Archive for September, 2010

This is beautiful.

Christopher Williams, Blodeuwedd 1925-1930.

Who knew it’d be this easy?

For one of my creative writing assignments thus far I had to emulate an author we had recently read. Sherman Alexie–perhaps you’ve heard of him? If not, please read this before you read the following. Believe me, it’s worth your time. Here’s me writing in the style of Alexie. Yikes!

Tenth grade and the air was crisp that morning; I could see my breath. Your mom dropped us off on the Melrose side of campus. As we walked up the grassy hill, you asked me, “How many aspirin do you have to take to kill yourself?” I went numb.

“I don’t know.”

“Well I took 35 last night and nothing happened.”

My heart sank.

Here we go again.

So I’m taking creative writing (third time is a charm, right?) and have decided to slightly revamp an old piece I once wrote and posted on here (years ago) and turn it in for my first classroom critique. I haven’t decided if this is considered cheating, but I was told I could turn in whatever I wanted, so this is it. I’ll probably get eaten alive for this in class…or maybe I won’t. Who knows. Personally, I’m just kinda “eh” about it (not my finest, but probably not my worst), but it’s something, right? Here goes nothing…

“You do this every time!” -Mom

The yearly condition continues. This is not something that I am by any means proud of, in fact, I’m pretty sure I’ll end up going to hell because of it, but it seems to have become a tradition that I just cannot break. For the past three years, I have been hungover on the day that Jesus rose from the dead. Please keep in mind that I don’t do this on purpose–it just happens. In fact, this past Easter I made a conscious effort to avoid it, but instead ended up with the worst hangover of the three years, thus far.

The first year was a fluke thing. A bunch of us went to a party in the boonies where there was far too much hard alcohol, which led to too many specialty shots–Jaeger bombs, buttery nipples, shit on the grass, etcetera.  There was also a wide variety of Smirnoff Ice flavors as well, if my alcohol-soaked memory serves me correctly. Either way, it was far too much sugar mixed with far too much alcohol. At the time it was all in good fun…until someone starts puking and no one is able to drive home. The next morning I was so sick I lost my Easter eggs and bacon, “Praying to the porcelain god this year?” my dad quipped as he walked down the hall, passed the bathroom, upon hearing my breakfast splatter.

I ended up having to meet my family later on in the day because I was too sick to go anywhere. You try walking into a house full of not only judgmental family members but Catholics alike, who now think you’re an alcoholic and a filthy sinner and tell me how it feels.

Year two wasn’t quite as bad. A small gathering where I did a big no-no: mixing of alcohols–beer and 7&7’s to be exact. I woke up sick and pukey, with a terrible stomachache for most of the day. Luckily, Easter was being celebrated at our house that year, so I didn’t have to try and go anywhere. I did have to try and be social and not look hungover, which was hard when I was doubled over in stomach pain. Oh well, live and learn, right?

This year was by far the worst. So bad, (and I’m embarrassed to admit) that I didn’t even make to see my family, and I now live 500 miles away from these people, so it’s not like I see them often to begin with. I had more than my fair share of fun the night before too–so much fun, that I can’t even remember half of it. I’m fairly positive that I should have been cut-off and thrown out of the bar and that I peed in two very public places (A parking garage and a front yard?) and puked in another. Luckily I have pictures to remind me of what I missed, while I was there. The hangover itself lasted until about 5pm Easter day, and the puking went on from about 9am until 2pm. Clearly I was being punished for my actions.

I have only myself to blame for this masochistic debauchery. The thing that bothers me the most is that I actually tried to avoid this behavior, alas to no avail. I told myself, two beers and I’m done; and boy was I right– two “Big Ass Beers” (as they were aptly named at the bar) equaled a complete loss of inhibition, which led to more Big Ass Beer.

I guess I can only hope that I’ve finally learned my lesson and have the self control to be able to redeem myself next year. And the year after that, and the year after that, and the year after that.

Who do you think you are?

“Jar of Hearts”

No I can’t take one more step towards you, ’cause all that’s waiting is regret
And don’t you know I’m not your ghost anymore, you lost the love I loved the most
I’ve learned to live half alive, and now you want me one more time

And who do you think you are, running round leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts, and tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold from the ice inside your soul
So don’t come back for me, who do you think you are?

I hear you’re asking all around if I am anywhere to be found
But I have grown too strong to ever fall back in your arms
I’ve learned to live half alive, and now you want me one more time

And who do you think you are, running round leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts, and tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold from the ice inside your soul
So don’t come back for me, who do you think you are?

It took so long just to feel all right, remember how to put back the light in my eyes
I wish I had missed the first time that we kissed, ’cause you broke all your promises
And now you’re back, you’re looking to get me back

And who do you think you are, running round leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts, and tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold from the ice inside your soul
So don’t come back for me, don’t come back at all

And who do you think you are, running round leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts, tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold from the ice inside your soul
Don’t come back for me, don’t come back at all

Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are?

–Christina Perri