never liked people telling her what she was. That was something for her to decide. Which... would be fine if she was a decisive person. Since she never was, she always just came off as rebellious. Which was oddly ironic considering the fact she’d probably have a panic attack if she ever broke a rule.
Mommy was also something she was called regularly. Even by people she didn’t know. Tough love was her policy. Don’t pick at that, it’ll scar. Dude, I’m all for slouching, but you’re looking like the hunchback of notre dame; sit up. You need to help with the dishes first. No, stand here, with us, not behind us. Put on sunscreen or you will get skin cancer and die. Stop that, you stop that right now; you are a beautiful amazing human being, don’t you dare feel that way, you are not allowed to feel that way. Maybe she didn’t always give kisses and gentle loving words, but the fact she cared was always pretty evident. Maybe she used it with a little force, maybe that was the best way she could care without seeming fragile. Maybe. Who know’s. That’s how she did it regardless.
She was one of those people that was like a dipping sauce at a party. You wouldn’t just eat that guacamole by itself would you? No, that never seemed quite natural. But when you paired her with something, she would become that it’s dancing partner. In a clothing store, suddenly a fashion frenzied diva, despite being seen in t-shirts and jeans. With a funny person, suddenly a hilarious comedic duo, despite not being well practice in humor herself. Got a problem, suddenly the voice of reason, despite not knowing how to solve her own problems. Need a creative partner, suddenly create a universe for your muses to reside, despite lacking motivation and inspiration herself.
Marcy was just a little more complex than anyone ever made her out to be. Not that she minded. She prefered to seem simple, mild. It was inviting. Something comfortable. Something... familiar.
Though it was next to impossible to know what was behind that teasing smile, one thing was certain and one thing would never change. One thing was certain about Marcy Elaine Wahlquist.
Porcelain.
Ashlynne Rose Harkins- The Bold One
(this exercise is happening half because I have been feeling really low, and feel like I need to find the good in myself again. I also am curious to see how you would do this for yourself)
When people first met her, the first thing that they thought of was "what a lively person."
Sometimes this was good, and sometimes this was unfortunate. Because in this world, there are some people who cannot handle so much energy and happiness and boldness permeating from one individual.
And this girl, she was lively. Ashlynne Rose Harkins- and don't forget the Rose, it's her favorite part of her name- was lively. She was one of those people that could walk up to anyone, anyone, and attempt a conversation. She made you feel good about yourself, pointing out your sweater that she liked, or the way you've done your hair, anything like that. It would usually be the reason that she is talking to you in the first place.
She was lovely. Not just that she had a nice attitude, and was kind, and thoughtful. While she was all of those things, she had a way of carrying herself in confidence. She knew that she was a lovely girl, with nice skin, a ready smile and style that she screaming class, but she wasn't cocky about it. She was so comfortable in her own skin.
While she got along with many people, and had a few that she considered true friends that she truly enjoyed spending time with, she reveled in the moments that she could simply be with herself. If she found herself with a spare evening, she typically ended up in a coffee shop writing in her journal. She loved to wallow in the music and the eccentric people and the atmosphere of these underground, odd coffee shops. She loved to simply watch people, try and figure out why they do what they do.
She loved with urgency and not haste, and as if she had never been hurt before. Because she knew that after every bad situation, there is a better one waiting. Why harden your heart when there is someone waiting to claim it?
She loved to tell people what was good about them. And she liked to do it out of blue. She will show up on someone's porch with a handwritten note and some cupcakes, simply because she finds this particular individual to be exceptional in one way or another. She found that often, these people don't even see that attribute in themselves. She thought they deserved to know, to strengthen this part, to touch more people with this goodness that they had.
She loved God. Many people have complex things to say about God, poetry as testimony. But for her, it was a plain proclamation of love. She simply loved God.
The point of this was to make myself seem like someone I would want to meet.
I'm feeling much better :)
When people first met her, the first thing that they thought of was "what a lively person."
Sometimes this was good, and sometimes this was unfortunate. Because in this world, there are some people who cannot handle so much energy and happiness and boldness permeating from one individual.
And this girl, she was lively. Ashlynne Rose Harkins- and don't forget the Rose, it's her favorite part of her name- was lively. She was one of those people that could walk up to anyone, anyone, and attempt a conversation. She made you feel good about yourself, pointing out your sweater that she liked, or the way you've done your hair, anything like that. It would usually be the reason that she is talking to you in the first place.
She was lovely. Not just that she had a nice attitude, and was kind, and thoughtful. While she was all of those things, she had a way of carrying herself in confidence. She knew that she was a lovely girl, with nice skin, a ready smile and style that she screaming class, but she wasn't cocky about it. She was so comfortable in her own skin.
While she got along with many people, and had a few that she considered true friends that she truly enjoyed spending time with, she reveled in the moments that she could simply be with herself. If she found herself with a spare evening, she typically ended up in a coffee shop writing in her journal. She loved to wallow in the music and the eccentric people and the atmosphere of these underground, odd coffee shops. She loved to simply watch people, try and figure out why they do what they do.
She loved with urgency and not haste, and as if she had never been hurt before. Because she knew that after every bad situation, there is a better one waiting. Why harden your heart when there is someone waiting to claim it?
She loved to tell people what was good about them. And she liked to do it out of blue. She will show up on someone's porch with a handwritten note and some cupcakes, simply because she finds this particular individual to be exceptional in one way or another. She found that often, these people don't even see that attribute in themselves. She thought they deserved to know, to strengthen this part, to touch more people with this goodness that they had.
She loved God. Many people have complex things to say about God, poetry as testimony. But for her, it was a plain proclamation of love. She simply loved God.
The point of this was to make myself seem like someone I would want to meet.
I'm feeling much better :)
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Sooo tired
The only reason I'm even up right now is because registration for Fall Semester starts at 12:01. And I want in on the classes I need.
Which is why I changed the background. In my 11:30 P.M. state of mind, it makes sense, what with you moving and all.
If you want to change it, feel free. I won't cry.
Which is why I changed the background. In my 11:30 P.M. state of mind, it makes sense, what with you moving and all.
If you want to change it, feel free. I won't cry.
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