No chill.

Me, last night: Really, the nativity scene should just be a big plastic figure of a black or middle eastern woman, this “virgin” Mary, right in the middle of giving birth, if we wanna talk about REAL SHIT here. I want to see it on every lawn, honestly. 

In which I’m not sure what to do.

I’m not sure how much longer I can stand my living situation, though it seems wise to stick it out at my parents at least until I graduate.

Turns out the house in Jacksonville that my grandfather owns is still for the taking though (turns out my grandad is actually kicking out my cousin, despite her being pregnant, because he’s paid every house payment and bill for her all year). My mom tells me he was planning on surprising me for Christmas with it, but I’m not sure of my next move. On one hand, why wouldn’t I want to have a monthly house payment of less than $300 handed over to me for a house that’s worth ~$65,000, financed at 4% (no way I could even finance a house with my current income/ credit otherwise, much less at 4%), 3 bedroom/ 2 bath… ?

On the other, I’ll get some slack from some people who won’t be so happy about his choice to take it away from a pregnant woman. The house also needs some work. Additionally, I don’t know that I want to be stuck in Jacksonville.

I still don’t know exactly what my post-graduation plan will entail, but I’ve entertained the notion of starting grad school in 2017 or 2018. Most programs that have piqued my interest would require me to move, no doubt. I could stick it out at JSU for grad school instead, but it seems like a disservice to myself (then again, the idea of moving far away to a place where I’d know no one seems daunting, but could be really good for me).

I really don’t know.

What to do, what to do, what to do?

Get ready for some BITCHIN’

Yesterday, I had to sit through this painfully awkward work Xmas party at my boss’s house, where I spent a lot of time with Ashley in the past. We tended to have hoooours long conversations on the back deck there. We got drunk and fucked in her 18 year old daughter’s bedroom for fun. We beat around the bush with synonyms of “I love you” next to a bonfire and cried together over the fact that she was leaving in 2 weeks. We reunited there. 

And everyone wanted to casually talk about Ashley– not even in relation to me (I know, I know, self-absorbed), making it all the more awkward. It was like I didn’t exist, even though I was right there. It felt like being brushed under the rug. People are “proud of her,” as I have a dialogue in my head of her as the biggest coward I know. It felt exactly like I was the mistake her born-again realizations had brought her to. Like these people who had embraced me so fully last year were no longer accepting of me as a person, like I needed to make myself smaller.

Someoneone’s 7 year old son there said: “eeew, is he GAY?!?!?!” about my boss’s 18 year old’s friend at the party. “Don’t call someone the ‘g’ word,” he was scolded. The “G word”?! We can’t even say “gay” any more? Yes, I’m reading into this too much, but it was so fucking uncomfortable. This 7 year old, who has seen me hold hands with Ashley no less than a dozen times, didn’t even know. Fine. Whatever. “They’re best friends!” he was told. What the fuck is that? Why the fuck can’t you explain homosexuality to your children?  Why the fuck was he not told that it’s not gross rather than just “don’t talk about it”? Fuck. You.

Soooo, I was suddenly hit with emotions again after starting to feel really damn great and admittedly thankful for the end of things. Then there I was, holding back a flood of tears, wishing I was anywhere but there.

So, then, today… my mom invited Brad over to give him a dog house and some presents for Bradley.

FUCK ME RUNNING SIDEWAYS, Katy. This is the god damn weekend of exes in my fucking face. I need a strong drink or seven ASAP and it’s only 2 pm on a god damn Sunday.

The subjugation of her

She had to be straddling a giant, vibrating hunk of steel– a symbol of masculinity. 

 Pantless (in a blue jean ad).

Spread eagle. 

Ready to rumble. Ready to RIDE.

Men are treated as though they can’t make a decision without the approval of their throbbing cock. The value of a woman, therefore, lies within her ability to get a rise out of the male populous. 

Excuse me, I know I should be using the latest goddamn hair product instead of my brain.