The Life of a Post-Grad Girl

 

The months leading up to graduation left me with nothing but visions of my place in the world. Some days I would feel so lost, as if my only place was glued to a chair working somewhere I hated. Other days I would feel exceptionally successful and imagine myself traveling the world and writing whatever my eyes and heart laid witness to.

 As the months turned into weeks and the weeks into days, I saw my life as less of a limitation and more as an opportunity. More importantly, I saw myself conquering my biggest fear and what constantly holds me back.

I envisioned a life where I was no longer my greatest fear. I stopped telling myself I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t take “No” for an answer.  Lastly, I told myself “Yes” more often. In this alternate reality, I told myself the cliché that anything can be accomplished as long as I put my mind and heart into it. This reality told me that my belief in myself is what has made me the writer and business woman I am today. I left college to pursue a meaning in my life beyond a job. I sought after what made me happy.

It has been almost a year since I have graduated college. I have a job I love and coworkers who have done nothing but encourage me to succeed in every way possible.  My family has continued to be my support system and I wouldn’t ask for anything less. Although so much goodness consumes my day to day life, I still feel that missing piece in my heart.  

I told myself I would continue to write. I gave myself timelines, projects, and goals. I wanted to travel, indulge in the cultures across oceans, and put ink to paper. My heart is missing the accomplishment I have been seeking from the moment I graduated college and gave myself permission to say “Yes.”

I can already hear the voices of those reading.

 “It’s only been a year.” To me it feels like a lifetime.

“You have the rest of your life.” I want to fill my life with what I love.

“There is still time. You’re still so young. Experience comes with time.” I am running out of time.

The more time I spend thinking in terms of “what if” and “I wish,” the less time I spend in action. I have become so repetitive and I have already begun to settle. I wake up, work out, go to work, go home, and go to sleep. I am always in motion, but in no direction to better my desire to write more often. I have entered a cycle of repetition that doesn’t include writing or traveling. My heart wanders to the places I wish to venture, but my mind calls me back to reality.

Like most people, money plays a part in almost any type of decision. It tells you what you can eat for dinner, where you can buy your clothes, and if you should see that new movie now or wait for it to be on DVD. It dictates how you budget your finances and freedom. In a sense, it sets your limitations.

Towards the end of 2015 I felt lost, alone, and afraid. Although I was surrounded by so much kindness and love, I had lost sight of myself. I forgot how I felt when I wrote about something I felt strongly about. I forgot about the power of my words and what they do to me. I lost myself in the fast pace society of money ruling everything around me. I had become dependent on the notion that I would eventually get around to writing again. I depended on my support system to tell me everything was going to be ok instead of saying it myself. I started telling myself “No” instead of “Yes.”

It’s nearing the middle of February 2016 and I am ready to find myself again. I am ready to write without fear of what people think. I am ready to travel and experience the world from a different lens than ever before. Money will not entirely dictate the way I choose to live. I am going to allow myself to become more independent and give myself opportunities I would otherwise give an excuse for.

After all, it isn’t too late for a New Year’s Resolution, right?

Madison's Crazy Oakland Escapade

Have you ever opened your eyes after a long, sleepless night and say to yourself, "Today is a new day. Today will be better than yesterday." Have you ever been terribly wrong? If you are a lucky soul who hasn't had this type of experienced, then consider yourself blessed. You're also going to sympathize with me, want pat me on the back, then ask if you can buy me a drink. I'll totally take you up on that by the way.

Let's start with my morning:

6:00AM: I woke up, yawned, stretched myself out across the bed and thought to myself, "It's parade day! Fingers crossed I don't run into any problems!" That was my first mistake. I Should've expected the worst. At least that way my expectations would be accurate to my experience.

8:15AM: I head over to Starbucks off Benicia Road to get me a nice hot cup of coffee and a breakfast sandwich to start my day off on the right path. WRONG. These fools (for the second time since I've been there) forget about my sandwich, however, every Tom, Dick, and Jane managed to get their soy no foam lattes and reduced fat turkey bacon sandwiches with the eggs taken out. Why the hell are you going to order a damn sandwich and not even eat half of what's inside!? Another fifteen minutes pass while one of the male baristas politely tell me "Girl, don't even trip about that sandwich. It will be out soon."Sure enough, I had to re-approach the cashier by sending her evil eyes that reminded her that while she was busy heating up SOMEONE ELSES SANDWICH, mine still had not been made. Long story short, I FINALLY got my sandwich and was on my way to bart station number one.

9:00AM: My friend Portia and I made our way to Walnut Creek Bart Station. Unfortunately, to our dismay, the ENTIRE bart station was full. I take blame for this one. Coffee could've been purchased earlier and efforts could've been made to get to the station earlier. In the end, do I care? No. Do you want to know why? Because that's the way the cookie crumbles when it comes to decisions I make in my life. Does the cookie crumble for me in an unpleasant way as the day wears on? You bet your sweet ass it does. We hopped on over the the Pleasant Hill Bart Station and it all goes down hill from there.

10:15ishAM: We continued our walk as the sun burned our souls for about a mile before we made it to the end of the parade from where we planned to watch the event. As we semi-successfully weaved our way through the crowds, several men caught on to our skills. Specifically, one man made the rather unwise decision to SMACK MY ASS while hollering out, "Andale! Andale! Move that sweet ass girl!" I'm sorry random stranger, I had no idea that you thought it was acceptable for you to touch me in a way that was incredibly inappropriate. I should have known that something like this was going to happen. Next time, I'll wear Spandex, lose 50 pounds, and stop doing squats. Maybe by this time next year, my ass won't be so sweet and you will have to smack someone else's rear end. Perhaps I'll return the favor will a smack across the face so you can shut your foul mouth.

11:20ishAM-12:30PM: We settle down in the burros of another family with the hopes that people won't make the unwise decision of pushing and shoving. Once again, I let my high expectations get the best of me. Roughly 20 people pushed and shoved us, including the children (the eldest was no more than 9 years old) being kicked out of the way. You read that word correctly. KICKED.

If we fast forward a few more minutes as hostility rises among the crowd, another young man wanted to move forward in the crowd and closer to the front. A group of young men, about the same age, told him no. When the guy (let's call him Pony Tail) persisted that the group of guys move out of the way so he can get through, one of the guys (let's call him Black Shirt) took an unnecessary stand. Suddenly, Black Shirt had enough of Pony Tail's shit. As arms were swinging, I was shoved into a man with a lit cigarette who PUT IT OUT ON MY WRIST in his state of confusion and the fact that he is an idiot for smoking in a dense crowd to begin with. All of a sudden, Pony Tail was on the ground and blood was all over his face! My left wrist was covered in ash thanks to Smokie McSmokerson.

I thought to myself, "Now that was it. That was the worst part of today and it is finally over. I need a beer." Was this the end? Absofreakinlutely not.

About 30 minutes later, a teenager (maybe 16 years of age at most) proceeded to shove herself into the family we were standing near. She was obviously drunk, not to mention she proceeded to VOMIT EVERYWHERE. Then, this little asshole started yelling at the family who gave her a plastic bag to finish puking in. Apparently, she still wanted to go to the front of the crowd. She didn't think it was fair that this family wouldn't let her through! What a nut case!

Fortunately, there was a silver lining. The grandmother in the family (let's call her Abuelita because she was a tiny fire cracker who smokes A LOT of pot) jumps onto her ice chest and points to a man in front of us, all while screaming out, "Cutter! Cutter! CUTTER!!!" She must've seen the wild look in my eyes that complemented my state of confusion because she looked at me and said, "That man! You see him right there!? He is a CUTTER!!! He came walking in and shoving everyone screamin' out 'I'm blind! I'M BLIND! I need to get through!!! What a f***ing shit head." For the record, she was the most normal and kind woman I met that day. She even offered me a Now and Later.

Did you think that was the end of Madison's Crazy Oakland Escapade? Well, you're wrong. As if things couldn't get weirder, crazier, and scarier, people from behind begin spreading like it's the Red Sea and Moses is coming to free us all from our madness and confinements of the crowd. Suddenly, Moses comes walking down with a SNAKE wrapped around his body!  Now I know ya'll didn't see that coming because I sure as hell didn't.

By the time the clock struck 12:30, I was out of there. Abuelita was leaving with her family and we hustled our asses off behind her! I left Oakland with a bad tan, a cigarette burn, and a need for a drink (or some ice cream). We settled with some crepes and a trip to the movies with an attempt to forget the horrific trip to the Warriors Parade.

By the way, I'll be at the bars in Benicia accepting my free drinks :) .

Dear CVS

Dear CVS,

When I first discovered kodak kiosks in your stores years ago, I was full of excitement. Finally, I could print out all the photos my heart desires at a somewhat decent price. My cravings to have printable photos be a part of instant satisfaction had come true at last!

What is the one thing better than me clicking a button on the kiosk in your store, then waiting as they slowly but surly print out image after image of memories I had collected? Doing it all from home!

There is not much more in life that I want in a one-hour photo pick up other than, let's say a thirty-minute photo pick up, but that isn't my concern here. My concern lies in the depths of your website's deception.

Let's take a moment to look at exhibit A:

As you can see, not only is there a special logo indicating FREE SAME DAY PICK UP, but below that icon, there is a statement that says my photos will be ready in "about in hour."

Now let's look at the MOST DECEPTIVE WORD I HAVE EVER HEARD!!!

A-B-O-U-T.

When you told me my pictures would be ready in "about an hour," did you mean that the printers were located on Mars, or that you would get around to printing them when you felt like it?
Maybe the amount of electricity used to print the photos makes employees a safety hazard for lightning storms, so the "about" implies it may take longer than an hour.
Perhaps an employee's interest in taking part in a ninja fight against tiny blood-sucking ninjas that are the protectors of the kiosk stop them from getting the job done in a timely manner.

Who know's what this "about" word actually means. Only the deceptive, manipulative,  and unprofessional website developers and the president of CVS will know.

For know, let's take the time to check out exhibit B:

I should've known that the second sentence in this email was a trap and that I would never actually receive a separate email. When I received this email, I thought to myself, "How awesome is this!? I can continue running errands for 'about' an hour, and my phone will buzz me with an email from CVS when the time comes to pick up my pictures!"

WRONG.

Oh CVS, how you have betrayed me. Not only did I never receive this email, but upon arrival at the location of my pick up I learned that my order was never even processed.

Would you like to know more about why my photos were NEVER printed? Of course you do. I'm sure your number one priority revolves around satisfying customers' wants and needs. I am certain it has nothing to do with your desire to save money by skimping out on customers and LYING TO THEIR FACES. It's a good thing I am trying to see the best in your company (I say this with mild sarcasm).

I suppose I never stated why my photos were not ready for pick up when I showed up more than an hour later because I never received an email confirming that they were ready. The reason is that too many people were not coming to pick up their orders, so paper and company money was being wasted.

With that being said, I don't care. It is not my fault that other people chose not to pick up their photos. It is not my fault that YOU made it an option to either pay online or pay at the time of pickup. It is also not my fault that you made the decision to CONTINUE to give me the option for a "one-hour pick up" where my photos would be ready in "about" an hour.

In conclusion, I accept your apology in advance.

Sincerely,

Disgruntled customer who just gave you a burn.

PS: Would you like some ice for that?

Fiction Writing Final Portfolio

The following story I have written follows the lives of four people over a period time being challenged with love, abandonment, and the unfathomable death.

Karah and The Baby: The Beginning

I hate myself for what I have done. I hate that every morning, I have to wake up next to him and pretend that I am happy. It makes me sick to my stomach. Every morning I turn, look at him, and force a smile on my face. In reality, I want to run. I dream about it sometimes. There I am, watching him slowly fall asleep with his book still in his hands. Then without any hesitation, I get up and leave. I walk straight out the door and I don’t look back. Sadly, I wake up, and my dream never comes true. 

Instead, I find myself moving in agony as I face the same pain I went to sleep with. I’m not just talking about the emotional part of all of this. My entire body aches as if I were hit by a car. My feet are swollen and it takes me three thrusts and a few deep breaths just to get myself out of the bed in the morning. He always wants to help me with that part, but I can’t let him. I won’t let him.

How does he not see how miserable I am? How is he not miserable too?

I maneuver myself out of bed and his first response is always, “And how are we feeling this morning?” It always happens as he strokes my belly. It makes me sick to my stomach. My pale face always manages to force a smile, although I’m not certain I can keep this up much longer. 

My depression grows as the baby grows. Why do I have to be pregnant? Why did this thing have to grow in me? Why not someone else? How am I ever going to love it knowing what I did? And there he is, looking at me. He still looks at me the same way he did the first time he told me he loved me. Those eyes. They glisten as if I am the best thing that has ever happened to him, and this baby is the key to his ultimate form of happiness— his ecstasy. Yet here I am, saying those three words back, but not knowing what to do with myself. 

Do I tell him? No. I can’t.

His heart is so full of love for me and this child and I’m taking complete advantage of him. How does he not see it? Is he mistaking my sorrow for pregnancy hormones? I don’t get it. Maybe he does see it, but he is choosing to ignore it. Maybe he doesn't want to believe what I have done. If I keep my mouth shut, we will never have to worry about it. 

It. I still can’t believe I did it. I have so much pain from this baby, but nothing compares to the pain I’ll be feeling if I tell him the truth.

As he leaves for work, he kisses my forehead, kisses my belly, then gently kisses my lips as I hold back my complete revulsion to all of it. I lock the door as he walks out and pray he will never come back. I pray that I don’t have to be the bad guy. I close my eyes tight as the tears seep out the sides of my lids and just pray that he figures out what a horrible person I am.

I’m a mistake that he should have never made and I should have never let him make it. I knew that I was a horrible excuse for a woman, but I couldn’t help myself. I thought I could change for him. I thought I could be a better person, but I was wrong.

Why do I feel this way when he has always been so good to me? I know why and tonight I am going to tell him the truth. When he gets home, he’s going to find out that  I’m carrying a baby that isn’t his. 

Michael at The Interview

I don’t want to be here anymore.

I don’t know what to tell you. My mom was a crack-head— a junkie. She spent more time with her dealer than she did with me. And guess what? You and I both know that she’s the reason I’m in this mess in the first place. 

Why couldn’t she have just had an abortion instead of having me? At least I wouldn’t be here.

Fine. You want to know the truth? Ok… I’ll tell you what you want to hear, but only under one condition. I never want to have to talk to or see my mother or her dealer ever again. Understand?

So here it goes.

I want to say it was early December because that’s when her dealer Chris pimps her out so she can even her debt with him. He calls it a “Chris-mas Special,” but if you ask me, it’s more of a “Chris-mas Bonus” for him and “Chris-mas from Hell” for her. Does she care that this is her life? Maybe at one point she did, but definitely not anymore. Like I said, I never knew my mother when she was sober, because she never was. At  least not since she had me. I think that’s when she finally lost it.

I do blame her for what happened.This is all her fault. If I found out my girl got pregnant with another man’s kid, I would probably leave too. 

I blame her for everything.

I know what you're thinking. I need to get to the point. But I have to tell you the background. You have to know this stuff, don’t you? Probable cause or whatever so you can go arrest her and Chris? You are going to arrest him too, aren't you? You better, because he may not have pulled the trigger, but he did everything else after that. He’s even more fucked up than my mom. She at least cried when it happened, but Chris was different. Don’t get me wrong. He was pissed at my mom for killing that guy, but that’s not even the worst part. Shit, man… He came in our house eating a god damn sandwich that one of his body guards brought him.

I hope they both rot in jail.

Anyways, like I said, it was early December and my mom had just gotten back from her “Chris-mas Special” outing. She walked into our apartment, tossed her shit on the table, then shot herself up with whatever was in that syringe. 

She left me alone.

So like I said, she was doped up on drugs and lonely because I was a ten year old kid who was a reminder of what she did to ruin her life. She hated me and blamed me for who she had become. She didn’t need to say it. I could see it in her eyes, in the lack of love and affection she showed me as a kid. I was her biggest mistake.

I was a mistake.

I know. I need to get back to what happened. She stuck the syringe in her, shot up, and someone started banging on the door. I remember thinking that something was wrong, because she usually tried talking to me when she got home from work. It was always something along the lines of, “Hi baby, momma’s home. Did you eat or can I throw something in the microwave for you?” As if she really cared.

That bitch never cared about me. 

Instead, she didn’t even look at me. She just jumped right into the drugs. As the knocking got louder, my mom walked over to the door and started yelling. It was Chris and he wasn’t allowed at our apartment. That was the one rule that she gave him when they made their agreement with the “Chris-mas Special.”

She turned away from the door and told me to go hide in the closet, but I was ten. I wanted to see what was going on. Instead I went under the bed. That gave me a clear view of the kitchen where they were standing. I hid, watched, and listened.

But I should have gone in the closet. I shouldn’t have looked or listened.

That was when I heard their conversation. Chris told her that killing his best customer meant that she was going to owe him a lot more than a holiday special to make up for all the new money he would be losing. She said that Kevin had it coming.

She muttered off some excuse that Kevin wanted to get kinky with her. At first my mom said yes, but when he pulled out the knife because he likes working with blood, she panicked. She pushed him off her, grabbed her gun, and shot him. At least, that’s what she said she did.

Then she ran back to me. Whenever my mom does a Chris-mas special, Chris shows up afterwards at the guys place to collect his money. When he showed up to Kevin’s apartment and he was dead, he knew my mom was last with him.

I wish I were dead like Kevin. 

Chris came to the our apartment afterwards and told my mom she needed to help him bury the body. I couldn’t hear everything they were saying. It was mostly bits and pieces. I did hear Chris say one thing. He said, “You killed him. You're gonna help me clean up this mess or you'll end up with Kevin.” They walked out the door and I fell asleep under the bed. 

At one point in the night my mom came back and the next morning she pretended like nothing happened. 

I pretended too. 

I’ve been pretending it never happened until now.

So now here we are, fifteen years later, and you finally found the body that they buried. Kevin, right? Those bastards thought they could get away with it, and for a while I thought they were right. 

Karma came back for them with a vengeance. 

They ruined my life, so I’m glad to help you guys ruin theirs. I’ve pretended for too long. I’ve pushed it all under the rug, but now that you have the body I feel like what I say will actually make a difference.

I can finally be free.

Just don’t forget about our deal. I don’t want to see or talk to them ever again. As soon as I got the chance to get away from her, I ran as fast as I could. I managed to leave that life behind me until you guys tracked me down this morning.

I’ve told you all I know, and my words are all I can give you. 

I know this is going to go to trial. 

You’re sure this is being taped, right?

Tonight I’m going to jump.

Kevin Six Feet Under: The Confessional

Fuck my life.

How in the world did that bitch manage to kill me? It’s been 10 years and she’s still holding that grudge against me. All we were doing was having a little fun. No one needed to get hurt. And how the hell have I been getting serviced by Chris’ hookers for all these years, but I’ve never seen her until now? Shit. I’m fucking dead.

I didn’t even see her pull the gun. I don’t even know if I blame her. Can I? Should I? Can she still blame me? I know I’ve made my share of mistakes in my life, but Karah was always better off without me. 

I told her that when we hooked up the first time. I remember saying, “Karah. You know I just want to have fun. And you know you’re engaged. Are you sure you wanna do this? Because I’m not looking to get caught up in any drama. I got my own drama.”

She looked at me with that pretty little face of hers and said, “Baby, I’m all about fun. Derrick never has to know.”

She was right that Derrick never had to know, but I should have seen it. I should’ve seen that glimmer in her eyes. She had this look that said, “I’m gonna get you to love me.” I just thought if I ignored it, she would leave it all alone. Of course, I was wrong as usual.

I hated wearing condoms and she loved to please me. When you put two and two together, a whole shit storm was created. Long story short: Karah got pregnant and I left her. I was such a dick. I didn’t think she would end up as a stripper. I always thought she would keep her mouth shut about us and make that detective fiancé of hers think he was going to be a dad.

By the way, what kind of detective doesn’t even notice when his wife is going out and fucking some other guy? Did he know what she was doing or was he just blind as a bat?

I still can’t believe I’m fucking dead. I’m dead and in a ditch. All I wanted was a quickie from one of Chris’ regulars, yet he had to toss me Karah. She isn’t even a regular! That bitch was a junkie! How the hell did that happen?! Did I do that to her? Was she that in love with me? Is it even love or is she just crazy? Am I crazy too? I must be if I’m dead. 

All I know is that I’m somewhere dead and in a ditch and Karah is alive. Since when do hookers carry guns? I thought they stuck to knives, but that’s just from experience with them. 

Why the hell is she a hooker? That’s what I really want to know. I also want to know if she ever had that kid. I assume she did and that she told her fiancé too. He probably left her and that’s how she ended up this way. 

My body is stuck here, roaming the afterlife while she gets to walk around all alive and shit. She kills me and she gets to get away with it all. I bet Chris had something to do with all of this. My death is so broken up, I only remember bits and pieces of Karah. Nothing tells me if Chris was there, but I’ve known him— I knew him— long enough to know that although Karah killed me, Chris helped bury me. 

I wonder what my kid looks like. I wonder if she had a boy or a girl.

I should have never started sleeping with her in the first place. If I could do it all over again, I would have left her alone. If I knew my outcome and the outcome of Karah, I would stay away. I think she would have still found another man to treat her the way I treated her. She was lonely and completely fucked up in her mind. No one could change that. But if she didn’t end up with me, maybe she would’ve ended up with someone who would wear a fucking condom. Maybe then she wouldn’t have a child whose mother was a junkie. Maybe she would never have children. 

I don’t know much about Karah after I left her. I never knew her detective fiancé. I also never knew what she did with the baby. I do know that the decisions I made eventually led to my death. I pissed her off enough in the past for her to carry a gun and hold onto it until that same day we finally crossed paths again. I was the reason she carried the gun, because I was the only target for it. 

I don’t know if I’ll ever find out the answers I’m looking for, but I know my afterlife will serve as a reminder for everything I’ve done in the past.

Who am I talking to? 

Anyone who can hear me. 

Anyone who will listen. 

Detective Derrick and Michael: The End

It’s over.

I knew who he was the moment he walked into the interrogation room. I should have known what he had planned. I should have seen it coming. 

I should have stayed.

It was selfish of me to walk out that door— to end us that way. We could have worked through it. I could have stopped it all before it started. I remember the night she told me everything. My life became so dark after that. I only wish I knew how dark hers would become. I would have stayed and fixed everything. I would have stayed for Michael.

———————————————————————————————————————

She was so beautiful earlier that morning. I watched her struggle to get out of bed as she rolled and twisted her body in ways I thought only contortionists could pull off. Apparently, pregnant women can too. I always tried to help her, but she was too stubborn. She would give me this look that was a combination of sadness and anger, with a touch of regret, yet I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Her beauty was so captivating, even when she gave me that look…especially when she gave me that look. 

But I knew something was wrong. She was so sad. At first I thought it was because of the pregnancy and she thought she lost her beauty. I wanted so badly to help her— to show her how beautiful and wonderful and amazing I thought she was. That regret in her eyes made me think otherwise after some time. I decided to wait until she was ready.

I only wish I were ready for what she had planned to tell me.  

I kissed her for the last time that day. First, her forehead. Then I moved to the baby and  gave him one last kiss. I ended with her lips. They were always so plump and salty. I assumed it was from her crying herself to sleep ever since she found out she was pregnant. She always thought I was asleep, but how could I close my eyes when my other half was so lonely, so sad, so…hurt? 

I would give anything to go back to before the pregnancy. I wish I could see her smile, the way her lips curved and dimples gently touched her face. I want to see her eyes again, when they crinkled on either side from staring too long at the sun, or laughing at something to the point of a knotted stomach and complete exhaustion. I miss our past together. I miss who she used to be. 

I miss it all.

———————————————————————————————————————

The night she told me, my world collapsed. In that very moment, I went from having everything, to having nothing. I lost my fiancé to a man she barely knew and I lost my baby when I discovered the truth behind her misery.

She was carrying the baby of another man. 

The night she told me, my face lost color as the room began to feel cold. I no longer heard her words that came after, but instead my ears began to ring. Flashes of our past together swept through my mind as our memories together instantly felt tarnished. 

Our entire relationship became a lie. How long was she with him? Were there others? Did she ever love me? Of all these questions, only one continued to replay: Why? Why did she do this? Why did she marry me? Why did she ruin everything I thought we had?

Why?

I walked out that door and never looked back. I sent my sister for my clothes and let Karah keep everything else. She ruined me that day and I never wanted to see her again. My sister kept reminding me that I was lucky we never tied the knot…that I could have lost so much more than my heart.

———————————————————————————————————————

If I could go back in time and do it all again, I’d stay for Michael. I would stop the madness that I’m staring down at.

Michael’s body.

It’s limp and lifeless and blood seeps out the back of his skull. I can't believe he jumped.

In a world where I’ve lost all hope for humanity, Michael stared at me and told me what became of his mother. His eyes flickered between me and the camera and I remember him asking if I was sure the camera was on. I should have read between the lines. I should have seen that it was all a cry for help. 

That poor kid had to grow up with an absent mother, and I could have prevented that. If I stayed, he could have had a better life than the one he was given. Karah’s mistakes should not have dictated Michael’s future. I should have opened my mouth. I should have told him that I knew who he was, that I knew his mother before everything, and that I was here for him. 

I should have saved him.

How to Be Happy

College has been a rather difficult journey for me.  I'm a senior Business-Marketing Major and I graduate in May of this year. More importantly, I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I'm sitting here on my friend's bed, typing away with some hope that what I write will change the world. I don't think that what I have to say will alter the world in any significant way, but I do know that I can give a few words of wisdom that might help all current and future college women. My topic of choice: happiness. College has this crazy way of taking your emotions, bundling them up, the tossing them into the deepest part of the ocean where you will then have to dive in head-first to collect them all. That isn't even the worst part. The worst part is that this will happen at least five times a week.

There were times when I found myself gasping for air and on the verge of a mental breakdown because I had lost my favorite emotion- Happiness. My smile had fallen to the bottom of the ocean and all I could grab hold of were fear, anger, and sadness. The stress of not knowing how to pay off my student loans upon graduation along dragged me deeper into these awful emotions. That stress didn't even include the utter fear I had of my car not starting in the morning or the nightmares that came with all of this.

The first day of my senior year of college felt a lot like one of those five days of mixed emotions. I had lost my happiness and I needed to get it back, so I developed a simple five-step guide to doing this.

Step One: Wake up in the morning, go look in the mirror, and smile. Smile and say to yourself, "Hey there. What's cookin' good lookin?" Or, you know, something else along those lines. The most important thing you should take out of this is that your smile will define the rest of your day. Without that ear to ear grin, all you have is bad breath from just waking up.

Step Two: After you brush your teeth, continue to stare into the mirror. Tell yourself that everything will be ok. Remind yourself that you serve a purpose. The first few times I did this, I cried. I felt like I was lying to myself and that I couldn't be trusted. After the first week, it got a little easier to recite these words of wisdom, and eventually I felt like Honest Abe.

Step Three: Be beautiful. Wear whatever the hell you feel like wearing. Slap on some lipstick and mascara or ditch makeup all together. Most importantly, do whatever you feel like doing. Your comfort is key to your happiness.

Step Four: Own your walk. No matter how you are feeling at that exact moment you walk into a room, walk as if you are on clouds. Hold your head high and tell yourself that you are the HBIC. Go find a seat in that classroom and drink some water with your pinky out. You show everyone that whatever path you are on is the right path for you.

Step Five: At the end of the day, walk back to that mirror and tell yourself that you did everything in your power to be happy.

T hese five steps may seem difficult at first. It may seem like you will never find your smile, but believe me when I say that you will find it. I'm still sitting here, typing away, and hoping that one day I will change the world. The difference between today's writing and my writing from the beginning of the year is that now I can do it with a smile. I dove to the bottom of the ocean and I grabbed my happiness. I left behind my fear, anger, and sadness and I hardly ever look back. Why? Because I'm happy.

Soul-less Folk

           On the first day of my senior year at Dominican University of California, I witnessed some of the worst driving-while-in-traffic. People were incredibly impatient and abused the road to their advantage. Since this day, I have taken it upon myself to photograph these local assholes and put them in blast. To all the satan-worshipers out there who abuse the system, have no fear. Your time will come. There will be a day when you ignore the law and the highway patrol dude pops out of the bushes with a ticket in hand and your name one it. Karma will catch up to you. I only hope that I am there to witness it. I want to see you suffer the way you have made me suffer every day I was stuck in traffic. I am convinced I look as if I have aged 15 years and it's all thanks to you. I have a feeling that drivers like you are also the people who get in an express lane at the grocery store which clearly says "10 ITEMS OR LESS," but because you are "more important" thank the rest of us humble folk, you are able to waltz over with 20 ITEMS and a damn coupon for each one!

          Some of these photos might not have captured the soulless drivers in the midst of their crime. You can still trust me. They're ruining lives each time their foot hits the gas pedal.
Don't you ever feel your blood begin to boil as you think to yourself, "The only reason you're alive on this planet is because, as a sperm, you probably cheated your way to the front of that line too." This is cold, dark world filled with "that sperm" all over Highway 37.

So go ahead and check out the pictures below. Take a nice, long look at the evil that exists on the road.

The F-Word

My college, Dominican University of California, held The Forgiveness Project on campus. This is an event inspired by the acts of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and his fight for equality. I was asked to speak at this event, so in turn, I wrote a poem specifically dedicated to forgiveness, equality, and reconciliation. Below you can find my poem along with a flyer for the event.  I hope you enjoy this piece!

Forgiving Him

It takes a lot to forgive a person. 

It is easier said than done. 

Which is why it took me seven years

To forgive Him for my number one.

My number one reason

My heart was filled with hate,

Being told I couldn’t do it.

That I would never meet my fate.

My fate. My destiny.

My true heart’s desire.

To attain a college degree,

And with it, set the world on fire.

Set it on fire, with flames all around,

I would take the world by storm.

I fought back and forth with Him

And let Him know I wouldn’t mourn.

I wouldn’t mourn Him failing stopping me.

Instead I would let Him know.

That I forgive Him for his actions

But that I would still continue to grow.

I would grow and thrive

And always forgive along the way.

Because being a woman in His world

Is already his worst day.

His worst day is when I stand tall

In the place of where a man should be.

Where a woman should watch from afar

But that woman is not me.

She is not me 

Because I am who I am.

In the face of adversity 

I am here to take a stand.

I stand for equality.

I take a stand to forgive.

It may have taken me seven years.

But now I’m ready to live.

My Internship as a Spangle Ambassador

Hey guys! I know I haven't made a post in a while (school has been cramping my style), but check me out on Spangle's blog! I am currently interning with them as a student ambassador!
First things first, what is Spangle? To give you a look into what Spangle is and how you can download it, I'll tell you how they state it, because they know it best!

What is Spangle?

          It is an app for Apple and Android phones. It gets people together. Then people do awesome things.
In the direct words of the creators themselves, "Spangle is a new mobile app that gets people together to do awesome things. Spangle is a social invitation app that is more personalized than a Facebook Event and more convenient and fun than group texts or email chains. Our Ambassadors use Spangle everyday to become the social glue of their campuses and to organize events that create buzz."

So go ahead and click the link and check me out on Spangle's site!

Spangle Ambassador Spotlight: Madison Munson

More importantly, don't forget to #FightFOMO and to always #BeSpontaneous !

1 Year Anniversary

Before I begin with tonight's blog, I would like to start of by saying thank you. Thank you for reading about all of my crazy rants and thoughts that circle my mind on a daily basis. For those of you new to my blog, go ahead and click on any link to the right of this post in the archives section. I can assure you that you won't be disappointed.

Actually, even if you are a returning viewer, just reread them again. You will probably do one of two things once you click on a link:

1. You will laugh hysterically at everything I write. You will shred tears and your heart may even stop because you can no longer breathe.

2. Fear me. My words are very strong.

It's All Just Wrong!

Have you ever spent an evening in a restaurant were everything seemed to go wrong? The food was wrong, the waiter was wrong, everything was wrong, wrong, wrong!

Let me tell you all about an incident I had with my friends last Sunday at BJ's Brewery in San Rafael. It was my friend's 21st birthday and to celebrate, we decided to head out to BJ's for some happy hour drinks and appetizers, as well as an actual meal. First, let me take a step back to the phone conversation my friend had with the woman who answered the call to take down our name and reservation.

Woman: Hello, this is BJ's Blah Blah Blah.

Friend: Hi I wanted to make a reservation for tonight at 6:30pm for a party of 9.

Woman: 9? Did you say 9 people?

Friend: Yes, I did.

Woman: *huffs and puffs and sighs* Well.........*long pause*.........That's a lot of people for a dinner reservation. Especially at 630pm.

Friend: Soooooo, do we need to reschedule for a later time tonight?

Woman: Well.............that's just a lot of people. I'm going to need to clear this with my manager first. Hold on.

*5 minutes later*

Woman: Hello? Yeah, We can fit you in at 630pm, but it's going to be a busy night.

Friend: Well...ok. We are still coming.

Woman: Ok, *distasteful tone* see you then. *sighs and hangs up*




Ok, so I think we can all agree that this employee could use a few tips on proper phone etiquette.

Anyways, we blew off her bitchy attitude and went out for the day. As time wore on, we headed out to the brewery to enjoy one another's company while sipping on Wild Berry Mojitos and beer.
Unfortunately, our experience was less than enjoyable. Actually, I am reconsidering ever going to that specific location again.
Our waiter approaches us, only gives us waters for half the table, then disappears for about 15 minutes. Realizing he might be busy, we let him off the hook since we were still trying to decide what  happy hour drinks and appetizers we wanted to buy.

As a disclaimer, I was at this restaurant the week before and sat at the exact same table. It was happy hour and even though we were not sitting at the bar, we were still able to order from the happy hour menu. This time, our waiter told us that he couldn't give it to us because we were not at the bar!
What the heck is this nonsense! Why are these employees never on the same page!?
After this waiter consults with his manager, he is cleared to give me the happy hour menus.

We asked to each have separate checks, then proceed to order our drinks and ONE spinach and artichoke dip appetizer. Twenty-five minutes later our drinks arrive and he takes our order for our meals. We go around the table ordering, with two people sharing a meal. Two of us ordered burgers to be cooked medium and one burger had added bacon.
Thirty minutes later, our food arrives. The burgers are cooked so well done that I am pretty sure they set it on fire and forgot about it. Also, the bacon on the burger wasn't cooked! The pig was still oinking!

We held our tongue because service was already slacking. We ate our meal in near silence and when we finished we waited for our dessert menu. Instead, he brought us the check and didn't even ask us about dessert! The only reason I was still there is so I could eat that damn pizooki!
We kindly corrected him, he brought us the menus, we ordered, we ate, then we waited for our separate checks.

Unfortunately, when our waiter came back, he did not have separate checks for us. He did, however, tell us that our ordering was "too" confusing for him. Instead, he had us each write down what we ordered on a piece of paper, then hand the paper back to him. While reviewing the check, we ale discovered that he charged us for regular priced appetizers instead of the happy hour price and continued to claim that this was what we ordered. THEN, this fool spent another 30 minutes attempting to split the checks.

Highway 37

Day 1: It's 7:45am and I am getting ready to walk out of my house and to my car. It's my last first day of class today and all I can think of is, "Dear Traffic Gods, Please let there be no traffic. Please let me get to class without an urge of flipping people off and have untamed fury raging through my veins."


This was a real thought I had when I stepped into my car and started Precious (my car) up. Misery flooded my brain and heart as I made my way down my street and onto the dreaded Highway 37.


First things first (yes I am the realest), traffic was absolutely horrendous on my first day of school. Every Tom, Dick, and Jane decided that my first day of my senior year of college was also Make-Madison's-Blood-Boil Day.
Never in my life have I seen so many cars on the road at one time, unless it's a holiday. BUT, I guess I did mention that all the people in the world made this a holiday just for me, so in theory, that day was a holiday.


Ok. Let's flash forward to me actually being on Highway 37. There is so much construction throughout the marsh restoration area, for a split second I thought the Traffic Gods were giving me a sign. They were telling me "I know Madison. Traffic is bad today. But soon, it will be better. Soon, there will be two lanes and not one. Soon, you will have limited road rage. Soon, the suffering will be over." I really did think this. Of course, it seemed too good to be true, sooooooo I did some research. It turns out that there will be no second lane when driving from Vallejo to Marin County! My heart sank into the bottom of my stomach as I continued to read about the restoration.


Not only is there going to be ONE lane for what seems like forever, but the restoration people plan to turn all that mess they have going on into a lake-ish thing that "will be open to the public to explore on foot, bicycle or kayak (Read More Here)."
Do these people realize that there is one lane with a barrier protecting people from the only other lane on 37 going in the opposite direction!? How the hell are people going to get over to this new "sanctuary?!"
Ok. Let's say that people do decide they want to check this marsh out once it is complete. I have two problems with this:


1. Traffic is already terrible. Do they realize how much more miserable it will be with folks coming from BOTH directions on 37 at the same time!? Ain't no body got time for that! Especially when I am just trying to get to and from school as quickly and efficiently as possible. You marsh people are ruining my life!


2. I thought the point of there only being one lane in each direction was because the marsh people needed to protect the land/endangered species living there. If so, then why are you creating something that is going to allow people all over the land with their kayaks and their littering? Have you been smoking the ganja!?


In conclusion, the Traffic Gods do not like me very much and the feeling is mutual.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

Do you ever find yourself walking through a grocery store with your list of things to buy, then suddenly become frustrated beyond belief at the food/drinks you are buying or the hygiene products you plan on using? If you don't, then apparently I am the only one and therefore a weirdo, but I'm ok with that.
In tonights edition of my blogging, I have decided to spend some quality time venting out my frustrations with apple juice, cheese, and deodorant.

Apple Juice:

I love apple juice! I tend to only purchase my apple juice from Apple Hill in Placerville during their open season, however, there are those days when I have a craving that must be satisfied. The other day, here I am at work, enjoying some coffee and thinking about deodorant (which will be explained later), when a coworker of mine says, "Hey Maditude! Here is something for your blog!"
I stop mid-thought and read the label on the apple juice container he has just handed me. Go ahead and read the bottle for yourself.

How in the heck can this be 100% pure apple juice when it had added ingredients! LIES!!!

Dishonor on you! Dishonor on your whole family!

How is it possible that this apple juice thinks it can get away with being 100% fresh, when clearly it isn't? Suddenly, I began to crave apple juice, but of course, I can no longer trust the grocery store on this one for some authentic apple juice!

Cheese:

Ok, so the cheese one is along similar lines with the apple juice. I had absolutely no idea that some cheeses were so ridiculously processed that some companies cannot even label their cheese as legit cheese! Take a look for yourself!

Pasteurized cheese product. They should just not even bother putting the word cheese all up in there. Instead, I think they should either stop attempting to make cheese, because it is clearly not working for them, or maybe just call them what they are. Yellow American Slices....or some variation of that.

Either way, these two companies are literally lying about what they are selling. They are changing the words around to make it seem like they are something they are not. Sounds like an ex-boyfriend to me...

Deodorant:

Ahhhhh, we have finally arrived at the deodorant part of my daydreaming. This doesn't really have anything to do with lies or false statements, but it does have to do with feminine hygiene. 

When I am walking down the isle, I'm looking for a nice, simple, clean and fresh scented deodorant. So why is it that every time I go looking for this, I have to walk past all these crazy sweet smelling scents like brazillian cherry or teen spirit strawberry. 

Then you have to pass the vegetable and etcetera scents, like calming cucumber and waterlilly green tea ginger. If I didn't plan on smelling like a fruit, why in God's name would I choose to smell like a vegetable!?! Why the hell would I want to smell like a cucumber!?

Once I put on my deodorant, the next thing I do is choose a perfume. I don't need my deodorant to do that for me. 

Little Missy Mae

Throughout my second semester of my junior year at Dominican University of California, I had the honor taking a Children's Literature class. During this time, not only did I learn about the different types/genres, but I was also able to write my own. Unfortunately, I also illustrated it, so the pictures do not serve this story any justice. Included in this story is a little bit about me, as well as other information that is generally included in a book proposal. I hope you all enjoy!

Summary:

Meet little Missy Mae. Unlike most children, Missy was born with special hands. These hands still work exactly like other children, but they look a little bit different. She enjoys going to the snow with her mom and dad, participating in sports with her friends, and she especially loves playing the piano. What exactly is so different about Missy’s hands? Missy was born with a total of nine fingers. Read along to find out more about little Missy Mae and the wonderful life she lives.

Author’s Biography:

         Madison Munson is a current Creative Writing Minor at Dominican University of California, located in San Rafael. With a love for children, especially her 4-year old niece and 2-year old nephew, writing for the younger generation has always held a special place with Madison. Growing up, she had witnessed other children facing different challenges without fully understanding that they are still just like her. Writing a children's book for those who were born or grew up a little bit different is something Madison wants to put forth into the world and show everyone that it is ok to be different. Previously, she has been published with OpEd News, an online magazine. Her paper, “How to Graduate from College Debt-Free!” is a satire about making child sweatshops a more realistic option to help pay off their future college loans. This paper also includes an exclusive interview with Senior Editor of OpEd, Joan Brunwasser. Other published works can be found on Dominican University’s online journal, The Tuxedo.

Target Audience: 

         My target audience is for children in preschool and kindergarten, particularly ages 4-6. Children of this age with keep this book with them because of its uniqueness. It tells a short story about a young girl who has a missing finger. Although this is just a small part of the human body, her hands still stand out from others. When a child grows up looking the slightest bit different from others, they might stand in the light they aren't particularly fond of. This book has the ability to show children that it is ok to look different. It also contains an underlying message about equality and treating others the way you would like to be treated. Missy Mae never encounters a bully, but she does encounter inner self-confidence issues. She sometimes has a difficult time accepting her hands as they are, however, her parents support her and love her just as she is, and so do her friends. Missy is not defined as a child with nine fingers, but as a little girl who loves to play the piano, jump rope with her friends, and go to the snow with her parents.

Competition:

• "The Gift of Grace" - Grace Mary McClelland

Published By: The Wild Onion Press in 201

• ”The Tree With No Limbs" - Christine Marie Johnson

Published By: Tate Publishing & Enterprises in 2008

• "The Making of My Special Hand: Madison's Story"3. - Jamee Riggio

Published By: Peachtree in 1998

• "Imagine...Amazing Me!" - Libbi Chilia

Published By: Halo Publishing International in 2008

• "Oliver's High Five" - Beverly Swerdlow Brown 

Published By: Health Press in 1998

• "Charlie: The Dog That Didn't Have a Paw" - Delaney and Ria Hurst

American Printing & Copying in 2010

All of these books contain information about children or animals who have missing hands or legs. One book, The Gift of Grace even tells the story of a young girl who was born with incredibly small hands. My book differentiates from the above books in one specific way: only Missy’s finger is missing. Instead of there being a large part of physical self gone, only a small and almost unnoticeable portion is missing. Missy still faces the same challenges that these children with with more obvious challenges face, just in a different way.  This reminds readers that not all challenges people face are obvious. Sometimes, they can be nearly unnoticeable to the naked eye, such as mental disabilities or minor physical ones similar to little Missy Mae.

Manuscript Specifications:

         This is an eight page, 200-word, picture book read with the incorporation of rhyming to enhance the child’s experience. Each page contains a picture related to what Missy Mae is experiencing or feeling at that moment in time. Most importantly, these pictures focus on Missy doing the same activities that other children with ten fingers can do, like playing the piano, jump rope, and basketball.

Outline:

Beginning: The beginning of the book focuses on what kind of person Missy Mae is like. She is a girl who, although having only nine fingers, still has plenty of friends who treat her just like everyone else. She takes trips to the snow with her parents, she is a great piano player, and she enjoys playing basketball and jumping rope.

Middle: The middle part of the book is where Missy Mae experiences self-conscious concerns about only having nine fingers. Her parents step in and reassure her that she is not alone. They remind her that there are other people who have all ten fingers, but are missing a leg or cannot see or hear. 

End: Finally, Missy recomposes herself and is happy once again. She is able to continue doing the things she loves most and goes out to play with her friends.

Big Boobs Deserve Affordable Bras!!!

Starbucks often gives me the name MadDison because I am well endowed in the D-Cup category of bra sizes. Yes, I am serious. Nine out of ten times, my name is written with an extra D. Coincidence? I think not.

Being a woman with a rather, eerrr, fuller bust, I feel that I must explain my biggest frustration to you all. This frustration is price.

Below is a picture of a bra from Target under their "light support" sports bra section. What this section should really say is "small-to-no-boobs."

Notice how this bra is marked at the low cost of $9.99. That is quite the bargain, isn't it?! These women have it made! Target describes this section of bras as support for "yoga and walking." I don't know about you, but if I wore this while doing yoga, my boobs would bust out of this within the first five minutes. It is COMPLETELY unrealistic. Also, where the hell would I be walking in this?! My fridge? Because that's about as far as this bra would make it before I started to sag like 90 year old woman who doesn't know the meaning of a bra. I might as well just continue to use my day-to-day bras, which would offer a shit-ton more support than this sports bra, which apparently can only support something the size of a pea.

The second picture below is from Target's "medium support" section. 

In this picture we see a bra by the same brand marked up to $19.99. Target claims that this is for activities like "sport and weight training." I am going to assume this bra is for all you C-Cuppers out there. And on that note, I will "C" this bra later, because once again, it still does not offer enough support, although I can get away wearing two of these (which would mean paying $39.98). Target, you can't fool me or my chest. We know what works and what doesn't.

Finally, we have arrived at the "high support" section.

I know what you are thinking. "This bra is $22.99 and offers D-Cup support without killing your bank account."
Well guess what I think? I think you should shut up because you don't know what you're talking about. This was one of two total options in this section. What would happen if I tried this on and it itched or still didn't offer enough support? Then what would I do?
The first bra had six different styles along with loads of color options.
The second bra had ten different styles with a crap ton of colors also.
What did the third bra get? TWO BRAS. What the hell Target?! Just because I have a bigger chest, it doesn't mean I should suffer because small boobs require less material! It's not like I got a boob job!

Ok, so I think you see where I am going with this. Don't get me wrong. I freaking love Target, but this is unacceptable. Who's with me!?

It isn't just Target either. Nike is doing it too!

In conclusion to my rant on bras, lower that price for a fellow woman. I'm over here trying to do my thing. I'm ballin on a budget and trying to save wherever I can, but this area is killing me and my chest!