Updates: Media (lyrics) has a new layout. I could never figure out how to lay it out, but it's easier to navigate now. I'm still working on a better duplicate Mamblog mod. I'm trying to make submittions easier but the poetry form died for some reason. Quizzes are also on their way from the old site. Joomla content isn't very code friendly so I'm having to rewrite old code. You can still click on News > AH v21 > Screen if you wish to use the quizzes.
First Grade, 1988 A*** T*****...Love letters at least once a week. My first time thinking that boys didn't have cooties. Though years later I would be proven wrong.
Fifth Grade, 1992 B**** S*******...My first crush. Walking down to the canyon swings, the only girl in a group of ten guys. I threatened to leave when he and his brother started fist-fighting...They stopped and I continued on, triumphantly.
Eighth Grade, 1995 B***** M******...Mrs. Kelly's English class...Bony B***** made kissing sounds and mouthed "I love you" while the class read "The Diary of Anne Frank." I would spend the next two years avoiding him.
High School, 96-00 B****** T****...I lived vicariously through her. I learned the names of many illegal substances, and their effects...I bought my first pack of cigarettes for her--my only under-age friend.
Freshman Year, 1996 B******* S*******...Watching and learning how to be black...Seen five years later, short skirted with jet black hair, I will spend the rest of my life straining to forget her.
Senior Year, 1999 A******** K********...moved here from P***** when she was six, had a chest the size of watermelons and a waist no cheerleader could live up to.
Occidental College, 2000 Professor S*** R******...invited us to his house for a barbeque and an educational film, swore if Bush won the presidency he and his girlfriend would be moving to Germany. we made fun of him all semester for owning Michael Jackson cds.
Las Encinas, April 2001 N*** M********...my "partner in crime." The nursing staff will never forget us i'm sure. We gathered up our vegan meals in a black bag in my black purse, threw in some forks and spoons, took a walk outside and tried to see how far we could fling our tofu. The resident transvestite was, i believe, the only one aware of our daily antics. I think of her daily.
Lifting the blade for the very first time felt like retrieving ice for a burn--that "oh I know I should be using water" kind of feeling, but I didn't care. This cure was quick and painless. Releasing anger through the skin was easier than holding it in and pretending it didn't exist. Running the razor across all the places on my body i could hide was like staring mental anguish in the face and saying "Hah! You will not conquer me!" Drawing lines across my wrists like marks on a jail cell wall--time spent locked up with myself, the more experience i got, the more lines i accumulated. Or maybe like a paint brush, drawing out the pain inside me, telling what words could not explain. I could see myself in the razor's face, a mirror into my soul. So tortured yet serene, filled with diseased blood, boiling inside me. I must create an outlet for it, let my veins cool down. it calmed my nerves--by cutting, i lost all sense of reality.
Not one of the girls remembered my birthday, though i had remembered their's, flowers every year. I had known them for five long years but my mother said i was being selfish, if so then what's the point of friendship? A year of yelling and tears, slammed doors and family therapy, years of problems never solved. Now she's just a memory, a road bump in the past, never more will I see her angry face, never again will I have to hear her disappointed voice.
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