Cheering people up

is a lot harder to do when you are really close with the person who needs your help. If your primary attempts at stitching closed the issue don’t work, then there’s even more pressure on you to make things right again. And god forbid you don’t help, or worse: make things even worse than they already are.

there is so much pressure when someone needs you to make them happy. when you’re the only one who fits the job description, you’re the only one who can get fired. it sucks.

—-

On another note, I have pretty much finished the first official fourth draft of my fiction piece, “Outside”. I love it. Let some time fly by, and I might hate it. No matter what though, I love my character. He’s awesome. I think I’ll meet the physical embodiment of Spencer Callahan somewhere, someday. Maybe in Grand Central Station, or Starbucks. Who knows? I’m rather excited to see how it’s reception will fare. My class has read my first draft, which is really my own personal third draft of the piece.I swear I have so many copies of “Outside” that you would think I was writing a ‘choose your own ending’ book (which happen to be pretty fun as heck).

Well I’m off to eat some vanilla ice cream…again. Shh!

Seven Minutes

before class.

I wonder what I will write about this time.

So far in Creative Writing, all I can seem to write about is  my parent’s oppression.

I need something else to talk about, I’m sure my class is tired of hearing about some pissed off nineteen-year-old girl talk about her sixty-four-year-old parents.

enough is enough.

Then again, when asked to write memoir, all I can seem to remember or describe really well is the unfortunate dynamic that exists in my unfortunate family with its unfortunate family members.

How unfortunate.

Only You Can Tell Yourself ‘No’

All my life my parents have said no. no. no.
No this, no that.  It went from…
No walking barefoot in the house. No reading in the dark.
No sleeping over your best friends house (even though you’ve known her for 15 years).

all the way to…
No hanging out afterschool(in middle school, and high school, AND college). No rock music. No marchingband.

and even then….
I’m not going to your high school graduation.

but worse…
I’m not paying for college (after i promised you I would), you can just hang around.

fuck that.

Why? Because just the other day she did it again. “I’m not paying for your summer classes.”
What kind of parent does that to their child? She promised. This is the second time she’s done this, the first time was senior year of high school. I wasn’t too excited about Hunter, but I was satisfied and had accepted the fact that I really couldn’t afford Sarah Lawrence and Eugene Lang said no. I was depressed for months. “We’re not paying for school, we’re not signing loans, we’re not going with you to school to straighten this out.”

Apparently it seemed I was making a bigger deal out of my own education than my own parents, who now sometimes brag about what good grades their daughter has been getting in her classes. There is nothing I can’t stand more. Well perhaps one thing. If not paying for school was the most illogical and careless ‘No’, then this one had to be the coldest and heartless of them all: “No, I’m not gonna kick your brother out.” Perhaps I could go into detail in another post, but if I had somewhere to go after hearing those words, I surely would have run away from home–and her thoughts on this delicate matter were so unwelcoming, I won’t ever forget the feeling.

Now, however….

I always walk barefoot in the house. But I like wearing socks. My mom yells at me frequently for this. I have great eyesight, I can read in the dark though now, its usually in front of the computer screen. I’ve crashed at my friends house for week long periods, getting in at 2AM, and appreciating every second.

Now, I’m never really home. I get home at the end of a 27-hour day. I never feel like being home, so I find things to do with my time to assure that I am not not around. Rock music…heh, she hates when I play it, so I play it louder. Marchingband,… had some of my most fun highschool memories in the Band.

My boyfriend at the time and his sister came to my graduation. It was awesome, we went to some really cool yummy spanish place to eat afterward with good portions, too.

And..my dad paid for my freshman year. This summer looks like its going to be paid off by money given to me by my current boyfriend’s grandmother in exchange for helping her with her work. I am lucky.

Every time my parents say no to something, I feel like there are things being unsaid on their parts afterward. Sometimes I feel they say no to spite me. But I’m done with that. The only person that can deny me of anything is myself. At least that’s the way it should be. I’m tired of having to satisfy unrealistic prototypes of the perfect daughter. You can’t squeeze a human’s soul into a robot the way you can squeeze the juice out a lime unless you want that person to end up just as sour. You just can’t.

Besides this, saying no…makes me want things more — and I’ll be damned if I don’t get them. The only thing that should hold me back is myself– my fears, my uncertainty, and indecision…but I should also be the one to triumph,and if it all works out, then I will, and the next ‘no’ will turn into a ‘yes’ that much more easily.
_K.V._

six word memoir

Today summer classes began. I had my first one, Creative Writing.
My professor is pretty cool, no text for the course, participation is the biggest chunk of the grade, and she’s young and funny.

She made us write a ‘6-word memoir’ which is modeled after something published in the New York Times about a year ago. She handed out a sheet with serveral of these submissions by famous people and my favorites were:

• Fearlessness is the mother of reinvention — Arianna Huffington
• Well, I thought it was funny — Stephen Colbert
• Eight thousand orgasms, only one baby — Neal Pollack
• I write because I can’t sleep — Ben Mezrich
• Nobody cared, then they did. Why? –Chuck Klosterman

After reading and discussing these, she asked us to write our own six word memoirs. I thought this was going to be a lot harder than I thought, but mine just kinda popped into my head in a matter of seconds. I just rephrased it to be 6 words and the result is: Only You Can Tell Yourself ‘No‘.

&& why is this my six word memoir? I’ll post it all tomorrow, I should be going to sleep now, I have class at 8am tomorrow! :X

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Burnt Pancake

About twenty mintues ago I was making breakfast.
Pancakes.
I had the heat on too high.
Mom says she smells something.
I’m too busy on the laptop to care about the fact that
I know it’s my pancake she’s talking
about.
My sister’s home attendant is nice enough to flip it for me– and I look over
Into the dark side of the full moon that is my
pancake.
A second later the other side is charcoal-ed
I sprinkle some cinnamon over it, get a knife to fight the tough-ness
and indulge.
Slightly crunchy on the outside,
warm, soft and bread-like on the inside.
I’ve just remembered how good it tastes to neglect
your breakfast.

[Don't know why the hell I wrote this out like a poem....Ah well.]
I wonder if you can order ‘burnt pancakes’ at ihop. that would be spectacular.

All this talk about pancakes reminds me of this show my father and I were watching about two days ago on the travel channel..feast your eyes my friends: http://www.travelchannel.com/Travel_Ideas/Food_and_Wine/ci.Extreme_Pig_Outs.artTravelIdeasFmt?vgnextfmt=artTravelIdeasFmt

I will try to find the episode that features these places, just reading about it will NOT do.

Heart Attack Grill

Amazing Amazon

…mother says she will fund my tuition for the summer. Found my textbook online for 2 bucks — though it retails at 85. Now I finally have the option to pick Creative Writing as a major as opposed to practically being forced not to, unless I want to graduate a million years late. Got my first A in my classes.

…sister got sick on memorial day, rushed to emergency room for the second time. Had a final the next day but stayed in emergency room from 6:30pm-2am. Woke up at 6am for my final. Now I think I am sick — I keep coughing, and am too lazy to do much. bought my fall semester textbook for intermediate Japanese…have to learn double the kanji per chapter, so now it’s 30 characters a chapter v.s. 15. My jeans are getting tighter, right before bathing suit season. Right eyelid has a twitch. Annoying much?

and just like the summer,

…i’m back.

kazvam ce.....

kuche.

…hello world.

BLOG UPDATES ARE…

…..postponed until further notice my neighbors found out that i was stealing their wireless. password protected now. i’m locked out. :[

im typing this from school. how un-fun.

finally good weather.i love it.

talk to ya soon.

_K.V._

p.s. Utada Hikaru is awesome and I don't think I hate any of her songs. Even her not so great songs aren't horrible.. I hate Japanese CD's that are 40 dollars.. :[

Picked up some music from the now closed Virgin Megastore on 42nd. Wretched's debut: The Exodus of Autonomy... I warn you, it's awesome Death Metal sex. Beautiful lyrics, though all my friends seem to hate it, haha. screw you guys! Life can't be all happy happy and neither is my music! The death of fetuses in utero never sounded so poetic. :]

Ok, ok

My friend tagged me in a note on FB, titled “In Search Of” in which she wrote about the man of her dreams. My favorite section is: “I need to see your intellect, I need to see your mind, I need you to overflow with beautiful knowledge and beautiful words. I need you to challenge me, to question me, to drive me, to feel me, to understand me, to want me without ever having to touch me.”

I thought that was beautiful, and quite inspiring as I haven’t written anything the least bit creative recently besides a title for my Gothic Literature class titled “There’s Nothing Weak About Sensibility” (it was an analysis of sensibility and virtue present in Ann Radcliffe’s the Romance of the Forest).

So what do I want in my ‘dream man?’ Who knows.

—- the following is pretty much impromptu, hope its not bitterly confusing—-

The man of my dreams, I think, will be nothing like the knights of fairytales. He may be strong, but strong in the sense of self-control. He will subdue his emotions but when he is with me I want to set him aflame. I want to drink from his mouth the daily rustlings of his psyche, his bitter regrets and dreadful lamentations. I want to take them into myself and save him for tomorrow. I want to read his soul with my eyes and I want him to read my flaws with his hands, reaching….in, out, across canyons, into valleys of sanguine passion, essences of which will linger long after the draft sweeps into the room. I want his body heat, the touch of skin to radiate and waft over me, cloak me in the perfect humid climates of selfish want. take me for youself. Please. And when we have strength enough to walk away from the wreckage, hand in hand, i want this man, the man of my dreams, to look me in the face and freeze time with intelligent conversation and potent nothings.  But in the end, I want him to want to replace his daily nothings with myself. By day, he is a creature of the world, but when he is with me, he is mine. To others, to outsiders, he can wear the pants, but I want to be the force that rips them from his legs before the thought itself can manifest on my mouth. Most of all, I want the man of my dreams to be there when I wake, ready to profess that I am novel, in an amnesiatic kind of way. I want to be new, and interesting for him, but I want to know him better than I’ve known any other person, place, or thing. Still, I merely want to be decieved into thinking I know everything. Sometimes, there is nothing more intriguing to the mind than being wrong. I want my mind to be sent on quests, my thoughts to arrest and exploit his existence. i want the power from him all to myself, only to realize that because he is the source of it all, I am his slave. Punish me, for when it is the lash that one seeks, there is nothing sweeter than the blood from whence it came. We could call it love, for lack of a better word.

_K.V._