I have a bracelet that says “Inspire” but I love it more when I’m the inspiree.

The Bloggess (officially my favorite person in the world that I’ve never met… although I personally feel we were MFEO) recently posted a bunch a texts from a friend who she felt needed a blog or twitter. Scrolling through them reminds me of my mother and the ridiculous things she decides to text me to wig me out or because she’s in a room where saying it out loud would be inappropriate.

I’ll give you some texts from mom:

“Remember, Christi.. You are a proud, strong black woman.”
“Just keep saying it over and over. And then tell the interviewer your nickname is Oprah.”

“He is a jewelry cross-dresser?”

“Now they are making her sit for 15 minutes to avoid post shot fainting… nutty.”
“Correction: They are making her sit in anticipation until her anxiety is raised.. Very nutty.”
“P.S. Testing proved nothing more than teenage girls are drama queens. We knew. Thanks.”

“Do you still want toenails?”

“Making Button Flowers with Diane tonight. With M&M’s. And Pink Champagne.”

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You’re Welcome.

I love my family. Every time we do something together, I find myself laughing to tears, or ducking under the table because of an off color statement. To ween you in, I’ll quote my mother:

Mom: “I used the standard ‘do not call unless there’s a fire or someone is bleeding!’ And sure enough I get three phone calls in the middle of my meeting. When I finally answered, I bellowed out, ‘What about the bread? Well, Greg, is the bread bleeding or one fire?!’ *click*”

Lets quote Grandma: “Chris, you’re more than welcome to smoke inside I do it all the time!” (realizing my little sister Emily’s standing right there) “Well… not all the time… but a lot.. *wink*”

And moving on to my little sister, Emily (13 years old):

Emily: “I want to be a writer when I grow up.”

Me: “Okay, well what’s the backup plan?”

Emily: “Backup plan?”

Mom: “Well yes, lets be realistic here, Em. Because writers have real life jobs unless they’re writing one successful hit right after the other.”

Emily: “I wont have a problem with that… but if I do need one I’ll be a teacher.”

Me: “Okay… what are you going to teach?”

Emily: *exasperated sigh* “Writing!”

Lets round back to mom one more time:

Mom: “Gregory! I will not tell you again!”

Greg: “OKAY! I’m right here you don’t need to shout!”

Mom: “I wasn’t shouting because I thought you couldn’t here me, I was shouting for effect!”

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I choose now.

The thought of the week is: Never write something if you don’t want it to live forever. I was scanning through a few of my journals the other day and for a few minutes I sat. Staring at the spiral bounds and hardcovers, flipping through to see my mental progression. I’ve progressed.

As a child writing, it was (of course) mostly angry words about how much I hate so-and-so, or who did what to me. A giant pity party. Then the teenage years struck, documenting my  crushes and friends/foes, complaining lightly. Reading any of my recent journal entries, I have unintentionally realized anything I write, lives forever. Someone someday, most likely a family member, will end up going through these thoughts.

My generation was always about documenting every little thing but what no one thinks about is when everything is rounded up and viewed as a whole by grand-kids or people who don’t know you, what will they think? Are you the light hearted person, who’s enjoying their life and recording everything for someone to some day see what you got to experience? Or are you whining about your t.v. breaking, and then informing everyone you’re going to Fry’s to buy some hot-wings for dinner…? Was that really what your life is about? Complaints and unimportant food runs? No.

I’m going to give every journal (I have 12) one good last read, and then burning them. There’s nothing in those worth remembering, or indicative of my view of life now. And as long as those hang around, it’s a constant reminder of how unhappy I was, conflicting with how comfortable I am with things this very second. Forward and not back. But in the event you do decide to travel to the past, it should be something wonderful.

 

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Recommend a Hobby.

I guess today has been interesting. This morning I hypothesized with reasons “a” “b” and of course “c” as to why I personally believe my boyfriend’s room mate was going number two [insert pensive expression here]. After my conclusion, I was reminded to take the dog outside to use the restroom. He did no such thing and proceeded to chase me around the yard. I then considered making the bed. Considered be the key term here, and I’ll leave the outcome a mystery.
I walked out to my car wearing a faded “Boondock Saints” shirt, slippers, a ghastly plaid winter coat, and pajama pants. The neighbors waved. I went to Starbucks and ordered my Americano “dry.”  As with many aspects of my life, I prefer things bitter and strong not sweet and diluted. Needless to say, my Americano had water. I considered turning around to complain. Considered being the key term here, and I’ll leave the outcome a mystery.
I picked up my computer from home to do homework at my mother’s house (generally to eat all of the food and breath their royal air). This resulted in me hacking my step-dad’s wireless printer to use up all the ink on things I don’t need to print. Whoops.
I went outside to read and the next-door-neighbor accosted me about my life decisions and proceeded to inform me that he still has cancer. Delightful.
I burned an omelet.
And then I stepped on the dog’s tail.
After that, I offered to stalk my best friend’s, boyfriend’s, ex-girlfriend for her. I’m an amazing friend. All in all, today has been one of personal amusement. During times like these I wish someone was there to laugh with me so I didn’t have to call people every five minutes to tell them what had just happened and then demand to know where they are like a crazy person. Maybe I should just take up talking to myself loudly as if some one’s there to avoid coming off mental.

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It’s different now.

I’ve been asking myself a lot of questions lately. What do I really want out of life? Ever since I was little I’ve wanted to throw myself into dangerous jobs, something exciting. But now that I’m older things are so different. If you were to ask me what I wanted with my life two years ago I would have told you money and a cool career… maybe some more money… and a truck. But if you were to pose the same question right now this very second, I would tell you something completely different. I want a family and a house. Dogs and kids…. and I really wouldn’t mind the truck either.
What I want out of life has done a beautiful 180. And I feel like I’m a better person for it. Is that weird? Love over excitement. A house with kids running around rather than a quiet place for me to reflect. Well lets face it, I’d be reflecting on how lonely I am..
Career? Who knows. I want a life of amazing memories. It’s more important to me now than I ever thought it would be.

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Progress

I’m completely mixed up right now. I’m happy and want to be mad or I’m frustrated and want to be happy. Somebody deck me in the chin. Just walk up and start swinging.
In reality I’m in a place where I should feel blessed for how much opportunity is shining on me. I’m really proud of what I’ve accomplished this semester. The Corrections class I’m in right now has really had a huge impact on me. I’ve never been introduced to so many things such as going to a prison where we actually walked through the cell blocks and talked to the prisoners. They were yelling and carrying on, one on one they were completely polite.

And then an ex convicted felon who served 27 years in multiple Arizona Prisons came in and spoke with our class about all of his experiences. Unedited, ‘yall, he was completely raw with all of it. I was in shock at how honest and in depth he was with everything, and answered every heart wrenching question we threw at him.

He was a good man. Regardless of the Swazis tattooed on his chest and the Aryan Brotherhood patch tattooed on his arm. Regardless of the drugs and assaults. He had heart. Which I’ve only ever seen a few times in my entire life. This man had heart. And after he was sexually and emotionally abused as a child, he came out better than anyone I’ve ever seen. It took him longer than some, but my God. He said to us, “I did this to myself. I can play the blame game up and down all day long, but I wont. That’s just not me.” I will never forget that man, and how moved I was by his depth and good soul.

This blessed me with an open mind on a subject where I had none. No one has the right to flap their un-researched mouths about the topic of Corrections and incarceration because it has officially become offensive, and unless you’ve managed to educate yourself on the subject, I don’t want to fucking hear it. Because I will destroy you.

I’ve also been blessed with new love. There are so many directions to go and I’m ready for them all. This past year has been nothing but “self rehabilitation” and it has been extremely hard work. So I know more than ever that I’m ready to trust, and give everything I have, not only to be giving, but because it’ll give back to me. There was a time when I let people use me and prey off of me. But now that I’ve worked towards this place, I deserve to let myself take a little. Well I’m taking this and I’m not letting go. He was mine before he knew it, and that’s the way things will stay.

There are so many other things that have a chance to grow, so now is the time to take advantage of these opportunities. I can’t sit around mad at the world when I’m being given so many wonderful things. Just handed to me, just like that. Life is officially exciting, and the people I’ve decided to surround myself with are beyond amazing. Sheer luck.

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I want you dead.

Whenever I find happiness, some sort of destructive act of God occures to steady the score. My birthday weekend was amazing. Twenty-seven hours of nonstop fun and what happens at 4:00 a.m. the next morning? My entire ceiling crashes down in my room. I meet a wonderful guy and what happens? He gets sick as a dog. I find myself a new little friend and what happens? We get in a fight (I’ll try to “get over myself” and stop being a bitch).

What the hell, life?!

I’d like to take this time as an opportunity to say, “Fuck You.” We’ve had our ups and downs, but look, dude. Why can’t we just be friends? I’ll bake you a cake or dance for you, anything, just stop with the shenanigans.

So. I’m going to try and have a nice week. Give playing nice a try, I heard you make more friends that way. I wouldn’t know, because I’m officially the ass end of derision from your frolic and glee. Truce.

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