After all this time? Always.

Believe it or not, this post is not about Alan Rickman, although I am still unbelievably upset about....you know what, actually...first, moment of silence because dammit, we lost an incredible actor and an amazing person. 



Now, what I was intending to begin with....

Even after all these years. And it has been quite a few. I am still hella bugged about scenes that were left out of the films. Like...there were some damn important things. And scenes that were cut in the final edits that I NEED. #PotterisLife #Always

No I will never stop making Potter posts. 

Are you telling me Rory is a Timelord??

So, Legends of Tomorrow also premiered and I have this to say...

#SPOILERALERT 

Are you seriously telling me that Rory went on from being a companion to the Doctor to being...a time traveler...in a trenchcoat rather similar to Ten's...and he even one upped the Doctor with EIGHT companions?? COME ON. #perfection #Ifuckingloveit



YAASSS

Like this was hot:


BUT COME ON:

This entire show is one big WTF

The new season of the 100 premiered last night. And much like every single episode of this show I have ever watched, I spent the entire time flapping my arms, going WTF and wondering if the writers are insane. You never know where this show is going, I swear. Ok, so at this point: #spoileralert WARNING WARNING WARNING SPOILERS

I've accepted at this point that my ship is not happening. Don't judge me but Bellamy and Clarke is my OTP in this particular fandom and I get it, my ship sunk before it ever really floated, don't rub it in. 



But what the hell is even happening this season? I've gotten to where now I am like...Jaha, I kind of wish you'd just...died on the Arc cuz I can see you about to cause some serious trouble with this pyscho hologram bitch. 



And I got a bone to pick with Octavia, ok? Now, I like Octavia, I do...but what the actual fuck, girl? YOU are originally from the Arc not the native groups so why you giving Lincoln shit?? He has given up everything for you and you're going to make him feel like crap for wanting to feel like a part of a group again? Getting on my nerves with that. Seriously.


And lastly...


This.... ^

Turned into this:



What the fuck is happening here....

Because Shakespeare was the first King of Sass

And I can prove it.




And then there's Much Ado About Nothing...which has some of the best lines in all of Shakespeare:
“When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.”


“Love me!... Why?”


“I can see he's not in your good books,' said the messenger.'No, and if he were I would burn my library.”

I'm talking to you, Gods of Egypt

And for that matter, DC writers who made Kufu (based of an actual Egyptian pharaoh btw!) as light skinned as possible -___ wtf, guys? I notice the slaves and commoners in Gods of Egypt are darker skinned but I can't help noticing all the Gods are WHITE as hell. I love Egyptian mythology. I mean, I'm an Anthro major whose specialty is Ancient Civ, so naturally, I do, so you know...I'd kind of like to see my Egyptian Gods portrayed like EGYPTIANS. And the last time I checked, Egypt was still in AFRICA...



Speaking of being an Anthro major, here's a little science for you. Egypt is closer to the equator than say, England. So guess what? Ancient Egyptians, though not as dark as perhaps some other countries in Africa, would have had DARK SKIN because people that white living in Africa would have been BRIGHT RED FROM ALL THE BURNS THEY GOT FROM WEARING SO LITTLE DAMN CLOTHING, which of course they were wearing because it's FUCKING HOT IN AFRICA. 

Come on, Eros, are you on a coffee break?

The truth has been spoken. My grandmother has this idea that women are nothing if they are single, that we are defined by being in a relationship. The last time I saw her she hissed at my friend behind my back, "look how fat she's gotten, it's because she got dumped." *^* wtf, grandma...

All up on my Soapbox Tonight

I know I am like, all about blog entries tonight, so sue me. But I keep thinking of shit I should have blogged over the last like...year O.o

So, that soapbox I be standing on.


I promise I have never met one woman who would EVER consider tampons, pads, feminine wipes, etc a fucking luxury. The idea that there is a "luxury" tax on feminine products pisses me off SO. MUCH. Like think about it for a second...if an organ in a man's body RIPPED open, started bleeding, making him bloated and cramping and craving and achey and cranky, he'd go running, crying to the hospital. We do that shit EVERY MONTH while taking care of our kids, going to work, cleaning the house, doing the grocery shopping, going to school, and a thousand thousand other things and then...you want to charge us extra for the shit we need to for that? The menstrual cycle isn't a choice, boo, it's a fucking biological curse that, btw...women take on so all you conservative old white men could be fucking born. 

THIS RIGHT HERE

FUCKING THIS....

I'm a Hawk again!

Not a literal hawk, of course, but I am going back to school, where we happen to be the Hawks lol. Back in college. Again. Been at it six years now. It's an artsy semester for me.



I have African Art, one of the last classes I have for my Art History degree. Aside from the legit art classes. Since apparently they are unaware that if I could do any kind of decent art, I'd be an artist not an Art History minor!





Then there's poetry workshop as in I get to write lots of poems and then let my classmates critique them. I don't even like showing my friends for fear of judgement, so this ought to be interesting. 




Then there's World Music lol. So it's an artsy semester. People underestimate the workload in artsy classes. They assume they're easy. They're not easy. You memorize a thousand paintings, who did them, where they were done, the year they were done in and then a thousand musicians and songs and write a thousand poems on demand...then come talk to me.

Don't Judge Me, Burlesque is the Best

https://open.spotify.com/track/3my8nYpb74vfIPyRPo0zVq

Since when can Storm Troopers hit anything???

So I have been meaning to post a response to the new Star Wars film. If you haven't seen it yet...stop reading.

#spoileralert



First off, I love it. It's a damn good film. Most hilarious Star Wars film I've ever seen. The humor in this film wasn't just spot on but dispersed so perfectly throughout the piece that you're guaranteed to be smiling in between each period of emotional distress. The acting in this, the ability the actors displayed to deliver the right emotions, the right humor, the right tones and actions was really impressive. 

These new characters were fantastic additions to our classic SW favorites. Finn was priceless, I adore him. He's a lovable dork with moments of loyalty and badassery that will make anyone love him. Loving the intro of another strong female character, BLESS YOU WRITERS, a female Jedi is a lead character, I'm thrilled. Poe was great, BB-8 was adorable, omg. Kylo Ren, or young Severus as he appears, is a drama Queen of the First Order (yeah, see what I did there? :D)

Han. I can't even discuss Han. Still not over it. Too soon. Too fucking soon. If you saw the movie, you know what the fuck I mean. i knew it was coming, I knew it the moment Leia said "bring our son home" I knew it. STILL COULDN'T HANDLE IT. Chewie's response was what got me.

Honestly, I wanted to see this film again the second I left the theater. It's that good. It's so. freaking. good. It was perfect. The Star Wars fandom has arisen from the deep and there's no stopping us now. 

Mistakes were made, Regrets were had, and now there are Revelations

Looking back on my posts from days long past I see that this has been less a blog and more an ongoing diary of someone in an abusive, miserable relationship. An all consuming monstrosity of a so-called love. Reading those posts now I recognize the signs, I see the truth of it. I see the madness of someone trapped in Hell and not understanding where they're standing, that what they're facing, that the life they're living is wrong, toxic, a death sentence. I am ashamed of it, I regret it, I loathe it. But I won't delete it. Those posts remind me where I've been...and that where I am going is automatically better simply by being NOT THERE. 

Vodka and Regrets

            What are you supposed to do when you have nothing to live for anymore? When there is no one left in your life to turn to? No one there to talk you down or be your rock when you need some weight to keep you from floating away? What the fuck are you supposed to do when the one person who is supposed to be there for you is such a self centered ass that all they can see is how YOUR pain affects THEM? And that’s all they care about. Sure they make a lot of bluster about how they’re trying to be there for you, they’re trying to be what you need, but they’re not. They’re just pissed because they’re not the center of your attention. That pesky depression is taking up all your time. And how dare you? I mean, really, what’s your mental health compared to their need to be babied and given attention constantly like some fucking four year old in an adult body. They’re exactly the wrong type of person for you and you know it but that doesn't change how you feel. The heart wants what it wants. And often enough your heart is an idiot. We fall for people that are not what we need. We fall for people that don’t love us like we love them. Sure sometimes they come around but the books are never even. You've always got more in your outgoing account than you do your incoming because you started paying out long before they did. So, it’s three thirty in the morning, you’re fucking tired but you’re too upset and angry to sleep. You never sleep anymore anyway. And three fucking thirty in the morning seems like a fine time to pull out that bottle of vodka while asshole is in the other room pouting like a little bitch because you’re mad at him. He doesn't care why you’re upset, it’s all so unfair to him. Isn't it, though? It’s not as if you’re sick and fucking tired of standing in the same place while the world moves on, piling more and more shit on top of you, trying to break you when inside you’re already so broken how could you even start on the outside world, but he doesn't care. He cares that you've been neglecting him. Which you have. Because there are days that you can’t even get out of bed without wanting to scream and cry and drink yourself blind but all he cares about is what he is not getting not why he is getting it. He is never there for you. Every time he says he is, you know it’s not true. He is there for himself. But he doesn't like it when you tell him what he feels. No matter how many times you've been right. You’re never right til he says you are. Feminism at it’s finest, truly. A woman can only be right if a man agrees. So you’re sitting here and you’re sipping your vodka. It’s as bitter as your fucking life and that works for you. If it was storming outside would be better. Storming, dark, cold, vodka, hate, anger, pain, misery, hopeless. And music. Can’t forget the music. You have to have the music because it speaks for you. It soothes you. It takes your feelings and gives them away. And slowly, the anger starts to dissipate and in it’s place you find all the sadness, the neverending ache that just stays inside you making you feel miserable all the time. There’s no hope. You know it but that heart, it’s an idiot. And all the time it tries to feel hopeful, it tries to look on the bright side, but every little step in that direction is countermanded with such force and shame and pain that you’re knocked back even farther than before. So what do you do? Where do you turn? Nowhere but to yourself. You have to. But you don’t know how. You haven’t looked inward and found strength there in so many years that you wouldn't have any idea how to bring it out again. It must be there somewhere, you believe that, you have to. If you can’t, if you don’t, then how would you even try? Can you try? How would you begin? There seem to be no answers. So you just take another drink. It’s been a long time since you turned to alcohol as an answer. It isn't an answer now. You know it. But what else can you do? Tonight, there is nothing that can be done except to try to prepare yourself for the sun when it comes, then you’ll have a choice to make. Go back and die slowly, every day, losing a little more of yourself, or move forward, move on, find your own strength and take no shit, take a lot of names and leave a mark that will not soon be forgotten. But do you have it in you? Are you too broken to take that step by now? Are you doomed to desire a freedom and a life that you can never have? 

Say My Name

I always think this is it; I can't take it anymore; I can't do this, I don't want to, I won't. But in the end, I always take some more; I always keep trying; my threshold hasn't been hit yet.  Being with him somehow ends up being more important than the pain. Even though the pain never ends. Every day a little more settles on top. I don't know how I do it anymore. I don't know how I calm down and remember I don't want to be alone. There is no worse disappointment than realizing someone you love more than anything doesn't deserve that love afterall. Your rough edged rebel with the heart of gold turned out to be harboring some cheap gold plated piece of coal inside. Every good glimmer you pan for is just more fool's gold mocking your love, your devotion, your hope. You can't keep track of all the lies. He may not even know the difference anymore. There's no where to run. You cannot hide. You can struggle, you can fight, you can try to claw, climb and dig your way out of the hole but there is no escape. Even if you got out, you'd come running back. 

All good things come to an end...but is that really necessary?

Why exactly must all good things come to an end? I mean, if it was necessarily to make room for better things, ok, that's great then but why is it that we expect, we know, if we are wise, that from the start of anything, it will inevitably come to an end? Should we not go into it with the shred of hope that somehow it will endure? Is it even possible for something to last? Should anything last forever? It feels like it should.

Well I did it

I went back and viewed my old posts. Some were worse than others, but overall I got one distinct impression. As unhappy as I thought I was back then...it doesn't even compare to how I feel now. That legitimately scares me. I have been in a few really bad places before. The fact that I can clearly see how well I was holding on then...and how poorly I am holding on now...makes me worry. Maybe blogging is going to help get out some of that fog that's sitting inside me and obscuring everything so I can't think, can't work through how I feel, can't ground myself.

On a different note, saw this line in an old post:

"If you get bitten in the ass by Luna Lovegood, lovey good things will happen to you." 

Now that is gold. 

It's been quite a long time

I am under no impression that being older and hopefully wiser will have heightened my chances of readers. The death of this blog came years ago at a time in which I didn't need a blog. I had friends, I had people I could talk to, perhaps not my every thought and secret, but people to say something to. Now, it's 2015 and I have no one, no family, no friends, no one to share with. Now I need this blog. If only to feel almost like I am speaking to someone. No one is there, that's certain enough. I'm not like one of those people who make a blog or youtube videos and end up with their own tv show. If anything, I'm more a deranged college drop out pretending they're talking to real people to make themselves feel better. I'm a little worried about browsing my old posts. If I recall, I was a freshman in college the last time I used this blog, when there were still little hopes and dreams floating in my periphery like little beacons leading me forward even when I was sure there was no where to go. But they've long since vanished and left me standing in this one place, scared, alone, shaken, broken. A few months back, my father died. We lost our house shortly after. I'm holding up in Sacramento now, hometown has been left behind but it didn't hurt as much as I expected because as it turns out all these years, my supreme attachment to it wasn't that I was born and raised there. Sure, I love it for that, but my attachment to it was my friends, the people I thought were my real family. But in the end, blood and chosen both walked out on me. Now it's just the town I was born in. Not a place I need to be to be whole. Now I could live anywhere. Because I have nothing to tie me anywhere. Well, I could live anywhere if I could afford it. I think I will have to move this time next year, truth be told. Rent is high. I never envisioned this kind of loneliness again. Only it's worse now, with my dad gone. We had our issues (mostly that we were too much alike) but he was my constant. My mom left us. My sister left us. But my daddy never left me, not until he died. I watched him die. I wish I hadn't. There was no goodbye, no time to say anything. I wish I could have thanked him for always being there for me, even if I wasn't the best daughter, he was the best dad in the world. My one source of unconditional love. Now, I'm a broke bitch with depression and anger issues and oddly enough all these years I thought secretly that everyone's love was entirely conditional, I wasn't wrong. I look around and find myself standing here entirely alone. My so called family is gone, my so called friends are gone, not even a text or a FB message to pretend as though they aren't. My closest friends now are people I have never met and by closest I mean, we occasionally chat over a post on Facebook. Overwhelmingly close, that. Everywhere I look I see pictures and reminders of the things I've lost. I don't know how to not see them, I can't get rid of them, it would hurt too much. As if the memory of love can hold me over for the rest of my existence. Only was it ever love at all if it was so easy to leave? My family just up and left, never spoke another word, clean cut, and I can live with that. But my friends? No official goodbye, it's more like oh yeah, we're still friends, totally, even if we never want to see you again, never talk to you, and won't even pay you more notice than random people online we don't even know. Have I mentioned we've been friends for the past decade? My crime? Depression. I guess I'm bringing them down. I get that. Don't want me around, sure. But cutting me off entirely and copping out of it at the same time by not admitting that's what it is? Yeah, ok. I have my dogs and my cats...4 of the former and 2 of the latter. There's the oldest, Shiloe, she is my willful old lady. She pretends to be deaf and does whatever she wants. I kind of let her half the time because she's 14 and she has cancer, though she manages to be quite sprightly when she wants to be. Jake is my old man, Shiloe's son, he is 10. He is a nightmare. He never listens. Barks at everyone. But he is the most loyal dog on the planet. Tootse is next, she is 6, Jake's daughter, Shiloe's granddaughter. She is my little angel. Little yappy though, but so cute, you forget that. All purebred rat terriers, those three. Then there's my chihuahua, Salem. Adorable nuisance. Wants to be the alpha, very sneaky about it. Should have named him Loki. He's 3. Then there's the babies, my kittens, Trick and Stitch. Gorgeous black ragdoll mixes. My only really well behaved pets. Trick is beautiful. His coat is red underneath, very fluffy. He is also massive. 5 months old and he is bigger than some full grown cats I've had. That's my family, those 6. As you can imagine, none of them talk back. The more I have no one to talk to, the crazier I feel, and the closer to exploding I feel. Which brings me back to the point of this blog post. I need the blog now. I need to talk. Even if I'm really just talking to myself. 

Hello, dear Apocalypse, where have you been?

So, my boyfriend is into the whole zombie thing. Obsessed, really. Its oddly charming. Now, I rather hate zombies, they freak me out. However, he has me rather firmly seated in the whole lets be ready for zombies! craze and he is really good at playing into my paranoia about being overly prepared for any and all emergency situations. So, why not? Kind of a cute thing to bond over, right? Now, if he wants a zombie wedding...nope, nope, nope. I can wait for the apocalypse to be filthy and carrying a machete everywhere I go.

Ooh, Zombies, Zombies everywhere!

Zombie Pandemic
Zombie Pandemic

Will you survive the zombie apocalypse?

Updates in the Life of the Wanna-Be-Author

One - I am missing the letter p and most of the punctuation from my keyboard due to water being dumped on the poor thing at my 21st birthday. Which brings us to the second update!

I turned 21! Wicked, right? Now I just need the ID that says Im 21. Like Mark says "you arent REALLY 21 until you have the ID to prove it"

I got my first tattoo. Damned awful experience, really. The tattoo artist had an immediate dislike for me. I cant imagine why. Clearly my charming personality was lost on him. He seemed to be terribly annoyed at having to come into work and stormed into the building late. First sign that this wasnt going to be so pleasant. It took him half and hour to call me over at which point he revealed that he hadn't done his own sketch and was simply going to apply my original sketch directly to my calf. the look on my face was rather like "oh.....you don't say..." but I went with it. I didnt pay attention to his improvised shading because I was far to preoccupied with the fact that he was pushing far deeper than necessary and seemed to relish the pain he was causing me. My friends were watching in what I read as horror while he worked. Confirmed later. I was far too stubborn to ask him to be a little gentler and chance him giving me another look that screamed girls shouldn't get tattoos! He pushed all the harder when my leg shook. Not my fault, I have no control over shaking when my body goes into shock. Your leg would move too if it were being drilled into, lol. By the end, I was ready to scream or pass out but I was determined not to, because it would only give him the satisfaction of knowing I couldn't quite handle it. I limped away from the table after over an hour of this and then had the pleasure of watching him very, very gently put a flower on my blonde best friends ass (she has really perky tits, btw) Like Baywatch ones.

Finally got my ears pierced again, lol. Not what I expected either. I was thinking they'd do a gun like back when I was ten. Oh no, it was a big ass needle they shoved through my ears. Hurt like a bitch! Too bad I didn't realize I needed to eat before I did that. Damn near passed out from low blood sugar. BUT they look great and they're healing great, so lesson learned and happy ending there.

I'm getting close to my 2 year anniversary now. Never thought I would be able to say that. But it is wonderful to be in love. Despite all the crap that comes with being in a relationship, when there is love, its all worth it. Every day its worth it. Good stuff, right?

Since the last time I posted, I lost two of my babies. My patches was 12 years old, ancient for a big breed. My little Rosie was barely 2. I was devastated. I still cant think about them without crying.

Life has been hectic these days....so much to do, so much to forget, so much to struggle through, that blogging hasn't been a priority in quite some time. I miss vlogging but I'm webcamless now, so might as well get back in the habit of blogging the old fashioned way. lol. Maybe even REALLY old fashioned. Like writing in a diary, like when I was a kid.