Something Funny... (Taps bottom lip three times)

I couldn't help but notice that the whole day I was humming "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik" ~ Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. No, not that version. The version by The Four Peters. http://myspacetv.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=1113759

Yes, that one. All day long humming in my head and finally I sang it out at my cube. The look on my co-workers face was priceless, then he asked, "What was that?" To which I could only reply... "The Four Peters?" It was a moment captured in time.

My Father's Temper

Over the weekend I dealt with some sibling rivalry. Most of it stems from the fact that I lived my whole life with our father and they didn't. My brother and sister don't know the half of it. I grew up with extreme amounts of anxiety and stress being around my father. I believe some of my stomach problems today come from that hyper-anxiety I had growing up. My father hated his job for the most part of my youth. He would often come home and find something to get upset about and start ranting about any and everything. I could never calm him down nor could I walk away, for fear that it might get physical. 

One night he came home in a particularly foul mood. It just so happened he decided to go to the bathroom. Our house was older and out in the middle of nowhere, so it had issues. One of the issues was the toilet loved to back-up or get stopped-up. When this happened, it took elbow grease and a good plunger, otherwise it flooded the whole bathroom. Well, that is exactly what happened. My father went to the restroom and the toilet immediately backed-up on him. He started yelling and cursing, he immediately assumed I did something to the toilet. I was ten and knew nothing of communicating with my parents, so I ignored his comments and locked myself in my room. I knew he was fuming but I was going to take a stand and not let him scream at me. He shook my bedroom door violently, I reiterated to him that I was not going to come out until he calms down. All I could hear was his yelling, but I was completely mortified when I saw his fist burst through the lock of my bedroom door... twice. On the second time the door was shattered around the knob and he was racing toward me. 

I was scared. 

I immediately put my arms in front of my face... that was a mistake. He picked me up by my wrist and started punching me all around my mid section. I was screaming and trying to kick back at him but couldn't free myself. I was in full survival mode kicking and biting. At some point my mother got him to drop me and I immediately raced outside. My mom got me in the car and we drove off. I was in pain but I remember not crying, I think I was stunned more than anything. This had happened before, but not to this extreme, my thoughts were would he kill me next time? My father is remembered by extreme moments of passion and fury. He can love you one second, and be verbally abusing you the next. This was the case as we drove. He called our car phone, (the ones that looked like big bricks) and wanted to talk to me. He apologized and was really upset. 

How do you deal with that? 

It happened again, each time ended with him apologizing. He still challenges me today, but he knows I am stronger. If only my siblings knew. Perhaps, I'm upset at my brother for never being there to protect me. I love my father like any son should, but he's left some deep scars. The worst part about it is, I feel him inside me when my temper starts to go, I've been good about controlling it because i know my father's temper is there. 

I promise that the next couple of posts will be more uplifting.

A Family Reunion of Sorts

Last week was a very long week/weekend. My half brother, who is ten years older than me, just moved up from Atlanta with my niece and sister in-law. I never lived with my brother, thus always had a weird relationship with him. I was always half idolizing him and half disappointed in him. He was someone that grew up being extremely charismatic and popular. He had his choice of girls/woman and never looked back at any of his short lived flings. He spent a better part of his young adult life disc jockeying at all the Wichita strip clubs. If that doesn't get you action, I don't know what would. It didn't help that he was a great athlete and very attractive. It sounds like I'm jealous, but I'm not.

I was made differently, therefore I look for deep meaningful relationships. What disappoints me about him, is his lack of not understanding me. My brother always looked at me in disgust. He looked at me with eyes that said, why aren't you like me? I wasn't him, I wasn't ever popular or athletic. I was chubby, short, and because of my baby face sometimes mistaken for a girl. It didn't help that my mom, who doesn't know the first thing about fashion, dressed me in very androgynous clothes. Needless to say, I had a rough childhood. If my bother's hurting my self-esteem wasn't enough, he always seemed to feel the need to blame me for that fact that I always lived with our father and he didn't. It always made me feel bad that he thought that way.

My half sister flew in for my cousins wedding last week. She feels the same way and both resent my mother. They often take pride in telling me how manipulative she was. I just ignore them. With my sister and my brother being in town for the wedding, it was crazy. It didn't help matters that my cousin who grew up with my brother and sister came into town as well. They are all very close in age and have been friends for a long time. Those three, my brother, sister and cousin have always been their own clique and I've always been the outcast. Even their significant others tune me out to a certain degree. My sister in-law has been a saving grace through most of this. My sister in-law and I have very similar work ambitions, it makes us very close. I'm rambling... 

It was crazy! 

My family is full of drinkers/alcoholics who pride themselves on drinking and how much they can drink. I don't drink anymore, which makes me more of an outcast in some ways and i get ridiculed for it. It was a tough week and weekend, to have to re-live all those feelings and memories of never being good enough. I'll forever be an outsider and labeled the "good one". If only they knew what it took to grow up with our dad. If they only knew how lonely I was. If they could only walk in my shoes. Maybe, if they tried to get to know me... Maybe, they don't want too?

It's COLD!

It's really uncomfortable outside. I'm finding it harder and harder to get up each morning because of the walk I have to make into the office. I ended up going to the KU basketball game last night with my older brother. We parked on the opposite corner of the parking lot across from Allen Fieldhouse. Needless to say it was a bit of a long and frigid walk to the game last night. As soon as we get up to the door my brother realizes he left the tickets in the car. Son of a bitch! My brother just recently moved to Kansas City from Atlanta and therefore has no winter coat. I could tell he was in a lot of pain due to the cold so I told him to wait inside. I jogged back to the car and picked up the tickets. I've never felt a pain like that second walk back to the Fieldhouse.

I hate the cold!

KU: 83
Iowa State: 59

It was worth it.

A Fighters Welcome (short story)

It was a weird feeling. Men were shouting at me from every direction. I kept thinking... don't you smile. Don't you show emotion. I danced around the giant stop sign shaped matte. I reveled in executing the cliched shadow boxing movements I once saw Ali perform. It happened so quick. A man approached and talked in my ear. He mentioned something about a clean fight. Fuck that. I'm here to inflict pain.

A spiritual guide of sorts once gave me good advice. When you get on top of your victim and you are looking at your opponent straight in the eyes, take the palm of your glove and rub it across the top of his brow. It made no sense at the time but two minutes into my third fight after that talk... I was staring. I tried it a couple of times and my prey looked uncomfortable. The area I rubbed started to look red and swollen. Three minutes into that fight I popped him in that same spot. Immediately I was blinded. My opponents blood gushing into my retinas. I felt like I had been baptized in a sea of blood and the inner beast was still thirsty. At each thrust I kept working my knuckles into the bloody gape. I noticed skull before they sent in the cut man to fix him up. That match didn't last very much longer. I opened him up again and again until they had to call mercy. He cried after that match... I chuckled and thought to myself, I must have hurt his labia. I'm undefeated in 15 matches or should I say, I've dealt 15 brutal career eulogies.

My new prey stands there gazing at me just like they all did. I pace. He will know what the matte tastes like soon enough. My heart beats. It goes silent. A bell rings out. I move in quick for my first strike. I bring my left arm down, the intricate tribal tattoo swirling around the thick muscle. Bad move. I see his yellowed toenails coming towards my fa... I can feel it. It feels like someone unloaded a shotgun into my face. Are those my teethe rattling around in my mouth? It's dark and I can only imagine my face is peeled back and swollen like some smashed fruit. I thought a taste of sulfur. No. Iron is flowing down my throat and choking me. Am I dead? No. Worse. This is how it ends, some douche bag gets in a lucky kick to the head and I'm a punch away from being a vegetable. My career is done...

I have a scar to show you.

- Inspired by a UFC match I saw tonight.

Nausea is Nauseating

I had another bout with acid reflux this morning. I knew it was going to be a tough day when I got up this morning and had really bad heartburn and nausea. I took a shower and was driving into work when I had to turn back because I thought I was going to throw up. I felt really weak when I returned home so I sent off a few emails and crawled back into bed. I didn't get up until about two in the afternoon. I made a few more emails and slipped backed into my coma. It's a very frustrating feeling to have an uncontrollable condition like acid reflux. I've tried everything to get rid of it; aciphex, prilosec, nexium and zantac but none of these have been able to cure me.

a: Always in extreme amounts of discomfort.
c: Can't fight the feeling that somehow this is hurting me in ways I don't even know.
i: It's always in the back of my mind that this might be the day when it flares up and I get nauseous in front of everyone.
d: Deciding that staying on my diet, continuing to exercise, and not drinking is still the best thing I can do right now.

Here's to hoping that everything isn't so toxic tomorrow.

The King of Hope

Martin Luther King Jr. is my hero. I watched "Eyes On the Prize" when I was nine and felt so much sadness for people during that time. King will give you hope no matter who you are.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

- Martin Luther King Jr.

Sappy Shizz

I wear a magical shield to protect me from hate. It sucks that I put it on way to late. It's covered in orange and falling apart from the rust. Because my tears fell on it when you broke my trust.

Inspirations

I'm now going to proceed and pop my virtual blogger cherry for all the world to read. However, if I just get one reader I'll be happy. I'll admit from the get go that I'm not a technical writer so my grammar will be average at best. Any help on grammar is much appreciated. Having just turned 28 I felt that I'm now of proper age to share with people the lackluster details of a life gone suburban. I was inspired to start a blog because of a wonderfully talented writer who for months now has kept me literate and humble. Her genius is digitally scribed all over posts on her blog www.pensivegirl.blogspot.com which is curiously titled "They pay to kiss your feet". I have fondness for great literary works and hers is honest exhibitionism. I'll wrap up this first of many posts with, thank you pensive girl for making me feel that if I didn't already have enough to do in one day, I can do more.