Swimming with the Circus Freaks

I live in South Burlington. No one liked the south so we didn't move. I am alive. I am alive. I AM ALIVE.

Posts are few and far between these days. I'm really not sure why. Fuck, yes I am. I'm busy. I'm so fucking busy.

I suppose now is the best time to tell everyone (anyone?) that towards the start of September I will be moving away. Far away. Very far away, actually. I'm moving to South Carolina. Probably to the Charleston or Myrtle Beach area. I can't do this here anymore, I can't do this life here. I'm scared that if I stay here nothing will happen to me, or worse something will, and it won't be good.

A  friend of mine passed away last week, his name was Mitra and it wasn't his time to go yet, although he apparently thought it was. His service was held on Thursday, and I watched all his friends and family get up and say things about him. I made a promise to myself and to Mitra that I would never end up where he is.

It feels like staying here almost solidifies my fate. Symbolically, literally, whatever.

I need to get out. I have the chance, I need to take it.

I'm terrified. Really, I am. Vermont is all that I have ever known. Shitty has this place can be, it is my home. I could fall flat on my ass in South Carolina. I could really fail, and fail hard. But what is great success in life with out the joy of knowing all the great failures you have overcome? It just makes it all that much sweeter in the end.

What are you good at? Being the center of attention.

Gabrielle, Heady James, Kelsie Payne, myself, and 4 car loads full of some of Burlingtons most notorious made our way out to the middle of fucking nowhere, Colchester to attend this party that we had been hearing rumor about all night. Our car somehow managed to be the last in the caravan, our driver was the only sober one, and the only one with enough sense to know that at a red light you should stop, and not wait three seconds, and then make a left hand turn, as everyone else did. Not wanting to risk death/the law, we patiently waited at our stop light, and in the process managed to lose the troupe.

Several very confused phone calls later we had very, VERY lose directions as to how to get to our destination. Straight. Right turn. 304. Wood house. Needless to say, we ended up lost, driving in the wrong direction, with The Cure's "Friday I'm In Love" playing. Tempers were short, emotions were high. We needed to find this mother fucking party. Our instructor on the phone failed to mention that while we were looking for a house made out of wood, we would not find it because it was down a hidden drive way. Palm, meet forehead.

Somehow, we managed to get ourselves to this house, and no one died in the process. Just for that fact, I knew it was going to be a pretty good night. We drove down the dirt road. As we rounded the turn, I looked around and counted us as car number 23 to arrive. The house was this huge one floor cabin. A pretty substantial group of people were already congregating outside, and through the huge floor to ceiling kitchen windows, I could see many more inside.

I turned around and looked at James, "There are so many cars here!"
"I know, Greerzy," he smiled, "We're going to RAGE tonight."

It was a rather good soirée. Gabrielle and I went inside and the hostess introduced herself, although her name is escaping me right now. She informed us it was $5 a cup, the keg was in the basement, and DJ would be playing soon. Danboy came over and put his arm around me, and introduced me to everyone around as "the prettiest girl at the party". Such a charmer, Danboy, suuuch a charmer. Gbaby and I had our forties so, were all set in the booze department. Some things never change. 

I looked out the window. More cars had parked, and I saw 5 more driving gown the gravel drive way. Jesus Christ, what had we gotten ourselves into?! We began drinking, and decided to make our way down to the basement. Black lights flooded the room, and the DJ had just started to play. I was certainly not drunk enough to not give a fuck about my dancing, so Gabrielle and I just stood there, nodding our heads to the music, drinking our bottles, trying to look cool and unimpressed by the DP that was occurring around us.

We journeyed up and outside, so Gabrielle could have a smoke break. Michelle came and joined. We found Abby and her friend Logan, who had been in the one of the other cars that had come with us. Abby let me take a shot of her rum, and the women stood around a mystery car and had a nice little chat sesh.

It was a relatively drama free evening on my end, I was really pleased. I helped a really drunk girl give her friend instructions, and then found out the party was in fact for her. Apparently she's moving to Arizona in a couple days (weeks?), and this party was in honor of her. In true fashion, I ended up getting into a  bit of mischief involving a 12 pack of bottled Heineken. A man standing by said pack instructed all the girls to take one.

"Are they yours?"
"No, but take one anyway."
I did. I took it for Gabrielle, and then we walked around trying to figure out how we were going to open it. I walked back over to the man who had instructed me to take the bottle, but then I overheard him talking with a man who I can only assume the 12 pack actually belonged to. I didn't catch a lot of it, but I did see him holding a very empty container, looking confused, angry and asking "dude, who took them?!"
I turned around, put the bottle back in my purse and walked away. Oops.

James and I ended up doing a little dancing downstairs, and sharing some beer, because I ended up coughing up the 5 bucks for a cup. Fuck it man, all I had wanted to do that day was just chill and drink beer. Wish granted. Michelle wanted to leave, and Gabrielle was her ride. We said our goodbyes, and as I exited, I attempted to make one final car count in the lot. I was drunk, but I think I managed to count at least 27-32 cars before I just gave up.

I got home, took the elevator up to my floor and made my way down the hall. The neighbors across from us were throwing a birthday party for their roommate and I saw a bunch of fake rubber bugs scattered at their door. I have an insatiable thirst for drunken souvenirs, so I just picked them up, placed them in my purse, and scampered into my house! I then proceeded to strip down to my undies, walk around the house, drink some Pepto-Bismol (I'm really not sure why I did), spooned some mystery casserole my mother had made for dinner into a bowl, and heated that up. Pretty tasty. I drunk facebooked Tyler, a boy I went to high school with, and called him a pervert for talking about dicks in his status. He never responded. I hope he knew I was wasted. Then I slept. And life was good.

"Oh, and Hannah?"
"Yeah?"
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell Brian about seeing your father."
"Why? What's the big deal?"
"He get's insecure about it, he thinks I'm going to leave him."
Silence.
"I mean your fathers too set in his ways to ever change, and he had his chance and he missed it, and I'm sorry that it upsets you and your brother but no matter how much you wish we'd get back together, we're not going to."

Nothing makes me angrier than the fact that she feels she has the right to bring up what she did to my family so casually. I will be angry at both of them for the rest of my life. I feel like I have so much anger boiling in my head right now it's going to over cook and spill out of my ears.

Look Mom, a big fucking puddle of anger sitting on the floor, and I know you're not going to clean it up anytime soon. So don't worry, I'll just sit in it for a while, and let my ass get wet, because I certainly don't know how to fucking clean it up.

into Starbucks, after passing out at Sams house at 4:30 am, and waking to discover it was 11 am. I was feeling particularly hung over (first time putting in some serious drinking in three weeks!), so I decided to treat myself to something sweet. I placed my order, waited, and let the barrista know I was hungover by adding a dramatic pause before I answered "tired" when asked how I was feeling

I felt cool.

I had to borrow a top from Sams room because I couldn't walk outside in the dress and pants I was wearing. Not because it was a dress and pants, but because Krys showed up to the party last night and I made him be prom date. In true highschool prom form he ended up getting sloppy drunk, motor boated me, made me spill my drink, and spilt his own drink on my dress, and then he ripped my tights. I was one hot mess. I fixed my shirt, walked outside and adjusted my sunglasses. I looked like I had fun last night.

I felt cool.

I walked out of Starbucks and saw two men standing at a table across the way at Homeport with a tri fold that said "Name 3 things God can't do"

Okay preacher man.

God could not save my parents marriage.

God could not keep my uncle from changing his mind right before he blew his brains out.

And

God can not save me.

Three things? Check. Check, please.

I knew I was cool.

Moral of the story? Don't mess with the cool girl. Booyah.

Nothing. So typical. Well, nothing too out of the ordinary.

Aaron and his girlfriend broke up, we've been hanging out a lot again. It's nice. I always end up missing him more than I realize. He has days when he's too charming for words, and then there are days where I could honestly punch him in the face.

"What do you like about him?" Everyone always asks.

Really, I can't explain it. We're just two people who met, fooled around, and as a result became friends, and until you've had an experience like that you can never fully understand our friendship. We're essentially polar opposites when it comes to well...everything, but he's pleasant enough, cute, and incredibly funny, and doesn't bull shit me about things.

Gabrielle called me the other night. We have a mutual friend on facebook. The both of us have never met him. Actually, we're unaware of how we became friends on said social networking site. His name is Jim. We had all recently been communicating via wall posts, IM, and status likings, and he and Gabrielle finally decided it was time to meet up. In Lyndonville. Two fucking hours away.

"So, do you want to go?"
"Just get me home by 9am tomorrow for work and I'm down."

Around the same time last year we were making a trip to Johnson. April apparently draws us to the more remote parts of the state. Uuugh April. Around this time last year, I was busy crying my eyes out on my bed because some 33 year old jerk off didn't want me anymore. He didn't want me because I wouldn't fuck him. He didn't want me because I wouldn't let him validate himself as a man through my body. Ugh I don't want to think about this.

The same time around last year, I was getting shit face drunk with Gabrielle and and Heady James as a result of the 33 year old breaking my heart via text message. Mmmm who's supposed to be the adult here? But, I digress. Around this time last year Gabrielle and I had just started to seriously start hanging out, gallivanting about the town, stumbling up and down Pearl St. "You guys how did we end up at Daves?!", making several missions to Big Daddys, and of course countless detours for bouts of public urination. "Grrrl, you stand guard and i'll squat!"

I'm obsessed with time lately. Mostly because I know we're all running out of it.

I'm attending a prom themed birthday party tomorrow night. My face has broken out in some sort of mystery rash/dry skin fiasco. Uuuhm Kill me please? Whatever, I'll look fabulous, I hope. I'm picking up this great trashy dress at work, this silky turquoise number with a banded bottom that stops pretty much right when my ass is about to start. I bend over, you know my gender... you know in case there was any doubt as to what it was before. I'm gonna pick up some black tights, maybe some fishnets, and wear my ankle boots. Did I mention there's a ludicrous circular pendant of rhinestones attached at the bust line? It's awesome. I fixed my Betsy Johnson octopus necklace today, so I can wear it tomorrow night. I am so fucking stoked. I missed that necklace so much.

This one isn't mine but, here's a picture of what it looks like:


I have the day off tomorrow, and I am so excited.

I find myself finding myself a lot lately.

I feel like I should be updating on all the really glamorous events that have been happening in my life; but there haven't been any. I'm trying to make a conscious effort to not drink as much, but come on, March Madness, baby. March is the worst time to quit drinking, too many birthdays, and alcohol related holidays.

I actually didn't get drunk on St Patricks day. I had work at 9am the next day, and I was already recovering from my minor hangover from the previous night. It was nice though. I hung out at home by myself, smoked weed, and talked to cute boys I know all night long. Perfection.

I found this really nice perfume by Elizabeth Arden. It makes me smell like an 80 year old woman, but whatever I dress like one already why not smell the part too?!

I've met a lot of nice new people lately. Yay! New friends just in time for summer; good form, girl, good form. Aaah, summer. Summer is going to be indescribably fantastic this year.

Kelly Clarkson is coming to the fair. I'm beyond excited.

I should probably get my GED soon. Uuuuuuuuugh, grown up things suck.
I should probably learn how to drive soon too. Uuuuugh, grown up things suck.

I've started getting back into art. I have Whitney to thank for that. Thanks Whitney. <333

Life is pretty mundane right now. Delightful, but mundane.

Ugh.

That is all.

"Girls who say no like you, mean yes."

Yeah.


Spring is almost here. I'm going to be up to no good. Join me if you'd like.

I've reached one of the more complex times of my life. I turned 20 on February 9th, and after many emotional breakdowns the days previous to it, I finally accepted it. So, here I am, 20 years old. It feels so different. It feels exactly the same.

I smoke more pot than at any other time in my life right now, but I've never felt more at peace with myself. I love being lost in my mind. I think about the same things in a completely different light, I open up parts of my brain I can't open usually. Call it in an escape if you will, but really, escape implies you have somewhere to go; I'm not escaping, I'm just lost. I don't really want to be found either.

Sometimes I feel like I'm on the verge of complete total emotional breakdown about my life. I think that's why I freaked out so much when I finally realized I was going to turn 20. I looked back at everything I had ever done, and thought "wow, that's all I have to show for 20 years of living on the earth." I needed more time, just a little more time to be able to do something and be able to look back and be able to say "wow, look at what I've done in just 20 years". I literally put my life off until the last minute. I am the ultimate procrastinator, don't phunk with me.

Sometimes I feel so at peace with myself I could melt into the earth. I wish I had a front lawn again. When it gets nice out I might invest in a lawn chair and see if I can go up to the top of my building and sun bathe. I smell an adventure.

Poetry. Oldies. Pot. Friends.

I don't do much, but I like what I do.

I'm sorry i never called and wished you a happy birthday.
I'm sorry you got us kicked out of our old house.
I'm sorry I never did more.
I'm sorry I'm crying
I'm sorry that I miss you even though you didn't always treat me right.
I'm sorry I never said I love you as much.
I'm sorry that mom left you
and you're all alone on your birthday.
and I'm sorry that whenever mom sees a commercial for the new Leo Dicaprio divorce movie she whispers about how she can't see it because it'll jsut make her sad.
I'm just really sorry for everything that's ever happened.

I just want to wake up and be back in time.

Christmas is in 4 days. I've never wanted anything to be more perfect than I do on that day. What I'm about to share is incredibly depressing, but in true Festivus (Seinfeld reference anyone?) from, I am about to partake in the airing of grievances. It's not the most eloquent way I could word it, but the past two Christmases have royally sucked balls.

Christmas one: It was my senior year in high school. My dad and I had just moved in to our new house. My brother, Matt, and his girlfriend had just gotten their own apartment, and my mom had been gone from the house a good six months. I had never felt more lonely in my entire life. For the first time in my life we wouldn't be spending Christmas together. Matt and Mom weren't speaking to each other, and I was still really hurt/confused/angry at my mom for leaving us. I was also caught up in just really wanting to see my mom and be with her for Christmas, which confused me even more. How could I hate somebody so much but still crave their attention? I spent Christmas eve with my dad and brother at his new house, with his girlfriends parents.

My dad dropped me off at my moms house after. It was a bad idea. Everyone was so happy and excited to be with each other and there I was, a stranger to almost everyone, and my mom and I barely spoke the entire night. As everyone had a great time around me, all I did was sit on the couch and cry. All I did was sit in my room and cry until I fell asleep. Then at around 6am I woke up and started throwing up. I watched everyone open presents and then my mom took me in the dining room and gave me a small stack.

"I'm so sorry, it's nothing compared to what you're used to, but circumstances this year..."
I opened two gifts before I threw up again.
I proceeded to throw up all day long. She drove me home and I laid on the couch all day long with the worst stomach pains of my entire life. I spent half the day stuck in the bathroom, and when I wasn't I was confined to the couch. I was too weak to open any of my presents my dad had gotten me all at once, so I had to open a couple every few hours. I vowed the next Christmas would be better.

Christmas two:  Again still at my dads, but everything was so chaotic. My dad had sank into a deep depression, one so bad it would have put Ebenezer Scrooge to shame. It seemed all he did every day was lay in bed and sleep or just stare into space thinking about everything that made him mad or had ever disappointed him. His temper would drop almost as low as the subzero temperatures outside, and anything would set him off. Christmas came around and he acted like nothing happened. We never decorated, he never got a tree, and he didn't get me any presents that year. He blamed it on me for never telling him specifically what I wanted and for never giving him a list.

I spent Christmas eve/Christmas day at my moms, feeling so guilty I barely enjoyed anything. All I could think about was my dad, sitting at home, pretending Christmas didn't even exist. I didn't get a lot that year from my mom, money was tight because her sister had just died a few week previous, and funerals were expensive. I didn't care about the gifts, I was just happy someone had thought enough to get me things. I wasn't that responsible with my money, using it mostly to feed myself (because heaven forbid my dad ever went grocery shopping) so I didn't get anything for anyone, and I felt really bad about that too. I came home and my dad wanted to see what my mom got me. Commented about I must have been disappointed because I didn't get even a fraction of what I used to get, then he proceeded to sulk the rest of the day. Merry Christmas.

So you see, I just don't want this Christmas to be wonderful, I need it to be wonderful. I need for everyone to help me have a good Christmas, I need to believe again. I still get sad, I am right now, knowing that still I'll never get to come downstairs again to my mom and dad and a shamefully large pile of presents under the tree for my brother and I. I'll never get to toss bows to the dog and watch the cats bat them around.  And even this year, I don't even know if I'm going to see my dad. I know he hasn't gotten me anything, but I did get him some things. I have the money this year, and I want to make up for all the presents I didn't get to buy last year.

If I still wrote Santa letters all I'd ask for this year is to not cry on Christmas.

You think I wrote a sestina?
Because I did.
Observe the pattern in the lines.


( SESTINA )

What are waffles?
my butt melts to the couch.
"your eyes are-"
"my eyes are redder than the devils dick"
I wish I could tell them all a story.
my butt melts to the bed.
one million nose hairs prickle
good morning.
pick baste. pick baste.
pick baste. pick baste.
what a pretty kitty!
my feet melt to the floor.
buckle your seat belts
my feet can't handle this
my butt sits in the chair.
buckle your seat belts
the house isn't on fire!
my feet melt to the floor.
click click click to new traditions.
Don't say grace, just dig in.
"You tucked your dress into your hose!"
I think about the morning you kissed me goodbye
my heart melts into my chest.

Today all I've thought about
are dead things.
Aunts. Uncles.
Marriages.
Holidays.
Pianos.

I feel as though I'm drowning in all these thoughts but don't have enough heart to kick to the surface.
I never feel like I have enough heart. I don't have enough heart to graduate, I don't have enough heart to make it to anything more than sales associate at my job, not enough heart to text the guy I like, and certainly not enough heart to do anything else in my life than work, drink, and get high. I don't even know if I have enough left to keep mine beating sometimes.
I'm waiting for a revelation.
Is that self pity I smell?

Cheer up, kiddo, today is going to be a great day. This is true. Today promises to be very fun. Come on now, cheer up. Were you happy in high school? Miserable. Were you happy at your old job where all you did was scan groceries? Miserable. Were you happy when you never even made a move on the last guy you liked? Miserable. You've made strides in how far you've come this year. And yeah, maybe you're kind of stuck in a funk right now, but remember something: it's better than what you used to have. You love the freedom you have from not being in school, you LOVE your job, you love the progress you've made with this boy, and you really love that maybe if you only work and party, at least you're not stuck back in Williston crying in your room and actually wishing someone would break in to your house and kill you.

I went back to my old house a few weeks ago. I can't believe I allowed myself to live like that. It dawned on me how deep in poverty I lived with my dad, and how I let myself do that I'll never know. I looked at a jar of olives last night and remembered how for a week straight I ate them for dinner every night because we didn't have any other food. I was poisoning myself, mentally, physically, and oh yes probably chemically! I really did feel like I had no motivation to do anything. There was a particularly upsetting period during a summer where we went with no heat and no hot water and no gas to turn the stove on. I can't explain my lack of action towards the situation, and I actually don't feel that I have to. It was a dark time in my life, one of the darkest and I'm still recovering. I felt things in that house that I don't know if I'll ever be ready to talk about.

I guess I've had a lot of this inside me for a while. So come on now, cheer up. Look at how much better your life is now. You don't have to eat olives and stale pasta for dinner anymore, you don't have to cry at night. You're scores more responsible than you used to be. You impress me, that's all that matters, really it's true. Your life is so much better now.

I just wish I knew why you were crying.

I want to be given a number but have him call anyway. I want to think I'm in control of the situation but him be in control. I want to be chased but feel like I'm chasing. I want to roll around on my bed in this sweater and be bathed in the softest warmth possible. 

I also really want some poptarts.
Such is life.

 

( You say that you want respect well then you better get some for yourself. )