Tag Archives: brother

An Angry Atheist? Bitch, I could be.

My last grandparent, ol’ Momo, died some months ago. I hadn’t planned on going to her funeral, for I had visited her at the funeral home when she last became very sick (before she then got sick and died), but the thought of my brother alone in his hotel room after coming back from the funeral worried me. My grandmother had raised him for the formative years of his life, and she was one of the few go-to relatives he had. And then she died slowly and painfully. I think of that and it’s hard for me to be sad that she’s gone. She was old and I believe ready to die. What more can one hope for, for a grandparent? My brother needed more help.

Momo

Crazy how I can share her picture without worry of getting her identity stolen or anything.

Anyway, the funeral was very Christian and as I was keeping myself strong so that my strong brother could weather himself through his grief, a pastor, unknown to everyone except the members of the church in which the funeral was held, came on stage and began to preach. Five minutes into his ridiculously long, shitty spiel, I was snarling in my head, “Who the fuck is this nigga?”

“SOME OF YOU WON’T BE GOING TO HEAVEN! IF YOU DON’T BEEEEEEEEEEELIEEEEEEEEEEVE! YOU’LL BE GOING DOWN UNDER!”

Apologetics is the religion of the age, so while the Bible does say that those who don’t believe will be going to hell, many Christians pretends it doesn’t and they keep themselves from judging when it was convenient for them. That’s fine for me, and I was fine with when my Momo did it, and I ignore it for the most part as my mother does it.

So to have this fucking stranger screeching over my grandmother’s coffin a religious philosophy she could only be caught dead at, made me want to ram a bible so far up that guy’s ass, he’ll only be able to say scripture with spurts of God’s Words flying out his mouth!

Of course, I’m being hypocritical- Momo wouldn’t want me to speak of anyone in such a way with such language… But this isn’t for Momo. It’s for me. Screenshot 2015-07-21 13.43.03

That’s me.

Now this pastor continued on for a good half hour. I don’t know, it may have been less, but whatever it was, thirty minutes or thirty seconds, it was too long. Shouting about how I’m going to hell, and this person is going to hell and hell, hell, hell.

Granted, I didn’t talk much religion with my dear grandma. She probably knew I was atheist (through Mom, most likely), and she may have spoken to this pastor about it, but I find it highly unlikely that she wanted her grieving relatives reveilled via Revelations.

And I felt it from much of the church, as the crying became stifled with anger- Who’s this nigga?

We talked later about it, sadness mixed with the horrifying realization that the funeral of a beloved wasn’t only imperfect, but  the antithesis to the deceased’s lifestyle.

At the end, a well-known and well-beloved and well-self-known-flawed pastor came up and sang a gentle hymn and helped everyone cry.

When my mother dies (and I outlive her, duh), there will be no such crappy switcheroo at her funeral without her expressed and/or written permission, depending on her state of mind when she dies. As an atheist, I don’t think my grandma’s soul was or that my mother’s soul will be watching the funeral go on. The funeral is for the people (at the very least, the dead person will be in heaven or hell, so, again, they won’t care). And it’s hard to come to celebrate the life of the dead when there life is not being spoken about.

P.S. What made that nigga think it was fucking okay to start preaching at such a time? WHAT? Someone please answer this because I just don’t know.

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Family Charybdis Syndrome

I have several half-brothers and sisters. As far as I know, I have no full siblings, and, as far as I know, that doesn’t matter in the full scheme of things. Well, actually, one picture-taking day, my mom asked for a picture with just Dad’s kids, the dad who is not my biological dad. The older brother there and I chose not to make a fuss, ever. Well, until now I suppose.  At the moment we let our four younger siblings and the step-sister that Dad had recently reconnected with take their together, without us.

That was a time where it made a difference. Yea, my other siblings, the four who are full, had once teased me once or twice or a dozen times that I wasn’t their real sister because I was only half. But they were extremely stupid kids and I was ‘too sensitive’. Plus, I could punch them in the arm or face when I was feeling a bit irritated.

Of course, I couldn’t do that to my mom. Well,  I could, but I wouldn’t. Would I have, then? No, of course not. I can’t remember. I remember more that my mind had gone blank, and I had to hold in my profound annoyance because Older Brother was acting pretty cool about it, but I knew he was just as upset. At least, I learned later he was.

I try not to dwell on it when I see the family pictures hung on the walls. All the pictures with themes- females, males, kids… Dad’s kids only club.

head scratch gif

 

Took an unexpected turn there. Ah, but you wouldn’t know, now would you?

So, I’mma take another turn, back to where I wanted to start. Let’s broaden this out a bit. I recently had a long conversation with my siblings about our family. Just the immediate, no intensive talks on cousin and aunts just yet. Older brother and I tried to break through a wall of delusions. Not only that, I have a drastically different way of looking and dealing with the world than my siblings, and they do from each other.

We were Facebook messaging. It had all six of us in the beginning, but Youngest Brother (I have two younger brothers) can’t take criticism to the nth degree and jumped ship at the least bit of pushback to his lifestyle. Before, we had invited back those of us that had left, accidentally or otherwise, but we didn’t for him, and there was nothing in this conversation that would have had him stay.

Unimpressed gif

The conversation started with talking about our parents claiming certain people on taxes. Anyway, it got to the point that I was complaining how I wanted my cut of whatever they got, because they get money for me, and I didn’t see a goddamn dime.  I’m sure they used it in some fashion, but I doubt they used it better than what I would have used it for. That’s a whole other can o’ WTF.

I don’t trust my parents to give me what I’m due without a lot of pushback, and my sister was certain that I would have been given my cut. After years of that not happening for nearly all things, I still don’t believe it will be given to me so easily. I’m thinking now, that that was how it has always been for me. Perhaps, it’s always been easier for Younger Sister (I have two younger sisters). She asks, and she’ll just get it, and she thinks it’ll be just as easy for me. I actually think it was harder than Younger Sister 1 made it out to be. In any case, I’m not going to risk it. It’s a long bus ride home to risk not getting what I came for.

She tried to tell me not to come over just to watch Game of Thrones (which I did, I admit), and maybe I’ll be more comfortable with asking them for stuff. That’s probably true, but, again, it’s too long of a bus ride to think so optimistically.

Then she said this:

Screenshot 2014-05-18 13.27.49

Puck angry

Again with this shit!

However, to spoil it on ahead, Elder Brother and I made headway this time. At least with Younger Brother (not Youngest Brother who jumped ship).

Let me give you some background. Younger Sister and Younger Brother both have (or had) the idea that our general dislike of our parents was from lack of forgiveness in our hearts for the things they have done in the past, and that all the bitterness in our hearts are self-inflicted grudges that can all be resolved if we just let it go (Don’t).

Older Brother and I think we were abused. Well, not think, it’s science. We were abused. And that abuse was multiplied by the fact that they didn’t treat the other kids the same. Point in fact: Older Brother was often called sensitive when he was younger, and was just generally hit and yelled at all the time and teased because he was so sensitive and Dad had  a free hand whenever he was the least bit irritated. My parents were all about sparing the rod and spoiling the child, but they weren’t good at it, just as that quote is mostly shit to justify beating the crap out of four-year-olds.

I would like you to muse over this a moment: Older Brother is 3 years older, so I barely remember him and his relations with others when he was, and I might be pushing it, 7. And things have really stuck with me only beginning my third year of school, so he was about about 11 or twelve. Imagine not knowing ten years of a sibling’s life. What have I missed? What view do I truly have?

Now, Younger Sister is a year younger than me. And Younger Brother is three years younger than I am. What the fuck do we know about how Dad treated Older Brother when he was four and five and six? Who are we to say that he’s lying, and I, and I’m so sorry, I used to think most of the way about Elder Brother. When I came to terms with my own abuse, I began to realize that it was highly unlikely he was just making shit up.

Back to my point: Younger Brother is MUCH MUCH more sensitive than Older Brother. Remember, when we told him he needs to take care of his diabetes more, for example, on Facebook, he was like, fuck all of us, I hate being pointed out for my suicidal flaws. But let me tell you, everyone walks on eggshells with this dude. He is just as violent as my father used to be (and Younger Sister) with a dash of drama by calling the police or wanting to get spoonfed by some poor dimwit of a counselor and get everyone involved. Heavens forbid you tell him to clean his chore, or room, or body or to stop hogging the bathroom FOR HOURS listening to dubstep.

And what do the parentals do for this, like really? Nothing. Dad won’t touch him or talk to him, and Mama doesn’t either. He needs psychological help, but our parents can’t afford it (or don’t want to, or don’t believe he has a problem like that. More on that piece of juicy bit later).

But let me sideline again: I came over one day, and the living room was a bit of a mess. It’s usually a mess because Younger Brother uses it as his mancave, leaving his clothes and trash and dishes wherever they fall. Mother came downstairs and told me and Youngest Sister, “Be sure y’all clean this mess up.”

Neither one of us said anything. When she was out of hearing shot, Youngest Sister snorted. We later talked about it: How could she treat us so differently? Youngest Brother can make an absolute hellhole of the place, not a peep. But I come over to visit and I must clean the living room? Needless to say, neither Youngest Sister nor I cleaned it.

That was sometime last month, April. April 2014. In April 2014, my mother was still doing the same shit she has been doing all my life. Foisting responsibilities on me because I was more malleable to do as she told. Of course, I don’t live in the house and I can just leave (HALLELUJAH) and I don’t have to worry about them keeping things from me. The tax money doesn’t count since they don’t regular give that to me. I’m thinking more on the lines of electricity… Or computer time… Grounding? Yea, something like that. So I left, and Youngest Brother went back in the living room that afternoon, and Youngest Sister knew Ma wasn’t going to tell her to clean it without risking have to tell Youngest Brother as well. I think the living room is still unclean to this day.

oh well gif

 

So we have different views of how life went because of our age differences, and we know for a fact that our parents treat us differently and have made some mistakes when raising us. One of their mistakes was being kind of inconsistent:

Screenshot 2014-05-18 14.35.23

Yeeeeeeaaaaa…

But things changed to The Point of No Return with Younger Brother’s post (for me at least):

Screenshot 2014-05-18 14.40.43

And that gave Dad the right to beat the shit out of us, I suppose. Things get really hectic from here on, but that first sentence. Now, our Dad is one of the most manipulative people ever, and so is our Mom. They have these stupid ways of talking that make you say, come on, really? Are you really saying that? Then they are quick to call one sensitive or misunderstanding when in reality they are being assholes. They also have a way of blaming everyone when it’s their fault, etc.

TL;DR: There’s no way Younger Brother was never manipulated.

Never?!

Never!!!

No way.

But this is where it gets into a sinking hole of family. I don’t usually make sweeping generalizations. (Everyone’s a brat, everyone has something wrong with them, we all can say mean things) They do absolutely nothing. It might help for someone who is confused, but I’m not confused, and I don’t need generalizations to bring it all into focus.

But just in case you don’t have the focus in ya crosshairs, everyone’s perspective is warping reality. Yes, of course, Older Brother and I feel as if we are closer to reality.

For example, Dad used to call Younger Sister a slut a lot (and was always scared of his sons being fags and me being nutzoid/crazy/think-you’re-smart-but-you’re-actually-stupid) or some variation of slut. I’ve also told her those same words, although I’ve never seen her have sex. I’ve also called my brothers those mean words, and some of them have called me bad names as well. And round and round it goes. Six of us. Plus Dad, and Ma that stands in the background or something.

Let me share these things Younger Sister said:

Screenshot 2014-05-18 14.58.11 Screenshot 2014-05-18 15.01.22 Screenshot 2014-05-18 15.02.02 Screenshot 2014-05-18 15.02.14

 

scream gif

I don’t mince words. But look at that! This is us, one of us kids, saying with pure conviction the completely unreal statement of how she put me and Dad on the same level.

And this is the crux of the matter. Everyone did something so everyone just take the blame onto themselves and forgive everyone else and we’re all equal and we’ll have peace.

Except Younger Sister is all about physical retribution and can’t let things go when she needs to. She lets the anger get the best of her and always feels justified because that other person should have done something.

Also, Youngest Brother is driving Younger Sister insane with his shit. She keeps saying stupid stuff like beating him up will help (no this is no joke. She keeps saying that as if it’s an actual solution even though she has PHYSICALLY FOUGHT DAD, and she still is in the house thinking the same way she has since she was nine, with a kid, and one on the way).

Thing is, she doesn’t think people’s actions or words really influence anyone (she believes any beating she received when young was earned and it was all her fault), which is exactly the sort of shit our parents would say, which was what I was saying when I was in the house, which I believe Younger Brother is soon to stop saying, which Youngest Sister (who did not come into the conversation except to ask if we hated Dad, even after we said multiple times we didn’t hate him. I didn’t bother answering her. I have no patience for laziness) says.

They all also make these generalizations that try to equalize everyone’s faults, but with the glaring thumb that is Youngest Brother, it’s easier to point out that not everyone’s mistakes are on the same level, and I refuse to tolerate that which goes beyond The Point of No Return.

Cant remember name is confusedThere is so much more to say. But being out of that house, out of that soul-sucking environment where your mental capacities for stupidity and wrongness are pushing the pressure gauges, where you put your mind through gymnastics to makes sense of the reality, I realize that leaving may be the only way to begin to heal from such a childhood where we didn’t know any better.

INTENTION! vs. impact… Fucker, do you understand?!

Boulders Tumblr

 

Let me start off by saying that I intend to make a big impact however I can as long as I live. I will be posting some things in the next few days that will make some readers uncomfortable, and the best thing you can do in that case is hide away and read something that will stroke your deflated ego. That’s what I’ll surmise in any case.

My sister worked on a farm in June. It was  a very lovey-dovey, sensitive sort of shindig where they sat in a circle and had self-improvement meetings, and some people were fired for saying the word ‘crap’ too much. I worked there a few years ago. Nobody was fired and I don’t remember not being allowed to say crap.

I also  don’t quite remember one particular aspect of the program: Intention versus Impact, though it may have been part of the work and influenced me.

As I’ve come to embrace it, sometimes you intend something and your impact is something different, and, in any case, you should accept your impact and, if it is something you didn’t intend, own up, and try to make it something like how you meant it.

Problem is, some people get defensive when someone takes their intention the wrong way- anyone would. Biggest problem is that they sometimes never own up to it and say: Oh, that’s not what I meant at all! Sorry it sounded that way. For example:

I made a big ol’ bowl of Cream of Wheat some time ago. I always make a big bowl because I don’t eat much. When I do, I try to eat a sizable meal that’ll last me until I remember to eat again, but not that I’ll be super hungry when I do, for I may not be in the position to eat. After it’s all been lifted poured into a bowl, my brother makes the comment: “That’s a big bowl of Cream of Wheat”

Hrm

Actually, I may have watered down what he said, but I don’t want to misquote him negatively just in case I have him wrong, so the neutral position it is. As you might have guessed, I figured he was making fun of me and I asked him to clarify what he meant.

He said he didn’t mean anything about it.

Now this was after a conversation I had with my dad, and also after one with my older brother, where I’m sure both meant well, but it didn’t feel that way to me. And afterwards I had another conversation with my dad and brother (same one as Cream of Wheat) where I’m sure they thought they meant well, but it definitely wasn’t. Objectively, wasn’t.

With the conversation with Dad and Older Brother (hey, I’ve already a post on both of these conversations, actually!) in the back of my mind, I told my brother about Intention! versus impact… Basically saying that he might say one thing, but it means or sounds like something else.

MeaningLittle Bro #1 is one of those guys who gets offended but tries to play it off, but is really bad at it. Kind of like when my sister lies. (Which is pretty funny because she’s a terrible, terrible liar but lies all the time). As we went back and forth, I told him: “When you say stuff like that, it sounds… off. Kind of like if I were to say, “Wow, your stomach is so big!”

“But that’s rude. You obviously mean something else.”

“EXACTLY. I’m asking, what do you mean when you say I have too much Cream of Wheat?” (I’m getting a feel for the original quote… But I’ll leave what I had before).

“That doesn’t mean anything though. It’s just a observation!”

Ooooh, okay, yea, sure. And then Dad joined in the conversation and it really went to shit, so I eventually just said, “We’re just going to have to agree to disagree about this” as I thought in my mind that words have meanings and subtleties behind them that not everyone will pick up.

For some reason, Dad got incensed over that, saying somethings before this: “See, that’s what’s wrong with society today”

“OOOOH, okay.” I actually scoffed at him, and a sudden pang went to my heart as I saw little brother’s look of shock and his little backing away. Why should he fear?

“But I’m not going to say nothing about it, because if I do then everyone will-”

I had turned around from washing the pot I had used to cook my food to look at him, lifting an eyebrow at his sudden slide into hypocrisy, as he was wont to do. This time it didn’t happen; he flapped his hands dismissively at me and walked away. Right.

Sure, I may have overreacted (Dad called me over-analytical), but I’m just so surprised at how easily something that can be taken offensively was indeed taken offensively, but they couldn’t understand why I thought something deeper was going on with how big my bowl was. Especially how they kept saying it, in several different ways, and stopping before, indeed, they said what they really meant- at least, that’s how I heard it.

Moving on from there, we’re trying to move. We’ve found this lovely house not far from where my dad works. With how it’s set up, my parents, my sis and my niece, and two others can have their own room. While the last two will bunk up in one. Of course, I want my own room. I do this thing called skipping, I watch porn and other unmentionables, I stay in one room the most out of the family (except maybe Mama) and I stay up later- on the computer or a video game- than everyone else. It just sort of makes sense to get my own room to avoid many conflicts.

So, some days ago, I got into the reasoning with Little Bro#1 (CoW) and he brought up how I should stop skipping. That I should ‘sit down’ and ‘not do it’.

I told him to not act like he cared about my tic because, at that moment, it sounded as if (and I contend it was) he was only pretending to care so he could get his own room. He said he always cared and always was worried about it.

hmmphsho

Unfortunately, I’m unable to really see what he said as some well-intention advice.

And he was so upset that I wasn’t convinced he was looking out for my best interests! To be honest, I found it pretty damn amusing that he would think, for a second, that I would believe he was always so worried about my skipping and just happened to try to convince me of it when on the line he could get his own room. Yea, the impact was pretty damn opportunistic.

The Very. Next. Day. Dad went into a lecture about the new house. As usual, when he talks for more than three minutes, the old irritation grew within me and I knew that he would ruin it somehow. He told us older peeps that we’ll need to get jobs and help with the rent (Like we didn’t fucking know that. You didn’t get that expensive-ass house so you could pay for it by yourself. You didn’t tell me how expensive that expensive-ass house was so you could pay for it by yourself. Anyway!) He asked if we understood, and then he explained himself, mostly repeating what he said before.

In my mind, I thought WHY DID YOU ASK IF WE UNDERSTOOD IF YOU WERE GOING TO KEEP TAAAAALKING?! *bangs head against table* This was going to be endless.

Then ol’ Pops got into my skipping- and I thought, yep, here comes the downturn. I could almost hear Lil Bro #1’s eyebrows move.

He told me to skip in the garage, then said that he would rather I not skip, saying he was ‘looking out for me’, that I should ‘find a new hobby’-‘read a book’. “She’s going to be 40 and skipping!” He looks at me and asks, “Is that how it’s gonna be? You’re going to be 40 and skipping back and forth. That’s what you want?”

gr

 

Yea, Dad. THAT’S what I fuckin’ want! To be able to wake up from a deep sleep with an urge to skip, to not be able to sit down to homework, or a WordPress post because, eventually, I’ll want to skip, to not want to hang out with friends or family because I have the urge to skip, to watch a movie or listen to a new song and unable to FUCKING THINK until I skip. Yea, that’s what I want!

Asshole.

Oh, favorite part: We were actually about to go to Walmart and buy stuff for the 4th. I didn’t answer dad his stupid question, and I didn’t go to Walmart and he said: “I just wish I can talk to them without them clamming shut!”  (to my mother, as they walked to the car).

Oh, POOR YOU!

I would say I’m overreacting, but since then I’ve skipped multiple times. Any questions? Nah. Of course not.

Something funny: My youngest brother, who has a few issues that really makes the atmosphere of our home toxic, and some of my other siblings, plus my mom, had a long talk. Turns out, yes, I’m getting my own room (I didn’t really have any doubts), and so is my younger sister, with whom I have written posts and watched a great deal of anime. Therefore, Lil Bro #1 and #2 have to room together.

By the time I woke up joined the conversation, Youngest Bro was in tears that he wasn’t getting his own room. Things got a little heated and Mother gave a lecture, which YB largely ignored, but something caught on from Mama’s words: That we all deserve to be happy (that’s so sweet, cute and true!) and we all deserve our own room.

I refrained from telling her that yes, sure, we all deserve our own room. However, do some people deserve their own room more than others? Of course. That’s why we didn’t draw straws with rooms. What is hilarious to me is that YB for some time thought he deserved his own room more than me! 

Blaine_No

 

“642 Things to Write About” and The Great Gatsby

I watched the movie today. More on that later. Or right now, with terribly cynical words for 642.What would Fitzgerald say about boxers or briefs? #76?

Also, I had a rough conversation with my dearest brother, that highlighted all the differences between us. #78

Actually, really great entries from us today. Yes, I’m tooting our horns like nobody’s business.

Prompt #74- The greatness of sandwiches

My response:

Not including hamburgers (as I’m sure many don’t), I found sandwiches the bane of my existence, avoiding it at all costs. They seemed to represent all that was wrong with being less than wealthy. Sandwiches now, and forever. Jelly, baloney with cheese and mayo, bacon-egg-cheese- hell, even Nutella.

Towards the time when I realized that I could starve myself with idiotic discontent, I noticed that every sandwich I made was out of desperation. I was hungry, and in order to fill me up, it was quicker to put that jelly or baloney or egg on bread.

Now, I usually skip the sandwich deal. It reminds me of being poor and hungry. But I eat the bread alone, the ‘deli’ ham between my fingers rolled up like a burrito, and shredded cheese is sprinkled into my mouth. I don’t remember the last time I’ve had mayo, but no part of that can go without a sandwich, and that, too, has been buried.

Sister’s response: 

Sandwiches can really describe the person who’s eating it. You can learn a lot from sandwich. For example, the creativity of it. How the person organizes it or what they put on it. There are thousands, maybe millions of variations you can do to make a sandwich. Not too mention that you can organize it in your own special way that no one will get. And, it tastes good.

Prompt # 75-Parades

My response:

I remember only one kind of parade that happened from year to year. The Martin Luther King Parade in Beaumont, Texas. For some reason, it was always a huge affair, something I always looked forward to. The people in the great slow line would throw beads and candy, so, so, so much candy. One year I lost a tooth to a Tootsie Roll from the parade; that Halloween I lost another to another.

It always gave me great anxiety to see it winding down, and the way it so concretely began to make outward signs that, yes, it will be over.

One year, it rained. Not many people came, and my elementary self had been close to tears at the disappointment. No candy was thrown, or beads, since there was water everywhere and it was slippery. Dancers and bands and performers had canceled, so there were gaps and it was quick. Too quick. I remember thinking that parades were fast enough, and the rain had hastened them all away.

I made a note early never watch parades on TV- like the Macy’s one, or the New Year’s one. To hear it thrillingly from articles and people who had visited kept it alive far longer than if I had been there.

One time I had gone to a Christmas parade in Beaumont, on Crockett street, closed down now. Our class was on our way to a grand, grand, grand theater to see a magnificent rendition of A Christmas Carol. We were watching the parade beforehand, to pass the time. It is still bright and glorious, with horses dressed in red and green lights and a thousands Santas marching. It’s been neverending.

Sister’s response: 

Parades to me are like bubblegum. The first ten minutes of it s good, but after awhile, it’s bland. There are times when I just be happy about it but deep down, I just want to go home. I remember the MLK parades when they passed beads and stuff. I did enjoy that part, like any other kid would. But, I’ve been in parades like five times. Tiring, tiring stuff. Marching up hills while playing music. I do love festivities, so my feelings about it are neutral.

(MY! We are just on a blaze, aren’t we?)

Prompt #76-Boxers or briefs? Discuss.

My response:

Depends on the character. You can’t just put boxers or briefs on a man or woman and pretend it’s always going to be so. That’s like saying someone should always wear sweaters, while another always V-necks.

Cupping a nice package in briefs is all I think about with briefs. The package can be in the front or the back, but it should be well-formed and fulfilling. Briefs for my attractive people, the muscular and shapely, the curvaceous (and BBWs). It just won’t work with men, unless their erections can fill as much as their stomachs covers.

Boxers are mostly for style and comfort- oddly enough. Free-falling and airy, with much more room for decoration, which is always good if your pants go down to your thighs.

Boxer-briefs, mostly.

Sister’s response: 

I prefer boxers because whenever I see guys wearing briefs, I tend to stare by accident. It’s like, right there… Like, a girl with big boobs. A lot of times I see sexy men wearing briefs, so I really can’t help staring (look up Ian Somerhalder).

(Perverts! The both of us!)

Prompt #77- Screw you.

My response:

Whenever I hear someone say that some book I like was boring, I have the extreme urge to say “Screw you”. I find the word in league with phrases like ‘too-PC’ or ‘hyperfeminist’ or ‘Obummer’. It’s a word to say towards something that has a lot more to it, most of the time. In essence, it’s one of those words many use without really trying to say anything. It’s somewhat dismissive.

Ah, screw you!

Sister’s response: 

I find it rude. But then again, they could say worse, like f-off or something. I still don’t like it though. Seems kind of hurtful and mean.

(It is!)

Prompt #78-Write about a difficult conversation you’ve had recently. Then rewrite the conversation, saying what you couldn’t say at the time.

My response:

My brother came to visit for Mother’s Day. And when the rest of the family went to church (except for my youngest brother and my niece- and brother, of course) I asked Brother if he could take me to the gas station so I could get me some Dr. Pepper.

I couldn’t find my debit card in my wallet or anywhere, and I asked Youngest Brother to ask my parents if they’ve seen my card. I was sure they had taken it without my permission, for I had recently given my mom my pin number so that she could withdraw money to buy some… uhm… medicine. I had already checked my bank account, and it recorded a transaction for that day that I didn’t do.

My parents sent a message back saying ‘Didn’t no one touch your card’.

Incensed at the cowardly display of fibbing, miles away at a cultish church, I told Brother I no longer wanted to go, and he asked if I was mad and of course I was.

He soon went on a familiar rant about how I needed to leave the house, get my life together, be successful, go somewhere, anywhere than my parent’s place. He remarked how I shouldn’t be surprised about that charge, how I probably wasn’t, and shouldn’t be, again.

As his voice radiated in the house, my niece froze in place. I could see in her eyes the nervousness she always displayed when someone was angry, for her shitty father would get like that and be unkind to her.

I could see father in my brother’s eyes. They may have wanted what was best, but it came off so patronizing, so agonizing. But I couldn’t tell my brother who had PTSD from my father that he was anything like him. I couldn’t tell him that I was, obviously upset, but, on the whole, my sister and niece was making this the best place to be in the world right now. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay with them.

He told me how I shouldn’t be working at Denny’s, how I needed my own place, how I needed to take out loans, and make plan B’s and C’s just in case Temple University didn’t accept me.

Where should I work at? How would I get my own place? Should I go back and be miserable at Johns Hopkins?

Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, thinking that I can’t get into Temple University?

did immediately get defensive with that. I don’t know if he noticed; but he’s sensitive. He might have. I told him I would like to live on my own, somehow, and he was quick to say that things didn’t just happen that way, and I was careful to say that I had no choice then.

But I didn’t say, simply, that I didn’t want to. Unfortunately for him, whenever he visits he is addressed by panic attacks, tearful fits, triggers from Dad- Dad with his fake laugh, and passive aggressive way of asking for favors (He works in Murfreesboro, and he told my brother that he might need to hang at his house one day. Ugh.) and all that crap. Fortunately for me, my subconscious deals with this and I deal with it all subconsciously. But consciously I immerse myself in my grand imagination, my sister’s wit, and my niece’s laughter, the narrator from Far Cry or the NPCs of Skyrim. I’m also perfectly confident and complacent in my superior wit, intelligence, and empathy (but not diligence to the seriousness of this world, my world) to anyone who tries to come against me.

Where the hell do you get off thinking I can’t get into Temple University? That I can’t be successful just because I bide my time collecting money so that I will be able to pay my way through just a few more years of college and the great beyond. You with the PTSD with the many boyfriends of all types, and hundreds of followers, and forty likes for a status on an imaginary snippet on closing an elevator on a group? You who have always had friends and the love of so much of the family, who no one would ever just call cute so that they can’t honestly say that I’m unattractive in the general sense?

I’ll stay here. I’ll go to Temple. I’m fine.

Sister’s response: 

My sister versus my brother and me on God. She’s an atheist and we were figuring out why she doesn’t believe. She made some valid points and so did my brother, but I ran out of things to say. At one point, she said that, there’s no proof that God exists and that she lives for fun.

I wanted to say that I wish I can die and see heaven so that I can come back and tell her about it. I felt doubtful if God exists or not, but I know in my heart that I do believe.

(so heartfelt…)

Prompt #79-Write the copy for a cereal box so that someone would actually want to buy this exciting new flavor

My response: (Hilarious, since most new flavors aren’t new at all)

Trix Cereal now made with REAL FRUITS! That’s right, lemony yellow and raspberry red are now tinged with luscious lemons and riveting real raspberries. Try these delightful swirls in your favorite type of milk- try it with some vanilla soymilk and let the creamy goodness bathe your receptors with an almost yogurty wave!

Sister’s response: 

Kix! Now with flavor! Go on… Add sugar to it… Keep going… Pour all that sugar in it… The whole Kix will still taste like the box it was made in… Buy new Kix now!

(I love Kix!)