It was an eventful span of three days for me.
I hurt my neck. I woke up and I was in so much pain. I'm guessing it was a result of all my headbanging to Avril Lavigne, but no one knows for sure. Still, my mother's car was broken, so she wanted to hang out and who better to drive her around then her favorite live in child?
We went to this coffee shop downtown. It was very good and I even parallel parked on a busy street. I'm amazing. My neck was not feeling my usual exorcist mentality, but still I persevered and took that parking spot like the blonde bitch I am.
Three (four? six?) days later I ran my car battery down at work. Now I know how to jump a car, I have run my battery down many times before. I even had the assistance of Sacajawea. You know your best friends when someone willingly get's their extensions wet to help you jumpstart your car. It was thundering and dark outside, so we may have required the assistance of everyone's favorite country boy, but besides that we are strong independent individuals. Basically.
Honestly, I've been spending a lot of time with my mother. The madre. The woman who pushed me out of her vagina. We had a great Mother's Day. I took her to a nice hole in the wall for breakfast. I got sausage gravy and biscuits like a good country boy.
The night of debauchery ended with us seeing a screening of Mothers and Daughters. It was dull and contrite, but ended warm and predictable. We meant to see Susan Sarandon's film The Meddler, but that's another story. Spending time with your mother is the best, especially if you don't hate each other. We're going to see Carrie Underwood together. My country white girl heart is bleeding.
Rosencrantz and I have been reconnecting as well. We spent the better part of last year not talking, mostly my fault. I need to make more time for people. We've been three muskeetering it with Sacajawea, the true love of our lives.
It was my 20th birthday. I came to the gripping realization that I hadn't accomplished anything with my life other then beating teen pregnancy. It was a beautiful rainy day. I woke up and had a reheated cup of coffee and enjoyed life. I was less then a week away from finals. I was drained, but elated, exhausted, yet ecstatic, looking beautiful as usual.
That night I had plans with two of my favorite people in college. They both canceled on me. One was sick, and the other one has restrictive parents who didn't want her to go out in the rain, which I personally think is very reasonable.
I'm glad she forced me out of my Friends marathon. Honestly, what else would I have to do during the summer if I'd watched it all on my birthday?
This morning I was getting dressed for the day and I couldn't figure out why I have four more outfits for the next two days. I also have five pairs of shoes for a four day trip, but not even that merciless shower head could beat the answer into me.
In other news I sleep deprived myself just enough that I wasn't kept up by the air conditioning unit. Ready for today.
We gave up and settled on our next stop. The Outlet Mall. We got there at 9:30. It didn't open until 10:00. Our options were clear. Find somewhere else to spend our time. Google did not fail us this time. We settled on a coffee shop in St. Charles. It had Picasso in the title. It seemed quaint. I was the only one who got coffee. It was called Black Forrest and was supposed to taste of cherry's. It served it's purpose about as well as Boomer likes modern art (he's not a fan).
We actually bought something. Usually boutique shopping involves a lot of browsing. We did that. But, this store was within three college students price ranges. The twins bought two hand towels. One for their mother and the other for their brother's fiancee. Miss Sara Bellum splurged and bought a good luck token for her dorm room.
A gallery was opened down the street. The artwork was reasonably priced if you weren't in a dorm room with cinder block walls. There was shoe shop named Gene's that catered to visiting Floridians. Bars and restaurants dotted the street. A club was in one of the buildings. If only we were twenty one.
I never would have thought to stop in St. Charles. Or even thought of it as a destination choice, but it's something I wish I'd been able to see more of. It was picturesque. You could spend a solid day exploring it or trying to get off the roundabout. Which, ever came first.
We were not as successful clothes wise as we might have hoped. We found one thing at Burlington Coat Factory. A pair of shorts for the sexy Sara Bellum. Rainbow was useless. Surprisingly it was Charlotte Russe that we did well. I got two scarves for two dollars each. I couldn't help myself. The twins tried on clothes. Bought clothes. So many I can't remember. Most of my time was spent trying on Boho hats and twerking to Britney Spear's “Pretty Girls” with what little ass I have.
Buy "Pretty Girls"
In a true spot of sophistication. We got takeout from Panda Express and ate our food in the sculpture park under the shade of a beautiful trade. I was in my four inch wedges and I had little idea that the pathways were gravel and so much was off road. The map I have spread out makes little more sense now then it did at the park. We planned on walking one of the three trails. Either the ten minute Whitaker Woods Trail or the twenty five minute Central Pathway. We did a little of all trails and marveled at all the work.
There was a dog house nicer then my room. Portraits by Maude Earl. A British painter famous for her work on dogs. The most reading intensive part of the exhibit revolved around service dogs. It's hard not to be amazed at how capable these animals are.
It had portraits by Liat Yossifor that dealt with the aesthetic of cave painting and the intuitive act of finger painting. Her works were mostly solid white with different textures and only limited use of primary color. One of the works on display was entitled Yellow II.
They were also doing an entire demonstration called the Sanatorium. We were only able to participate in one of the parts available. It was interactive and was supposed to gauge ways to help people achieve group therapy. We wrote down our darkest secrets tied it up with twine and read one of the previous respondents answer.
Mine discussed how lonely they felt even among people they were close to. The curator explained that was normal. It's disturbing how commonplace such an emotion can be.
The other two artists on display were Richard Tuttle and Fred Sandback. I would argue that there were works were minimalist. I would even argue that art might be a strong word for what they were doing.
God, I sound just like Boomer.
Last night at America's Best Value Inn.
My ear buds and I are listening to The 1975. The album not their new song “Medicine”. Found out that Miss Sara Bellum doesn't like them. Like truly doesn't like them. Strongly hates. It surprised me.
Our dinner consisted of going out scandalously clad. I was scantily covered. The Mayor didn't change. Miss Sara Bellum did. She informed me I looked like a cute lesbian from behind. I asked her if she would date me and she told there couldn't be two lipsticks in the relationship.
We had planned on going to Bailey's Chocolate Bar for dessert. We couldn't find it. @ Google get your life. Instead we drove around downtown St. Louis. This was our first time downtown. We'd avoided it the entire trip just to find out that it's mainly banks and Hard Rock Cafe with an expensive mall. We almost ran over the same man twice, while he was trying to cross the street. There comes a point when it's not all my fault.
In a spat of going hard or going home without google we ended up on the freeway. Picture Dionne in Clueless. That was me.
Our night ended with an intense game of Parcheesi. Nothing like a dice version of Sorry to make you want to punch a best friend in the face. At some point we reverted back to Zero. A trivia based question game that was less competitive with us playing. “Name one of the six states in Australia”. Answer that none of us know this answer.
That's Americans for you.
My music has switched to Lana Del Rey and 11:57 AM seems a good time to end today. Wrapped up in a heather pink infinity loop scarf...
Driving for multiple hours on end has not left me exhausted. Currently I have two infinity loop scarfs wrapped around my throat and I'm trying not fall asleep. Our trip has finally come to a close.
We got dressed in our floral attire. We packed up and cleaned up. We were ready to check out of our hotel. We did that and we made our way to the St. Louis Botanical Gardens. They were amazing.
His bachelor home was amazing. Goals stamped on a house. It turned out he was a writer. For a moment we thought we'd heard of him. We mistakenly mixed his last name with that of British playwright George Bernard Shaw. Similiar but not close.
The most fascinating thing about Henry Shaw was that the died a bachelor. He never married. He never had children. What an interesting thing for a wealthy bachelor. It makes one wonder what he did with his spare time.
Multiple signs informed us that we were not allowed to wade in the lake. I wanted to ask who would do that. Then, I realized if there was a sign that meant someone had done it. Much like the “don't feed the red fox” sign. There must be a story behind that.
This church had me reconsidering my stance on the justice of the peace. I wanted to walk down the aisle with 2,500 of my closest friends while the organ plays and Andre Boccelli sings to me in Italian. I'm afraid I was scantily clad for such a religious place.
There happened to be a tour going on. It was fascinating. The man was much older. He was probably more then disturbed by me. I thought he was funny. He gave quite an enjoyable tour. He pointed out so much of the religious imagery I never would have caught. How the three domes represented the son, the ghost, and the holy spirit. More amazingly how there wasn't a single drop of paint in the church.
We drove in silence. We listened to Katy Perry's One of the Boys. Only the fourth time I've listend to that album all the way through. I forgot how offensive “I Kissed A Girl” and “Your So Gay” are. They may have shock value, but she comes across as a terrible person.
The trip was a success. Our friendship is intact. And, sitting here typing this at 10:55 pm is a far improvement over being at work. The only thing I missed was the dog and he's right here.
I'm packed. I'm showered. My hair has been done up and I would even argue that I'm well rested. In twenty minutes I'm about to leave to pick up the twins and we're going to start our road trip. God help us all.
I found the exhibit to be fascinating. I can't deny that I'm actually obsessed with his love affair with wife Julia (Julie?). It was certainly more entertaining then I expected.
In other news. We checked into our hotel to find out that protests are taking place Downtown.
Our trip marked the one year anniversary of the slaying of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri. The day before our arrival police officers put eighteen year old Tyrone Harris into critical condition after they exchanged gun fire with one another. The day we arrived friendly protestors were arrested outside of the federal courthouse in St. Louis. Later 30 protestors stopped traffic on I-70. Ferguson was everywhere. Our plans were just not feasible.
In true upper middle class fashion we escaped to a suburban retreat and obliviously drank our blackberry caramel frappuccino's while Natalia Kill's crooned over the loudspeaker at the Coffee Cartel that never closes.
My favorite store was 10Denza. I loved practically everything in it. Even the eight hundred dollar leather jacket. As the clerk mentioned we were lucky as they were having a sale. A cute patterned cobalt sweater I would spend thirty on was marked down to sixty. Down from a 108. The entire store was full of cute gay boy chic and enhanced feminine style. I loved it. My bank account not so much. The twins obnoxious friend would have loved it. I'm convinced he had floral patterned polo shirt in that exact shade of coral.
Our dinner was spent at the Kingside Diner. A glamorous and hip reasonably priced getaway across the street from a Guiness Record holding chess piece. It was the largest in the world.
We took an hour break from human interaction with another. Followed it up with a bag of Cheez-It's two rounds of Zero. Miss Sara Bellum won the first round, me the second. Then, we played Blokus and I won. Fumbling through Tinder we casually had Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen on. I realized I was Lindsay Lohan and the twins were her best friend. Miss Sara Bellum flirted with a boy with tattoos. He was a mix between Pearl and Violet Chachki and he had a certain porn star quality about him.
That's what love is built on.
I've been asleep for less then three hours and I've never been more awake in my life. I'm now locked in the bathroom updating my social media. From what I can tell the twins aren't sleeping that much better either.
I have taken the twins virginity.
After breakfast we drove up to Six Flags over St. Louis, which isn't even in the same county. It was a pleasant drive. The line to get in was extensive. It's the last week of school before the native St. Louis children are going back to school. It was a joy.
Miss Sara Bellum's favorite ride was what I will describe as the scrambler. It was frequented by six years old. The three of us barely fit into one car and the ride operator serenaded us with “Let It Go”. It was magical.
As a group we only participated in one more ride. The water themed rapids Thunder River. The twins took part in the carousel. I took part in two more roller coasters. The Mine Train and The Boss. I never did get to go upside down.
Most of our day was spent in the water park. Disappointingly enough there was not a single attractive male. There was one exception of the Under Armour hugging twenty year old. He was gorgeous, although it's always so hard to tell when people have on sunglasses. Gorgeous women abounded. Even without our glasses on we could tell.
We realized very quickly that the three of us would have to deal with the potential loss of our glasses. The only tension we had was when we were deciding where to go, but couldn't see anything. We went down slides. Almost drowned in the artificial tidal waves one of the beach areas produced. It was anything if boring.
Six Flags doesn't disappoint. I hate to admit that there was a special place in my heart for the Lazy River. I could have spent all day there. Just not eight dollars for a tube rental. It was a little steep.
The ride was terrifying. I can't tell you what it was, but I was horribly sad. Our day at Six Flags was over. It was almost as if I was emotionally drained. It was as if Summer was over. The drive back to our hotel was difficult. I've never felt so incomplete. We had on Lana Del Rey. That certainly didn't help anything. I don't know it might be that I haven't cried recently, but I was overwhelmed. I'm still frustratingly saddened.
Miss Sara Bellum ordered a steak frites (delicious), The Mayor got a strawberry Nutella crepe (essentially a bottle of Nutella with carbs), and I got a Veggie Burger. There was ginger root on it. The ranch I dipped my french fries was homemade. God is real and he lives at Rooster.
The follow up and conclusion will be posted next Wednesday.
That's the day I do mostly everything in my life. There's something about a Wednesday. I spent the better part of this day with one of my favorite people from college. She has red hair just like Jenny and I think I must be attract friendships with red heads. Still she has a blonde aura about her. She's a blondie at heart.
The most exciting part of Urban Outfitters was their vinyl collection. The only place to go when you want all of the days hit records on vinyls. Beyonce's self titled set was there for fifty dollars, the exclusive Lana Del Rey Ultraviolence was there. The cover sported a sexy knee and the vinyls were translucent. Still. Not thirty five dollar cool. Taylor Swift's 1989 was on the wall, obscure indie bands had their place in between Ed Sheeran's X and the Muse's latest release Drones.
The most surprising find was this little antique store. The antiques for the most part were inconsequential. There was a vinyl selection. Three dollars each and in among the pile was Olivia Newton-John's Have You Never Been Mellow and Linda Ronstadts iconic Simple Dreams.
They were perfect for my burgeoning record collection that includes Ricky Nelson, Elvis Presley, and The Sound of Music soundtrack. All of which were part of one of my not so recent videos “The Hills Are Alive With The Sound Of... Shut Up I'm Trying To Talk Here.”
It was while traipsing down a tree covered boulevard that we discovered a quaint little coffee shop that could only be found in a city. It was cavernous. Expansive. Not surprisingly empty considering it was 3:00. We sat down gazed at the board. Finally settled on what to get. Blondie got a Mocha Frappucino (?) and I got a wonderful iced grean tea latte. It was perfect.
I finally got home. I'd made the decision to let my mother in on these shoes. I've had them for a while now. It just wasn't something I've shared with her. They are certainly my most conservative. And, I said to myself today is the day. I'd prepped her on the fact that I'd wanted to be taller then Boomer.
I showed them to her and she called me a “cross dresser” (this was following an encounter where I had on a shirt with a peter pan collar). Needless to say I believe I'm going to succeed in being the family disappointment one more year in row. So, that's exciting. I think I'm even running unopposed.
Now the actual trivia was questionable. Team Name: 50 States of Beyonce. We didn't win best team name surprise of all surprises. We also got dead last place. Not kind of last place. We hardcore lost. It was really great. We left our team name off of one of the ballots, because we were doing so bad. I'm so ashamed that Beyonce had to be linked to our ineptitude.
Usually after a night on the town. We go to Walgreens. However, we decided to live on the wild side and go to Target. I think the Mayor bought starbursts?
It was really productive. A solid night.
Everyone always talks about the actual coming out, but no one seems to tell you about the fall out. The fall out is still falling. And, I have to say it's kind of shitty. I'm trying to just laugh at it, but my parents are saying the most homophobic things. They also funny enough think they were the first people I told.
Like, LOL. No. Literally everyone else knew before you. You just didn't want to know. I feel like I'm handling it well. I already knew I would disappoint them. I already knew what they would say. It's just new actually having them say it.
Both my father and mother have told me at length that “I chose this”. No one would choose to be discriminated against. I don't particularly like being made to feel uncomfortable in public when I'm alone. I don't enjoy that. I wish I could just go in the stores and buy things, but instead I order things online.
They have also already decreed how me and the nonexistent boyfriend will act if I bring him home. We are not to kiss in front of them. As if I was planning on making out in front of my parents. We cannot hold hands or make any physical contact. We are not allowed to sit close to each other.
I'm just like how about we don't even sit in the same room as each other, and maybe we shouldn't breath when we're in each others presence. If they truly think I would subject any boyfriend to this they are out of their minds. I guess they're doing their best to be open about this, but I'm still looking at them side eyed.
My mother has also already started calling this fictional boyfriend a “friend”. I told her that she would call him my boyfriend. I am dating him. Do not decrease his significance, because it makes you uncomfortable. I was informed that I was pushing her too hard. No. I sit here and listen to all of your homophobic nonsense. This however is about someone else. My future boyfriend doesn't deserve this.
I was informed that I knew I was gay too young. I'm sorry. I told you when I was eighteen and your questioning that I knew I was gay when I was ten? What is that. They have also started to shift away from blaming themselves for my gayness to blaming pop culture.
Lady Gaga and Madonna made me gay. No, they didn't. I knew I was gay at 10. I was watching Chuck and Scooby Doo. The gayest shows out there. I started buying music Freshmen year of High School and that consisted of Sheryl Crow and Hilary Duff. Before that my life consisted of Christian radio and Celine Dion. Come on family.
There are too many gays on TV. Mind you both have said they are not 'homophobic'. We treat gay people right. I had a gay friend once. Okay. Thanks. Your token gay friend doesn't mean your not homophobic. Both of my parents are.
My father also suggested that porn is why I'm gay. We just got functioning internet this summer. I was not watching porn. Shout out to everyone who watches porn, but I'm very old fashioned. I read my porn. I just could not handle him.
It is nice having it out in the open, but instead of realizing internally that they hate me, I just hear it instead. I don't think they're ever going to change. My mother went out to get coffee with her friend who also has a gay son. Surprised she didn't come home with a Christian self help book on how to fix your gay kid.
I love knowing that they think there's something wrong with me, and if they just wait it out long enough. It will go away. I will realize that I love women and that this whole time the media mislead me.
My mother also totally put together who my crush is. That was funny. And, she did say she can't imagine me having sex with another man. I told her I hoped she didn't see me having sex with anyone.
At the moment I have to be the strong one who lets them come to terms with it. I've had eight years. They've only had a month. I'm just not sure how long I have to support them before I call them out on all their shit.
A few Saturday's ago now, I worked a charity gala. They had a silent auction, fancy food, and a true live auctioneer later in the night. The women wore black and navy blue. The men looked bored and ratchet. It was a wondrous event.
The day had already started out well. I'd spent the earlier part of the day with The Mayor and Miss Sara Bellum, and their friend they brought home from college. I've told you before that we don't live in the same city anymore and they told me that they were bringing this girl home, I shall call, “Lisa Marie”.
Now, they said I would like her. I was not so sure. I was informed that she did not eat fish, because of some environmental threat or something. Reasonable, yes. Obnoxious, yes because I like my sushi. The real kicker, though was that she didn't like Gwen Stefani's new song “Baby Don't Lie”.
Who is this bitch. That was my question. It turned out it was one of there other roommates who didn't like “Baby Don't Lie” and I actually really liked her. She is cute and adorable and we got Bubble Tea together. Everything, I might add. I even like those tapioca pearls, do not judge me. I just really liked her.
Buy "Baby Don't Lie"
It also didn't hurt that she wanted to read my article on my former blog. I've known the Mayor and Miss Sara Bellum forever, it naturally came up in conversation. Lisa Marie asked the pertinent questions of what happened. I told her there was a four page article dedicated to the whole thing if she wanted to read it.
And, she did. She described it as “intense”. That is about accurate. I only had a constant knot of nerves, the entire time. I should not be blogging if I couldn't convey some of that emotion.
Now, I want to say I donated my time to this event, because I'm a good person. I am a good person, but I wanted to wear red in front of the wealthy upper strata. I learned in psychology you look the most attractive in red. I want to give myself the best possible chances of finding love with a wealthy individual.
It was not meant to be, but I had so much fun. These people were so pretentious. My job for the four hours, while the gala was going on was to clear the tables of the dirty dishes. What even. I loved it. I might add I got free delicious food.
This was a gala mind you. The food was the shit.
My favorite part was the auction. A weatherman from my childhood was the host. I hated this man. I swore I was going to punch him in the face if I ever got the chance. I did not punch him. It was an opportunity missed. He was undeniably sexist in his presentation and he had a pot belly. It made me so happy.
One of the speakers was even the co-anchor on his show. She was this shorty, curvy woman, and might I add she rocked it. Then, I found out from one of my classmates that all of her cards had been declined at the Gap where she worked. The anchorwoman was broke.
At about eleven everything was getting taken down, but some people we're still hovering, so we weren't able to do everything.
That's when this woman, who's an alumni of my school starts talking to us. She was this sophisticated, glamorous woman, and as she's walking away, informs me that she likes my style.
I was shocked. How do you respond to that? Mind you she'd never seen me before, so she didn't know if I had consistent style, but she still said it. As a poor college student, I can't believe I made that impression. I was trying to impress my crush and this woman with the kind of money that doesn't wait for a sale tells me I dress well.
Let me lay my wardrobe out for you. A cheap plain red t-shirt, black skinny jeans from the men's department, that fake couture jacket I got at the Salvation Army, and my dead grandmother's scarf. I was the epitome of ratchet, but it worked.
The director of the program I'm in, even told me on Monday that I looked good. I slayed it and I didn't even know it. Maybe I should turn this into a fashion blog.
LOL, I'm too poor for that.
I will keep you updated on the crush. I'm in that weird phase of, he's all I want to talk about and the only thing I don't want to mention to anyone. I should be seeing him next week, so that's exciting. Keep in my mind that this is a horrible idea. I shouldn't like him. He's older then me. Too old actually, and I don't know. It's a bad idea. I keep telling myself that.
Melodrama puncutated with exclamation points.