joke life
Saturday, December 31, 2011
long year
This is me and my writing, hello hello. It’s almost the end of the year and I’ll publish something before I get too crazy tonight. But tonight has been making me think: I’ve been browsing internet forums for almost a few hours at a time now and I’ve been thinking:::::what’s the point? Why go out? Am I ever going to have sex again? Why is that all I think about these days? There’s no real stimulus creating that for me what the hell i'm going to think about other things now
Monday, December 5, 2011
a wedding and a funeral
My mom remarried in 2004. I was on her side. She deserved to be happy.
The wedding was interesting though. Of course, my father didn’t show up. That would be really weird. I felt like a martyr, though. Like I was the image of someone losing from this partnership. I was put in a weird position and was forced to cope somehow. The first thing I remember is hardly remembering.
My mom was going through chemotherapy at the time and I took some of her Ativan to calm my nerves. I remember some people singing at the wedding. It was in the clubhouse in that gated community of mobile homes in which they lived, with some Spanish name. I remember lying to my grandmother about the beer I was drinking, saying it was juice. She doesn’t know what Heineken is. She’s too old and foreign to know. I love her.
I think I danced with my cousin. And I remember passing out in the back of my Aunt Rona’s Ford Escape with the dog. I did not puke. I do not remember how I got home. That’s one of my trademark shitfaced wasted reflections. I do not remember how I get home.
Like the first time I got drunk when I was 14. Jessica, Kim, and Miguel had me drink a Powerade bottle’s worth of what I thought was mostly Powerade. It was mostly Bacardi. I was wearing an oversized hoodie with shark tooth designs on it. It was ugly and black. In my mom’s car I remember puking down the sleeve. I do not know how she did not know. I think she pretended not to. How could she not notice? Somewhere she picked me up and drove me home. I stumbled into my bed and puked in it, without taking off the hoodie. I learning nothing from this experience, except from not to trust people; they may deceive you at any given time.
The wedding was interesting though. Of course, my father didn’t show up. That would be really weird. I felt like a martyr, though. Like I was the image of someone losing from this partnership. I was put in a weird position and was forced to cope somehow. The first thing I remember is hardly remembering.
My mom was going through chemotherapy at the time and I took some of her Ativan to calm my nerves. I remember some people singing at the wedding. It was in the clubhouse in that gated community of mobile homes in which they lived, with some Spanish name. I remember lying to my grandmother about the beer I was drinking, saying it was juice. She doesn’t know what Heineken is. She’s too old and foreign to know. I love her.
I think I danced with my cousin. And I remember passing out in the back of my Aunt Rona’s Ford Escape with the dog. I did not puke. I do not remember how I got home. That’s one of my trademark shitfaced wasted reflections. I do not remember how I get home.
Like the first time I got drunk when I was 14. Jessica, Kim, and Miguel had me drink a Powerade bottle’s worth of what I thought was mostly Powerade. It was mostly Bacardi. I was wearing an oversized hoodie with shark tooth designs on it. It was ugly and black. In my mom’s car I remember puking down the sleeve. I do not know how she did not know. I think she pretended not to. How could she not notice? Somewhere she picked me up and drove me home. I stumbled into my bed and puked in it, without taking off the hoodie. I learning nothing from this experience, except from not to trust people; they may deceive you at any given time.
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