person-cuted. It's kinda like persecuted.

Why am I writing a blog on a Friday night? Also, my class is over, so why am I still writing on this thing at all?

Oh maybe because my brain is going to explode. I had the urge to send out a mass text today saying something along the lines of "please, anyone, help me from going crazy." Who do I think I am? George Bailey? Oh I would give anything for Clarence to come down and let me be his wing-gaining project. 

Life is a bitch sometimes. I have a good day, and then I have an awful day, and then I have a mediocre at best day. I was told that I am a dark person. Is this true? I just feel like me. Yeah sure, I have always liked going to funerals and I used to pretend to be an orphan or a persecuted Jew as a kid. Didn't everyone do that? I was normal otherwise. I spent most afternoons "playing school" in my basement. My classroom was complete with a chalkboard, a real school desk, and a projector. I dug holes in the garden and made rivers out of them. I knew so many facts about slavery! I ate pansies and hated crawling on my knees. I was your average wuss that later looks back on her life and realizes all the weird habits she used to have which continue to contribute to her supposed darkness. 

But hey, I never tortured animals.

I never lit things on fire.

I never rolled up cocoa powder and leaves in a napkin and made my friend smoke it. Ok...yeah I did. 

Childhood really does determine the type of adult a person becomes. I have a friend who grew up feeling no love from his family, who was forced to believe things he didn't want to, and was fed strange ideas. To this day, he still deals with the feelings he formed as a kid, and the hatred that he built up in his heart for his own gene pool. 

So we have a few solutions here. 1. don't have kids. 2. don't have kids unless you are mentally and economically prepared to do so. 3. don't have too many kids. 

Don't clone me. For the sake of humanity, please don't.

For the love.

So I've been thinking about the past a lot lately. Sometimes I have no idea how to feel about my past, or what to make of the way I have transformed. 

I used to be a shy, innocent, snobbishly adorable brainiac. I sometimes wish I could be just that type of person all grown up, but experiences, heartbreaks, failures, attitudes and even the state of the world we live in gets in the way of this purity and beautiful childlike adulthood. 

I often look at small children and marvel at the world they see. I can't count the number of times I have been filled with sadness at these moments, when I realize they won't stay a child forever and that someday they will have to see the bitterness of what is around them. At the same time, I get so excited at the idea of what they can become. I only hope they do better than I ever did. Old people make me feel the same way. I cry for the things they have seen, and smile at the thought of all they have gained in one lifetime. 

Being the youngest in my family, I never really got to see a human being grow up entirely until my sisters had kids. I used to make fun of my sister Kelly for how she cried when I first went off to kindergarten, but I can see why! Kids are cruel. Adults can be even meaner. The world is a frightening place full of preying wolves. 

However, there is also so much beauty in the world, and kindness waiting to be shown. Last night at work, I was stressed out of my mind and doing the work of 4 employees. People were losing patience with me and God forbid they had to wait for their food longer than usual. Out of the crowd of assholes came one mild and carefree samaritan. She saw me trying my hardest, and offered to help me out. She even cleaned off a table and rearranged the chairs for me. Why can't the world see things the way this woman did? I wish I was that type of person. A shining beacon in this place of cloudy pizza-filled brains and stubborn hearts. 

"Children don't grow up. Our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up. We're just a million little gods making rainstorms turning every good thing to rust." --Arcade Fire.

A little piece of rhyme in the middle of a beat

My mind has been racing lately. I've been having scary vampire dreams due to reading Dracula for my English class, I'm stressing about what I'm going to become, and school is all around bumming me out. 

Here's a few things I have decided though. 

1. I want to become a professional mourner. Those over-dramatic wailers employed by funeral homes can get paid thousands of dollars per funeral! I just need to work on my crying without laughing skills.

2. I don't want to get married ever. Or at least not for a loooooonnnnggggggg time. There are just so many other things I want to do! And I want to finish school first. And also, nobody would want to marry me right now anyways. My new haircut supposedly makes me look like a 12 year old boy. However, I love it. I see married couples come into the restaurant all the time that look completely miserable with each other. I want to be sure, before I do anything so drastic.

3. I am not moving back home for the summer. I love my family, and home is a pretty easy life, but now that I've tasted what its like to be on my own, I don't want to go back. 

4. I'm going to sign up to be a movie extra for the summer. If I only have to work 4 random days a month, I can make about $1,000. Money has obviously been on my brain lately if you couldn't tell.

5. I'm going to start playing my violin again. A kid I went to high school with even asked me if I am interested in being in a band with him. It could be fun.

6. I am super excited for tonight. Even though I have to go to traffic school (kick me in the face) David is coming home, and we are going to make a huge delicious dinner because of his recent obsession with food network.

7. The pizza man suit at work is hysterical.

8. I kinda want a tattoo (but don't tell my family).

9. I really despise Pampers the cat.

10. The asshole that has been running that obnoxious motor outside my window for the past 3 hours is about to get a telepathic beat down.

Man, I'm road trippin'

It seems like all my blog posts are about my sorry little life, so let's take a break from my relationship issues and focus on something even more carnal and pitiful...the Phoenix Zoo.

It's not that the place itself is pitiful, it just hurts when you really stop and think about all those animals being subjected to the ways of humans through stinky glass cages. It's bad enough living among humans as a human, but I can't even imagine being taken from my natural habitat and being forced to sit in an enclosed place while snotty-nosed children and their raunchy parents stare sweaty and wide-eyed at me through bars and fences. Whoa, how's that for a long run-on sentence? This doesn't mean that I don't enjoy the zoo though. I love animals. I just wish they had an interactive zoo where all the animals could talk back to you. That, my friend, would be quite the learning experience. 

My favorite part of the excursion was actually the lady selling entrance tickets in the booth by the front gates. She was homely and she loved her job. I could immediately sense the excitement radiating from her bosom, which was somewhere hidden underneath that frumpy zoo polo. I happen to have a weird obsession with pandas and elephants, so, knowing that I would make her day by asking a question, I inquired about the zoo's panda ownership status. To my great disappointment....there were no pandas. "However we are trying to obtain a red panda! Here's a map. On the front is a baby orangatan named Lola! She may not be out today because the weather might not be warm enough..." I could have listened to that lady talk all day. It was like speaking to a four year old about "diggers" and dinosaurs. 

There were a lot of other strange people in the the city of Phoenix, not just at the zoo. Take the androgenous weirdo at the concert who talked with absolutely no volume control for example. "I JUST SPILLED  A BEER ON SOME GUY'S BACK! HE DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE! MY NAME'S RACHEL! I DON'T EVEN REALIZE EVERYONE CAN HEAR ME AND IS QUESTIONING MY GENDER!" Needless to say, I got sick of her pretty fast. There was also the lady at Coco's restaurant who had some sort of bias against me. I asked if they had coke. She said no, Pepsi products only. Bummer. Then get me a Dr. Pepper please? No. Pepsi products. Yeah...thats why I said...Oh nevermind you ol' hag. Dr. Pepper is a universal drink that is carried by Pepsi and Coca Cola. I know this. Obviously she didn't, so for the next half hour we were there she hated me. 

So between the zoo's absence of pandas and our 30 mile drive down a dirt road in Navajo nation, I had quite an enjoyable adventure in what I imagined as a bland state, but was pleasantly surprised at its hint of sweetness. Oh Arizona. You desert dessert. 

Coma. Toast.

Here we go again, on the carnival ride of my life, minus the Mexicans and admit one tickets. Just the nauseous, fun at first but then really shitty, dizzying experience that makes you wonder why you put so much effort into getting to the carnival in the first place.  

I think I have been cursed with something that makes the end of my months completely unbearable. Everything that is great only can last for approximately 22 days. Hey world, chap my ass AGAIN because it'd be absolutely great if nothing went my way AGAIN. Just the other day, after spending wonderful time with David, I got pulled over in a completely unfair way. The cop, who already had a lady pulled over, walked into the middle of the street and waved me down. Can they do that? And how, sir, were you radar-ing me? Obviously cops are out of this world and know a hell of a lot more than me. 

My cursing is bad today.

That same day I had the school call me and tell me I had double credit for a class I didn't actually take, but got credit for through high school smart kid courses. So supposedly I am now down three credits and can't get my associates at the end of this semester like I thought. Thanks for letting me know ahead of time Yudi Lewis. I could have easily taken another class this semester, since my schedule is the equivalent to that of a rigorous 5th grader. But now, I'll have to take a useless elective credit sometime just to get a meaningless degree. 

Then my relationship life once again kicked me in the face later that night. I think I've been repressing things and I completely put David's ex girlfriend out of my mind. I sent her through a worm hole in my brain to a land far away, but not that terrible of a place, because I have nothing against her. But what David and I began to form felt great. Even after all the crap that surfaced when this situation first arose, we actually became closer. Was that a good thing? I think so. I really like him. But at the same time, I know where the deepest part of his heart lies. So we discussed things again. Pain. I wish I could see the future. I don't regret anything. I don't want to surrender. I hate being second. I wish I could show him the things I could offer. I wish that life was fair. I wish I could verbalize my feelings in a way that would make everything gravitate towards my heart and then make everything go my way.

I wish that man I passed on the narrow staircase, or rather avoided passing, would have jabbed my brain with that claw for a hand of his and made me wake up from this coma. If I was anyone else I would have never been ok with this situation, but I don't want to be forced to let go of the feelings that I have. I'm being selfish. I will butt you in line for that shitty carnival ride, just to feel the enjoyment of the initial take-off, and then you will be the one wiping the vomit from my chin when it ends, like it always does. Disappointingly. 

I bet your grandma didn't vote Obama

Everybody has a racist grandmother. If you think, "nah my grandma is open-minded and full of equality" think again. Ask her what a Brazilian nut is called, and you've got a 72% chance she'll call it a "nigger toe." It's not that they should be scorned for these types of comments, because they were raised in a different time when these types of nick names were generally accepted in society.

My mom's mother was known for saying some pretty racially discriminating things. She once told my sister that her black baby doll was cute and that she'd "keep the baby, but ditch the husband." She also had a therapist that would visit her home, and before starting a story about him, she'd clarify that he was a French-Canadian-African-American. I wish people would run off a stream of my heritage in an introduction. "Here is Madge, your typical Welsh-English-Euro trash-American. One day she....etc." Of course, many of the things my grandmother said were outspoken and a little shocking. She once demanded that my brother saw her legs off because they hurt. She also showed me her breasts once in a lesson about kleenex and perspiration, but that's a story for another day...probably a day when your stomach is feeling strong and resistant. Good ol' LaRue. We all miss her.

My dad's mother isn't quite as harsh. The only thing I can really think of that might seem taboo is the fact that her heavy-set dog used to have a gorilla stuffed animal he would carry around and in her baby/puppy voice she would say, "Now Shadow, go get your black baby!" Shadow didn't like his white baby half as much. If I wanted to sound racist, I'd say it was because he was all black himself.

I've possibly offended you with this blog, but my point is that you should talk to your grandparents. It's amazing to see how society has changed through the generations. And next time you crack open a Brazilian nut, think of my "grandma wiff da glasses" as I used to say, and thank your stars you never got taught a lesson on tissue and grandmother anatomy like I did.

Intuitions.

So you know that initial feeling you get when you first notice something or somebody strange? I used to be a firm believer in that those type of feelings are usually spot on. However, intuitions can sometimes be misleading, mainly because I have a wild imagination, and I like to look at situations through my story-teller lens, in order to make whatever is happening into a great tale to tell later on. Here are two examples of my personal intuition. One is deserving of an intuition high five and the other makes my "first guess" deserve a swift kick in the ass.

Once upon a time there was a creepy old dude (I say old meaning around 45 yrs of age) who used to come into my work all the time. The leather vest, beady eyed stare,  and shorts in the winter were in no way appealing to me. He happened to work next door at the music store and would often come in to get water or pick up borrowed music equipment, etc. Every time he made his bashful entrance, I was cordial and greeted him with my ultra cheesy waitress voice. Supposedly, this was in some way leading the man on. I didn't think this however, because I use the same voice for crippled old women, babies in strollers, and frumpy housewives, and so far none of them have come on to me in any way shape or form. But I had this gut feeling about this man named Kevin. He gave me that "ewwww, I don't really want you near me" sort of feeling. It became worse after comments he aimed towards me like, "You know what I love about you? Your smile. It's infectious." Uh sir, you are infectious, like a disease I don't want to deal with. It continued to escalate until one day he came in, and after attempting to hide in the bathroom, he took me aside and told me he had a crush on me and informed me that he was "perfectly harmless." Sure you are. Nobody clarifies that sort of thing, unless there are suspicions floating around. So he was labeled Creepy Kevin by me and some coworkers. He even wrote me a note once that said for me to pretend like none of that had happened, and later I had a delivery driver pretend to be my boyfriend. 

So that whole mess died down and he seemed to disappear because we had this concept at work that he was a little bit on the predator side, and he told another worker that he wanted everyone to stop looking at him like he was a stalker. I'm pretty sure he was avoiding us after that. However the thought of Creepy Kevin still gave me the jitters. Then one day I received a text message from an old friend of mine that used to work at the same music store, informing me that Kevin had been fired from his job being caught kissing a fourteen year old in the basement. Thanks intuition. Thank heavens I never was lured into his van with no windows. 

Now for my intuition failure. A few weeks ago at work, I heard a horn honking outside. It sounded like someone was just laying on their car horn. So Peter and I were looking out the huge glass windows to try and see the commotion. Coming down Main Street was a fire truck, blasting its horn and behind it was a bus with its emergency flashers on, occupied by a bunch of bald dudes flailing their arms out the windows. This image was so strange to me. We were absolutely puzzled at what it could possibly mean. So here was our theory; they were obviously Mexican prisoners (Peter swore on his life that they had dark skin), being transferred somewhere on a bus with faulty brakes. So the fire truck was driving in front in order to get people out of the way, because there was no stopping this mobile prison! I was stoked to tell this story to everyone I knew. So the next morning I went to my parents house for breakfast and in one breath told the entire story to my patient father. At the conclusion of my theory he just had this befuddled look on his face, as if I had just told an awful joke. He then burst out laughing and said, "Oh Madelyn. You want to know what that was? A bus full of the high school swim team (hence the baldness). They just took state and made their grand entrance into town last night. Read the paper." And for the rest of the week, he told that story to every person he came in contact with. Thanks intuition, for at least making my father see what a complete imaginative moron he has for a daughter and perhaps making him the life of his business meetings. 

So when it comes to creepy old dudes, you are probably right in your apprehensiveness. But when you convince yourself that you just saw a runaway prison bus, think again.