[ Monday, March 29, 2004 ]
Things confirmed for me this weekend:[ Thursday, March 25, 2004 ]
1. Most men are pathetic pieces of shit.
2. It takes a long time to realize men are pathetic pieces of shit.
3. Screaming 16 year old girls should never be allowed behind the wheel of a car.
4. I love nightgowns.
5. Fred Durst is hot.
Some background info: The naive little girl in me was struck by a profound case of dumbass quite a few years ago. It was the hair, the poetry, the walking stick, the savior complex in me wanting to reach out & save this fragile, disillusioned fellow. I saw potential in him. Viewed him in a way he didn't view himself. Loved him. Three years ago it came to a sad and pathetic end. I realized I couldn't make him see himself the way I saw him. I couldn't inspire him to rise above the 'oh woe is me.' I decided I wasn't putting any more effort into the relationship. I wasn't calling, seeing, emailing--nada--until he put forth some effort & made me feel valuable. I received a note from him shortly after I made this decision; a 'so you abandoned me too?' note, followed by five sentences worth of ranting and raving about going off to live in the woods like a shell-shocked vet. I fired back at him. Told him I hadn't abandoned him. He'd forgotten me. That I couldn't make him realize he was something substantial if he didn't want to believe it. And that was the end.
Three years later, I get a phone call. A voice says 'Hey Beck. I'm calling to apologize.' At that moment I was torn. I knew exactly who it was but wanted to act like I had, maybe, forgotten the sound of his voice. A million different emotions & thoughts went through me. Do I become the bitch? I want to puke. Do I act like it doesn't affect me? Pain in the stomach. Is this where he comes to his senses, realizes we were meant for each other, admits he was a total ass? Dizziness.
He apologized. Explained. Said he had been scared. Knew he wasn't ready to settle down. That he had wanted to get closer to me but knew he'd end up hurting me. Didn't want to ask me to wait for him. Had been having dreams about me. Felt like an idiot. Didn't blame me if I hated him, never wanted to speak to him again. Felt like he was going insane. Needed a friend.
Basically, the same bullshit con from years ago.
And although hesitant, I fell for it. I envisioned the reunion in my head. The one where I lay it all on the table & cuss, rant, rave & he just takes it & hangs his head because he knows that he's done wrong. Then I tell him. If we can't have something real, I don't want it. I deserve to be loved. I deserve to feel valuable & important. I won't take anything less. Then he admits his trespasses, begs for forgiveness & loves me until the end of my life or his, whichever comes first.
This plague of dumbass comes and goes.
Friday he showed up at my uncle's house with the same little chick he hooked up with after we ended it. Lisa broke the news to me. We flip-flopped it down the road so I could see for myself.
Sure enough, there was his ass & that farting little skinny blonde bitch. ( Not that I have anything against her. ) His truck was hanging out in the road & the hood was up. I saw red. I have never wanted to draw blood from someone so bad in my life. I contemplated picking up a rock & bouncing it off his head. Then I spotted some lumber & thought about how good it would feel to crack his skull open with that. I sat down on my grandma's porch still fuming. I got the urge to jump in my Jeep & set sail down that road, taking his truck, him, maybe even her out. Side swipe it then do a doughnut & hit it head on, shoving it on over the hill.
Eventually they left. Body parts still intact. I fumed for a little while longer, then eventually came to the conclusion that I was pretty lucky to see them together. At least it's a little bit of closure for me. I know that
1. He still thinks about me.
2. When he's old & dying & his crack-whore wife is stealing his pain medication, he'll realize he fucked up.
3. He'll always believe the world owes him something.
4. He didn't deserve me.
So, although it will take a little while to get the illusion of him out of my head, I feel really fortunate that at least I know that it's never going to work. That it couldn't work.
And that I don't have to feel guilty about giving up on that possibility. Cause it's not a possiblity anymore.
Saturday night Lisa & I went to Stanton. I was glad to just be out of the house with music cranked up, flip-flops on & the windows down. In Stanton this car load of girls passed us by. They couldn't have been a day over 16. Screaming constantly out of their windows, hollering at everone who went by them, beeping the horn, driving like maniacs. Two state cops got off the exit ramp. Followed by two county cops. The girls chilled their shit as the state cops went by them. They never expected the county cops. All of a sudden we saw blue lights & the two county cops doing doughnuts in the highway. They pulled the girls over right in front of us. We laughed our asses off being as though moments earlier we were contemplating calling the police & saying ' We passed by a car & could hear a girl screaming. Sounded like she was yelling for help. I don't know if she was being kidnapped or what but could you check out a little red cavalier?'. LOL.
I'm so glad I'm not 16 again. I don't know that I ever acted like that. I've been loud & obnoxious in my day. But man, that took the cake.
So today I've moped & lived in my new nightgown. ( I love days like this. ) Watched Gothika on DVD & devoured the Behind Blue Eyes video featuring Fred Durst & Halley Berry. And I've got to say. I never thought about Fred Durst as hot. But he is hot in this video. I think it's that opening shot.
I said in my last post that I really didn't want this blog to be just about the things I hate. But there are some things that you just can't contain. And it's really interesting/ funny/ ironic how sometimes we give people the power to push us into fury with just a look but still feel like we're bound by ethics. The need to be civilized & moral.
Sometimes I wish I wasn't brought up so well. That I could feel comfortable just going ape shit every now & then.
But then I'd just end up feeling like an ass. And probably would have ended up feeling like an ass in jail with a banged up Jeep.
So it's better this way.
I can always just charmin his truck next time I see it parked.
Much Love.
~ Rebecca 12:25 AM [+] (0) comments
I've been told I have a following. I always knew I would end up in a cult someday. I just thought it would have something to do with breaking Charlie out of prison, buying dune buggies for the farm, forming a brand new Manson family right here on Big Andy Ridge.[ Friday, March 05, 2004 ]
It tickles me though that people are reading. Although now, I'm aware of an audience. I hope that doesn't subconsciously alter the style of this blog, limit my topics. Sometimes I worry that people don't really want to know this much about me; that they'd rather stick with the image of the Beck they already have in their heads. Then again, I reason with myself: If it's too much, you'll just close it down. If it changes your perception of me, maybe that's a good thing. If I think it, feel it, know it why not write it down. The point of living & communicating effectively I think, is being honest when it comes to the important stuff--with one's self, with those around you.
Lots of times I feel isolated. And I wonder to myself, does everyone feel like this? Do we all feel at some point like we don't belong? Billie & I had a conversation about this same topic not long ago. I surprised Billie when I told her that lots of times I feel like a fish out of water, like the dumbest one in the crowd. It's true though. That's how I developed any sort of sense of humor. It's a complete defense mechanism. We love people who can make us laugh. When I'm in a big crowd of people, usually I'm loud & extroverted. That's a complete reversal of the way I feel inside. I'm timid, break easily, ponder conversations a long time. But the timid me learned a long time ago to coach myself. Before I walk into a dance club or someplace where I feel immediately intimidated & wallflower-ish, I tell myself " You own the place." I tell Lisa & Sam. "We own this place." It's a false sense of power. It's overcompensation. It's bullshit. A cover up. But it works like a charm. And confidence is attractive. Even if it's momentary or fake.
I kinda pondered last night what to write about. I didn't have anything just bubbling up like it usually does. Most often when I write, the words have been tumbling around in my head for a while & I just have to sit down & start hitting the keyboard. I was pissed last night & most of the topics that popped up were complaints...why I hate this, why I hate that. Believe me, I love to bitch & groan as much as the next person, but I don't want this journal to just be about the things I hate. This world will always be full of things that piss us off. And the sad fact is, if it weren't, we'd look for something, anything, create it if we had to.
A while back my aunt Marilyn told me she'd read some of the poems on my website. She said she asked my other aunt "Where are we? We had to inspire this girl at some point." The truth is, my aunts never fail to inspire me. They've done more than inspire me; they've taught me.
When I was nine I remember walking in the woods with Marilyn & Scott. We came upon this little dimly lit path. We all stopped & just looked at it. Marilyn turned to me and said "Ok. We can think of this in a romantic 'oh this is so pretty' way or we can think of this in a scary way." Although I'd grown up watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre & remember dad taking us to the drive-in to watch Jason hack people up, I didn't want to be scared shitless. So we walked down the path, picked flowers & enjoyed the narrow streams of light glistening through the trees. That walk was a defining moment for me, although it's taken years to realize this. I think that exact moment when she stopped and said 'we can look at it this way or this way' shaped the way I look at life now. We chose good. We chose optimism. Still today. I choose good. I choose optimism. I choose to think that life is more than what it seems. That even though we feel so isolated or disconnected, a subtle undercurrent flows between us. It says 'yeah, I feel like hell too.' or 'I've been there.' or just 'I understand'. Even when I was limited to a wheel chair then a walker then crutches for six months of my life, I chose optimism. I felt spiritually aware. I had a good time. I laughed. I forgave. I attribute that to Marilyn, who taught me early on that my perception can & will alter my experience.
Marcy. I respect Marcy in a deep way. She's a 'do it all' woman. Brilliant in the way that she reads people, the way she knows the easiest method to calm fears / soothe hurts / tell you to just shut up & take it. Marce is the woman who makes those around her feel strong. Or maybe just safe. And that feeling of safety inspires you to believe that you can do anything. On another level, I realize that Marce was my mother's best friend. Knew her innermost self better than anyone else. Lived out a dream in honor of her. While we were on vacation in Tennessee, we spent one evening telling stories about my mom; Marce recalling their moments together, funny little stories about her temperament, how she could cuss like a sailor when she wanted to, how she was so humble toward the end. That evening for me was just this huge opening up. So many times I've wondered if she ever felt like I feel. Who was she separate from being our mother, dad's wife? Who was she before they met? What was inside her? Is it the same thing that's inside me? The same drive to create, communicate, feel everything in it's entirety? Marce answered a lot of those things for me simply by letting me see my mother through her eyes. It was the closest I've ever felt to understanding who she was. And I'm grateful to Marcie for that. For opening up & letting me see my mother as this vibrant little woman, kind to the core but just as brutal when she needed to be.
Joan. Joan is the one person I can flop down next to & just lay my head on her shoulder. She's comfort to me. She's inside jokes & biscuits & white gravy. All those things that make you comfortable & warm. That's an odd way to describe her but that's who she is. With everyone. Joan is the woman little kids just swarm. Bigger kids too. She understands. She soothes. She laughs at herself. She laughs at us. She communicates with just expressions. I love it when there's just total chaos & you can look at Joan with this expression like "uh, what the ? " and chaotic laughter ensues. The type where you get so tickled you can hardly breathe. Plus, many many of her one liners have made their way into my conversations.
Rene. Rene is the person I want to become as I get older. She's just witty & a spitfire & says what she thinks come hell or high water. That's the ultimate I think.
I've tried to describe them but it would take a lifetime of study & several blogs to describe these women. When I think of them though, most of the women in my family really, I think of the line from My Big Fat Greek Wedding : A man may be the head of the household but the woman is the neck. And she can turn him any way she wants to. It's a rare art these women have perfected--to perfectly blend loving with fierce. I don't think a lot of women get to learn that these days. And certainly they don't grow up with examples of it right in front of them. But I did. And I think that's where a lot of my strength or independence comes from.
About a year & a half ago, I was walking with my aunts & my grandma during a burial. Someone said "Here comes those Miller women." I felt extremely proud to be walking with them. To be seen as 'one of those Miller women'. To know that I am a Miller woman & that that statement was a compliment in a way. To me a Miller is loving, understanding, warm, sassy, won't take your shit, but won't dish it out unless you deserve it. We'll survive. Anything. Cause that's what we do. But not only will we survive, we'll turn it around, make something good out of it. Bitch about it then learn from it & eventually laugh about it later at a family reunion or online.
Who knows, maybe I've been part of a cult for a while now & just didn't realize it. And if not a cult, it is at least a clan. I'm fortunate to be part of it.
Much love.
~ Rebecca 12:03 AM [+] (0) comments
I'm nostalgic tonight. I'm gonna tell stories. Cause I think they're funny. Actually, this is inspired by Sam & a conversation we had tonight. Ever notice that people who run in the same circles tend to think that everyone outside that circle has deep-rooted mental issues? Maybe it's just my clan. Maybe it's due to isolation. I think I'm psycho-analyzing too much & I have no right to. Anyway, this one time....at band camp....nah....just fooling. I'm not musical. It's more like 'This one time in the hills of Eastern Kentucky, home of the infamous Blue People, Blackburn Pyro, Fuzz, Dan, Canyon Falls Ghosts & other local legends....
The stories:
The Blue People. Reportedly, there are several clans of blue people in Eastern Kentucky. One family is, I believe, located in Hazard, Ky. The crew I've heard about reside on Furnace Mountain in Stanton, Ky. I read a report that one of the Blue People actually attended Eastern Kentucky University for a while & while there was subject to numerous test & research projects. I can't remember where I read this. The Blue People get their name due to the transparency of their skin. The blue veins show through coloring them, uh, blue. A lot of people think this is due to inbreeding which I've read is not true. Apparently, it's due to a deficiency of something? which makes their skin transparent. I really don't know. But sometimes I like to act like I do & then I go and forget what they're deficient in & end up sounding like a total ass. Anyway. Our fascination with the blue people began in '96. Stanton was our stomping ground in those days & Billie, Andrea, Sam & I would load up faithfully in the Purple Camaro & make our way to the Holy Land. We were the shit. We thought we were the shit. Why were we the shit, you ask? Because Billie had red hair, I had blonde/brown streaks, Andrea was a hippy in a homemade hat, Sam was 15 hanging out with 18 y/olds, we were cruising a purple '70 something camaro & dudes in Stanton did not yet realize what dorks we actually were/are. My God, we were ahead of our time. Anyway, in Stanton we began hearing stories about the blue people. Who they were. Why they were the way they were. Where they lived. How you could only see them after dark. How they didn't come out in the sunlight. How Ricky Sheesh or Nathan or Bob or God or Beaner had actually seen one of them with his own two eyes. After dark of course. In the path of one or two high beam headlights. We started driving Furnace Mountain after dark. On a mission to spot one of the night loving blue creatures. We stayed on the main roads. Up and down Furnace Mountain. Hopeful. Scared. Not wanting to hear "Squeal like a pig boy (or girl), Squeal!!!". We never saw one of the blue people. Though we've talked about them since or read reports of them on the internet or heard mention of them in quaint classroom conversations and been able to say 'Yeah. I've heard about that. We used to look for them.' Sadly, the blue people never appeared for us.
Dorks. Yeah, we were dorks. Although at the time we embraced our dorkiness, reveled in it, shouted it. Which, by default, made us cool. ( I think. I'm still undecided.) 1994 or 95 Mission Impossible came out with the Tom Cruise cliff-hanging scene. Suddenly we were fascinated with being government agents, dressing in black suits & wearing wires. We purchased sets of head phones which we deconstructed & reconstructed into ear pieces that slithered into our black blazers. Purchased cool, new black shades. Decided we were going back to school on Monday, dressed as such. Outside we were laughing & saying 'Man, this will be so funny.' Inwardly we were thinking 'Man this will be so F-ing cool.' By F-ing, I mean frigging. The actual F word had yet to enter our vocabulary though frigging was pushing every limit set by man, Ellis Miller Jr., Linda Bowman & God. We skipped out of class to walk the halls. Although we actually never skipped class by just not showing up. We had important errands to attend to, had to work on the yearbook, had to do some shit for journalism, work on the set for the musical or do some assignment for the principal. My point? We got out of class legit. Billie & I strolled the halls. Ducked behind rows of lockers with our hands pointed in gun fashion. Made sure the coast was clear. Communicated through nods of the head & our fake ear pieces. We took that hall row of locker by row of locker. Ducking beneath classroom windows & moving past open doors with a shuffle of the feet & pointing of our gun hands. We stalked the assistant principal, laughing hysterically when he finally saw two forefingers emerge from the behind a cold grey metal locker, followed by our shifty eyes as we peeked to see if the coast was clear. He either thought we were creative geniuses or had severe emotional/mental issues. I'm still not sure which. But we had good laughs that day. Especially when I convinced a dim-witted fellow classmate ( I'll call him Brian C. ) that I spoke eight languages, five of which were made up on the spot. He asked for it. He turned around at his desk and said in his heavy unthinking accent "Hey, you recording me or something.?' I replied "I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you." He said "Hey man, can you, uh, hear across the room with that thing?" I played along. It was fun. He was fun. Especially when, maybe a year or two later, that same Brian C. fell asleep on the first row while we were doing our school's production of Hello, Dolly!. I sat on a couch in one scene, with Tammy Hall & Darrel Ballard. I was the matchmaker. It was one of those set-ups where the actors in one scene freeze while the characters in another scene do their act. Tammy, Darrel & I were completely frozen on the couch. Tommy H. & Dustin A. were in the middle of their gig set in the middle of a general store. During their scene there was supposed to be this big explosion with Dustin & Tommy emerging from a mock basement shortly after. Brian was asleep on the front row. I was supposed to be frozen. The explosion happened. Brian jumped up from his seat. Grabbing his head and hollered "God! What's going on!?" I could have died right there in front of everyone. I couldn't stay still. Spotlight on me and everything, I couldn't help but laugh & shake cause he just absolutely cracked me up. I'll never forget seeing that from that vantage point. It was perfect. I saw him years later at a ball game with a beer gut. He still cracks me up.
Entertainment back in the day was cheap. Hell, it's still pretty cheap.
There was the time I was almost removed from my home & sent to live with a foster family & had to lick my arm to prove that I wasn't being beaten.
World Civ. was the instigator. Boredom the cause. We had to do some project in a group & it involved several packs of Crayola markers. Billie, Tammy, Jodi, Andrea & I were in the same group. We finished our project early being the blooming geniuses that we were and are. One of us discovered that you can create a really nice tint on your arm if you dab a little yellow then wet it down and blend with spit. We all did it. Right in the crook of our arms. We decided we wanted track marks for the day. I added a little green & blue to the inside. Just inside the yellow with a random edge. I blended well. Then I added some purple to the very middle & some more along the edge of the blue & green. Again I blended well. Pretty soon I had the most kick ass bruise ever created in the history of man. So what did I do? Just like a Lay's potato chip, you can't stop with just one. I added bruises to my forearms. Huge random bruises. With yellow to indicate that older bruises were beneath the newer, more purple bruises. I dabbed some on the inside of my upper arms. And just for effect, I bruised up the opposite arm just a little. Then class broke & I went with Tammy to Algebra in Mrs. Neal's class. I made sure I looked real down. I kind of moped when I went in. Pretended to talk real seriously with Tammy. Then I asked to talk to Mrs. Neal. I pretended to cry. I showed her the bruises. She started to whisk me away to the principal's office. I laughed. Said 'I'm just kidding.' Then licked my finger, rubbed the bruise and showed her how it disappeared. She was FREAKIN' AMAZED. Mr Story, the assistant principal knocked on the door. She said "Let's get him." She told him she had a student that needed to speak with him right away. I walked to door, heartbroken & down-trodden, oppressed beyond belief. I showed him my arms then pretended to break down muttering "Last night, we got into an argument." His face turned all serious. He grabbed my hand, leading me away from Mrs. Neal & toward the office where I'm sure social services would have been called. I dug my heals in the white & blue flecked tile. Said "No. NO. LOOK." Then I licked my fingers again & showed him how the beating disappeared. I said "See, it's crayola." He shook his head then kind of chuckled. Again, he thought we were either creative geniuses or emotionally disturbed.
Later, Mrs. Neal got a kick when Tammy & I disrupted the class directly opposite our Algebra windows. We held up signs that read "Help, I'm being abducted by aliens." The students thought it was funny when we popped up in the window with our bright green signs. Mr. I Can't Remember His Name did not as we ducked back down when he neared the window to see what in the hell was so funny. Eventually we stayed still & let him read the signs. But only after his class had lost all focus on History for a good 20 minutes.
My history. My growing up is laced with all sorts of tales like this. Shit, the early part of my adulthood (and by that I mean up until this day) is laced with stories of this kind. Most people are still undecided as to whether we're creative geniuses or emotionally/mentally disturbed. I think if you're in the inner circle you've already decided that we're creative, funny brilliants who'll do anything on a whim if it involves having a good time. If you're on the outside loop, you might shy away from us when we walk by or hide all your prescribed medicines when we walk in the door. I myself have not decided which diagnosis is correct.
But I can say, I've laughed more in my short life than any one person should be allowed. And it doesn't take much to make me happy. Or to say that I'm having a good time. In '98 a bunch of us were sitting in a parking lot talking typical 20's jargon. Lenny, Ricky, Andrea & a bunch of us were there. This girl started talking about her boyfriend. How he was so good to her. How much he loved her. He had given her his classring. It was a big deal. She said, almost hopelessly "If I could give him the world I would. But I can't." Then she sighed and looked at her class ring. I was sitting on a concrete parking bump. It hit me like this sudden truth & I looked up at her & said "That's not true. You can give him the world. You just have to give him the world through your eyes. Alter his perception & let him see it how you see it. Make it new." Lenny & Ricky said something like...'Damn Beck. That's the coolest shit I've ever heard.' We started really talking after that & I felt really proud of that moment. Like something mundane had been altered. And we had taken the typical sitting around bullshitting atmosphere & turned it into something more. Like maybe we had transcended. I wondered at that same time, how many similar conversations were being had in a parking lot somewhere in some city.
But really I felt that almost every time we came together. The faces would change. The activity. The venue. More people in this field. Not as many around that campfire. But the conversation always became really deep & about something. About something real & vital & important. Usually focused around living. Living a good life. Living in the moment. Without fear or hesitation. Living fully. And truthfully. And uncovering. Revealing what is hidden about ourselves. What is true & good & maybe even bad, but just is.
I felt comfort with those guys. With Ricky, Lenny, Jeremy, Kelly Dawg. And the girls with whom I actually grew up--Billie, Andrea, Sam, Tammy, Tammy, Lisa.
I've had more good times than anyone could ever ask for. Surrounded by people who just knock my socks off, in one way or another. Each of them brilliant in their own peculiar way.
Much love,
~ Rebecca 11:52 PM [+] (0) comments
