Fettuccine Al-dead-o

The afterlife has been somewhat of a concern for me.  Especially since the past few weeks have found me relentlessly questioning my faith.  For the longest time, I had always just taken for granted what everyone told me to believe.  And that’s what it has been all of my life.  People say, “God exists, and you must believe in him.”  Because I was young and impressionable, I did. However, now that I discovered the ever nifty “thinking for yourself” application in my brain, I wonder if I really, truly believe that.  And I don’t know.

We don’t go to church.  Even when we did go to church, I absolutely loathed it.  I had to get up early on Sundays, I had to wear a dress and tights and uncomfortable shoes, and getting ready for church usually put my parents in a really bad mood.  The last time I actually went to church (outside of the going with friends on Sundays before they take me home) was probably when I was ten years old, or somewhere around there.  And I have not really regretted it.  I don’t think that, fifty years from now, that I will say, “Damn.  I really wish I had gone to church more…”  However, I think church may have helped me on my way to the conclusion of what my faith actually was.  When I say that I don’t go to church, I get these hilarious looks that are like, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME???”  Tyler and I have talked about this quite a bit.  People, nowadays, believe, not in God’s salvation, but in the salvation that church provides them.  They think that attending church will save their immortal souls.  They think that going to church makes you a good person.  I’m not going to be the one to tell them that going to church is supposed to help you understand–it’s not going to help you ensure your position in heaven, not if you rely on it completely to erase the sins you committed that week.

Tyler made an excellent point when we were talking about Catholicism.  “Church is a rehab for sinners, nor a gathering place for saints.”  And that’s how some Catholics view things.  Not all of them, but many of them do.  My father’s family is Catholic, he was raised Catholic, but now, he’s not.  My family “believes” as my mom says.  She doesn’t understand why you have to go to church to be able to call yourself a Christian.  But it isn’t like I exactly want to call myself a Christian, because some of the “Christian” behavior is questionable.  The protesting of a gay man’s funeral is the worst thing I have heard in a while.  It’s appalling to me, that those people call themselves Christians.  That’s very Christian behavior.  People constantly say, “What would Jesus do?”  I can tell you that he wouldn’t do THAT.  That’s fine if you don’t agree with their lifestyle, but that’s none of your business.  Forgiveness is the greatest tool that we have.

So, in all of this that I am saying, none of this has helped me in my search for something to believe.  What’s going to happen to me when I die?  I absolutely refuse that after this life there is nothing.  There’s no possible freaking way I went through all the shit I went through for it all to be OVER.  Just over.  However, I don’t want reincarnation or immortality.  Me and Taylor were talking about that and Futurama came up in conversation.  Bender said ”If I found out I had to live another life, I’d kill myself right now.”  It makes me smile.  I am still on my search for what’s on the other side of this life, because I’m not sure.  But people are helping me find my way, so maybe I’ll be okay. 

I just want to know that when I am fettuccine al-dead-o, or basting the formaldehyde turkey, that there is something waiting for me on the other side.  I know there is, but the specifics are eluding me.  So, now starts my search.  I’ll let you know how it goes.    

Teenager: Adults Telling Us NO

Teenagers scare the living shit out of me. 

They could care less as long as someone’ll bleed.

The crossing from preteen to teen (or young adult, whichever you prefer) is marked by one thing:  the considerable restriction on your life.  Or it was in my case.  As a kid, going places with your friends was no big deal–you usually had a chaperone.  However, as a kid, you don’t usually make the same demands as a teen, because you don’t know better.  You don’t badger your parents for the freedoms you suddenly crave:  movies every weekend after dark, the ability to change plans on a whim and screw your parents over.  (I do that all the time.)  You want the freedom to express yourself in anyway you choose.  In this instance, we’ll focus on artists, mainly writers.

I had discussed this with Taylor earlier and I decided to discuss it with my Hamster, to get two different views because adults and kids sometimes see things differently.  However, me, Hamz, and Taylor had the same train of thought:  “Don’t let anyone tell you what you can and cannot say.”  I had been upset about a message someone had sent me in response to my statement “That’s gay.”  They told it was NOT OK to say that, that teens do it all the time and it’s not cool.  And, since I’m a teen, I deleted the message and refused to acknowledge the sender.  Because teens can be childish like that.  The world thinks we’re childish all the time anyway.  While I cannot say I was RIGHT to say that, I can say that no one is going to edit their language when they are extremely flustered.  it just doesn’t work that way, I’m sorry.  And I’m not going to apologize for what I said, because I don’t think I need to.  (I know my friend Bsinger 1017 would find this particularily hilarious, ebcause he says GAY after pretty much everything.)

However, I do agree with Talyor on one thing:  gay sounds immature, coming from a writer like me.  Had I been a little more calm and my thoughts less clouded, I would have used a different word.  There are, much to your surprise, I know, quite a few words in my vocabluary that can express my irritation and anger.  Hamz said “…had no right.  You can express yourself!  What ever happened to freedom of speech?  Well, I know [they] have the ability to cally ou out, but online?  Isn’t that why do all that online stuff?  To get away from adults who tell you what you should and should not do?”  EXACTLY.

Gay, in some ways, is the same as any “derogatory” “mean-spirited” word.  Such as bitch.  OMG!  Did I just swear. Yeah.  I did.  Because I can.

Quote from “Teenagers” by My Chemical Romance

Self Portrait

Blue eyes, calculating, observing; never resting for fear I will miss something.   They are my eyes, light blue at the center ringed with dark, almost black blue.  They stare at me, those reflected eyes lined in black eyeliner and they seem to ask me, Who are you? 

Pale skin with teenage blemishes, the skin’s whiteness made stark by dark hair and black clothing.  There are some who call it pasty, unhealthy looking–I do not agree.  It’s my skin.  Let me decide what it looks like.

Dark, chestnut brown hair falls straight, only marred by layers from the last hair cut.  It frames my face when let alone, but my annoying habit of running my hands through it tosses it every which way to give me a slightly frazzled look.  It falls, shining and straight.

My hands shake in panic, the chipped black nail polish becoming slightly blurred in my fingers’ movement.  Writer’s hands:  constantly scarred with ink from a page.  Nails are uneven; sometimes from breaking, sometimes because my old habit of worrying them with my teeth comes back.  But they put my thoughts on the paper, on the screen; they hold the pen that makes my imagination real, or as real as it gets.

Not tall.  Not skinny.  Apparently, according to the nice woman at Arby’s, I have “junk in my trunk.” While I don’t look like Kiera Knightly, I love the way my legs look in jeans, and the way my torso looks in tank tops.  People may think I could stand to lose some weight, but for now, I’m content.

My face is like an oval–not bad, but no real defining attributes.  Black Ray-Ban prescription eyeglasses sit on my nose, the lenses enhancing my sight.  They are like my shield, protecting me from the real world.

I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, frantically, my hands are still shaking.  I’m alive.

Darwin

I laid on my bedroom floor for hours, listening to Pink Floyd, trying to keep my mind perfectly blank.  I’m so tired that keeping my eyes open is almost a chore.  I know I have to tell her.  And I will when the opportunity presents itself.  My feelings refuse to put themselves into words.  They’re sturggling against me, and I am losing.  Let’s see if I can use a different method of description.  My chest hurts, my eyes burn, and I can’t move.  I don’t need to move.  So why move?  I think I’ll just stay here and listen to Pink Floyd.  Even if I don’t like them at first, I will learn to love them.  Because he loves them.  Because she loves them. And that’s enough for me.

~

I told her.  Yes, I was crying.  Not because of what I told her, not because of him, but because of everything that coerced me into telling her.  The topics that came before, that had nothing to do with him.  I bottle it up–one things after another after another after another.  I cried because it’s not fair.  Frustration might be the word.  Yes, it is the right word.  The Pink Floyd got really loud.  It’s probably just me.  I’m shaking again.  Anxiety.  Don’t make me move.  I just want to lay here, on my bedroom floor listening to the msuic he gave me, and I’ll never listen to anything else.

~

Tears stain my pillowcase now.  I knew this would happen.  I’ve felt it for days.  Everyone has their limit and I’ve reached mine.  Of course I start crying.  Then I cry for hours, everything invoking a stream of saline down my face.  I should have known it was close–it happened first last night when I was watching Disney channel.  This old guy told Maddy he wanted to take her for hot chocolate and I burst into tears.  Tiny things that remind me of the things piling on my mind.  Stress.  Everyone pitted against everyone else, Darwin’s theories haunting our every move, leaving a bad taste in my mouth.  A bitter taste.  The hatred bred by competition makes me sick.  It’s not worth it.  There’s always a loser, even if it’s absolutely horrible. 

~

Tired.  I want to sleep, but I’ve got her on speaker phone.  Still playing Pink Floyd.  Mentally exhausted, physically distressed.  It’s raining outside, storming, raging.  It went from bright to dark, similar to my mood.  But I don’t feel anything.  I’m tired.  Just tired.

Stay Pretty

When I listen to music, it’s fun for me to find stuff I can relate to me.  It’s like when I listen to “Are You Gonna Be My Girl?”, it reminds me of myself when I wear my Kate Beckinsale boots:

Big, black boots
Long brown hair
She’s so sweet with that
Get back stare

It always makes me smile when I hear that, because I’m like, Hm.  Wouldn’t it be cool if I danced around in my boots to that song?  But, it isn’t a song that really makes me think.  It reminds me of Daniel a little bit.  But, there is this song that makes me think EVERY TIME I LISTEN TO IT.  It’s called “Stay Pretty” by Farewell, and I think I have their “September Brought The Fall” on my lyrics page.  But, when I listen to “Stay Pretty” I think alot.  The song’s about the fall of a person–how their morals disintegrate, and the people aren’t who they used to be.  About losing friends because you compromise your morals to be cool.

By the bags under your eyes
I’ve seen you packed for the week
So hang up this shit for the neighbors to see
Writing won’t save the world
So you best stay pretty girl

That whole song makes me question some of the decisions I’ve made and why I’ve made them.  “The foolish man isn’t the one who makes the mistake.  Everyone makes mistakes.  The foolish man is the one who makes the same mistake over and over again.”

Some days I qualify myself as a fool.  I walk into the same situations over and over again.  Lately, I’ve been thinking more about my decisions before rushing into them.  When I blog, I am trying to change the world– maybe not as drastically as ya’ll think, but I’m trying to make an influence.  “Stay Pretty” makes me think about what would happen if I failed at writing–do I have anything else to offer?  Maybe.  But, if not.  I am going to hang up this shit for the neighbors to see.  And my writing may not save the world, but I hope it’ll make a difference.

Well, you’ve been living a lie by your own admission
My patience has been hard enough to fake
And the secrets you save for your new physician
Are leaving me with one ear on the safe

And the holes in your story increase suspicion
Your witnesses have all been on the take
And we can give it a gamble under one condition
You’ll have to take your foot off the, foot off the brake

So give up and give in and start over again
But be honest, cause you’re all I need
It’s pathetic
Why can’t we get it straight?

Well, you’ve been compromised by your new position
They’re looking up your skirt, for heavens sake
And your army of fakes that refuse to listen
Will end up in designer, shallow graves

It’s true
The torture and tears have become tradition
But the something on the side is what takes the cake
And the surplus of uppers and apparitions
Are the only things that keep me up, keep me awake

So give up and give in and start over again
But be honest, cause you’re all I need
It’s pathetic
Why can’t we get it straight?
So stay up and stay in
Yeah, I’ll say it again
Look beyond this
There’s a big picture that you’re missing
Framed by the first mistake

By the bags under your eyes
I can see that you’ve packed for the week
So hang up this shit for the neighbors to see
Writing won’t save the world
So you best stay pretty, girl

So give up and give in and start over again
But be honest, cause you’re all I need
It’s pathetic
Why can’t we get it straight?
So stay up and stay in
Yeah, I’ll say it again
Look beyond this
There’s a big picture that you’re missing
Framed by the first mistake
By the first mistake
By the first mistake
Framed by the first mistake

“Stay Pretty” by Farewell 

Don’t Let It Get You Down

Today went by rather fast.  It involved a lot of crying and laughing and conversation between old friends and the forging of new ones.  Yearbook day is always like this for me.  I spent it with Rachel, my bffl, of course, because she is now on yearbook staff.  And Yearbook Adviser didn’t get too angry.  Yearbook day is something I look forward to all year, no matter how much I complain about the stress yearbook sometimes causes.  I feel really calm, like all is right in my world at the moment.

Even though I know next week brings hard decisions and a hell of a boring time.  It means hanging out in the yearbook room all the time, which I love doing anyway.  I need to pack that fridge with some Dr. Pepper, while I’m thinking about it, because I know I’ll forget.  Funny thing is, I can write “streams of consciousness” on my blog without effort, but my teacher tells us to write like that and I look at my paper like it’s an alien from Mars.  It’s dumb. 

I’m trying not to let it get me down.  There are so many people telling me so many things and trying to pull me in so many different directions.  It’s almost like white noise.  I just want to sit down and scream, “Now, hold up a freaking second!…What did you say?” Because I’m confused.  I can’t handle so many different opinions.  I just can’t weight things.  It’s one of my flaws.  Speaking of flaws, I forgot to tell someone something…I was watching a show the other day and someone said something that was so utterly true that it floored me:

“You like someone for their good qualities.
But you love them for their faults.”

But, in my case, the faults of the one I love are too much for this fifteen year old heart to take.  So, like I said, big decisions next week.  Quick post today, because I won’t have time for a while.  Enjoy life, and don’t let the world get you down.

Letter To A Doll

Dear Taylor,

I was always jealous when I heard the term “my mentor” come from other people’s mouths.  All great writers seemed to have a mentor, or writers in general.  Constantly, I pondered on how I would find a mentor.  And, in a way, I think you found me just as much as I found you.  Nobody really cares to waste their time on one of thousands they end up teaching.  But you have invested some time in me, listening to me talk and helping me see that my opinion isn’t the only one out there, and that adults’ motives differ from kids’.

You introduced me to blogging.  Journal entries that take up no paper and no ink?!  How innovative!  Then came Students 2.0, which has been a wonderful experience.  You’ve helped me realize that learning is what I love, not school.  And this is important to me–it was like one of those melodramatic epiphany moments… (Like in Moulin Rouge! when the scene spiraled downwards after Christian drank the absinthe! Or in Strictly Ballroom when Scott decides to dance in the Pan-Pacific to win. :D)  You’ve also helped me with my scattered thought processes.  Because, pretty much everyone knows I should be blond.  (Not that being blond is bad.  *grin*)

I also appreciated your unbiased attitude towards Daniel.  You were the ONLY adult who saw him for th great guy he is.  All those days I came to talk to you while you tried to each your lunch…I’m pretty sure you were just like, “This girl needs to leave so I can eat my damned food in PEACE.”  (You know you were thinkin’ it.)

And the evil administrators….They make my eye twitch.  I loved your loooong signs on the door.  Everyone thought they were genius.  I was tempted to go ask the administrator for the one about the ids when they took it down– I wanted to frame the sign, even if I had to have several different picture frames.  But, alas, it prolly went into the “evidence locker.”  I love how our principal only came out of her office once in a blue moon.  I’ve only seen her once in one of my classes and she came into to tell my English teacher about the cake she was eating and how good it was.  Yeah.  I know.  It was so dumb I was laughing. 

My name, once curbxstomp, now just Kaelie, is because of you.  The change has allowed me freedom and room to grow–my blog now has NOTHING to do with school.  And I’ve dedicated my blog to you.  I know you’ll be proud when I walk, two years from now, across that stage, even though you may not be there.

I hope that after you are free that you will spread your metaphorical wings and leave this school–but not the people who love you–behind.  Remember not to live your life in fear, Taylor.  That is the most important thing.  Never live in fear.  For a life lived in fear is a life half lived.

Love,
Kaelie

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We’re just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

Freelance and In Love

This week has been incredibly hectic and hard to deal with.  However, to top everything off, I have had a wonderful Friday in which I have achieved something I have been working towards for the past nine months.  I have worked past all the horrible half-relationships and the crushes I think I had for the sake of having something to distract me from him.  And now I am dating this him of which I speak.  Daniel and I are finally dating.

I have changed my name from curbxstomp.  That is a past life, and with this first post, I am starting something new, some place for me to be me, without having to assume a name.  I am Kaelie, a rebellatrix, and I am happy.  The word rebellatrix means “renewed war” and I am waging war on the things that opress anyone who is a striving artist–or anyone really.  No one deserves to be oppressed.  I am ready to be free and now this name is going to allow it.  Does that make any sense?  No, but it’ll make itself evident.

I am now freelance.  This blog has drifted from being created for a class to being the chronicle of the life of the normal student in my words.  Everything is fair play, everyone is fair play (up to a point), and now people can read it.  This is all to my mentor, because I want her to know that I understand–maybe not completely, but I know, and this blog is my weapon.  I am truly psyched about this.  Know why?  

Because now I can do what I want. 

Happiness Is A Warm Gun

(OR HIGH SCHOOL AND ITS TYRANNY)

I’ve felt disconnected for the past few weeks, like nothing was important–including this blog.  Especially this blog.  I click on that login button and I go “UGH, do I have to?”  Not anymore–I feel rejuvenated!  It was this odd chain of events that led to me spending the majority of my weekend with Ms. Rachel Ellane (she is no longer Ramxpage) and working my high school’s junior-senior prom.  And I’ve never had more fun.

As if to remind me how miserable I was during me and Rachel’s spat, our HSAP prompt asked me to recall my fondest memory (or one of them anyway).  The first thing that came to mind was the first time I ever ice skated–and that was with Rachel.  And, in an odd, roundabout way, it made me realize guys are not more important thand a good time.  Does that make sense?  This whole yaer–my whole high school career, in fact–I have let guys make me miserable and make me cry.  And the only crying I’m going to be doing is when my favorite teacher leaves.  (Don’t worry.  I’ll still talk to her–that’s not what makes me cry; I’ll be crying because she’ll finally escape the tyranny of our high school.)

I’ve always said that the line about hapiness coming from within was pretty much bullshit.  Shows how much I thought I knew.  Because, at the moment, I am completely content inside.  Rachel and I are back to normal–annoying each other for fun–and I don’t really like any guy at the moment, except for the boy in my class, but I’m taking that extremely slow due to some advice. (*cough*diane*cough*)  So that means the only thing I’m stressing over is what I’m wearing to HSAP testing tomorrow.  (Sounds like a disease, doesn’t it?  AIDS, HSAP, HIV, can you name the STD?)

I’m watching Ratatouille, which is an amazing movie.  You’ve got to love the characters.  Speaking of charactesr, I should work on a post for my writing blog.  It’s going to be interesting juggling all the internet crap I’ve got piled up.  I recently revived my livejournal for Rachel, so I’m juggling that, two wordpress blogs, twitter, etc.  Joy.  Plus, I forget, like, everything.  I forgot to message people on Twitter because I was caught up in Backseat Goodbye’s “Hello Yellow” (which is all RACHEL’S FAULT.)

So, I’ll leave you with this song that sums up a lot.

Sometimes I fear that I might dissapear
In the blur of fast forward I faulter again
Forgetting to breathe, I need to sleep
I’m getting nowhere

All that I’ve missed I see in the reflection
Passed me while I wasn’t paying attention
Tired of rushing, racing and running
I’m falling apart

Tell me
Oh won’t you take my hand and lead me
Slow me down
Don’t let love pass me by
Just show me how
‘Cause I’m ready to fall
Slow me down
Don’t let me live a lie
Before my life flys by
I need you to slow me down
-”Slow Me Down” by Emmy Rossum

Curbxstomp & Ramxpage

Many of you read about me and Ramxpage’s crippling fight about a month ago; I was broken up about it and very recently we have gone back to our old ways:  extremely long pone calls, hanging out at her house and eating like cows.  You can see the difference in my attitude, because I’m listening to music again, my writing has improved, and I have initiative I feel great.  Or felt anyway.

I had a great school day–Daniel was in a good mood, HSAP was over, and I was working on a new story.  then I came home. That’s when everything becomes a suck fest.  I’m going to glaze over the events, because no one would reallly understand anyway.  So, about eightish–after I pampered myself (the norm:  shaving, lotion, eyebrows plucked and all the while I was listening to Vanessa Carlton)–I couldn’t take it anymore.  I threw on public appropriate clothes (I was wearing booty shorts and a cami, and my mom nearly had a heart attack and made me put on “decent” clothes) and took my phone outside.

While I was at the dinner table, before this, I was fighting tears.  So, when I was more relaxed, I called Rachel, because no one understands more than she does.  So I sat in my driveway and called her.  I was doing okay for the first half of the conversation, but when she was asking me what was wrong, I started to tell her and then all hell broke loose.  In other words, I burst into tears.

I sat in my driveway, crying for more than twenty minutes, telling her everything.  Unlike some people that I confide in, she was completely indignant on my behalf and made me feel a lot better, and I love her for it.  She was completely outraged and she made me laugh to make me feel better.  It’s great to have a best friend who doesn’t question all that you do.  And, she didn’t want me to wear my boots, and I did anyway, because some guy asked me to and I should have listened to her.  Because now, my ankles are bleeding and I’m in serious pain.  Rachel ALWAYS knows best.

You know someone’s your best friend when they defend you even if you are wrong, but when it’s all over they say, “Uh, do you even know what you’re talking about?”

“Hello, how are you?  I think that we should be best friends.”
-”Hello, Yellow” by Backseat Goodbye