Crying in Public Places

1. A little over a month ago my mother convinced me to go with her to take Annoying Stanley to the dog park. Against my true desire to go, I went anyways with the hopes that a free Starbucks would be in my near future (which it was). So here we are, hanging out at the dog park, where apparently Stan has "friends," when this blind dog comes walking up to me. I swear to God the tears immediately began to build. Holding them back, I looked at my mom and said "That's it. If a three-legged dog walks in here, I'm done. There will be water works."
Less than 10 minutes go by when none other than a freaking three-legged dog comes strutting in.
"NO" is what I told myself. "No, I will not cry." Holding back these tears, the owner starts talking to another person saying stuff like, "Yeah, we had to have it amputated about three months ago. She has been doing so well, I'm surprised she still moves as quickly. We are just hoping that we don't have to get rid of the other leg too."
I was done. The tears began to fell and I made my mom take me home. Never again will I go to a dog park. For all I know, the next time I am at that place, a dog that is both missing a limb and bling will waltz in and I just can't handle that shit.
Technically, it was the dogs that made me cry, but I blame her because she made me go.

2. I heard about Batkid while reading up on the news at the mall. On the bright side, when people see you crying you get two things: (1) Walking around, people steer clear of you and (2) people offer special discounts and promotions that you would only get if you had their credit card. Am I proud that I took advantage of my cry fest with special promotions? Yes. Yes I am. Was I still embarrassed? Yes. Yes I was.

3. I should probably stop reading about sad/emotional stories that are on Facebook while I am in public. Far too many times have people asked me if I am ok, when all I did was read about the couple who have been married the longest and put in the Guinness Book of World Records. That couple was the bees knees.  If that doesn't make you cry, you have no soul and probably like Kanye West.

4. This one time I had the flu and couldn't eat for a few days. I got my sister sick, so we remained miserable at her house. When I began to feel a tad bit better, I drove to Jamba Juice in an attempt to get something in my system that didn't require chewing.  You all know I am from Vallejo, so of course I was still in my pajamas. My hair was disheveled and my face paler than usual. It also didn't help that I was wearing no makeup. Anyways, so I get in line and when it is my turn to order, I get the smallest drinks. I pay and wait until my smoothies are ready. My name is called but when I approach the man with the beverages, he hands me two of their largest smoothies!!! And then do you know what he told me!? He said, "You look like you needed an upgrade. Take it easy." He sure did hit me where it hurts. I cried. I bawled. Snot shot out of my nose because I was sick, but it sure didn't help the situation or the looks I was receiving.

I don't like to think of myself as a public crier. I prefer holding it all inside until I'm alone so no one can see me all weak and shit. Unfortunately, there are those extra special moments where my heart is all like, "Just let it all out. You could use a good cry." And my brain isn't paying attention, so of course this means that my heart gets what it wants.

Dear Heart,
You Suck. Stop making me look like an idiot in public. And Brain, as for you, get your shit together. It's your job to stop this kind of stuff from happening.
Sincerely,
Madison

Black Friday Madness

Black Friday is crack cocaine to women everywhere. The worst part is finding the will power to not shop for yourself. Here is an example: There were three pairs of jeans I desperately needed from Old Navy. When I say desperate, I mean I just wanted them the way I child wants candy on Halloween. On Black Friday, they were 50% off! Who passes up a deal like that!? I got to the mall, ran straight for Old Navy, and snatched up two of the three pairs, convincing myself that I would regret not purchasing them. As I held up the jeans in the air in an AHA! moment, my face suddenly fell. Well shit. I told myself I would do no personal shopping, yet here I was, being all self involved. So, I set the jeans back on the table, shrugged my shoulders, and began looking for a vest for my sister (which was no where to be found). This wasn't even the worst part of my mall experience. As I walked out of Old Navy, I had to pass by all my favorite stores, like Express, H&M, and Forever 21.

The second worst part is dealing with people. People are so annoying. Here is my experiece at Macys: So I walk in this store and am immediately overwhelmed by the shoe sections. My eyes light up as I walk towards some boots on sale for $19.99, but then I am once again reminded by my conscience that I am not shopping for myself. Anyways, my mom and I walk over to get a secret Christmas present for a secret person. I am standing behing one other person with another two people at each register. Would anyone like to know how long I stood in line? 30 MINUTES. There was only ONE other person in front of me at the front of the line, and it took 30 MINUTES. These women at the register do not know how to shop! They had the cashiers price check each item, tell them how much they were saving, and then even go get them more of that same item! Who needs six flower-patterned jeans that cost $79.99 on sale!? Women who don't know how to shop, that's who!

The last part I hate about Black Friday is that it doesn't even start on Friday anymore. This thing is getting too out of hand. Too many people are skipping Thanksgiving, a day of thanks, to stand in line for an electronic item that you probably already own. I am not against good deals and bargains, but when you take away a holiday in place of two days of "entire store 50% off" and "doorbuster" deals, I think that the line that was drawm has officially been passed. People use excuses like, "Well, I think we should be thankful all year long, and not just one day out of the year." Yes, you are correct, but are you being thankful by pushing and shoving to get the last cell phone, when you have a perfectly good one in your back pocket?

Thanksgiving is a fantastic holiday. You get to wear your stretchy pants and dig in to turkey and sweet potatoes like there is no tomorrow. You get to spend it with the people who mean the most to you and take the time to remember what you are thankful for. It doesn't mean that you aren't thankful any other day out of the year. It just means that you are reminded why you are thankful. Black Friday should be on Friday and Thankgiving should be on Thursday. There should also be some sort of rule that says you can't line up outside a store until at least 9pm at the earliest on Thanksgiving. I'm just saying, I am getting real tired of these stores opening earlier and earlier every year.

Things I Discovered While on I-5

1. Old people always use hangers instead of suitcases. I swear, the backseats of their cars were full of them!
2. People with trailers get their trucks to match. I can't tell you how many trucks I saw with red pinstripes down the length of it, just so it could match with the trailer they were lugging behind them.
3. Most families have portable dvd players. We were included in this category (we watched Lady and the Tramp about six times).
4. Cow farms smell, like really bad. In the words of little Rowan: It smells like poop! POOOOOP!!!
5. Red vines are too expensive at the rest stops. Let's just say they cost more than $2 and you only get like 5 of them. Now that is just a sin.
6. Good moms pack snacks. We had cookies, and capri suns, and more cookies. It was awesome.
7. People still do litter pick up in the middle of nowhere. There was a man about an hour past Harris Ranch just doing his thing and picking up trash on the side of the road.
8. Rowan does in fact get car sick. We were in the midst of the grapevine around 8pm when Rowan began screaming at the top of his lungs, then proceeded to vomit. EVERYWHERE. I was horrified.
9. I hate the sounds of children screaming. Below is a picture to prove my point.

10. During the drive, I often forgot where I was. I just started looking around and all I saw were hills. Like, everywhere. 

As a bonus point, I would also like to mention that Caden slept through all of Rowan's episode. By episode, I mean from the beginning of his screaming at the grapevine, through his vomiting everywhere, through us pulling over and cleaning him up, and finally, all the way to my brother's house. What a trooper. 

From Bow Wow to Lil Romeo

The other night I was watching Like Mike (don't judge me). While singing along to "He's playing ba-sket-ball (Bow Wow Plays Basketball)," it occurred to me that I can't remember the last time I heard someone talking about Bow Wow. What happened to him? I then remembered that back in my early teenage years there was a feud between him and Lil Romeo. Then I thought, what the hell happened to Romeo!?
Sooooooo I googled both of them and here is the conclusion I came to:

Lil Bow Wow: Now referred to as Bow Wow (real name: Shad Gregory Moss)

In December of 2012 on his website, bowwowtoday.com, he posted what I thought was a blog entry titled "I'm Back." As it turns out, they were lyrics to a song he apparently wrote or performed or something.
I also remember that he played a hippy in that movie Roll Bounce (2005), but considering that it has been about eight years since this came out, I think it is safe to say that his role as a "hippy" might not actually be his role. I'm gonna have to watch this movie again.
The last song I remember him performing is 2007's Jump Off. It's actually a really catchy tune. I listen to it at least once a month.
Fun fact, if you click the "Read Full Bio" link on his website, it takes you to Wikipedia. How convenient. We all know how accurate Wikipedia can be.
Also, when I googled "Is Bow Wow" google finished my sentence with "Dead?" Ha. Google, you are funny.
I lost interest after clicking that link, so I shot my way over to Lil Romeo.


Lil Romeo: now referred to as Romeo (real name: Percy Romeo Miller Jr.)

I got bored after i put up these pictures, so instead, I googled "Bow Wow Romeo Feud." Here is what I found:

• Master P is Romeo's father. What!? How did I not know this??
• Romeo quit his music career to pursue a basketball career after Bow Wow said, " I want to be in the NBA." In a sense, Bow Wow already achieved that in the movie Like Mike, which surprisingly never showed Michael Jordan. 
• There is no actual mention of what the beef was really about. 
• I also found a picture of Bow Wow possibly making out with a man who was part woman. I'm not sure if she is a woman who became a male or a male who became a woman. Either way, it looked pretty manly. No judges though. Bow Wow, you just keep doing what you're doing. 

This could not be a more boring blog entry. I was hoping to find something along the lines of, "Romeo was caught in the act of hooking up with Bow Wow's man-girl, Juliet. A fight immediately broke out as swords were drawn and Bow Wow yelled out, WWHHYY!??!?!?!"

Was that too much? I felt like that was too much. If anyone else knows what these two people are doing with their lives, feel free to let me know.

You Know You're from Vallejo When...

Vallejo Bitch, Vallejo California. Ok seriously, I would never say that, but still, someone felt the need to sing a song about Vallejo that uses those words as lyrics (See Indecent the Slapmaster). Don't get me wrong, Vallejo has its upsides, like Liled's (the most fantastic ice cream shop in Vallejo) and Planet Fitness (where else can you work out at 2am and not get judged). That second reason was slightly sarcastic. I'm just cheap and it only costs $10/month. Moving on, you know you are from Vallejo when "YOUR" has been written as "UR." This isn't your BFF Jill, this is a public sign (IDK My BFF Jill?). 

Stuff like a man standing on the Benicia/Martinez sign is actually a common thing. As The Bangles would say, "Just another Manic Monday" or in the words of my sister, "Tuesdays in Vallejo."

Vallejo is the kind of place that has a prostitute on every corner and if you're a woman, the men will assume you are a hoe. One time, I was walking down Redwood Street looking for some dogs I was watching that escaped (long story and intended for another blog entry) from my house. I was about a mile away from my house when a man in a hydraulic car approached me. He asked me how old I was and if I wanted to make some money. My response went a little like this:
"RAPE! I'M CALLING MY GRANDMA! I'M TOO YOUNG FOR THIS. ME NO ESPEAKE ENLISH! GGRRAANNDDMMAA!!! 911!!!"
I really did call my grandma. I made her come get me as I ran in the direction she would be driving. He called me a bitch and drove off, but hey, at least I don't have an STD.

So, I survived being taken up as a hooker (by the way, I was in work clothes and it was raining, which consisted of black pants, a black shirt, and an oversized windbreaker), but that isn't the only way you will know that you're from Vallejo.

When people ask you, "Oh you live near Discovery Kingdom" and you reply with, "Where I come from, it's called Marine World."
Then they ask you, "So do you have a season pass?" and you reply with, "Do you want me to serve you some fruit PUNCH?"
Of course the answer is No. It's bad enough I can see that place from my back yard. The only time it comes in handy is when they have their fire work shows because I can just go outside and watch them without having to deal with people.

You also know you are from Vallejo when you see things like a Biscuit sign where the sodas are in Safeway.  If you are new to Vallejo, no matter what store you go in, you will most likely mistake it for Walmart

You know you are from Vallejo when you leave your house in Christmas pajamas in July and you see at least six other people doing the same thing. There is no shame in wearing pajamas in public. 

You are from Vallejo if you curse like a sailor. When I first started going to school in San Rafael, I had a terrible potty mouth. Since I lived on campus and all I saw were classy white people who say things like, "Crud Muffins" and "Oopsie Poopsie," I cleaned up my language. Sadly, I now commute from Vallejo, which also means I got back my potty mouth. 

Only in Vallejo will someone else's last name be CUCCHI." Ouch. That must've hurt growing up.

Speaking of Kaiser in Vallejo, I once went in for a basic eye exam, you know, the one where they stand you like 20 feet away from that letter board and make you cover one eye at a time and read where they point? Well, they gave me a Kleenex box so I could cover my eye. Talk about ratchet. 

You know you're from Vallejo when you think of it as a zoo. Everywhere you walk/drive, you see animals on the street. They have cats, dogs, possums, raccoons, and rats everywhere! Stanley was one of those animals. He was lucky enough to have some pity shed on him.

You know you're from Vallejo if you go to the movies and expect someone to be talking throughout the entire film. You also aren't surprised if a fight breaks out. I too have been involved in one. Some crackhead teenager was talking on the phone and my grandma politely asked her to walk out if she wanted to continue the conversation. This girl proceeded to finish her conversation, then kicked my grandma's chair and threw popcorn on her. NO BODY messes with my grandma! I gave that fool a piece of my mind. When she got kicked out, one person even whispered, "I don't wanna mess with that chick. Everybody better shut up." I felt like such a badass.

Lastly, you know you are from Vallejo when a homeless person turns down food but says they will "gladly except the money in your pocket." Bitch please. Even I don't have money for that. Hell, just last year, the lights on my fake Christmas tree died, so I had to improvise.

As a disclaimer, I would like to say that I have no shame in my Christmas tree. It reminds me of Charlie Brown.

On that note, Vallejo has its good attributes and its no so good attributes. As I always say, You can take the girl out of Vallejo, but you can't take the Vallejo out of the girl.

Things that go wrong in a woman's life

I decided to ask some of my lady friends about things that go wrong in a woman's life. Below are some of their responses, along with a few of my own.

1. No tampons at that time of the month.
2. No nail polish remover when it is time to change colors.
3. Walking past a hot guy and you are looking like a hot mess.
4. Looking like a hot mess when everyone and their mama decided to go out and see you. Im sorry, I didn't realize we were playing Where's Waldo and I have taken on the role of a man in a red and white striped shirt.
5. That awkward moment when you are on a first date and your man leans in for a kiss but you aren't so sure if it is open or closed mouth. You either get licked in the chin or you are the one doing the licking.
6. Getting a nastasass pimple before your first date. As if it weren't already a struggle deciding what to wear, you now have to find tattoo coverup.
7. Wearing a bikini with a tampon and that string hangs out. No mom, that isn't part of my bikini.
10. Falling off the treadmill at the gym. Trust me, there is a reason I don't use that machine anymore.

Sometimes, life really kicks you in the ass.  These ten examples are just the beginning to things that could go wrong in a woman's life. The struggle is real and all these responses have happened to either me or another woman! Damn, it's tough to be a woman.

Let's Hear it for My Favorite Senior Citizen

Grandma Dororty aka GG aka Finnie aka The Best Grandma to Walk the Earth:

1. My grandma is hilarious. To prove my point, here are a few examples in which I almost peed my pants:

Grandma: They should invent strollers for old people.
Me: They do. They're called wheelchairs.
----------

Grandma (discussing a surgery with my aunt): Did you poop a lot of air?

Me: Do you mean fart?
----------
Listening to my grandparents talking to each other on Father's Day:
Grandma: the barbecue is out of gas!
Grandpa: when I checked it last it was in the green. Sorry honey. 
Grandma: plan B! Go get the Morgan Freeman!
Grandpa: he makes cooking utensils now too?...do you mean the George Foreman? 



2. She isn't afraid to get down with some fake mustaches:

3. It's been over ten years, and she still makes awesome faces like this one:

4. She isn't afraid to take a nap in public...and next to a stranger nonetheless:

5. She has her own garden that would put everyone else's garden to shame. Need fresh lettuce? No problem, just visit my grandma.

6. She did this:

7. She has a Facebook...and uses it regularly.

8. She still gets down with the get-down!

9. If she sees a tree with fruit, you better believe she will take it as her own.

10. Check out that smile! She is timeless!

My grandma is so badass. If those pictures didn't prove it, then I don't know what to tell you, other than you must be blind. That's the only acceptable explanation. Otherwise, it's ok if you want her to be your grandma too. I'm sure she would love to adopt you. 

Bucketlist #1

1. Visit a strip club: Since I will be 21 in just a few short months, I might as well do this in Vegas. Like, an all male strip club where gay men go to watch men...like Magic Mike. Also, a female one, so I can say I did it and then I can go home and take a shower and wash my eyes out with bleach....or an even better idea: I can go to the female strip club first, then to take the burn out of my eyes, I can go visit a Magic Mike club. Genius. Pure Genius.
2. Flash Mob: My moves like Jagger could pull all those flash mobs to shame, but instead of showing off, I would like to join in on a flash mob and get my groove on in public.
3. Dress up like a Potato: There is a backstory to this. It involves one of my favorite dumb blonde jokes. Here it goes: A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead rob a bank. As they are hightailing it out and attempting to escape the poepoe (police), they run inside a bar and hide in the back. The brunette sees 3 empty potato sacks and so each one hides inside a sack. The police come to find nothing except for 3 potato sacks. Out of frustration, an officer kicks the first potato sack where the brunette was hiding. She quickly replied by saying "meow meow..." And so the officer just says "Oh...it's just a cat." He kicks the second sack, where the redhead was hiding. She responds by barking like a dog "arf arf...arf arf." The officer says "Okay...it's just a dog." So he finally kicks the third sack where the blonde is hiding, and she goes....
   "POOOOO-TAAAAAAA-TOOOOOOOOOO"                                                              Long story short, I want to dress up as a potato and reenact this joke, but I want to be    a potato so the blonde isn't actually dumb. Then I can be all like "Joke is on you coppers (police)!"
4. Walk around school dressed in a super hero costume: I don't even care which super hero. I just want to do it. Like, one day on a cold winter day, I could show up to class in costume and when people question my style choice for the day, I can reply with a simple, "Whateva whateva I do what I want."
5. Be in a movie: I will settle for being in a commercial, but a movie would be even better. I could have a one-liner like PeeWee Herman did at the end of PeeWee's Big Adventure (click the link to watch the scene>>> Paging Mr. Herman).
6. Be on Family Feud: My family would CRUSH the competition!
7. See a Psychic: I want to walk in and pretend that everything they say is correct. I will go in with a fake name and identity and go crazy. I want the psychic to be all like, "Guuurrrl, I'm seeing into the future and yo man,  is kneelin' down on his knee." And I will be like, "Oh my gawd, I didn't even tell you I was seeing someone and you already knew. It's like you have ESPN or something." It's funny because I don't have a man.
8. Googly-eye stuff at Walmart: I want to be like Seth Green. He makes everything better. Watch the video and see what I mean (>>>Seth Green does Googly Eyes). 

 9. Hi-Five the tallest man alive: Sure, I may have to climb a tree to reach his hand, but it will be worth it.

10. Put a ring on it: I want to go out one night with a guy and wear an engagement ring to a bunch of bars and restaurants. We can fake get engaged everywhere we go and it will be amazing! 

          

Country Music is my Jam

"That's my song, that's my song."
No but really, that's my song.
Yeehaw!!!

1. What other genres can successfully pull off singing about a Red Solo Cup? None, that's what. I'm pretty sure red solo cup sales dramatically increased after this song came up. I wouldn't be surprised if Toby Keith now gets a lifetime supply of those things.

2. Hot white men in cowboy boots and a hat, serenading you with that sweet and sexy, smooth, yet rugged, voice.

YUMMMMM.

3. Songs about alcohol and women aren't usually used in the context of "big booty hoes" and "shots till you drop." It's more about the good times (and the bad times) when drinking, and referring women in a more noble manner, using terms like beautiful or singing about love or the loss of it. 

4. If you want a good cry, turn on a country song, or watch one of their videos. Chances are, if it is a slow song, you will end the song sobbing and walking to the fridge for some rocky road ice cream.

5. Female empowerment! I'm not some crazy feminist. I like having the door held open for me. I love being given flowers and the man paying for the meal. Unfortunately, I still want to be treated with some form of equality, or at least know that I am badass enough to put fear into the men who break my heart. Singers like Carrie Underwood, Miranda Lambert, and Sugarland's Jennifer Nettle have that girl power to show men what a real woman is made of. 

Country music is awesome. There is not really another way to put it. It has heart and soul and can offer so much happiness (or sorrow when you want that good cry). So sit back, turn on some country music, and take a backroad down that sweet harmonic lane. Grab a sweet iced tea, add some liquor if you are feeling particularly adventurous, and enjoy that country music! #countrymusicforlife

Just a Few of My Favorite Things

I love music, but then again, who doesn't? I am all over the map with genres. Not only am I getting a vast array of bangin musical selections, but I am finding lyrics to live by from all these fabulous artists. Below are a few of my favorite lyrics that I love to recite on the daily:

• Fergie:
•  Big girls don't cry.
• If you ain't got no money take your broke ass home.
• Beyonce:
• Ego so big you must admit, I got every reason to feel like I'm that bitch.
• Mackelmore
• And we danced, and we cried, and we laughed, and had a really, really, really, good time.
• But shit, it was ninety-nine cents
• Duran Duran
• Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand (I would be Rio in this case)
• Drake:
• I'm the fuckin (wo)man
• Rick Ross:
• I'm on my cell phone
• Miley Cyrus:
• So I put my hands up, they're playin' my song, The butterflies fly away, I'm noddin' my head like Yeah! Movin' my hips like Yeah!
• Eminem:
• But you gotta search within you, You gotta find that inner strength, And just pull that shit out of you, And get that motivation to not give up, And not be a quitter, No matter how bad you wanna just fall flat on your face and collapse
• JayZ:
• Living the life, Vanilla wafers in a villa.
• Kreayshawn:
• One big room, full of bad bitches.
• Angel Haze
• Okay I'm rambo I ram shock, I'm after that cheese like rat traps.

And we can never forget my all time favorite line to quote:

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things

I have never actually seen this movie all the way through, but I do make it a point to sing along to this song.

I think everyone should live by some of these quotes. These artists have some real talk going on. They are like modern day preachers telling it like it is. #keepinitreal

 

Back to the Future: A Timeless Tale

I noticed that the last few posts I made were a little heavy on anger. I blame Kanye West. Just seeing a picture of him will turn me bonkers. I thought I might spice things up a little bit and talk about my love for Back to the Future.

For those of you who don't know what this movie is about (shame on you), let me break it down. A dude by the name of Marty McFly accidentally travels back in time while in an attempt to escape some bad people who were after his homeboy, Doc. The time machine is the most badass thing out there. Instead of it being some spell or black hole to step through, it is a DeLorean time machine. Marty hops inside that wild ride and as he picks up speed, the time machine aspect is triggered and he is sent back in time to his parents' high school years. When I am rich and famous, I am most definitely going to be owning that bad boy of a car.

Last year, I went to Target to buy some toothpaste and walked out with six bags full of stuff I probably didn't need, but that damn store hypnotizes me every time. As I'm walking out, I stumble across this badass-looking car which I immediately recognize. It was the DeLorean. Not the exact same one as in the movie, but it was close enough. The temptation to climb inside and punch in 1955 and go find Marty was the only thought shuffling around in my head. Unfortunately, the movie is fiction, so instead, I took some pictures. Here is a quote to go with it: 

Marty McFly: Wait a minute, Doc. Ah... Are you telling me that you built a time machine... out of a DeLorean?

Dr. Emmett Brown: The way I see it, if you're gonna build a time machine into a car, why not do it with some style?

The car isn't the only thing that I love about Back to the Future. The dialogue is fantastic. Below are a few of my favorite quotes that I love to recite at least once a week:

• 
  

George McFly: Lorraine. My density has popped me to you.

Lorraine Baines: What?

George McFly: Oh. What I meant to say was...

Lorraine Baines: Wait a minute. Don't I know you from somewhere?

George McFly: Yes. Yes. I'm George. George McFly. I'm your density. I mean, your destiny.

• 
  

George McFly: Last night, Darth Vader came down from Planet Vulcan and told me that if I didn't take Lorraine out, that he'd melt my brain.

• 
  

Dr. Emmett Brown: If my calculations are correct, when this baby hits 88 miles per hour... you're gonna see some serious shit.

• 
  

And of course, my all time favorite:

Marty McFly: Whoa. This is heavy.

Dr. Emmett Brown: There's that word again. "Heavy." Why are things so heavy in the future? Is                  there a problem with the Earth's gravitational pull?

For those of you who haven't seen this epic movie (once again, shame on you), I encourage you to do so. I'm a little obsessed (I even have the movie poster in my room).

Why I dislike The O.C.

The other day I was watching The O.C. reruns after some morning yoga. I had french braided my hair  during yoga time because it makes me feel more professional. It makes it easier to pretend that I know what I'm doing. Anyways, so I'm watching this show and Rachel Bilson's character, Summer, is all kickboxing and shit when some dude walks in and asks her if she's ok. She replies with, "I'm in gym clothes and my hair is in french braids, so I'm terrible."
Talk about offensive. Here I am, sipping my coffee and watching this show, when Summer pretty much tells me I am terrible. I proceeded to sigh, turn off the show, take out my braids, and change. What a bitch to ruin my morning.

Then there is Adam Brody's character, Seth Cohen, who has apparently never heard the words "shut up" before. I swear, he talks more than me, and that's saying something. I wouldn't be surprised if I talked in my sleep. He probably does too, because he is annoying as fuck. Like dude, grow a pair, stop hooking up with lesbians, and stop talking. Your mouth is the reason none of your relationships work out.

Finally we lay eyes on Mischa Barton's character Marissa. What a crackhead. She walks around like she owns the whole damn joint, when her sleazy mom couldn't even own half of it if she tried. I get headaches looking at her.

Keeping these three characters in mind, if you like watching this show, good for you. If you don't, join the club. Tomorrow, I think I will put on some workout clothes and french braid my hair. Take that Summer, you bitch.

Annoying Stanley

Today we will be discussing the upbringing of Annoying Stanley.

Stanley wasn't always annoying. He actually used to be kinda cute. Step inside my Delorean and let me take you back in time to July of this year (I absofreakinlutely love Back to the Future, but that is a story for another day...also, yes. I did see this in a Target parking lot).

So here I was, driving Precious (my car) home from the gas station, when my phone began to ring. Being the responsible driver that I am, and seeing that it was my mom (sorry mom I love you), I decided that answering her call was probably not a safe option while driving. I spent the next five minutes driving home. 

Upon my arrival at home, I looked back at my phone to discover I had six missed calls, two voicemails, and seven texts, all of which were from my mom. Guilt began to flood over me as it hit me that someone could have been in an accident. 

Staying in my car in case I needed to drive to the hospital, I called my mom back. Here is how the conversation went:

Me: Mom! Is everything ok?

Mom: No, everything is not ok! Why weren't you answering your phone! What if someone got hurt!? 

Me: Wait, so no one got hurt?

Mom: No. There is a dog at the preschool and he won't leave. I need you to take him to the vet and see if he is chipped. Then take him home and we will keep him until his owners come get him.

Me: Seriously. This is why you were harassing my phone?

Mom: JUST DO IT.

(She then hung up on me)

I let out a long and huffy sigh as I drove to her preschool to pick up the dog. 

So flash foreword and here I am, wondering what kind of dog it is and what I should name it, when in reality, he probably has an owner who is frantically searching for him.

I walk inside the preschool and I lay eyes on the ugliest dog I have ever seen. His ears reminded me of either The Flying Nun or Dumbo.  He had these half eyebrows that looked like baby caterpillars were glued on his face. And don't even get me started on his collar. It was this hideous bedazzled cat collar that he probably outgrew three months before his "owners" even put it on him.

He was so ugly that he was cute. I named him PePe (as in PePe Le Pew) and this is what he looked like:

Look at those legs. He's like one big muscle. 

Anyways, so PePe wasn't chipped and he started annoying me. He barked at his reflection when walking towards the back door. He brought raccoons into the house. He stole my bras (I still haven't figured out how he got them). He looked at me funny. Basically, he pissed me the fuck off.

After three days, I decided that his owners would be calling for him any day and that I shouldn't get attached. Instead of calling him PePe, I started calling him "Dog."

Here is a little note for all of you out there. Calling him "Dog" pisses my mom off. She told me that if I wasn't going to him by PePe, or Peter, or Frank, or Bob (other names I gave him) that I shouldn't say anything at all.

Two whole weeks flew by and I said not a word to "Dog." So here I am, sitting on the couch watching Grey's Anatomy and my mom walks in and is all like "I'm adopting Stanley in two weeks."
All I could think to say was "Who the fuck is Stanley?!?!"

She looked at me like I was a crackhead who put ketchup in my hair instead of shampoo and I wasn't even in the shower. Ya know? Anyways, so I'm looking at Stanley and all I could think of is, "But he is sooooo annoying. Can't we exchange him?"

Long story short, we ended up keeping the shit head. His name is Annoying Stanley. Sometimes when he really pisses me off, I draw eyebrows on him, like in the pictures below.

Also, I like to dress him up in halloween costumes. Eventually, I am going to get him a turtleneck. Maybe a zip up hoodie as well.

My mother officially adopted Annoying Stanley. To this day, he is still annoying. For instance, he peed on a toy hammer at my sister's house today, ate a toy screw, and bit my foot. But I guess since he looks cute as a pumpkin and as spider-dog, I'll allow my mother to keep him....for now.

Dreaming of Hollywood

Sometimes I have dreams where I am a famous writer. Everyone in Hollywood wants me to write about them. I am hot shit.
The only downside to this dream is waking up and realizing that it is only a dream. Talk about a major bummer.
My goal is to make that dream a reality. Ok, I know that sounds cheesy, but it's the truth. I want to take my writing to an entirely new and improved level. I want people to see my name and say, "Madison? As in the Madison May Munson? Oh my gosh, I remember back in the day when she had that blog! I used to read it! Now she is famous!"
It's gonna happen. I have a good feeling about this one.

Don't Tell Me What To Do

The worst part about my love for writing is school. Ugh. I hate being forced to write something that I have no interest in. I feel like professors read my papers and think to themselves, "This girl is an Engligh Minor? With a concentration in Creative Writing? Not possible. The most creative thing she has done is use proper grammar, and that doesn't even count as creativity. It just means that she knows the difference between its and it's."

Those papers always make me feel like an idiot. Especially because my writing is badass. I know how to write. I know how to write well. I am educated, young, and hip. I know the lingo, I know my grammar and punctuation (sort of), and I know what works well for me when it comes to writing. Papers that ask me to talk about prehistory or research papers are disgusting. I just want to take a book and hit myself in the head with it until I pass out.

The worst part is my procrastination. Since I hate being forced to write, I will probably wait until the last minute. This means that I care the least about it. It is boring. It sucks. I don't want to write about it anymore.

Other times, a professor will give me a great topic to write about, but there is a page limit. I once was able to write about original horror movies and their remakes. The page limit was ten pages. If I had it my way, I probably would have extended it to twenty pages. Plus, it gave me an excuse to watch horror movies throughout the weekend.

Why can't school writing be more limitless? I understand the need for a minimum or maximum amount of pages, but I don't understand a professor limiting you to what you can write about, especially if it is a writing class.

One more thing. If it is a writing class where you are asked to give your own opinion, why do professor still grade you? I put my content in the paper, I added the proper amount of quotes, I properly cited, and I gave my own opinion before coming to a conclusion. Why do you have to do my dirty and lower my grade because the opinion I gave is not the opinion you are looking for? Please stop with such nonsense. It will make a lot of students appreciate you a lot more.

Soul-less People

Some days I really do not like people. Sometimes I wonder, "Do these people have souls? Did they sell their soul to Satan? How did this sperm make it to the egg first?"

People who I believe have no soul:

1. People who cut me off.
This is a given. Put on your blinker and if I want to let you over, then I will. If I don't want you in my lane, it's probably because you are a terrible driver, extremely slow, or someone else pissed me off, so I am taking it out on you. Don't just swerve into my lane and expect me to hit my brakes and think everything is fine. For all you know, I could have been in a serious jam session and not paying as much attention to assholes like you.

2. People who drive in the Fastrak lane when they don't have Fastrak.
Before I purchased Fastrak, I felt the pain that other people felt who had to wait in that long-ass line at the toll booth. I would be twenty cars deep and some poopoo head will drive all the way to the front in the Fastrak lane, then cut some poor person off in the front of the line. You, sir, are Satan's spawn.

3. People who cut me off on Highway 37.
I hate you. If I have to wait 45 minutes to get on that stupid one-lane highway, then so can you. Don't come over here with your "I do what I want" mentality and think you can get away with it. I said that people who used to cut me off in the toll booth were Satan's spawn. You are Satan. You have no soul. I'm pretty sure you weren't even born with one. I wouldn't be too surprised if you came out of your mother with horns and a pitch fork. You probably stabbed all the other sperm with it too.

4. People who cannot park.
Why. Why is it so difficult for you to park? No one will judge you if you have to readjust after you puill into the spot. Ok, maybe you will receive a little judgment, but that's ok. It's better than dealing with the wrath of me. Alright, maybe you have a soul. but you are probably just really stupid.

5. People who give me attitude.
Don't even come at me with those flailing  arms and sassy attitude. I wasn't the person who pissed you off when you woke up this morning, so don't even think you can whip your hair and get away with it. I will give the attitude right back, and you won't like it. Take your soulless, three-snaps-make-a-z, ghetto-talk and walk away. Shut up and walk away.

Conversations with Children

One of my favorite things to do is spend time with my niece and nephew. Of course, they are adorable and love me lots, but the conversations we have are just outstanding. Just the other day I was babysitting and talking to my three-year old niece. Here is how the conversation went:

Me: Caden, do you like watching that show Doc McStuffins?
Caden: No, I just watch it because my daddy likes it.

Or how about Rowan's (my two-year old nephew) input into our conversation:

Me: Caden, did you know your mom is my sister?
Caden: No, she is Uncle Al's sister!
Me: We are both his sister!
Rowan: I'm Rowan!!!

Sometimes, Rowan doesn't even respond...well until you call him something else:

Me: Rowan
Rowan:....
Me:  Rowan...Rowan...Rowan...
Rowan:.....
Me: ROWAN!....ugh, BATMAN.
Rowan: Yes?

It is true. Rowan is under the impression that he is Batman. When you think about it, no one has seen little Rowie and Batman at the same time, so for all we know, Rowan is Batman.

Halloween

Halloween was a success. My first time to a club, and I had a pretty great time. 

Here are a few things that happened to me that went slightly awry. Had these things not happened to me, it would have been a lot more fun, but hey, at least it was memorable!

1. Someone put their cigarette out on my arm. What the fuck. 

2. A man with a cape tried to wrap it around me and dance. Hell no! You better get that cape off me before you find yourself in the hospital because the devil beat your sorry ass!

3. A man dressed in all black (I have no idea what he was trying to be) asked me if I was thirsty.  I politely said, "No, I'm fine" to which he replied, "Are you sure honey, I'm really thirsty, so I'm sure you must be too." NO. Thank goodness for my homegirl best friend (in the photo below) was my lesbian lover for the night. What a life saver!

4. McDonalds was closed. All I wanted was a Diet Coke and some french fries. Is that too much to ask for? But no. McDonalds was closed. I had a mad craving, yet the three different locations I drove to seemed to not care about customers who just want a little grub at 3am. For heaven's sake, it was Halloween! They should know people will be wanting some greasy foods and refreshing drinks after a long night of clubbin'!

Some things that went fantastically well at Ruby Skye:

1. A rather large man dressed as the cookie monster busting some serious moves on the dance floor. I should have taken some video of that. It was meant to be shared with the world.

2. The men dressed as SWAT members. AMEN! I said, HALLELUJAH! PREACH!!!

3. The men dressed as cowboys. Talk about some sweet tea to look at!

Overall, I would say that Halloween was a success. Now that I have popped my clubbin' cherry, it's time to hit up all the others! Can I get a hell yeah!?

Curious George Over Here

What is the difference between apple juice and apple cider?
What makes people decide to become extreme juices? Do you just wake up and say, "No. I think I am going to drink my fruit this morning. Chewing takes too much effort."


Or, why do we like to toast bread? Like, it's already been baked.

Why do bagels taste so delicious? If I had to choose between a slice of bread and a bagel, you best believe I would choose a bagel.

Why do I feel like a rebel when I wear holiday socks when it isn't the holiday? Throughout the month of October, I was wearing my Santa socks and my Candy Cane socks. Now that it's November, it's time to break out the Halloween socks, and come Christmas time, I will be wearing some turkey/pilgrim socks.

Seriously. I wish there were a book that had the answers to all the random questions that flutter through my mind.

If anyone knows the answers to these questions, feel free to leave a comment.

Hotties

List of Celebrities I that would make my MCM:

Cam Cigandet
Taylor Lautner
Kellan Lutz
Chris Hemsworth
josh turner
luke bryan
dierks bentley
Josh Hutcherson(ooo baby)
enrique iglesias
liam hemsworth
ryan gosling (ooo baby)
adam levine


You're welcome.

Things I Think About When I'm in Class

Things I think about when in class:
1. Why is it called a kidney if it isn't in your knee?
2. Why is it that your feet run and your nose smells?
3. Why does fruit have to have seeds all the time?
4. If I fall asleep in class, will I be marked absent? Because technically speaking, I am here.
5. How many people are born with more than 10 fingers and toes?
6. Who ever thought to invent spray cheese in a can?
7. Is it hard to grow your own coffee beans?
8. Where will I be in 50 years?
9. If I wore Christmas clothes all year round, would anyone notice?
10. How do other people go about deciding what they will wear for the day? I'm talking about those people who wear exotic items, excessive layering, and random shit that either does not match at all, or for some odd reason, the non-matching shit still seems to work well for them.
11. Are psychics real or are they just pulling my leg?
12. How many people actually read my blog?
13. Can he tell I am staring at his lips all the time?
14. Can anyone else tell I am staring at his lips all the time?
15. Does anyone know who "he" is? (If you do, you better not bust open that door)
16. Do other people speak in lyrics when they are bored?
17. On a scale of 1 to 10, how weird do people think I am?
18. How do people function on drugs?
19. What is my purpose in life?
20. Why can people be such little bitches?

Scary Halloween Shit

I LOVE HALLOWEEN...
But I didn't always. My brother found humor in scaring the shit out of me. He loved dressing up as Michael Myers from Halloween....I guess in a way I was like Jamie Lee Curtis. I was always being terrorized, but somehow managed to survive and make it through to the next day.
Below is a picture of Michael. Who isn't afraid of him? The worst part about him, aside from being humanly immortal is that he walks. He just walks. Everywhere. All the time. And he always finds you. No matter how far or fast you run, he somehow manages to pop out of a bush or behind a door, sometimes he is just chilling in your car.

I wonder what he is thinking. I mean, I know he is a psycho serial killer and all, but still, what is going on in that mind of his? And does he have something against running? Why does he wear that hideous mask? 

For some reason, no matter how hard I try to humor this character, he continuously manages to give me nightmares. I'm sure that by the time I am done writing this, I will be his Jamie Lee Curtis in my dreams tonight.

MY PORTFOLIO SUCKAAS

While completing my sophomore year of college, I had to complete a 20-page portfolio for my Advanced Creative Writing class. Below is my complete collaboration. It is a series of poems and spoken monologues over a course of about 30 years with a mother and her son. Enjoy.

Smoking Kills. 

Love Doesn’t Exist.

Sex

She’s fifteen. In love.

Heart on fire, burning at the sight of him.

They are together, like every other day.

Bodies entwined.

Sharing souls.

He’s eighteen. In like.

He wants fun, good times. 

No strings attached.

He wants what he can get.

He can get her.

She wants more than S-E-X.

She wants Love.

Seeing past his eyes,

and into his empty heart

is nothing but darkness.

Her desire to change him 

only makes her love grow fonder.

It’s over. 

He drapes on his shirt.

He slips into his jeans. 

He leaves.

Her eyes begin to swell.

They feel as full as the ocean; salty and rough.

She loves him.

He likes her.

War

Boy likes girl, 

girl loves boy.

Girl gets pregnant,

All hell breaks loose.

The screaming won’t stop. 

Dishes are thrown 

as the meal she made him escapes out the window.

Broken glass surrounds her bare feet

as his face turns hotter with each vein 

making an appearance on his now red face.

“Get rid of it!” 

Chairs are thrown.

“I can’t.”

She cowers behind the loveseat couch,

where they once spent the weekend on.

The fighting won’t stop.

He screams out Abortion!

She cries out I Can’t.

He walks out the door.

Salty tears trickle down her tired face.

The war is over.

He walked out.

She is Alone.

The Cigarette

The woman flicks her bud out her third story window.

It tumbles down the fire escape

creating small sparks that quickly turn to ash 

as it collides with the ground.

She turns to her daughter

with a smug look on her face,

Sixteen and pregnant. 

Like mother like daughter.

Whore.

The girls eyes are puffy and red

from gaining the courage to tell her mom

that she has a bun in the oven

and the thing’s father is gone.

There is five minutes of silence

where the girl stares up at her mother,

waiting for her

 to decide what to do next.

The mother lights another cigarette 

and takes a swig from her flask.

Keep it. Don’t keep. I don’t care.

But when you turn eighteen, 

you’re out.

The mother takes another puff

and hands the cigarette to her daughter.

As she leaves the room,

the girl looks longingly at the smoking stick,

and takes a puff.

Birth

She’s sixteen. Alone. 

She has been crying since he left.

She thought he was The One. 

Could she have been that naive?

She’s scared. Anxious.

She recalls when he left her.

Where is he now?

The contractions grow closer as the clock ticks on by.

Six centimeters. Seven. Eight. Nine.

It’s time to push.

The girl lets out an exhausted whimper;

Just let it be over already.

She’s crying. Pain.

Her eyes drift open and closed.

The screaming she hears is new.

It’s not angry the way He screamed at her.

No. It isn’t even a scream. It’s a cry.

It’s crying.

It’s a boy.

What now?

Give it a name? Jack.

Ten fingers, ten toes.

It’s hers. 

He is hers.

She’s sixteen. No longer alone.

The Interview

Reporter: 
Good morning Jack. Thanks again for agreeing to do this interview. I can only imagine how hard the situation you are in must be.  For starters, why don’t you tell me about the relationship you have with your mother.
Jack:
I don’t have a relationship with my mom. I hate my mom. Sometimes I wish I were never born. Let’s not even get me started on who my father is, because according to my mom, she “can’t remember.” I call bullshit. 
My mom was sixteen when she had me. When she was eighteen, my Nana, her mom, kicked us out. I remember moving around a lot. Half of the places we stayed the night in were probably homeless shelters, but almost everything before seven is blurry. Days finally started to become clear the night my Nana died. I was seven years old and my mom was out “making money” on the streets. It was a little while after when we moved into our first and last apartment- the same apartment my mom burned down. The phone rang and all I could think of was “Wow. Who paid our bills this month? Does that mean the TV will work too?” The person on the other line was the hospital telling me that my Nana had just died. I knew she was sick, but mom never took me to see her. They hated each other. My mom hates everybody. She hates my dad, whoever he is, and I’m no exception.
If I’m being honest, she only kept me for the food stamps, welfare checks, and because I remind her of my dad. She claims she can’t remember him, but we all know she’s lying. I can see it in her eyes whenever I get a year older. She gets this pained expression on her face, as if she got a glimpse of heaven, wanted to stay, but was told no. 
Love doesn’t exist, but heartbreak definitely does. It’s one of those things that the media puts out there to make money. That’s why I think there are so many match making businesses. They say things like “The love of your life might be right in front of your eyes, you simply need the guidance to get to him or her. That’s why we are here. We are here to guide you to your lover.”
In reality, not enough people are reading between the lines. What the media is really saying is “Love is unattainable, but if you want to pretend it exists, join our program! You can meet someone online, marry them six weeks after your first date, get divorced the very next week, and feel the heartbreak everyone else is experiencing. Let’s get miserable together!” Seriously, people need to start reading the way I do. Imagine how much money people would save if they just listened to me. There would be no paying for memberships on eHarmony or Match.com, no spending thousands of dollars on a wedding, and no paying lawyers for the divorce that would soon follow. 
Sorry, I’m getting off track. We aren’t even talking about that kind of love. We are talking about mother-son love. That doesn’t exist either. If it has to do with love, it isn’t real. I mean, come on! She’s in jail because she couldn’t get her shit together. She was so full of hate for everyone around her that she drowned out reality in her drinking and smoking. 
What’s my biggest fear? Turning out like her. They do say that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Maybe it’s destiny or God or some other higher power that controls my outcome, but I just hope they know what they are doing.
What happened the night I realized I hated my mom as much as she hated me? I came home to my mom burning down our apartment and killing two people. Every night went the exact same way. She would come back from working the streets or the diner, wreaking of whatever booze she could get her hands on, and smoke herself to sleep. I only stayed there to make sure she came home in one piece, then I would go to my buddy Roy’s house and crash there. 
On the night of the fire, I was at Roy’s but something didn’t feel right. I went home to check on my mom. When I walked through the door there was smoke everywhere. I swear it was like I walked into a Vegas smokers convention or something. I found her passed out on the couch. Her cigarette had fallen in a pool of her booze induced vomit. According to investigators, it caused an immediate spark and set the apartment on fire. I didn’t even know puke could catch fire like that, but considering that all my mom does is drink and smoke, I’m not too surprised.
The couple next door had drank their fair share of alcohol too. That apartment complex is full of people like my mom. Anyways, they slept through the whole thing and died that night. It was all my moms fault. She’s so selfish. I almost wish I didn’t come home. If I stayed at Roy’s, I can’t say I would shed a tear at the thought of her body, lifeless in a field of ashen couch. I’m fifteen! I shouldn’t have to deal with this. Now I get to spend my days talking to lawyers and reporters like you because of her. She’s in jail and she is still finding ways to screw me over. One thing for sure is that I won’t be visiting her. I’m done. I am beyond over cleaning her up after she vomits all over herself. I’m done taking her to the hospital when she gets withdrawals because she has gone two days without drinking. We all know that only happens when she spends all of her paycheck on cigarettes and junk food without thinking. Then again, does she even have brain to think with? And could it kill her to buy me an apple every now and then? What’s an apple even taste like? This is ridiculous. I’m fifteen and the closest thing I have come to fruit are the apple-flavored eCigarettes that Roy gave me for my birthday. What did my mom get me? She got me a black eye because she caught me smoking them out on the fire escape again. Whatever.
Do you have an apple? Can you buy me one? It’s the least you can do for letting you interview me. It’s been three hours and I’m hungry. I don’t want anymore vending machine food. I want an apple and I want to go home or wherever the government wants to send me. Maybe Roy’s parents will adopt me. They would get more food stamps and welfare checks for three more years. I would get play house with my best friend and pretend that I have a family. 
Earlier I said I wished I had never been born. I take that back. I wish I had a different mother. And I wish I had a father. My mom doesn’t love me. If she just gave me up for adoption, maybe I would reconsider my beliefs about love. Maybe I would be part of that 99% of Americans who think love is real. I wouldn’t mind that. In fact, I’d like that a lot. You could almost say I’d love it. 

My Son Jack

Annie:
I’m better at hiding my emotions than I thought. When my heart is heavy and I feel the tear drops accumulate in the sockets of my eyes, my brain tells me to stop. 
It says things like, “Enough. We don’t have time for this. Get your life together.”
I used to watch a television series about four women in an upperclass neighborhood who loved drama and emotion about as much as I hated to show mine. There was one character in particular who I always felt I could connect with. She explained that she liked to take unfortunate life experiences and put them in an imaginary box, shove them into an empty closet, and close the door and never look back. She was me, or rather, I was her.  To me, emotions scream weakness. People don’t need to see how I feel. They don’t need to see the shattered glass that once held the place of my heart. No, a man did not break my heart. A man or two may have put a dent in it, but my past is more like a grenade. Someone pulled the trigger and launched it directly my way. Even if I could assemble the pieces back together, the duct tape I use would only be a temporary fix to the insanity that pulsates throughout my soul.
I hate myself. I always have. I think I always will. My mom used to tell me she hated me  whenever she saw me feeling weak. It was like her sixth sense, or maybe just a mom thing, but she knew when I was hurting particularly more than usual. 
She would say something along the lines of, “Annie, don’t worry. I hate you too. Now have a smoke and get over. The world is a cold place. The only way to live in it is to be cold with it.”
If you ever knew her, you would know that she realizes that she was the one who pulled the plug on that grenade. She might not have thrown it, but she pulled that plug and she knew what she was doing the entire time. I’m glad she is dead. She deserved it. I’m glad her death was slow and painful.  Her slow escape out of this world by the buds of the hundreds of cigarettes she smoked throughout her life brings me joy. Emphysema is a bitch and I love it. She deserved to suffer. She deserved a long, slow, and exhausting exit out of Earth and into hell. She may have been my mother, but I had to raise myself. She is the reason why I am here. She is the reason I’m in prison. She passed the smokers torch right onto me and I accepted it in attempt to see her eye to eye. A few years after she died, I smoked myself to sleep in my own apartment. 
We know who dented my heart. The man who I loved then left me when I got pregnant and the men who used me for years after that. We know my mom started the fire and pulled the plug on the grenade. Who shattered my heart into oblivion? It was my son, Jack. My little boy. 
Six years I have been in this hell hole. Not once have I ever seen him walk through the visitors door and into this room. I’ve seen lawyers, old flames, and new flames who are now on the outside world, but never my son. My Jack. My boy. He hates me, and for that I hate myself. He is the only one who can get me to show emotion without asking for me to. It wasn’t sucked out of me the way my mother sucked it out of me. My brain never stopped me when I was around my little Jack. I could be myself. That will never happen again. 
He blames me for falling asleep with that cigarette in my hand. He blames me for killing the couple next door. Jack carried me out of the apartment, but those people were trapped. I blamed my mother, and my son blamed me. All I can remember is waking up outside our complex in an ambulance and Jack was talking to some cops. He had a shiner on his face that I can only assume I gave him. He must’ve been smoking out on the balcony again. I kept telling him that smoking killed his Nana and that it will probably kill me too. He doesn’t need that same fate. 
I remember the next few months after that clearly. The investigations, the interrogating, and the court appearances. The next thing I know, I am being sentenced to fifteen years. Fifteen years without my baby boy. He’s 21 and grew up without his mother. I still have nine more years here. He threw that grenade into my heart and let it burst. He pushed me into the fire my mother started the day I was born. Then he walked away. He shook his head, put his hands in his pockets, and walked away. 
Do you think I should tell him about his father? I’ve never told anyone. Maybe Jack won’t hate me if he finds out about Chris. I would even settle for Jack pitying me. At least he would come see me. Have you seen him? He must look so much like Chris. They have the same eyes: big, round, and that dark blue that looks like the deepest parts of the ocean. You know, almost black, but still light enough to differentiate between that and pupils. I’d never seen eyes like that until I saw Chris’ eyes. I knew I loved him from that moment. I wish I knew he didn’t feel the same way.
He used me. When I was making love, he was fucking. I hate that word. Whenever I hear it I think of the day he left and hate myself even more. I wasn’t on birth control and we almost never used protection. He said condoms made him uncomfortable and if I really loved him, it would be ok. He knew I was head over heels for him, but when I got pregnant, I saw Chris for who he really was. He was a monster. He threw dishes at me, screamed and threatened to leave. I couldn’t kill something we created. It was our own fault, but I saw it as a beautiful disaster. It could be a way of him finally loving me and having a cute and quaint family with him. I was so stupid. He left me that day and I never saw him again.
I never loved another man until I had Jack. This was a different kind of love. It wasn’t just his eyes. It was his heart, his soul, and the mere fact that I had created such a beautiful creature. I shouldn’t have taken him for granted. After my mom kicked me out, we moved from various homeless shelters to sleeping on the couches of random men. I would exchange sexual favors for somewhere to sleep. I am disgusted with myself. I whored myself out to give my son a roof over his head, but I ruined myself in the process. I doubled my smoking and tripled my drinking. My mind floated off into oblivion as my son drifted farther and farther away from me. I let it happen. I turned into someone he hated. I was his Chris.
Never mind. Jack doesn’t need to know who his father was. I would rather have my son hate me than pity me because I was with a man like Chris. And I certainly don’t want Jack to hate himself for sharing a bloodline with that man. It’s bad enough he has to share one with me.
I think I’ll write Jack a letter. Would you give it to him? I need him to know that although I hate myself, I never stopped loving him. He showed me a glimpse of real love and I took advantage of that. Now I am back to where it all started, with everyone hating me and the feeling being mutual. I need him to know that even though I hide my emotions, I quietly pray to God, or whatever higher power there is out there, that my boy come back and bring some duct tape with him.

Finding Peace 

Jack is sitting on the front steps to the entrance of his rundown apartment complex at around 5 in the evening. After her first year out of prison, she died of lung cancer. A teenager, Allen, who sees Jack smoking every day asks him if he ever thought about quitting. 

 (Jack lights the last cigarette from his pack and takes a drag)

Jack:
Smoking should kill me, but I love it so much, I think I would die without it. My Nana died of Emphysema when I was seven. She was barely forty. My mom died of lung cancer last year. She found out she was sick during her last physical with the prison doctors. I plan on following the family tradition. After all, I did have a head start. I used to sneak a cigarette out on the fire escape while my mom was working her double shift at Bob’s Burgers or earning extra cash on the street. I was only eleven at the time. I thought I was so cool too. All the other kids at school were jealous that I was able to get away with smoking at such a young age.
Look at me now! I’m thirty-one, I have no family, I don’t know who my dad is, I have asthma, and I smoke a pack a day! Did I mention how much I love it?  It’s probably the only thing that’s never let me down. Cigarettes have been with me since day one. I wouldn’t put it past my mom to smoke while pregnant either, so I’m sure there’s proof that is genuinely is in the blood of my family. I like to call it the Smokers Gene. You gotta die of something, so why not die while doing something you love? 

(puffs)

I don’t think you should smoke though. Don’t ever fall in love with smoking. It’s too risky. You’re young. You have potential. Go to school, find a nice hobby, go to college. Get laid, get married, have kids. Don’t smoke.
I know what you’re thinking. ‘You smoke and look at how great you turned out.’ I know, I know, I know. I look fantastic, don’t I? My teeth are yellowing, my eyes are puffed out, and I smell like I just walked out of a fire. I tried all the different laundry soaps, but nothing seems to take the stench completely away. I don’t smell it anymore, but my neighbors do, and they complain every time I walk in and out of my door.

(puffs; coughs; puffs)

I always thought about quitting, but I’m no quitter. If I’m going down, I’m going down swinging. Quitting is for weak people. Mom always said not to start anything you couldn’t finish. So here I am, finishing off my first pack of cigarettes, then it is off to buy more. I wonder if Costco sells them in bulk? Ha! Like I have time or money for that bullshit. They want me to pay them to walk around! And that’s before I’ve even decided if I want to buy anything! Well, fuck that. Besides, Ted at the corner market knows me. He knows what I like. Every day at the same time I walk in and there they are, my Winstons sitting on the counter. I got the money and he’s got the goods.

(puffs)

What were we talking about? Oh, yeah. Quitting. Nope. I never could. I guess it’s that nicotine shit they put in them. I knew I was trapped from the first puff I ever took on that fire escape while mom was sleeping. She did catch me a few times after that. She would take it away, beat the shit out of me, then walk back outside and finished good ole Winston. I once saw on a commercial that a single cigarette is ten minutes off of your life. If that’s really the case, then I’m right on track for following tradition.

(puffs)

Jack:
Boy did my mom do a number on me growing up. Did you know she killed two people? Yup. She fell asleep with a cigarette in her hand after a long night of drinking. She caught the entire apartment on fire and our neighbors got trapped inside. Crazy, I know. I hated her for a long time after that. I was your age when that happened. You’re fifteen, right? 
I went into foster care until I turned eighteen, then slept on my buddy Roy’s couch while I looked for a job and tried to find a place of my own. I never drank-and I still don’t because I don’t want to be a killer like my mom. After that night, I didn’t talk to her for a long time. Actually, it wasn’t until the year before she got out of jail that I even heard from her. All that time, I figured she had forgotten about me. Instead, she was writing me a letter. I carry it with me everywhere now. You wanna hear it? I guarantee you will need tissues after I read it. Before I first read it, I thought it was going to be more along the lines of hate-mail and my mom reminding me how much she didn’t love me. Instead, I found myself crying for the first time since she was put away. I didn’t know I had tear ducts. I assumed they shriveled up and turned to dust or something due to being rejected for over ten years. Nope. They were there and they released a monsoon of tears. I know, dude. Big guys don’t cry, but I’m not ashamed of this one. I’m proud of it.

For Jack

I remember when you were first born. I was only sixteen. Your Nana was on her third double shift at the diner that week. My water broke in P.E. and all the girls screamed, then laughed at me. They called me names like “slut” and “whore.” Those were the nice names too. They would also call me a reject and tell me that your dad never really wanted me. They said that once you were born, you wouldn’t want me either. I hoped and I prayed that this would not happen. I know I never show emotion around others and that I have a barricade with barbed wire surrounding my heart. Truth be told, you were the only one who I didn’t have to protect myself from. I took advantage of that thinking you would always be here with me, but those girls were right and now I have nothing.
The day my water broke was my last day of school. Miss Luxman, the P.E. coach, drove me to the emergency room and told me to get out. She then muttered a short, “Good Luck” and proceeded to  burn rubber, letting her tires screech as she peeled out of the parking lot and back to school. It was as if she knew my life would be over- and for a while, I thought it was. I was alone. All by myself in that cold room. But you made it so warm. Your cries for me made me feel wanted. No one wanted me before I had you. Did you know I was in labor for only five hours? The doctors told me that the younger you are, the quicker the birth tends to be. They weren’t kidding either, but at the time it felt more like fifty hours. At one point, I thought you broke me. I was in so much pain I think I went into shock, because the next thing I knew, you were wrapped in a blue blanket and crying for your mother. You were crying for me.
Nana picked us up the next day, cigarette in one hand and Jack Daniels in the other. When she found out I was pregnant, she said we could stay with her until I turned eighteen. Her mom did the same thing to her when she had me. I guess it was some sort of passage for being a teen mom. Anyways, I didn’t think she would actually kick us out. I thought she was trying to scare me into having an abortion or giving you up for adoption. 
I thought about it for a while- the adoption thing, not the abortion. I would never end your life because I failed to be responsible. I did think about adoption though. I didn’t want you to hate me the way I hate Nana, but I wanted to prove to those mean girls at school that I could raise you on my own and that everything would be ok. I loved you. I always did. But after Nana kicked us out, I was so consumed with hatred for myself and for her that I failed to love you the way a mother should. 
I’m a selfish person. I know you are wishing that you had a different mother or were adopted, but I don’t regret keeping you. Like I said, I’m selfish. If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t give you up and I definitely wouldn’t abort you. Instead, I would change myself. I wouldn’t have accepted the cigarette that Nana handed me the day I told her I was pregnant with you. I wouldn’t have let those god-awful girls put me down just because my boyfriend left me standing alone. I wouldn’t choose to drink and smoke myself to sleep every night to fill the void in my heart, because I wouldn’t have let it break in the first place. 
If I could do it all over again, I would kiss you every night before you went to sleep instead of working the streets for cheap labor. I would get two, even three jobs at different diners and still be home to tuck you in at night. I know I am a horrible person. I know you blame me for killing that couple. I blame my mom for a lot of things too.
I’m sorry. I am so sorry and if there was a way I could turn back time, trust me-I would do it. I would use the money I make to pay the bills on time and buy healthier food, like fruits and veggies instead of the chips and ding-dongs I bought for you. 
I get out next month, and I hope after you read this, you will consider seeing me. I miss you so much, and every day I feel my heart dying a little more because I know how you feel about me. 
My lawyer showed me a picture of you. You are so handsome. I hope that my selfishness didn’t rub off on you. Instead I hope you find your own courage to stand up to the people who hurt you, like me, but I also hope you find peace and forgive me for everything I have done to you.
  I am so blessed to have you in my life. I never told you I loved you, but I did. I still do. Not a day goes by that I’m thinking about you and sending love your way. Please find it in your heart to forgive me for the wrongs I have done to you. I know I can be a better mom. I can change. I know it may not feel that way, but it’s true. Just give me  chance.
Love Always,
Mom 

Jack: 
I was a shit head when I was your age. My mom made a lot of mistakes, but I like to think that raising me was not one of them. Sure, an adoption may have given me a better life, but who’s to say I don’t love the life I have?
Before my mom wrote me that letter, I didn’t think love was real. Nowadays, terms are a little different. I’ve come to an understanding with myself that the only real love is the love between a parent and their kid. Everything else is all fake. Those people who are getting married are only doing it for the binding contract that comes with a child. Do you know what I’m talking about? Child support. Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if my mom and dad were married when they had me. Sure, my mom still could have taken him to court for the money, but that would mean she had to track him down and find him first. I doubt she ever wanted to see him again after the way things ended between them two. 
If you’re wondering who my dad is, I don’t know. My mom took it to the grave. All I know is that his name is Chris and we have the same eyes. I remember hearing it an interview- or was it from her lawyer- when she was still behind bars. Oh well, screw him. I stopped caring the day my mom went to jail-when I thought all hope was lost. 
It took me almost thirty years to figure out how I feel about love. Why am I telling you this? So you can get a head start. You now know that this is the only kind of love out there, so if you do get married, I’m assuming it’s only because you want kids.

(final puff)
Well, there goes the last one. Time to see Ted. And kid, don’t ever smoke. It will ruin you. It ruined my granny. It ruined my mom. And it is ruining me. Don’t die the way I will. 
Die skydiving or bungee jumping or in the arms of you wife or husband or the children you will grow to love. 
Just don’t die alone. Smoking will do that to you.