Feeling Is Everything

Eric Northman.



Edward's not a vampire.

My maroon sweater was itchy. It clung to my neck with determination, and my short grey skirt flared up in the back. I attempted to push it down, leaned against a rusty pole and jutted out my boney shoulder in an attempt to appear sexy. I drew my feet into fifth position, and wiggled my toes in the confines of my Mary Janes. The football playing, dark-haired boy before me must have had some interest in the orange haired klutz before him, and leaned in for a kiss.

In the secret confines of my bedroom, I had oft practiced the art of kissing with my pillow. I would roughly nip and suck at the cotton until my lips went raw with sheer exertion, until I pulled back gasping and feeling rather awkward.

In the moment of my first kiss, I desperately wished I was kissing my pillow.

It was loose, rather like attempting to kiss a fish, and sloppy. My object of affection tasted of Mountain Dew and Pop Tarts, and he stuck his tongue into my mouth and just left it there. I panicked, and in turn stuck my tongue in his mouth. So, we stood, our eyes closed and our tongues limply in each other’s mouths. He reached up and touched my practically non-existent breast for a moment, then stepped back. I wiped my mouth delicately, and watched as he sighed.

“Look, Ashley,” he said, as I gazed up at him. “I don’t think we should keep this up. I mean, I’m a Mormon, and I really can’t do boyfriend stuff with you…”

“Oh,” I replied, still trying to gather my bearings. The breast holding had left me feeling a bit put off. As had the tongue business. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great, see you around, kid,” he said, leaving before I had a chance to say anything else.

Thus began my love life.

Okay, that is a bit of a lie. My love life began in preschool, with a boy named Justin. I really should have held onto Justin, as he worshipped the ground I walked on and spent every moment trying to grab my attention by forcing his lips upon my person. At the time, I did not see the potential romantic comedy that had been laid at my feet, and tried desperately to rid myself of his attentions. If I were to know that after elementary school I was to grow two feet taller than my peers and become disastrously near-sighted, I might have had the foresight to cling to my playground stalker. Alas, young Justin moved, and I was left to endure the battlefield of love and middle school alone.

As love lives go, mine has been exceedingly pathetic.

Here, I commit to paper what I have only told a few.

I am a virgin. I have lied about my status previously, because everyone expected me to have “lost it”, and I was rather ashamed of my inability to seduce a boyfriend. I have made a commitment to being up front to members of the opposite sex, as last time, I did lie, and it got me into LOADS of trouble.

 

You see, the time that should have been my first time (with Rick, as those with a rather eloquent memory may recall), I went to his house wearing a lot of expensive lingerie under my jeans and t-shirt. I stepped, tremulously, into his workroom, and quickly divulged myself of the covering garments, and stood as sexily as an eighteen-year-old can possibly attempt.

He took one look at me, in my red and black ensemble, and rolled his eyes.

He then informed me that he had to finish working on his model train.

Yes. I was cockblocked BY A MODEL TRAIN. I stood there, young and skinny and horny, and he soldered an eagle to a train.

 

So, the next time I entered a relationship, I lied about my sexual status. Hell, I lied about it to my friends, because they probably wouldn’t have believed me when I told them the truth. It is expected of me to be a whore, because I’m not very inhibited, so I just let everyone believe it. I was also embarrassed. To have put myself out there so blatantly, then be denied, is humiliating. I laugh about it now (and am thankful- knowing that his dick was in my so-called best friend is a major turn off), but at the time, it was devastating. I had been deemed unworthy by a guy that plays with toys.

 

When I started dating an older guy, I lied to him, and told him I was not a virgin, mostly to look cool. In my defense, I was nineteen. Nineteen-year-olds do not always make the best decisions, and I wanted to be cool. Besides, there was finally a guy interested in me.

I don’t think I have to sum up the sheer DISASTER that was my relationship with Sosa. We were horrid for each other, and by the end, I was near-suicidal at the thought of touching him, much less marrying him. The break up was the best decision of my life. I think we would have been better off as friends from the start. My problem was that I mistook friendship for romance, and realized it too late.

 

So, there. My big confession. The frisky, Nietzsche-loving, fashion whore is a virgin. And I apologize for lying, but I really didn’t think anybody would believe me. I get the impression that everyone just thinks of me as a bit of a cock-hungry whore, but the fact is, I just can’t get anyone to sleep with me that I like enough to have sex with. It’s the side effect of standards.

 

Believe it or not, I was actually trying to write something, but this spewed out, and I’m kind of glad it did.

Double post, I know.

I want you to suggest a movie for me to watch, people. DO IT.

I have been spending all of my time just sitting at home. I kid you not. I've been reading quite a bit, and playing Katamari, but I wish someone would call me to hang out or do something. Alas, nothing.

I am practicing what I call the "rubber band technique" on Alex. The rubber band technique means I give him space until he snaps back to me. This technique is driving me mental. However, currently I need to do this, I have a clingy nature and I must combat it with every fiber of my being.

I need somebody to love me, even a little.

I need to just remain calm.

I had a bit of a mental breakdown this week, mostly brought on by my stalwart "I'M OKAY WITH MOMMY AND DADDY NOT LOVING EACH OTHER ANYMORE" attitude completely crumbling with the realization that this Monday was their wedding anniversary. Swirl in my own insecurities, and I wind up at the doctor's being given a prescription for sedatives and being told to get myself back into therapy.

But, I bounced back again, as always, and have a job interview for Tuesday.

I rather wish my friends who are locally located were actually inclined to spend time with me, but it seems Dani is very much besotted with her current boy toy, and I know Donna is busy with VBS. Both are completely legitimate endeavors, but a girl can only rely on her complicated-maybe-boyfriend-maybe-friend-maybe-IDK so much. I have been spending an obscene amount of time working out and browsing /b/.

I'm happy with the way Alex and I are, really, but it's very new to me. I don't understand this phenomenon of casual dating accompanied by sexual tension. This is because I am so very new to the dating scene. However, I am in no rush for anything, my academic and career goals are priority, and I am happy to have a guy I can just talk to. Sometimes, I just prefer the company of males. So much less drama. If a little snogging manages to worm it's way in the mix, so much the better.

It sucks.

I think I have had a moment of total clarity. Nobody wants to hire me. Sure, I was the top of my class and graduated with a rare endorsement, and belong to several educational societies. I have an unparalleled reading ability and an IQ that would get me into Mensa if I didn’t think Mensa was a total crock. I wasn’t even called in for an interview with the schools I applied to. Never mind my potential or my qualifications, I was never even given the benefit of an interview.

Then of course, there is the sheer fact that no one is ever going to want to date me. I dumped the only person who would ever have me, and now will have to pay the price for my stupidity in that regard. I should have just settled, as much as Sosa disgusted me. Because I am too ugly, too weird, too annoying to warrant any regard.

There are few things I ask out of life, but it seems now that I am a fool for even asking for them. Even my own father doesn’t tell me he loves me, why should I expect anything out of the rest of the world?

What right do I have to benefit from any sort of regard or liking from any person?

That is what Away We Go is.

Just finished watching it, and I have to say, this may be the worst film of this year. Even Wolverine was more enjoyable. At least that had Hugh Jackman loping across the screen with his shirt off.

Away We Go is about a bland couple, on a bland journey, with bland people. Beyond that, there is no plot. It utilizes plot and dialogue styles reminiscent of Juno, Garden State, and even Eternal Sunshine. The production was poor, and John Krazinski's neck beard was painful for the whole movie. I have seen better movies made on YouTube. The film fails to create any form of linear storyline, it is more like a painful series of anecdotes from a community college writing class. It is filled with the same hollow lack of feeling that propels every independent film that hipsters want you to think is brilliant.

It is not often that I review a film, but I am sick of independent films. That is, independent films that are based on monotone acting and made in Wisconsin by "green" film makers who shop at Whole Foods and grow their own pot because they're so liberated.

For decent films, go to the tried and true film markets- Hollywood, France, Italy, and Germany. Japan is a natural choice for guro films and silly romcoms. But, as far as I'm concerned, the Sundance crew can bite me.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m a masochist. I seem to enjoy putting myself in a position of perpetual heartbreak. Not that my heart has been broken, but I know I’m on a one way track for it. How disgustingly melodramatic is that?

I’m in love. It’s appalling to say. I have managed to avoid putting myself in this position since high school. I’ve always found it more convenient to be found, and simply develop companionship with someone who likes me. I hate the feeling of being in love, as it has always been one-sided for me. That burning pit in the center of my stomach is very unpleasant. The tug on the heartstrings, the nausea, the restless nights. I hate it so very much.

Currently, my mother is using one of those PediPaws things on my dog, and I do not wish to be party to such an event.

I am in North Carolina at the moment, and thus far, I have visited a mall and a Plato’s Closet. Tomorrow will bring about another mall. While I enjoy shopping, I am distinctly concerned that my vacation has gone from super fun times in the mountains to a long distance shopping trip. I am considering just buying a Carowinds ticket, but I need my brother to acquiesce to accompanying me. If he does, I will enjoy super amazing Borg assimilation times.

So, with my time, I have been watching Battlestar Galactica. I have just to watch the season finale of the first season, then it’s on to season two. Where I am right now, I am irrevocably obsessed. I have been delving into this show with a veraciousness I have never before experienced. I highly anticipate the next seasons. I always prefer to review en masse, but first let me say this:

President Laura Roslin is the greatest thing ever, and when I grow up, I hope to be just as awesome, so that I may also push Cylons out of airlocks and save the human race with my sheer awesomeness and strength of will. I don’t care what happens, she will always be awesome.

So say we all.

In other life events, Internship only has two weeks left. Once I finish Night, the class goes back to my supervising teacher, and I will graduate (finally). I have prepared several letters of intent, and will soon commence delivering them to area schools, once I have turned in my letters of recommendation and TB test results. It turns out my TB test is two years old, so I will have to take another one. Which is very, very lame in the strongest sense of lameness. I hate hate hate shots and needles.

I wish I had more to say, but I don’t.

(Written during internship).

It’s been a long time since I posted. I’ve been very busy with my internship; things are starting to wind down a bit.

 

( Read more... )

I have, in the course of my day filled with taking care of responsibilities, been reflecting upon A Room of One's Own. crucifixation found the discussion rather "lulzy," I know, but there remains within me a portion which feels this particular work is very pivotal, personally. I am a person who requires this room of her own, and I have actively been trying to build this room for the past year. My intellectual growth is my most valued asset.

As I come closer to the time wherein I shall be, in the eyes of the world, an adult, I am painstakingly reminded of how childish I am, and I have resolved that I shall cease several activities which are simply silly of me to be doing. Come next year, the assumption will be that I am old and know everything. Naturally neither are true, but the fact remains that I am approaching twenty-two and have yet to accumulate several life experiences.

The phrase "I want" flits across my mind, but achingly, I cannot determine what it is I want. I'm lonely in a very intimate way, but I have many friendships to fulfill me socially in a way that has not occurred since high school.

I am a feminist, I believe that I come first, and my intellectual pursuits come first. Still, I cannot help but desire an intimate relationship with someone of the opposite sex, even if it does not necessarily last. Being female, when looking to the future, I immediately imagine the object of my affections sharing my life with me, but this is silly and childish. Especially considering my leanings toward older men, who are more than likely desirous of starting a family if they are up for an extended relationship. I am not prepared for that, and will not be until I lay claim to the title of Doctor. I also intend to visit all of the places I have always wanted to, and cannot help but hope that such experiences could be shared with someone.

I am rambling.

For some reason I'm in a blogging mood. An epic blogging mood at that.

I've been in the anime and comic book fandom for a pretty long time. And yet, I consistently still get a bit of the sexist treatment from time to time. It has a lot to do with how I look and dress, and I've kind of learned to live with it.

Today I was in a graphic novel section in a book store, which I've always considered to be a safe zone. But another patron did not see it that way. Said other patron was frighteningly obese, male, and pimply. Disturbingly stereotypical. So, Pizza Man (round, greasy, and doughy) rounded on me as I contemplated possibly purchasing The Long Halloween instead of just getting by on the dubiously acquired copy I've gotten by on for so long.

PM: *sneer* Y'know, Heath Ledger's not in that.

Me: *look up* Obviously. *glance at the copy of V for Vendetta he's reading* Natalie Portman is not in that, you know.

PM: Don't be a bitch. All you Dark Knight groupies piss me off. Go over to the shoujo.

Me: *slightly hysterical* Dark Knight groupie? You pile of insignificant cellulite! I've been reading comics since you were trying to figure out which color Power Ranger costume you could shove yourself into for the first grade Halloween costume contest!

The rest of the squabble was not worth recounting, as I once again returned to my age-old adage of "You chauvinist PIG!"

The heart of this issue is how long I spent pretending I knew less about comics than I really do to appease Sosa. I would listen to his self-important rants, then ask stupid questions so he could answer and feel more important. It still angers me that I subjugated myself so blatantly.

And that I was unable to garner street cred for my own comic book expertise whilst concerned with his "feelings."

Screw that.

So, today I went (read: went to Knightro's while it was occurring) to the Bill Clinton Obama rally with Katz. In Knightro's, we ate in the vicinity of a state representative while watching Hana Kimi. We concluded that said state rep MUST have been incredibly intrigued by Hana Kimi, and that he was secretly watching.
Afterwards, we walked past where Clinton was speaking. We really didn't stay long (it was hot, and neither of us are extreme Obama-Llamas), but as we walked away, we very rudely walked in front of a camera. It's okay, though, we both looked fabulously fab.
After this, we had much fun in Katz's French class, and I went to hide in the library from Jamie.

Blerg.

I have had a totally loopy and crazy day.

Most of my internship day was uneventful. I helped quite a bit. After school, a couple of the DE students and I helped out in the book storage room. Ms. Pera and I noticed that there was a drip on the box of Hamlet. (D8) I got up on the ladder, and utilizing my bizarre height, I started to pull down the box- only to have a few gallons worth of leaked water spill all over me and Ms. Pera.

Our biggest worry?

The books, naturally. :d We were both soaked, and once we were sure the other person was okay, we immediately started to check the books.

They're okay, in case you're wondering.

After that, I went home and changed quickly so I could go pick up my mom. We went to go eat but didn't even get to order. Denny's car's brakes crapped out on him again, and he spun out on the turnpike. He's fine, and the car is fine, mostly because my brother is a really good driver. They did send him to the hospital, because the whole thing made him hyperventilate, and he had an asthma attack. However, as of now he's on myspace informing his friends of everything.

                Music is playing, and people decide not to intrude upon my fragile working space by standing directly within my immediate vicinity. I like to be left to my own devices, I like when the house is empty, and I can blast Bach or Imogen Heap until I finally get some form of inspiration going. My mother understands this, but my father often opts to sit at home, watching dreadful sitcoms or sports while I attempt to get work done.  There is no greater killer of thoughts than the disgusting canned laughter of a sitcom. A prescribed guffaw. This, idiot citizens of America, is where you should laugh. Behold, the bumbling father has angered his pretty housewife with his antics yet again. Insert laugh here. Trade your brain at the commercial break. It’s the sound of creativity dying, of human thought being eradicated. Nothing kills my creative mojo more than the sound of a blaring television. I prefer isolation. People are a distraction. Obviously, currently, my father is doing his very best to make sure I do not get this typed. He has our printer shoving out copies right next to me, and is asking me to do the dishes, when he so clearly has nothing to do.                                                                                                                       

                Of course, why not? I’m only trying to bring my GPA up so that I may join the English Honor Society. Please, continue doing everything I have asked you not to do when I’m doing homework or writing. God forbid I interrupt your attempts to get rich off of Pre-Paid Legal.

                All I truly require is space and silence. I often sit down to write, only to have it intruded upon. If I never write a novel, it will be because my cohabitants valued a Home Improvement marathon over my simple request. The only impetus I have to write currently is my quiet rage.

             Reflectively, this is why writing is such an important craft. It is cathartic. Rather than scream at my father, I attack the keyboard. I punch the keyboard with my fingertips, and my father can continue to sit completely unaware. For our students, this catharsis is important. Also, understanding how I need to write will help me to foster a much more conducive writing environment for my students. I know that in high school, my best writing was often done when I had detention in American History. We were given an off-record detention if we forgot our homework, so I often forgot it just to insure I would have some guaranteed peace and quiet. I had a D, but at least I had silence, precious silence. I write to a rhythm, which is why I like music to accompany me. When there is another noise, I lose my train of thought. I think it is good to keep this in mind when I have my own students, whose writing needs might not be met at home.

(For class...)

I love Hana Kimi. It's totally cracky, but still amazing. I just don't get how they don't see she's a girl!

Bugs scare the living bejeezus out of me. I don't mind that they exist, I just wish they would exist on Jupiter.

I can't play Miss Mary Mack, and I never could.

I was counting money today, and got confused when I ran out of numbers. This is because I was counting backwards from seventeen. Why? I don't know. If this isn't proof I have dyscalculia, I don't know what is.

My biggest fear is that I'm going to wind up alone. That's why I keep dating douchebags. I figure they're the only guys who will take me.

I hate Amigo's.

I flirt notoriously, and I never notice it until afterwards.

I'm a huggy person, but I'm afraid people will think I'm weird if I randomly hug them.

I hate my hair right now. I wish hair grew faster.

Why the hell didn't Rapunzel just hack off her own hair and climb down?

If I'm having a really bad day, the only thing that will make me feel better is listening to other people. I need to feel as though I'm not invisible.

I'm super sleepy.

Fanfiction
Do you read or write fanfiction?	I still read them, and I used to write.
When did you first start reading/writing fanfiction?	When we first got the internet, about the time I was in sixth grade.
What was your first fandom?	Harry Potter
First ship?	Harmony
What website do you use most?	FF.net, Schnoogle
What do you think of Fanfiction.net?	They have too much power
What fandoms have you written in?	HP, PotC, Newsies... Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends (DON'T ASK)
Pairings?	Harmony, Romione, Snermione, Sparrabeth
Any fandoms you would like to write in?	None I haven't written in. :p
Do reviews affect how you write in any way?	If they're helpful, yes. I ignore the "OMG ILU MARREH ME" reviews.
Do you use a beta?	No, the only person I would use is Jamie.
What ratings do you read/write?	PG-13 to NC-17
What warnings have you used on your fiction/read?	SEX
Do you have any squicks?	Pedophilia. I only read a fanfic if all parties are of age.
Do you Role-play online? If so, what?	Yus. Nothing fandom related.
Have you ever stolen something from another person's work?	NO. THAT'S PLAGIARISM. D:<
Favorite fandom to write/read?	HP, Avatar, InuYasha
Favorite pairing?	Dramione, Romione, Snermione, Sparrabeth, Javid, Zutara, Taang, Mirokag (InuYasha... STFU, it has awesome fanfics)
Favorite writer/writers?	Sandra E
How long should a chapter be?	That's up to the writer...
Do you write/read drabbles?	Yes.
Any fandoms you avoid?	TWILIGHT. Nobody wants sparkly newb vampires.
Pairings you avoid?	HP slash (Sorry, Harry and Draco are not teh ghey for each other)
Warnings you avoid?	Minors
Do the number of reviews tell how good a story is?	Nope
What do you think of Mary Sues?	DIE, BITCHES!
Have you ever flamed someone?	Yes.
Have you ever been flamed?	Yes. <3
That's it, aren't you glad?	YUS.
CREATE YOUR OWN! - or - GET PAID TO TAKE SURVEYS!

No lie. I can honestly say that this was the first night I actually really felt at home at GMR. This seems shocking, seeing as I've worked there for oh... three and a half years.

Let's rewind a bit, so I can explain my history at GMR.

When I was a kid, there was only one ride I really truly loved at Walt Disney World. It wasn't any of the rides at Magic Kingdom, and EPCOT wasn't big on rides back then, although I really loved The Living Seas (Nemo, you're a fucking joke, GTFO). It was, without a doubt, the Great Movie Ride. I begged to ride it repeatedly. I fantasized constantly about being a Tour Guide. My fascination with the finale film is probably why I got into video editing. When I was eight and realized that people who worked at GMR did it as a job, I told my mother that I would work there.

Fast forward ten years later. When I was 18, I went straight to casting, and tried to go to GMR. I was freshly free of my wheelchair, and I was very poised to seize the day.

They put me in merchandise.

90 days later, I transferred to Muppets. Now, when I first got to Muppets, I was very quiet. I am not a social person. But the Muppets cast was so welcoming and so amazing, that I really grew into my own with them.

Deciding to crosstrain at GMR was a given, but I felt the first pangs of regret a couple of months after. When I came to GMR, I was told that everyone was a family.

I never really felt that family mojo. I was too young to do many things, and I hid myself in a bubble. My "dad," John Dillon, left the ride about a week later to be a manager at DisneyQuest, so I was a GMR "orphan". Admittedly, I did a lot of ditzy things when I first started. I just am slightly ditzy. My brain travels very fast, and sometimes I just overlook little stuff. Everybody socialized with each other, and went places with each other, and I felt like the outsider. I couldn't drink, and I couldn't drive. These two things impeded my social growth at GMR severely. For a while I hated it. I wanted to go back to Muppets.

I just felt people didn't want to be my friend at GMR. I've never been able to figure it out. Maybe it's because I'm achingly shy, or that I'm very plain. It could have been just that I only worked two days a week. I wanted to go to GMR events, like Drive-Ins and the Oscars, but they were always when I had class at night, so I've never been able to go. In fact, my first Oscars was on the same night as my Creative Writing final.

It's not to say that I was a total outcast, there were people who talked to me. I just never made any friends. This is why it was so easy for me to transfer away from the place I had tried so hard to go to. I was tired of feeling like the outsider at work, and I was totally prepared to let my proficiencies drop at GMR until I came back to the area and just worked at Muppets, where I do feel the family mojo.

Then I went seasonal, and I felt my whole life unravel around me. I went through a mental breakdown of epic proportions. I managed to keep my grades up, but I started having panic attacks, and constantly thinking about death. I would burst into tears, and I felt like my whole life was being wasted. Its a good thing I went seasonal, because there was no way I could have handled working out at Disney at the same time. It took a while for me to figure out what was wrong, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that I was in a loveless engagement, and it was draining me.

To admit things honestly, I don't think I ever did love Ryan. I was convinced that nobody else would want me. So, I tried very hard to convince myself that I was in love, and that I wanted a relationship and marriage with an amorphous blob who refused to work and ate like a garbage disposal. The reason we never had sex is that I felt physically ill every time we would try.

When I managed to shed that relationship, I felt better. I medicated, and my panic attacks are fewer, although I still have my ups and downs. I resolved to try harder at GMR when I finally got transferred back to the area part time. I'm trying to be nicer and more social. It's still difficult, because I don't have a car.

Last night, though, was amazing up in gangster. It was a great group of people, and I actually let myself be relaxed around them. I didn't just hide in my Ashley bubble, and it was an awesome night.

Reading responses motivated me to finish up.

( Read more... ) 

I've been setting up a unit on 9/11 for the book The Cinnamon Girl, and realized that it's been a while since I've thought about the day that changed not just the world, but my family. (This also meets halseanderson's 15 minute a day challenge.)

( The day the world went crazy... )
Don't feel like writing more... Remembering all of this is weird. Why don't you guys tell me your 9/11 stories, it will actually help me a bit. :3