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21 March 2016 @ 05:37 pm
Well it's official. I've been rejected by every graduate program I applied to and now I can say I've been rejected by the best-of-the-best in terms of writing schools. No one can say I didn't try on that front. Now to climb the ranks another way and remember. I don't think I'll ever forget but this a slight I'm not going to overlook. Move past it, beyond, and into better prospects without their help or connections. This is my promise to me. Nobody else. I will make myself heard, remembered, and if at all possible feared. 
03 February 2016 @ 05:07 pm
Rejection. It stings. To not be wanted. Faced one of many to come today. Not from a man (although I'm sure there were some involved in the process, but not romantically speaking) but from a college. Graduate program, to be more accurate. I wasn't good enough. Sucks, but at least I tried. That's what counts, right? That I tried. Not very well, but...maybe that's been my problem all along. I've never wanted anything enough to TRY. When I put my mind to it there's nothing I (or anybody, for that matter) can't do. "Where there's a will there's a way." That's the saying, right? The cliche? But it doesn't make it any less true, does it? The fact that it's overused? I just...I don't know how I feel other than rejected. Which is what it was. I knew it when I saw it on the screen. In my email box: 'Graduate application decision from UT Austin.' No one ever responds that fast unless it's bad news bears. Still, I had to see. So I did. Saw it there in bold ass ugly orange 'DECLINED'. Another word for a simple phrase: not wanted. Not desirable. Not good enough. Well fuck you, says I. I'll make it another way. Make you eat those words and regret them to whatever faceless committee decided my work and my words weren't good enough for their program. Sad part is, I've always known. Doesn't take a genius to realize that what these programs are looking for isn't a fantasay genre writer. Nope. What they're looking for is the next Fitzgerald, Hemingway or Wallace. I'm not these writers. I write fantasy. I enjoy science fiction but I'm no Phillip K. Dick. Hell, I hadn't even heard of him until recently. Still haven't read much of his work but the plot lines I am familiar with are rather brilliant. So it wasn't for me. Never in my cards and that's okay. I knew. But I had to try. What scares me though is what comes after. I made a promise to myself and now I'm afraid I'm going to have to live up to it. Military career. I don't want to kill people. I don't even want to do the physical training (mostly because it's going to suck). I just want to write. It's nice to get this all out and know people will never read it. It's just going to suck because I paid a lot of money to apply to these programs and my first rejection came today. First in a long line I suspect. I don't want to be rejected. I know I will, but I don't want to feel it because it makes me want to drink. 
27 December 2014 @ 11:16 pm
I am not interested in dating anyone. So why people from work and writers groups keep trying--I don't know. I'm just tired of it. I maintain a relatively low level of upkeep. Which means I don't pluck my brows, wax my vagina, or color cordinate my shoes to my shirt. I simply wear deoderant, brush my teeth, and bathe regularly. All my make-up has SPF in it (foundation, powder and blush) and rarely do I style my hair in anything more sophisticated than a ponytail. My only selling points are that I'm not hideous to look at and am marginally smarter than a sheep. Other than that I've got a nasty temper, a foul mouth, and a history of laziness. Seriously, men, I am not worth the effort of asking out. Nor do I want to be. I am quite content on my own and have no interest in changing my ways.  Ladies, same deal. 
20 May 2014 @ 02:03 am

My brother is a an ass. Fact. He lashes out when he's hurt. Fact. He projects. Fact. I hate him.
We give people we love way too much power over ourselves. Enough to sway our emotions and cloud or judgement. Sometimes that can be a good thing. Give us the reflection we need to scrutinize things we aught to fix. A lot of the times though it can be a self destructive mess. My brother plants bombs and doesn't even realize it half the time. When they explode they can be devastating, but most the time they feel like snipper shots to my self esteem. Really well placed shots from a man shooting blind. Or maybe at himself. I don't know. He used to be on this path going nowhere and now he's somewhere, out the woods but still feeling like something's missing.

Sometimes I look at him and all he has and where he can go and can't help but feel envious. But maybe I shouldn't. Because even though it looks like he has a lot he still winds up back home, a place he vowed never to return to; like he's searching for something. Like he's missing a key ingredient to his happiness. Maybe that's why he keeps trying to show my dad all these things they have in common: a love of guns, sports, and hatred of humanity. My brother was never like that. Well, yes he has always had a love of guns, sports, and an inability to tolerate stupid people for any span of time, but this quest with my dad…it's never ending. I thought he gave up long ago.

Guess not.

Anyway he says things. Hurtful things and he doesn't even know it. Things like "I'll take care of her after your gone." Things like "she has no fire." Didn't seem like it was all that long ago when he didn't have any fire either. Maybe he still doesn't. He got his lottery draw and it seems to be fixing most of his problems. I can't help but wonder if it's fixed the ones that really matter. Who knows. I'm still wandering my dark and spooky forest but maybe it's like he says, I enjoy it just a little too much. And that's what hurts.

03 December 2013 @ 07:02 pm

So I went to see Catching Fire today.  Figured what with it being my day off and all, plus this free movie pass, why not? Besides, I really like going to the movies by myself. Never have to worry about the other person talking, breathing loudly, or smacking on their popcorn or gum. Worse is when they insist we sit in the aisle instead of the handicapped.

'Giggilymesh, we can't sit there. What if some veteran wants it?'

So? He can ask us to move. No big deal.

'Why do you want to sit there anyway?'

Uh...I don't know maybe because they're the best seats in the house!!

Seriously, think about it. Unlimited leg room, easy access to the bathroom, perfect angle in which to watch the movie, and best of all nobody can block your view. Ever. It's the best. Also it's great because I have a slight problem with twitching. It's not uncontrollable or anything it's just I like to move my legs. A lot. Cross, uncross them, sit on them, fold them to the side, drape them over the arm chair. You name it.

But the movie is 2 hours and 26 minutes and my bladder is the size of a walnut.

So there I am bouncing up and down in my seat like jack rabbit on speed, tapping my foot, because good grief there is a beach scene, and a giant wave crashing, not to mention the only clean water trickles from a spout. My biology was not programmed to take such abuse. So after tracking down the bathroom (clear on the other side of the fecking theater), it occurs to me: in the olden days of Hollywood cinema there were these wonderful--nay glorious!--things called intermission.

What the fuck happened to those?

Titanic could have used one of those.

So could Saving Private Ryan, The Dark Knight, Lord of the Rings etc. Clearly there is a market for this!

I mean this is not a new concept. India uses this in Bollywood films all the time. You take a break, stretch your legs, get something to eat, talk about what you think is going to happen, leave if you think it's shit, stay if you think it's great, check your phone, do a dance, and (oh yes) go to the bathroom!!

If not this, then theaters either need to keep the men and women's washrooms together or build more than one of each if they're separate so I don't have to go marching clear across the lobby to to the loo muttering vulgarities under my breath while a portrait of Humphrey Bogart looks down in what I can only hope is pride rather than contempt (for whom, I can only assume is major Strasser). Either way potty emergencies should not hamper a movie going experience. Especially if your feature film is over two and a half hours long.

Current Location: Couch
Current Mood: blahblah
Current Music: Atlantis
02 December 2013 @ 01:41 pm
Round and round we go. Butt munching prigs sent me in a circle of confusion and tree phoning. I was rerouted to four fucking phone numbers and I still haven't got my month long parking pass to Pasadena.  Bureaucracy! BAH! Fie on their soiled houses of disrepute! May they never cum again. Wankers the lot of them!! Oy vey now I've gone and given myself a headache. Thus is life. To the bottle with me!!
Current Location: Couch
Current Mood: drunkdrunk
Current Music: Lost Girl
01 December 2013 @ 11:51 pm
So there's a couple of guys at my work who are major hotties and sometimes you can tell when a guy is gay or if he's just annoyingly pretty. This one was a toughie. He is tall, fairly fair but not too terribly anglo saxon with cheek bones you could grate cheese on.  Overall, very good looking but also kind of a dick. But one day I was sitting in the break room, just letting my feet throb for a few minutes, when I decided 'fuck it, I'm just going to stare and see what happens.'  Nothing did, obviously, or I wouldn't be writing this. But the guy was totally oblivious, stuck in his book and twirling the fork in his salad. That right there should have been my first clue, but, no. That bit comes later. Instead my first sign was his eye brows. They were better groomed than mine. Strike one. Next was his attire: sweater vest, long sleeve shirt, and tie with khakis. Strike two. Strike three came with his salad which wasn't so much a lettuce-y salad as it was a broccoli and cauliflower concoction meant to unclog your colon. This was man was obviously gay. His hair was coifed, he was reading a romance book about vampires, and his overall manner of siting was stylized in a way that was a touch too feminine. Not that there's anything wrong with that it's just confirmation to an already painful fact that he is of no use to me now.

Why do gay men get all the good ones?

Oh well. Maybe next time.
Current Location: Couch
Current Mood: disappointeddisappointed
Current Music: Surrender by Mythos
26 November 2013 @ 09:23 pm
First day on the job (where I legitimately work instead of shadowing people like a lame ninja) and I forget my lunch.  Now, Pasadena does have great food but it comes at a price and it takes a lot of time to prepare. My lunch is only forty five minutes. I SOOO do not have time to wander around for a fast food joint. Thank the gods I had money in my purse because there was a vending machine. And the prices date back to the 90s. You know, when they were reasonable. So I got a bag of flaming hot cheeto puffs, a sprite, and some water all for two dollars. How awesome is that?! But an eight hour shift with only that in my stomach and two cups of coffee? Is it any wonder I came home and consumed half my cupboards contents? Thus far I have inhaled a bowl of soup, a salad, pita with hummus, and a ton of ice cream.  I am deep in the depths of a food coma. Doesn't help matters that I'm sitting on a heating pad.

My butt is so warm *snuggle**snuggle**snuggle*

All I need is alcohol and the circle of food groups is complete. 
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Current Location: Home
Current Mood: fullfull
Current Music: Bones
25 November 2013 @ 07:17 pm
Fuckstockings! I forgot my work schedule in my god damn apron at work. Shiiiit. I'm almost 100% positive I need to be there at 10:00 but I can't be sure and the gorram president of the United States is going to be in Glendale. Bollocks. 
Current Location: Home
Current Mood: surly
Current Music: Hunger Games Theme whistle
23 November 2013 @ 11:24 pm
I said it out loud and it wasn't that scary. Truth is, it was terrifying. Most people have a plan or an idea of how to ascertain their perfect career, life goal, whatever. I do not. Well I do, but it's simple: write a best seller. See? Simple, yet not.  I was going to say 'hard' when I realized that writing a best seller requires more than just hard work. If all it took was hard work than everybody would be doing it. No, it takes a certain ineffable quality to make a best seller. To write, to dream, to dream perchance to sell. Ay, there's the rub. For in that sell what words may come that they will fly off the shelves and put money in our bread jars? I know not. But it's all I've got. I want this. I want this more than anything in the world. I want this, and I have no other recourse. I'm screwed if I don't so I have to.  Gods help me, I'm going to need it. 
Current Location: Bed
Current Mood: listlesslistless
Current Music: Much Ado About Nothing