October 09, 2007
Have Mercy
I never thought it would be like this. A miscarriage. I didn’t want to have a baby, but oh god, did it still hurt to loose it. I can’t have a baby now, and defiantly not with him. The same man the last post was about. He doesn’t love me, he’s still so much a child (26 or not), and neither of us has the income. It’s the best result I could have gotten, considering the circumstances. I don’t think I could go through with an abortion, and I wouldn’t have survived going full term and having to give him/her up for adoption. I keep rationalizing it in my head, trying to thank God for taking it away, taking it home, taking it back, but the words are so false and forced.
After just leaving the hospital about 30 min ago, driving my sobbing ass home, and smoking 9 million cigarettes, all I can think of is the irony.
Today in the mail, I received a special present from my aunt. It was a patron saint medal she had ordered for me off the internet. I’m catholic you see (though not the best one), and as Catholics when you are confirmed in the faith you pick a name to be blessed with, usually of the name of a saint, angel, holy place, or virtue. I have always felt a strong pull to the Blessed Virgin Mother Mary, and have often asked her for guidance and to pray for me, so I chose her sister (or cousin as some texts read) Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist. She was known as Elizabeth of the Visitation, as she was the first to know of Mary’s pregnancy with the Son of God. Her own pregnancy was remarkable as well, as she was far too old to bare a son when she did to her husband Zachary.
What I could never really figure out was what she was the patron saint of, and it never really bothered me as that wasn’t the reason I picked her.
Catholic.org describes a patron saint as:
“…chosen as special protectors or guardians over areas of life. These areas can include occupations, illnesses, churches, countries, causes -- anything that is important to us.”
Archangel Michael is the patron saint of police officers, St. Lucy of the blind, and St. Genesius of actors. You can even find patron saints of bell makers, birds, bohemia, waitresses, weavers, and Wyoming.
But back to my surprise present. Well when I opened my package and excitedly clasped my new silver medal around my neck, I read the card that she was attached to:
“Elizabeth of the Visitation,” it read “Patron Saint of expectant mothers.”
personal | By west | 02:41 AM | Comments (1)
September 04, 2007
bloddyhorsetwat
New thought for the day: Sex does not make men want you more.
In fact, it makes them want you less.
I don’t freakin get it. They try so hard, and when you finally give in, cause you know you want it too, their done with you! Eh, once they’ve seen your pussy, you’re yesterday’s news.
I hate men. I HATE men. I HATE MEN.
Think because they have dicks they can rule the world and swing ‘em around like the heavy end of a hammer. Well guess WHAT to all you testosterone toting, fore skin clipping, pussy eating, shriveling nut bags out there!
YOU SUCK.
On a lighter note, more drama at ‘fest. . . people getting stupid drunk, fired, sexually molested, breaking bones in car accidents, and chopping ears off. Just another season at the renaissance festival, and it’s not even third weekend yet. HA.
rant | By west | 01:11 AM | Comments (3)
August 27, 2007
Nuaces of language my ass
There's something uniquely refreshing about the first days of school, like new car smell, or a hair cut you really like. You promise yourself that his is going to be the time you stay organized! Keep ontop of homework. Actually crack open that dust gathering lether planner you actually spent 25 dollars on. But we all know the truth. That will never happen. Infact, come three weeks from now my ass will probably be eating bon bons laying on the couch watching Law and Order reruns instead of wasting my gas on silly things like english class. Okay well maybe not bon bons.
rant | By west | 06:46 PM | Comments (1)
New Face
It only took a year for a new layout, but I promised I would eventually. So instead of sleeping the day before fall semester begins, I’m sitting here at four in the morning coding.
I rock hard, don’t I? I’m so fucking out of touch with my coding skills, it’s really sick to think I did this for a living. I’d have maybe vamped up the layout a little more if I could remember anything about style sheets; and if I had my old computer back from the ashes. I don’t have any of my imaging software so if you’re actually spending the time to read this, be warned you’re really looking at stock tile. I’m not going to lie, that would be pointless.
I made nice with one of the friends I had ostracized over the past month. I freaked out on her in Annapolis and took off in my Grand Marquee doing a buck ten down the highway. My ex would have called it a “double x chromosome moment” as I was overly heated and in a “hysterical state”. I think he just likes feeding on his male chauvinist side and emotional fear of estrogen. If any of you gals see him, give him a hug, he could use it.
Anyways, after I left her half crying in the parking lot and spending a week not talking to each other, we met at Renn Fest (see earlier post), and decided all was well, in a very non-eventful way. It was comforting really. She drew me that really cute picture of me. Sooooo fucking talented.
Anon fair readers, I’m off to na-na land. Perchance to dream.
blog on blogging | By west | 03:51 AM | Comments (0)
Weighed, Measured, Found Wanting
Christ on a raft eating red beans and rice am I tired. I’m sitting here asking myself if I should even bother writing, fearing a lack of anything substantial to say. Then I realized just who’s brain I was talking about.
My new goal at work is to make one of my managers cry. He’s a hippie vegan guy who listens to bad rap, and it’s fun to pick on him. However analyzing that fact later it just makes me wonder how much longer I’m going to have to spend in hell for my 15 minutes of fun.
My dog is shitting blood. He has something called Addison’s Disease. His glands are shutting down or something.
Renaissance Festival is here. Yes ladies and gents you’ve heard me right, another fall, another season. So far all I’ve managed to do is get rolling drunk while I’m there and spend plenty of cash on things I don’t need.
Yes, I’ll admit it. I’m a closet fairy. Come September I’ll be hanging out with the D&D crowd, dressed in a bodice, watching 14 year olds play magic on pick nick tables, while helping ex boyfriends duct tape their Darcon garb together. It’s an occupational hazard. Here’s me from last season, and no it’s not particularly pretty. An old friend took that for the multimedia class we were it together. He’s like 30 something with a really sweet wife, and we just happened to be in a random class together, as well as work renn fest. He sold knives or something.
Anyways if any of you haven’t made the trip to the fest yet I highly recommend going. Even if your not really lame like me and have spent more money on costuming then your rent, fest is fun and safe for the whole family! Shakespearian shows, jousting, the Royal Court, games, shops, jewelry, armory, elephant rides, horses, candy, fortune telling, rock climbing, wench drenching, singing, belly dancing, acrobats, turkey legs, steak on steaks, popsicle cheesecake, oysters, and most importantly BEER!
…okay so maybe I’m a tad enthusiastic. But it’s hard not to be. So now that I’m done with my little free advertising go check out the website if you havnt already. It’s www.rennfest.com and you can find directions to Crownsville, ticket info, and all that great shit there.
events | By west | 02:26 AM | Comments (1)
August 25, 2007
Why Sonar Sucks
Ok, so Sonar dosn't really suck, but running into people you knew from a few years ago, who never actually liked you kinda does. You know what I'm talking about. The akward realization that both you and said people recognize one another. The polite, "So what have you been up to?"s, then the silence afterwards that lingers on and on and on.
well not really silence...cause you're at Sonar...and you're pseudo dancing to bad techno at rediculously high decible levels.
Then the question..should I dance next to these people? Do they even want to dance by me? Should I make a b-line for the bathroom?
Well they made the decision for me as they slowley samba'd away from me and the friend I brought with me, closer to the stage. I just stomped out my Newport and soldired on.
I dont know why events like that grate on me, but they do. I dont think people who are like that are healthy for the soul.
From now on I'm only hanging out with people who are healthy for the soul.
Oh, and apparently I'm a slut. :(
!#3A$% | By west | 03:50 AM | Comments (1)