Hi, I Hate You

So this is inspired by “Picture to Burn”, which is the song that Inx and I were singing in downtown Bellevue. It was kind of super epic and absolutely awesome. J

***

Hi, I hate you. I hate you very much. In fact, if you didn’t exist, my world would be so much better. You. You are the reason I cannot have nice things. You are the reason I get little sleep. You are the reason that my life isn’t perfect. Feel bad yet? You should.

I will whine, yell, and scream at you. About every last little thing, because you deserve it. I hate you. I’ll hate you forever; I can’t wait until you’re out of my life. You realize that I don’t actually care about you right? Oh, but that doesn’t matter. Whether I care or not is not the matter at hand. The matter is that I’m rather miserable and it is all your fault. Yup. Your fault.

So think badly of me for writing this. Go ahead, I don’t care.  It’s not like you thought highly of me in the first place. I will not longer be afraid of what you think of me. I will no longer censor my statements, or be worried that you will get mad at me. Get mad at me. I’ll watch you react to the things that I do, I’ll make you react, I’ll force myself into your head and make you regret everything you’ve ever done to me.  You’ll regret that you ever let me go, you’ll regret everything you did wrong, you’ll regret shattering my heart into a million pieces.

So have fun with your silly little life, and I’ll continue with mine. But just know that you, you’re the one who made me this way. I’ll hate you forever, and don’t you ever forget that.

***

WHEEEEEEEEE. That was insanely fun to write. And even if I’m not actually that angry, it’s fun to write angrily! It’s terrible though. When I’m writing this, my conscience is going “you’re not being fair” and “that’s not actually true” and “what a horrible thing to say!” So inherently, I am not an angry/unfair person, unfortunately (oops, this can definitely be contested). I hope that doesn’t show through, and I wrote a believable angry rant!

Haha, I feel slightly delirious J

Assigned Blog Post #6 - I'm so thankful for you

So, the second I read the prompt for this, I thought of Inx. I am ridiculously thankful for you (and your blog, but that’s kind of a different reason). Thank you for always being there for me, and holding me up when I collapse. I can really be myself with you. And sing randomly on the bus and on the streets, and feel at ease with. And there are so many other people who kind of have the same role as you, but I’m singling you out because well, I LOVE YOUR BLOG (oh and you’re just definitely always there. No matter what. Whenever I need you, and I need you a lot. BECAUSE I’M A HORRIBLY NEEDY PERSON. And you listen to all the angst I have, all of it, in all its repetitiveness, over and over again. As long as I need to say it, you’re just always there to listen. Thank you so much, and I love you forever for what you are for me). Your blog – it just kind of expresses everything that I’m thinking of ever… it’s like you see what I see. Always. IT’S LIKE YOU’RE IN MY HEAD. But in a non-creepy fashion. Now, I’m just worried that I will fail with the linking to your blog. Because I cannot link very well. Oh, and your blog is fabulously written. It’s moving, touching, and All Sorts of Fabulous. I think the best thing about it is that I completely and absolutely relate on like five different levels. Or five thousand.

Really, I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. Although I might be quite insane about it right now. And I’m a bit curious as to why this whole “gratefulness” thing has been brought up – I mean, it’s great and we should definitely think about it more than we do now (taking things for granted like all the time), but there isn’t even a holiday to bring it up. So I don’t know.

Who else’s blog do I love? Well… I skimmed over this one, and was horrified and amused by the pictures. Horrified by the horse man, amused by the AMAZINGLY ADORABLE SEAL and the hello kitty AK47 (which really makes me go why would you do that. No seriously, why?) but also giggle at the same time. And I love this one, which kind of surprises me, because it’s very different than the ones I normally like I guess? But it’s quite similar to this one, and I guess I just have a certain style that I like. Maybe sarcasm. I’m not sure, I feel a bit out of it right now. And honestly, I don’t read very many people’s. Oh, I loved this post, even though it went a little bit fast. But it was poetic, especially at the end. I think I just read Inx’s, and then these once in a while when people link me to them. Because they are full of awesome and win. So I will read yours maybe someday… I read the “girl” post of a lot of people’s, and I kind of love Inx’s the best (oh, and this one. Because it's so different). So, I sound slightly obsessive of him. Deal with it.

Well, aren’t I just entirely angry these last few posts.

Flashback

Rose Emily sat at the little vanity table in the corner of her bedroom next to a window that faced the beach.  She ran her perfectly manicured nails across the smooth ivory-white surface of the counter. She sat up straight in the matching ivory chair with plush plum velvet and leaned toward the mirror. Expensive, fashionable bottles of cosmetics lined the edges of her desk, all placed neatly in order. Narrowing her eyes, she scrutinized every centimeter of her skin, every pore, every potential blemish, every possible freckle. Heaving a sigh, she pulled the little extendible magnifying mirror close to her face, and began the ritual of poking and prodding at herself until there wasn’t a single hair out of place.

She delicately pulled out a pair of shiny silver tweezers with rose embellishment carved into the grips from the wooden drawer. Her hands curved around the ice-cold iron-wrought handle, and felt the freezing sensation creep into her body. She noticed a rather thick black hair around her eyelid, and fastened the metal instrument on them. After a fierce tug, the ugly blemish came out, and she returned to observing her face. Suddenly, she noticed a little droplet of blood welling from where the hair used to be. Frowning at this turn of events, she took a cotton puff and gently pressed it to her brow. As she wiped off the remnants of the blood, she was distinctly struck by a sense of déjà -vu, from back when she was many years younger…

***

A popular love song was playing through the speakers of her white stereo system as Rose looked at herself through a portable mirror standing on her desk. She had a wide array of makeup that she had just gotten from the local drugstore. She looked at her face and tried to smile cutely. No, not good enough! She shook her head, and began the task of learning how to become attractive… all for the sake of that boy. He’s so beautiful! She giggled happily just thinking of him. Rose was head over heels in love for the very first time at the young age of sixteen. She looked at her face, and didn’t really notice anything. She already had sharp features and a head of flowing blonde locks, but mostly just looked plain in her opinion. She stared into the mirror and suddenly her eyebrows seemed to be ridiculously thick, like creeping sand-colored caterpillars. She rummaged around her desk for a pair of tweezers, and began plucking. With the first jerking movement, her eyes filled up with tears. She looked through a watery scape to notice the crimson bead welling from where she plucked the hair. Wincing in pain, she grabbed a tissue and dabbed it away. Why must this be so painful? She breathed in and out. No, I must continue. And so, Rose sat painstakingly there for hours shaping and perfecting her face, all for this boy…

Weeks went by as he paid no attention to her. She blossomed from a bud into a full blown rose, yet he still paid her no attention. More time inched past, as she became more and more frustrated with this lack of development. He wouldn’t even glance at her. Other boys would look and stare, making her flustered and flattered at the same time. But he, the one who was most important to her, he, with the piercing green eyes, wouldn’t even give her the time of day, wouldn’t grace his soulful gaze on her. For some reason unknown to Rose Emily, the girls who used to give her supporting advice and company wouldn’t talk to her either anymore. They all shot her murderous glances as she walked through the door, ignoring her when she tried to talk to them.

Heartbroken and frustrated at the world, she threw herself toward the only people that actually gave her company. She smiled and flirted to keep the only human interaction she had, finding that they would bend over backwards to please her. She spun a spell of allurement pulling all those who came close to her deep within the recesses of a lovelorn abyss – all except the one boy she ever cared about, the boy with beautiful emerald eyes.

***

With the last swipe of her brush, she looked at herself. I am beautiful, she whispered at the enchanting figure staring back at her. I am capable, she thought. And I’ll prove it. Just watch me.

Thank you for making me smile

                Zzzzzzz! She jumped, still not used to her new phone and it’s ridiculously intense vibration setting. Of course, she could turn it off vibration, but the ringing noise is even more upsetting. Ping, ping, ping. With every letter she types, it makes the most obnoxious noise in the universe. Sigh. Why is everything out to annoy her? She ran her fingers through her brown-black locks, and blew of an exasperated breath. Who was it this time?

                She reached over and grabbed her phone. “If anything, it means that I don’t want you to change because you’re already pretty amazing.” An embarrassed smile broke the annoyed expression on her face as she read the message over and over again. Her cheeks tinged pink as she closed her eyes with a happy smile, feeling completely flattered. He really knew how to make her day better, didn’t he? Even after all the paperwork, the stress, and the insecurities, they were all wiped away with that little message telling her that someone appreciated her. Someone thought that she was amazing. Well does he leave a little note to tell you, you are on his mind? Enchanted songs and Disney birds chirped through her head for a moment as she savored the attention.

                She might have the best friends in the world. Even if she doesn’t have a prince charming, even if her love shattered her heart into a million little pieces, she always knew that she would have open arms to run into and cry. Arms that would hold her close as she spilled from the depths of her heart the secrets and heartaches, compassionate ears that would listen and nod understandingly. Smiling one last time, she put down the phone. Thank you, she thought.

                Turning her attention back to the monotonous application, she typed with her heart just a little bit warmer, her mood a little bit lighter.

End note: thank you (insert name here), for making me smile when I was feeling down. Thank you for making my heart ache a little less, thank you for making me smile a little more. You’re fabulous, and I wouldn’t give you up for the world.

More Creeping

                I think I love my internship. No where else could I hear all kinds of completely random things. Here are a few more dialogues I eavesdropped/creeped on:

"Are we green?"

"We’re green."

"Good, because I don't want any red. You better not come because i don't want any red. We’re green."

"Yes, we're green"

"So how good are we on a scale of 1 to 43?"

1: "I'm going to tell her that we need to take them all back because they're 'destroyed'."

2: "Yeah, do it."

*Person 3 walks in*

1: "Hey, we need to return all those shirts."

3: "What? Why? What's wrong with them?"

1: "I think some moths got into it."

3: "Moths? How? Where are they?"

1: "I think they flew out when he opened the box."

3: "What?" *Goes and looks* "You mean these frayed edges? I paid a whole $10 more for this!"

1&2: *Cracks up*

3: "They look good!"

1: "I hate this! Why is it already torn?"

2: "it's hip! It’s the style now."

1: "I don't need something that's already torn! And why is it so tight? It's work for crying out loud!"

That day, we got the new promotional Lync shirts, and they had those frayed edges – half the people on the floor love it, half the people on the floor hate it. Personally, I really liked it, but it really fueled a bunch of conversations. And it’s extremely amusing listening to people who are in their forties or fifties argue about what’s “hip”. I definitely died of laughter that day… but only on the inside.

Dialogue is definitely missing without actions written next to them. Some of them seem kind of too serious, or they simply don’t make sense if I don’t add in the actions in asterisks. Just like in stories such as Burning House, most of the story describes the actions instead of the speech. The speech is clipped and cryptic, and one can only infer the true meaning of what is being said or understand the subtext by reading into the descriptions of the character’s actions.

Depressing stories are -so- depressing

                Reading The Swimmer was really saddening. I thought it was just really funny at first, since I heard about it from Inx and M- before I ever read it myself. They made it sound so amusing, emphasizing the “we drank too much”, and making it seem extremely comical. But when I read it, I was just confused from the beginning, and I became more and more depressed as I read it. At first, I thought he was just a drunk man who was a socialite and therefore no one cared that he was crazy, but the more I read the more I realized that he was actually a social outcast who had both a drinking and a financial problem. The storm and the dry pool was a really nice foreshadowing touch to the humiliation and realization that what he remembers isn’t complete and isn’t true anymore.

                Honestly, I realized that I really dislike these stores. I like “happily ever after”s, stories that are fun and frivolous and don’t contain much conflict if any. Of course, I realize that conflict is a fundamental part of a good story, but… well actually, I just like stories where the conflict is resolved, in an extremely clichéd manner. Such as, the prince saves the princess and then they get married and live happily ever after. It makes me feel content on the inside. Of course, but that’s not good literature. I feel like things that are classified literature are stories that end very realistically, aka there is no happy ending, no prince charming, and if you don’t die or your close family/friends don’t die then you’re lucky. How depressing.

                I think I will write my story to have a vague “happily ever after”. But I’ll qualify it so that people aren’t angry at my lack of originality and insistence on writing happy chick flick-y stories. Just because I can’t really face conflict very well doesn’t mean that I can’t write good stories. I just write clichéd ones. Get over it.

Eavesdropping

Various conversations that I heard sometime between Wednesday and today

1: “How was your vacation? How was your marathon?”
2: “It was great! At least I finished.”
1: “That’s still pretty good! Have you run them before?”
2: “No, Chicago was my first one. It was mostly flat, which was nice. Still, it was like 80 degrees out.”
1: “Wow, seriously? That’s terrible. I can’t really run if it’s more than 65 out.”
2: “Yeah, I had to walk a bit when I got to mile 22, but I finished the last two miles running.”
1: “Well, still, congratulations on finishing!”

1: “I think I’m seeing double.”
2: “Honey, you say that every time you wear those tight jeans.”

1: “Dog.”
2: “Cat.”
1: “Amanda. I hate you.”
2: “Is that an animal?”
1: “Yeah, sure.”

1: “Hey have you sent out those documents yet? I need them!”
2: “Yeah, I already did, check your email.”
1: “No, I don’t have them yet, and I can’t finish my part without it.”
2: “I sent them already!”
1: “No you didn’t!”
2: “Look, in my sent mail, it says I sent it already!”
1: “But I haven’t gotten it yet!”
*Momentary pause*
1: “Oh nevermind.”

1: “Oh my god it hurt so bad, they freaking stuck a needle through my foot.”
2: “Through your foot?”
1: “Yeah, it was the numbing needle before they actually injected the antibiotics.”
2: “I absolutely hate needles, they make me want to throw up”
1: “I know. I couldn’t even look when the doctor was doing it. And now I’m limping around. God, it hurts so bad.”

1: “I’m so hungry.”
2: “I know right? I didn’t have lunch.”
1: “I didn’t either. Wanna go on a free food run in about 15 minutes?”
2: “Sure, I think there’s pizza on the 26^th floor.”
1: “Really? Then I think I’ll just take my break right now.”

Extra super interesting dialogue (although I didn't hear this one, I had the person himself type it up for me):
1: "You know how Travis McCoy said the world better prepare for when I'm a billionaire? Well, the world better prepare for when I'm a trillionaire."
2: "What are you going to do with a trillion dollars?"
1: "I don't know. I could fill a stadium with hookers."
2: "A lifetime supply a hookers?"
1: "Yes, if you invest in my company right now, I'll give you 10% of all the hookers plus all the Asian ones"
2: "You'll run out of hookers before you run out of money."
1: "Even better."

Points of View

POV #1:

He leaned against the cushions in the bay window with the curtains half drawn around him. All was still in the house except for the gentle hum of the refrigerator in the next room. He had a rather large and thick hardback book with a red cover and old, worn binding in his lap and a concentrated expression on his face. He ran his hand through his short brown curls, and blew out a frustrated sigh. The book was so boring and difficult to comprehend. His brow scrunched up in utter concentration as he tried yet again to continue the paragraph that made little to no sense, the tiny font not helping anything at all. He glanced out the window, and was mesmerized by the ocean. It was your average cloudy day, but the sea rolled and tumbled with such mysterious grace and power. He wanted to go sailing, to be one with the ocean and ride upon the crests and down to the troughs.  Noticing that he was glancing wistfully outside at the water rather than at his textbook, he groaned again. At this rate, he’d get nothing done! In frustration, he grabbed one of the pillows and threw it into the room, sailing over a couch and landing somewhere behind it.

Instead of hearing the muffled thump that he was expecting from the cushion landing on the hardwood floor, he didn’t hear it land at all. Instead, he heard a muffled and slightly high pitched “ouch”, and a bit of rustling behind the couch.

His senses kicked into overgear. He didn’t make a single noise as he surveyed the room and pinpointed where the noise came from. Was it a burglar? Or a creeper? He silently got to his feet and started padding over to the noise. He held that monotonous and boring textbook in his hand like a weapon, ready to incapacitate the intruder by any means.

Hearing a bit more rustling, there was a sudden movement, a thump, and a flying of feet in the air. He rushed over to see the problem, and was shocked.

“What are you doing here?”

POV #2:

“Hey, are you home?” she called from the front porch of the boringly gray house, but neat and fresh in its paint job. She sulked, knowing that he probably forgot that he needed her to bring some documents for him. Really, the man so absentminded! It really irked her sometime. If she wasn’t completely… interested… in his studies… she would’ve given up on helping him a long time ago. She pushed against the door, and found that it opened easily. Well then, he forgot to lock the door once again. She let herself in, thinking that she would leave the documents on his study table, and be done with the matter. Even if she really wanted to see his face. I mean ask him about his new discoveries, she thought to herself, even more irked that she really allowed that thought to slip into her head.

She snuck into his study, and left the papers with a bright post-it note attached on the space in the middle of his desk. It was like the eye of the storm – papers strewn around it in no particular order, as if thrown randomly, but a random empty space in the middle for him to work in. It was so him that she almost laughed.

Suddenly, she heard a frustrated sigh coming from the next room. Oh, so he’s in his little reading alcove, she thought. She crept over there, and noticed him in the gap between the curtains. His little frustrated expression almost made her giggle, and then she realized the position she was in. she had just broken into his house, and now was staring at him without him noticing through curtains. She ducked behind the couch that was conveniently placed between them, and then cringed. Wow, apparently being a stalker was in her blood. Every reflex and reaction just made her position seem worse and worse. While she was pondering, she heard a frustrated groan, and seconds later was hit by a flying cushion. She squeaked out an “ouch” before clapping her hands to her mouth. She had to get out of there. Now.

She got to a crouching position, and was about to make a mad dash for the door when she stepped on the cushion that was on the floor and fell to the floor with a flailing of limbs and a definitely audible thump.

When she got her bearings back, she saw his face looking at her with surprise and confusion. “What are you doing here,” he asked. She grinned up at him sheepishly, embarrassed to be caught in such a state, and replied, “Just stopping by.”

Assigned Blog Post #5: Girl

Smile sweetly whenever you see him, but don’t forget to flaunt your singleness; flirt with the guys, let your eyes do the talking for you; let them know that you’re very, very single; wear flattering shirts but not like a slut; never give him any more attention than he gives you unlike the desperate girl I know you are inside; be affectionate; give hugs, but don’t be exclusive; wave and be cheery, but not too cheery as to be creepy; gauge his every move but don’t make it obvious unlike the desperate girl I know you are inside; lower your eyelashes and glance at him fleetingly; if you notice him looking at you make sure you look away; be shy but not too shy; be open but not too open; be cute but not too cute; What do you want me to do then? Make up your mind; understand what he needs at that moment and be it; smile at his friends but not too much; don’t make the difference between him and his friends too noticeable unlike the desperate girl I know you are inside; keep your options open; never fall in love; play the carefree spirit; don’t chase him, have him chase you; make sure he’s not just a skirt chaser, and if he is, don’t fall for him unlike the desperate girl I know you are inside; But I don’t chase boys?; be seductive but only in the most innocent way possible; this is how greet him; this is how you greet his friends; this is how you make sure you don’t neglect your friends; this is how you wish him a happy birthday; this is how to hint to him that you want him, but not in the way of a desperate girl I know you are inside; laugh and be happy, even when you’re not; and when he inevitably breaks your heart in the end, remember that I told you to not be that desperate girl I know you are inside.  

Put me in, Coach! - Rose Emily

Rose Emily stared outside from inside the empty hardwood-floor studio with floor to ceiling windows at the wildly raging waves, dressed in hot pink yoga pants and a simple black spaghetti strapped camisole that accentuated her curvy figure. The dark sky threatened to spill torrential floods, and the wind was already howling. She should’ve moved to California, rather than this little town of Carrillon Point. The view was supposed to be calming for her yoga classes, yet today they were nothing but worrisome. “I hope that tree won’t come crashing down.” “Did I bring in that sweatshirt I left outside?” “Oh no, my plants!” She could see those thoughts on the faces of her students, and it caused them to wobble and tumble over as if the tempest itself has pushed them down. At least this was better than the snow. People constantly cancelled their classes due to snow, and she was lonely without any human company, and her lovers were less likely to visit her when it was challenging to get to her studio.  

She pulled out her hair tie and let her golden waves cascade down her shoulders. She turned toward the mirrors and put on an alluring smile. It quickly disfigured into a smirk as she thought of all those unwitting and unfaithful men that fell into her trap. Oh how she loved it! With a simple dazzling smile or seductive pose, she could lure those weak males into darkness, into the realm of unfaithfulness. It didn’t matter that they don’t love her; she just wanted to fill their minds with guilt, to shatter their ideal and sunshine filled lives with their soul mates. They were even unaware of her purposefully dark intentions and blamed themselves, which of course made it all the more fun. It didn’t lessen the number of people who would sign up for her classes, since yoga was “all the rage” and she was the only instructor in the tiny town. She sneered contemptuously at their shallowness. She was in a position of power, and she loved every second. With a quick flip of her blonde hair, she sauntered into her house, waiting for the next class to start.