bitterdiva |
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December 27, 2002JC's BirthdayIt was a banner birthday of JC this year. In fact, I am declaring this Christmas as the best one ever. It wasn’t about the gift giving or feasting this year; it was about family- more importantly my family. They made it to the wonderful capital of New York without a hitch. I called my rents at quarter to six in the morning, to give them a weather status at my apartment and to wish them luck as they traveled up to my place. Then I immediately fell back asleep and managed to oversleep after I had inadvertently shut off the alarm clock. I woke up with about an hour to spare, got the boys up, managed to bake my breads, have them shower, clean the bathroom, and shower myself. I dressed, did the hair, and lit tart burners around the house to ensure a Christmas presence in every nook and cranny. The family arrived shortly after I finished with the snow beginning to start very lightly. Mel picked up Pat before my family arrived to begin his family’s gathering. Kris was left with me for a while. It took six people, multiple trips up the stairs, to finally unload the beast and get the presents in the living room, and the food either in the fridge or on the front porch. Got my sister’s stocking filled, presented it to her. Cut the breads, handed out OJ, water, etc. Made it through the stockings, and half the presents then breaked for preparing the roast beast in the oven. J made her phone calls to her friends whilst my brother commandeered my computer with his various e-mails and other Christmas wishing. We finished the presents, mom and my brother went to the hotel checked in, while J slept on the futon and dad on my bed, and I prepared mom’s pudding and peeled potatoes. The snow picked up and dropped a couple of inches while we were eating dinner. Mom made me say grace and needless I mangled it. Too many uhms and disconnected thoughts, my brain must have been preparing to shut down with the glass of Asti sitting in front of me. Kristian made it home for after dinner, hauling his booty in a plastic bag. Pat would soon be on his way, sans sister. The snow picked up even more creating chaos on the street and the driveway deterring Pat’s family from enjoying treats. More tiramisu for us! Mom had made her decaf coffee which pleased Pat when he found out he wasn’t going to be up until 2 in the am, even though he would enjoy playing TH4 or GTA: Vice City. My brother was working on one of his figures, making a chain mail shirt out of the tiniest rings I’ve seen around. When he was done he was passing out at the table snoring away as his head tilted back against the wall. I shoveled off the stairs and part of the walk, creating a path to his beast that he managed to get onto the driveway. Loaded up the vehicle with much less than with which they arrived, a very good thing. Sent them on their way saying goodbye but with hopes that I could meet them for breakfast the next day. Five minutes after they left, Shadow and Fee came out from their hiding since 9 that morning, 10 hours later. Crazy ass mofos didn’t have anything to eat or drink or use the litter box. The kitties gave my sister’s cat a laser pointer so he could have as much fun as they do. I think, however, my brother enjoyed torturing my cats more than they enjoyed the laser pointer. It was a fantastic day overall, and the capper is when I would catch my father smiling at various points. He never smiles. Which reminds me, one of my gifts was a calendar of artwork by patients in a program my father is apart of. The cover art for the page was a painting my father did of sunflowers. No doubt it resembled my family, there was the center of the painting that was a large, beautiful sunflower, and off to the left was three little ones. No doubt the large one represents my mother and the three little ones represent us children. My mom even gave me a magnet of the painting for my fridge. I love magnets! It’s nice to have a little bit of my dad on my fridge now
December 24, 2002Feliz NavidadTwas the day before Christmas and all throughout Albany
December 20, 2002Satan, Satan, Satan!!There’s a local radio station, WJIV, whose format is some holy shit. In fact there isn’t just one, but three radio stations broadcasting various God stuff. It seems that when I hit the seek button it never fails to land on these stations every other normal one. So yesterday when I was driving for the third time to pick up my portfolio I heard Satan and listened. I mean, come on, it can’t be all that bad if they’re talking about Satan and besides it most likely will be highly amusing. The woman (I had thought it was just a guy with a really bad southern accent) was talking about: How to be burnt but not bitter or some bullshit like that. Her name is Joyce Meyer and she has a website . I highly recommend going there if you need a laugh; the goon on the front page had me going for quite a while. So her whole point of this sermon was that being offended is Satan’s work. You shouldn’t allow others to offend you, that’s just Satan trying to bring you farther away from God. Instead, you should thank them for bringing you closer to God and that you aren’t upset with the person because they’re being influenced by a power mightier than them. She compares interactions among society with a body part metaphor, it’s like armpits and noses, sometimes they just don’t get along. Some people just don’t get along and that’s okay. Which I completely understand, I mean the world is full of archenemies, Marla Singers, and various odd couples. But to say that some person is a jackass because they’re being influenced by Satan, himself, is absolutely ludicrous. It’s deflecting the blame of the asshole onto some supernatural being because you believe in a good and bad deity. That’s like saying, we should all love Adolph, Mao, Benito, and Pol because they weren’t bad, Satan just misguided them. Satan Schmatan. They were sadistic fucks who enjoyed harming people. That’s it there is no Satan, they weren’t influenced, and I highly doubt that each of them reneged their previous stance on their deathbeds. The last part of the show was about how self-pity was idolatry; you’re putting yourself up on a pedestal and disregarding God. So all you depressed God whores who think you’re holier than thou, shut up and go say a prayer. Your hypocrisy is annoying, you sick narcissistic fuck.
December 18, 2002Happy Birthday PatsyFeliz Cumpleaņos, Herzlich Geburtstag Patrick! Now on to my bitching. I have a candy dish that sits atop of my cubicle ledge. I have bought various candies to place in side because I think the day goes by better when you have a piece of chocolate. There are some jerkoffs in my building that every time they pass the dish their hand uncontrollably creeps towards it until fingers are pulling out a sad little piece of chocolate. They are drawn to it like the One Ring, they lack the will to simply let the urge pass. And the candy dish gets emptier. Then there are those who constantly need to remark on how I keep restocking the candy dish. "Why do you have all this candy, do you bring it from home?" I'm a nice person when I want to be and I go out of my way to bring in a little happy chemical pleansantry into your life and you make some half-assed innuendo that I am a choco-holic. But this person is already on my shiznit list because when talking to my co-worker about her trip to germany and england I got 5 minutes of conversation before he sidled up to us and barged in on the conversation. Why are people so inconsiderate? Anyways, I'm outtie... have a good one folks.
December 17, 2002Finito!It's 7:24 pm on this Tuesday, December 17, 2002. I am hereby declaring myself done with the fall semester. I just finished my last C program and submitted it to my professor. I can now bust out the vodka, I don't need to think until January 16th. Hoo-fucking-ray!
December 11, 2002Catholicism wow...... you don't even know how symbolism works you dumb schmuck. It’s the holiday season and all while yahoos are out decorating their houses, their schools, and their cubicles some are feeling the injustices of religious persecution. Well, all right, some grumbling is made about religion, some is made towards the lack of decoration, and mine is based on office politics and a boss that I’m starting to believe doesn’t like me. There’s this woman in NYC that is suing the city because of schools’ ban on nativity scenes. It basically boils down to allowing other faith-based symbols whilst Catholicism gets the cold shoulder saying that the Christmas tree is the represented holiday symbol. A Christmas tree isn’t so much a representation of Catholicism but that of any Christian denomination. It’s a tree that Christians put up during Christmas and therefore, without detailed symbolism, it becomes a symbol in itself and we all know that without the Christ in Christmas you’d just have a bloody evergreen tree. The tree, although not blatantly relgious, is recognized around the world by the youngest of children. In itself it represents a fundamental of faith, the evergreen, never falling into slumber or shedding it’s needles is a constant reminder that Christ has never left his followers and his love, patience, and understanding, is never ending. The shape of the tree, a triangle, represents the trinity, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit and the star upon the top represents the star of Bethlehem. So the Christmas tree is a beautifully decorated symbol that is embraced by the old and young around the world. It may take some searching and realization, but people should know the hidden tenets the Christmas tree represents. However, it's also used in Pagen traditions and rituals. Before the time of Christ, people would decorate evergreen trees in winter solstice ceremonies. Nativity scenes are way to gaudy for the public, and I find that most people do not realize that the Baby Jesus should not be in the manger until Christmas Eve. Have some fucking respect people and learn your own damn culture.
December 04, 2002Fettered WingsEvery fallen angel has one imperfection to display their humanity and it is a reminder to the self that they are no longer infallible. This imperfection, or scar, is only noticeable with a bare back. It is located below the shoulder blades where their wings were once and upon wakening they have no immediate knowledge of their former beneficent life. It is only through blindness from the sun when the memories rush back and the realization of their new humanity occurs. This is Sloan’s story. The sun’s radiance was slowly creeping in between the two houses as it approached its apex in the sky. It was nearing afternoon and the light fell upon his window sidling through the space between the semi-shut blinds. It created a pattern on the bed as if headlights were shining through a picket fence. The light beyond his eyelids burned red against the thin membrane stinging them as he became further aware of the glowing orb. The corners of the room still lay in shadow as the gradient from light to dark diffused out from the window. The sunlight wasn’t strong enough to invade every corner of the room, only Sloan’s bed. He warily awoke; his tongue was unfavorably adhering to the roof of his mouth. A metallic bitterness penetrated throughout his mouth, he thought for a moment that a small rodent had perished there. He attempted to open his eyes but they were fastened shut by the dried mucous on his eyelids and lashes. He coarsely rubbed them with his left hand feeling the crust flake onto his nose and cheeks, which he then brushed off onto the bed. Haze still clouded his eyesight and found some slime and crust that were wedged in the corners of his eyes. He picked at it with the fingernail on his index finger until he felt it give and his eyes became moistened from the free-flowing duct. He winced as he propped his head up, turning towards the source of light. A bass drum was pounding inside his cranium matching the beating rhythm of his heart which he heard echoing throughout his ears. “Hangovers,” he thought, “this incessant hurting must be what they’re referring to.” He closed his eyes again and relaxed the straining muscles in his neck, returning his head to the comforts of his soft, down pillow. Inhaling was laborious; it felt as though he had spent the last hours of his slumber underwater, breathing in and choking on fluid. He tried suppressing a cough but to no avail, a thick wad of phlegm caught itself on the edge of his throat and esophagus causing a chain reaction of more coughing until it was dislodged. “Good lord, did I have my mouth permanently affixed to the exhaust of a diesel engine?” Another spasm erupted from his chest constricting his diaphragm and abdominal muscles, against his will, pushing him into an upright position. More phlegm was yanked from his drowned lungs. A thick, black globule caught flight and landed on the bed sheet, greatly contrasting against its white, coruscating colour. He sighed profoundly questioning the existence and purpose of such a repulsive bodily fluid. He collapsed back against the mattress savouring the way it contoured and molded to his frame lessening the discomfort that was enveloping him. Mentally taking note of each extremity, he wiggled his toes and fingers, flexed the muscles in his calves, thighs, buttocks, forearms and upper arms. His body was awakening; a burning sensation flared up from his hands as all the nerves began to tingle from the release in pressure when he change positions during the coughing fit. His mind continued to transition from the dream state to complete consciousness. It was quite apparent that this morning he was not a very well man. He rummaged through his memory, trying to conjure up images of the previous night’s events in search of any explanation for his decrepit physical state. There was none. He couldn’t recall being out at a bar, nor being at a party. He searched for something earlier in the night, perhaps television or dinner, or of the slight chance a phone call, but there remained nothing. His stomach pained, a drawn out twinge screaming for some nourishment. He draped his left arm over his abdomen, feeling the taut skin and ripples from the perfectly formed muscles underneath. His eyes fixated on a splotch of black on the plaster ceiling located directly above his chest. For a moment he thought it altered shape but as clarity returned it looked like a sliver of plumage. A shiver ran down his spine. He craned his neck up in the direction towards the nightstand and his vertebral joints cracked as he twisted further to the left. The green LED’s of the clock glowed a bright 11:39. Grunting, he pulled himself upright facing his wooden closet door. His neck ached from the tension and the cracking of joints. He massaged the muscles with his thumb and forefinger, digging into his sinewy flesh. He moved his head side to side inspecting its attachment to the spinal column, further cracking and grating ensued. “This is a rather inauspicious way to begin any day,” he said out loud to the four walls that encased him in his chambers. His back throbbed dully; he outstretched his arms and lifted up his chest aligning himself. A sequence of cracks migrated down his column as he arched backward. He exhaled in relief and slumped forward cupping his hands over his eyes. Bright blue and green spots danced in front of them. He pushed his head further in his hands allowing them to travel upward meeting his hair. The fingers grasped onto the oily shoulder length mane and glided backwards until he was clinging onto the rear of his neck. His hands moved further down his neck, down his vertebrae, feeling each bump and space in between them. He reached for the plastic cylindrical piece to increase the space between the vertical blinds but they were slightly out of arms reach. He opted to go for the quick method, a yank on the cord for instant sunlight. He faced away from the window so that he would not receive the sun’s full potency. Yank. The room was instantly transformed into pure blinding light that had no walls, or ceiling, or floor. Sloan slammed his eyes shut and dropped his hand from the cord. The blinds fell to the sill and the room was once again in shadow. Sloan slowly re-opened his eyes. He became aware of his nakedness and began to cry. He remembered what happened the night before. In a moment of pure jealousy he renounced everything he believed in, stating injustices for lack of experiences. No one has a choice; it’s either eternal happiness without temporal constraints or banishment to ponder and accept one’s mortality. He couldn’t perceive what made him desire humanity; it was only a moment of languor and a fleeting fancy to experience sexuality. An elongated sigh escaped his lungs and he suppressed another cough. He reached behind his back with his right hand, below his shoulder blades, and found the scar. He wiped away the tears with his left hand and leaned over the edge of the bed. A wave of nausea rolled over him and he felt light-headed. The floor was covered with hundreds of black feathers. He picked one up and held it in the palm of his hand; he closed his eyes, made a wish, and blew on the feather. He sank back against soft mattress and went back to sleep.
You've smoked yourself retardedI'm actually being diligent with my work, catching up on all the shizzit that I've been putting off and some dumb bitch messages me:
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