DRUNK ZOMBIE

DRUNK ZOMBIE

Ana C

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It's the Smoke

[Dec. 4th, 2009|10:41 am]

[

Current Music

Auto-Tune the News #5

]

Semester's drawing to a close and I am inundated in work I can't bring myself to even think about. Even though my two Education classes are over, the things people said in there and the realization that those people will be teaching future kids makes me nauseous. It seriously physically makes my stomach ache, and it feels like larvae have wormed holes in my chest. I keep trying to create noise to distract myself, but it generally fails. I can't get drunk/high off my ass because I'm too busy with projects and studying and I can't afford to show up to a final shitfaced. It's gone beyond uncontrollable rage to just sadness. The smugness that accompanies their varying brands of idiocy is what stings the most--like they're pissing into the cuts they gave me with their GOD BLESS AMERICA and SPEAK ENGLISH pins. Jesus Christ.

Winter break is like a trophy; I don't have to work this year and I'll have nothing but alcoholism, Legend of Zelda, and friend time to worry about. Aside from perhaps reviewing some German, I plan on letting my brain completely atrophy, letting each wrinkle in my brain soak up enough eggnog + southern comfort to make it a perfectly smooth, amorphous lump. My roommate invited me to her parent's cabin in the mountains, which knowing her, will involve massive amounts of weed. I actually don't know if I want to go. I like my roommate, like weed, and appreciate her offer, but she and I don't have much to discuss.

Things are much better with KS--just still "unofficial," however. We've talked a lot more often, only things have dipped back down again because of finals. I'm assuming that during break we'll have more time to talk, as we did over fall break, but if things go downhill again, then well--I'll just kill myself. That'll work.

I am self conscious over the quality of my art in my final project for English, but I remind myself that my teacher is not an artist, this isn't an art class, and the content of the comics and some effort are more important to my teacher than artistic perfection.

I can't wait to go use my $50 Borders giftcard.

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(no subject)	[Nov. 26th, 2009\|10:21 pm]
[22:04] ana: http://saphrawn.livejournal.com/99243.html !!!!!!! [22:06] ks: holy shit [22:13] ks: the cover is retarded [22:13] ana: Agree [22:13] ana: it's rookie snake and...a little girl [22:13] ks: lol, be x boy comics [22:13] ana: Which is...inaccurate in many ways [22:18] ks: dr. eric stuart [22:18] ana: nicknamed Comikon [22:18] ana: BECAUSE HE LIKES AMERICAN ANIMATION [22:19] ks: XDDDDDDDDDDD
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(no subject)	[Nov. 14th, 2009\|05:47 pm]
Occasionally I realize the true strength of my gayness, when in my drunken haze I pine for girls--the beautiful, amazing girls in my life whose curves and smiles and voices and down-turned eyelashes affect me, leave me thinking of them at night--and realize that no guy in my entire life has ever stayed like that in my memory. When a guy rejects me, it hurts--because my ego has been besmirched, because magazines and sitcoms have taught me that a man's approval proves my beauty. But when a girl rejects me--KS, four or five years ago, when she was afraid to go against her homophobic parent's wishes--I cried. I cried like a little bitch. I cried for a guy once, because his implied rejection made me feel ugly. I cried for KS' rejection because I couldn't be with her. Only rarely does a guy inspire the same stomach twisting butterflies a girl does. A guy makes me feel predatory, as in "I bet I can make him like me." With a girl, it's "Oh god, pretty, pretty, pretty, so pretty--OH GOD SHE SMILED AT ME AAAAAAAH." When a guy hits on me, it's a relief--oh good, I am pretty after all. But please leave me alone now. I avoid the guys that hit on me. If a girl shows interest in me, I...lose my mind. KS gets my heart pounding the way no guy ever has. It's strange to realize, in spite of how often I criticize TV shows, movies, et cetera for having characters who have no idea that they're gay. I, since I was little, wanted to be The Boy--the one who rescued the princess. In my pubescence, I thought about it, and decided I would have no problem being with a girl. And then--first boyfriend. I liked his company, and liked making out with him--but everything else physical, hand-holding, snuggling, et cetera--annoyed me. Then J, and my mad, insane, all-encompassing love for her. Then KS, and...there's too much there to write about, the drunker I get. And KS keeps telling me that I'm not bisexual, that I'm gay with a few exceptions. Maybe she's right. Who knows. Who cares. All I know is that girls leave me spinning, whereas boys don't even factor into my mind. Seeing boys naked grosses me out. The only people who affect my heart are girls. Boys affect my ego, and that's about it. I wonder who my fetishistic misandry factors into this. Fictional guys I'm all for--it's when I see a real guy that I lose all interest. Real girls are gorgeous, whereas the girls in porn annoy and disgust me. Getting drunker now. Time to stop. and I wonder if my family would be in the state it's in if my dad had lived--would Pat be smoking pot? Would he and mom be fighting constantly? I'm at a point in my life when I need him more than ever, ever, ever so far, and he's not around. I've wept for him once--the night he died, after I put my mom to bed, and each time after that, I've wept for my mother, who lost her true love, her partner, her lover, her confidant, her husband. My brother who was so, so young when he died, whose life could have turned out differently, who is a brilliant, basically good kid who does stupid, stupid, selfish things--but what about me? I think I've supressed it--or at least, supressed the guilt of not feeling anything, of being used to not having him around--but I need him. My male teachers remind me of him, and I wonder if I attacht myself to them because of that. He would know, he would support me when an entire class of 200 people is against me when I am stating facts, when I am confused about politics, about history, when I need someone to telll me I'm doing the right thing, when a girl has broken my heart, when I get a good grade and I walk in circles lookking for someone to be proud of me, when I feel scared and hate america so much I want to leave, I need to talk to him, to remind me to be objective, that I'm doing the right hting, that I'm not a worthless piece of shit. Is it my egomania or my humanity that misses him? Why am I spending YET ANOTHER night alone, drinking and crying? Why am I a cliche? Why do I associate this spoiled, self-absorbed feeling with the whiteness, the european side of my genetic makeup with whiteness? Am I racist? fuck everything I'mmw watching SUpernnany
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Fallacylicious	[Nov. 13th, 2009\|11:24 am]
I taught--FORCED--a kid in Pinewoods to read in Spanish yesterday. She was 11 and had to read her book--we have to force them read aloud to make sure they're actually doing it, pronouncing words correctly, et cetera. Most have a difficult time pronouncing even simple words--it's painfully laborious to hear; they stumble over their words and pronounce syllables disconnectedly, basically the way I sound when I read a huge, new compound German word and have no idea what the fuck it means. Their comprehension seems to be OK (I quiz them) but the act of reading itself is a struggle. The 11 year old I was supervising insisted she couldn't read Spanish. The book she had had a few random Spanish words and simple sentences--and I forced her to read them, sound them out, and recognize them. If you speak Spanish and can read English, I insisted, then you can read Spanish, since it is phonetic and each letter only has one sound, unlike English. I may have detected a sense of pride when she got the first few words, but by the 15th page, she sounded very annoyed, then had to leave anyway. I wonder if I'm doing the right thing, if it's even my place or if i have the ability to properly teach them this. Oh well. I had a small chat with Quick after our test. I want to be friends with him but am shy. Ok, enough slacking: German homework time.
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And the wind	[Nov. 11th, 2009\|06:20 pm]
I was terrified of looking at my 2nd essay grade because Q-Dawg said that the class as a whole didn't do as well on them. But it turns out I got a 93 on it. Just this once, I'm going to let myself feel that it is because I am good at the Englishing, instead of thinking of several reasons to explain why personal ability had nothing to do with my success. I didn't go to Pinewoods yesterday--the weather was miserable, my room was disgusting, and I wanted to work on my essay some. I still feel bad, but I'm going tomorrow. After Thanksgiving things should go back to normal a bit more. Every time I think I've made an advance in German, I hear or read something that completely blows me over. Maybe the Leipzigers have an accent I am not used to, or the particular girl in the video spoke too quickly, but I had no fucking clue what I'd heard. At least I can understand my teacher and the TA, and can string a few simple ideas together--I guess that's no so bad.
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(no subject)	[Nov. 9th, 2009\|10:50 pm]
KS and I are together-not-together again. Said she still loves me, talks to me every day now, readily admits love and physical faithfulness and demands it in return--though we are not "together." Okay, sure. I'm entirely self-directing at R&RFBD. I get to pick textbooks that interest me and learn about things while I record. (lol @ reformation Europe and drama over literal vs. symbolic transubstantiation--you crazy niggas) The next time at Pinewoods was much more fun because I got to hang out with the little kids. I helped a kid with his reading, teaching him how to sound out words, and he was kind of getting the hang of it by the end. I tried to teach him how to relate words he didn't know to their Spanish counterparts, but I'm not sure he quite grasped that yet. He didn't know what "rapid" meant, so I asked him what "rapido" meant in English--THEN he got it. But I'm not sure he's doing it on his own for every word he didn't know instead of having me make him think about it. I'll get to it. I read stories and forced a girl to read in English and her brother to read in Spanish, then played with blocks and 3 Little Bears. I spent all of two minutes with a 13 year old; of course she was a bitch and had one of the other tutors doing her flashcards for her. They asked me a question about WWII, and I started answering before it struck me that 13 year old was on MySpace instead of studying. Then again, her tutor was doing her work for her. Um, what? Maybe I need to get on there and kick their asses. Hannah was there and said I was unnatural, and it was strange being good at something, especially around her. I got a bad grade on my last German test, followed by a good grade on my Ausfatz and work book, and two very good grades on both my Education Midterms. So, there's that. Then I jogged tonight and my chest still hurts. I think the grease had already begun crystallizing around my arteries.
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Full of desert opportunities, like red chillies in a box	[Oct. 20th, 2009\|03:26 pm]
I've made two friends from my Educ. classes and I feel a panicked, kindergarten thrill. It's been about five years since I've made a new friend who I can spend time with outside of class. Pathetic. Frightening. I went with them to Pinewoods Library, where Hispanic kids have the opportunity to be tutored. In theory. The middle schoolers were rebellious and obnoxious, refusing to listen to their adult tutor and putting up fights. One of the girls refused to look at me or acknowledge me when I asked her direct questions. I tried to get one of the boys to use the other side of his paper instead of crumpling it up. He just crumpled it up more and put it in his pocket, then stared at the wall. I don't know if the resistance has more to do with the fact that 8th graders are obnoxious and willfully stupid, or if there's some cultural resistance because they are poor immigrant. I've realized--being an immigrant, living with immigrants, working with immigrants, et cetera--that there is sometimes some strange refusal to "submit." i hope it's just that they're all 13 rather than misbehavior as a result of hopelessness instilled in them by their parents and/or teachers. The younger kids were a different story. It was hard to keep their attention, and many had trouble speaking to me, in either English OR Spanish. One girl knew how to count for the most part; she chanted off numbers (occasionally skipping one) but became shy when I pressed for more. I quizzed her on her colors and she would mumble a nonsense word instead of the answer. My mom works with younger kids, so I feel like she could know what to do to help. We stopped by Ashley and her boyfriend's apartment before they dropped me off at my own apartment. She and her boyfriend live alone in a tiny, white one-bedroom piece of heaven, where their couch has mismatched pillows and their bookshelves are stuffed with texts from both their classes. I wanted to cry, thinking of how KS and I could have had a space like this, some alcove with our pictures on the wall and a bed with sheets we call our own. We dreamed of finally living together after college, talked about how beautiful it would be to walk through our door together, wake up next to each other every day. Oh well. J/k you guys. She called me right before Ashley, Sophia, and I went to go take our midterm, right as I was telling them that we barely spoke anymore. (Breakup on Wednesday night? Called her on Sunday for a few minutes, hating myself. So, two days between then and her calling me.) Just as last time, it was curt, and this time, briefer. I had honestly been thinking we'd never speak again. I still think that. On a brighter note: my youthful love for African American novels has morphed into a newfound love for Harlem Renaissance poetry. Gorgeous.
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I wanted hot wine and got water at the bottom of an oatmeal bowl	[Oct. 19th, 2009\|10:46 am]
So I was tempted to call KS so I could scream out my rage at Dumb Bitch's unearned smugness in class today. Dumb Bitch chose to give me a disdainful look while quoting an unrelated, psuedo-zen quote and hanging her entire interpretation of a poem off of it with an infuriating sense of moral superiority I have not experienced since the last time I accidentally listened to a Republican talk radio personality. It's a sonnet, yes, but the standard English it is written in should make the meaning a little more decipherable. It's more concerning because I didn't know who Dumb Bitch was until just then, had never even registered her face or her existence until she called me by name and said it was her turn (to misread a poem). So, I breed contempt without interaction--my personality rots so forcefully that the fumes sicken people I never even knew were there. It's pretty awesome to be automatically disliked before the first eye contact. Or maybe that Dumb Bitch is just Dumb, as evidenced by inability TO READ A FUCKING SENTENCE IN ENGLISH OR UNDERSTAND THAT RANDOM, UNRELATED QUOTES CANNOT BE SUFFICIENTLY USED TO ANALYZE POETRY DAMNIT. Pathetically, I tried to approach Emo-ish girl in my class to express my rage at Dumb Bitch's gross misinterpretation of the poem, but of course she didn't fully understand me and looked bored. KS usually joined me in my spirited rage, but I wonder if, in the end, she had become just as bored by the ramblings she had once thought brilliant, and if that's one of the explanations. It's hilarious how easily people become disenchanted with me. It's very cold and Georgia's infrastructural curves and tabletops are shelled in frost--it shines through my visible breath. I'm trying to enjoy this weather but knowing you are not loved (romantically, fatalistically loved--in the sense of self-validation and lust and misplaced trust)rips me up a little, like the cold touching me through the rips in my jeans. I need to buy new jeans and I need to never trust human beings--or girls, specifically--or my ability to function amongst them, at least--ever again.
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(no subject)	[Oct. 5th, 2009\|06:24 pm]
http://www.newsweek.com/id/212147 http://www.freetrade.org/pubs/pas/tpa-040es.html For each scenario, the USAGE model weighs the impact on such factors as public revenues and expenditures, the occupational mix and total employment of U.S. workers, the amount of capital owned by U.S. households, and price levels for imports and exports. This study finds that increased enforcement and reduced low-skilled immigration have a significant negative impact on the income of U.S. households. Modest savings in public expenditures would be more than offset by losses in economic output and job opportunities for more skilled American workers. A policy that reduces the number of low-skilled immigrant workers by 28.6 percent compared to projected levels would reduce U.S. household welfare by about 0.5 percent, or $80 billion. In contrast, legalization of low-skilled immigrant workers would yield significant income gains for American workers and households. Legalization would eliminate smugglers’ fees and other costs faced by illegal immigrants. It would also allow immigrants to have higher productivity and create more openings for Americans in higherskilled occupations. The positive impact for U.S. households of legalization under an optimal visa tax would be 1.27 percent of GDP or $180 billion. http://www.jstor.org/pss/2728791
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(no subject)	[Aug. 14th, 2009\|06:07 pm]

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Cutest thing ever seen yesterday	[Dec. 18th, 2008\|03:49 pm]
At Borders: a woman taking donations for her companion dogs in training; she has two Labradors with her. A little kid and I are petting one. Kid: :D Doggy! Dad: Ok, son, we have to go now... Kid: WAIT, MY TOY! Dad: Come on... Kid: I WANT TO SHOW THE DOGGY! digs through bag to show his toy to the dog Dog: :3 Another adorable thing at Borders: dad reading Batman to his little kid, who was very concerned about Mr. Freeze stealing diamonds or whatever, and the dad reassuring him Batman would help.
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(no subject)	[Nov. 27th, 2008\|10:15 am]
Your rainbow is strongly shaded orange. What is says about you: You are a strong person. You appreciate a challenge. Others are amazed at how you don't give up. Find the colors of your rainbow at spacefem.com. I think this quiz is bullshit, but holy shit I love the color scheme of my result
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saving these lyrics

[Nov. 22nd, 2008|08:14 pm]

[

Current Music

The Faint - Desperate Guys

]

Was it more than attraction and a physical lust?
Her loins, my imagination, that first inconceivable touch
I was planning--er
I mean wishing--uhh
How embarrassed I’d been if you knew what I was thinking of.

And whoa, when it started, my first thought was love,
Not just lust, because when I heard you speak, I felt warm
In the evening I saw you, you were warming the bass up.
Your hair covered your face up,
I was acting indifferent at the merch booth, putting on makeup.

We met up at a party in a swamp on a yacht
I spun the helm, but we were docked

I crossed my fingers, but I didn’t beg,
'Cause I knew you knew
'Cause I knew you knew I liked you
I knew you knew I liked you
I knew you knew it,
But I figured desperate guys
Never had a chance with you
I figured desperate guys
Never had a chance with you

Close to you, wishing we’re conjoined at the tongue.
Can you hear me thinking? I should stop...

I crossed my fingers, but I didn’t beg,
'Cause I knew you knew
'Cause I knew you knew I liked you
I knew you knew I liked you
I knew you knew it,
But I figured desperate guys
Never had a chance with you
I figured desperate guys
Never had a chance with you
I knew you knew I liked you,
I knew you knew it,
But I figured desperate guys,
Never had a chance with you.

I figured desperate guys,
Never had a chance with you.
I knew that desperate guys,
Would never have a chance with you.
I knew you knew I liked you,
I knew you knew it.
I knew you knew I liked you,
I knew you knew it.
I knew you knew I liked you,
I knew you knew it.
I knew you knew I liked you,
I knew you knew it.

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(no subject)	[Nov. 13th, 2008\|04:26 pm]
http://www.elpublishers.com/content/uwsotherscholarships.php http://www.hispanicfund.org/
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I wish

[Oct. 16th, 2008|05:06 pm]

[

Current Mood

stressed

]

It occurred to me that, if they were real, I could keep some Pikmin in a 40 Gallon terrarium and the thought of having those little guys running around, chilling in the sun, feeding them drops of honey and watching them cooperatively carry stuff around calmed me considerably.

Is this weird?

This was after it occurred to me that I could get like 50,000 Pikmin and have them carry me around :D it would take about six hours for me to get everywhere and I think most of them would die under my weight, but it'd still be awesome.

The terrarium idea is better, though.

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No.	[Oct. 14th, 2008\|09:54 pm]
I'm too tired and infuriated by everything and everyone to function properly or think about anything more than a day away. I feel that I'm failing miserably at everything I even think about attempting. (How did I do on my last History test? I don't know and right now I don't care.) I made the calculations and I won't be able to get an A in Careers in Psych--the consequence of my own laziness and retardation. So now I can only do as well as I've been doing so far--three As and a B. Fuck you and fuck me and I hope I explode into shrapnel, killing everyone within a 50 foot radius of me.
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Nothing	[Aug. 19th, 2008\|02:08 am]
You're best friends with someone for four years, you love each other for three, and date for two--in that time, you have a million happy, perfect moments, conversations that are literally 12 hours long, you write stories, draw together, cook together, argue, discuss, play games, hold each other, help each other, get lost together, take each other's virginity, fuck, make love, hold hands, give each other innumerable kisses, and get to know every inch, imperfection, and birthmark on each other. For four years, your her first love and she's the one person who can make you truly, truly happy. She's the only person I believe when she tells me I'm worth something, and sometimes, she is the only one saying it. I can't open up so much to other people even if I wanted to, and there's no one else I can be completely myself with. And because of her father's job, her family's (serious) threats to disown her, her being completely dependent on them, because we both need to go to college, she moves away to Kansas for...we don't know how many years, with a promise to keep in touch and to meet up again after...four...five...six...maybe more years. You have your last dinner together with the only person who instinctively holds your hand in her sleep, the only person who can make you laugh so hard, the only person with a perfect, beautiful face, the only person who can make you come five times, and you pretend it's not your last dinner. And when she drives away that night for the last time, she's suddenly starts crying so loudly you can hear it past the mailbox. I am so indescribably...numb right now that I don't care about the giant paragraph and I don't care I'm vacillating between first and second person and I know that at some point, it'll hit me that I won't see her again and I'll lose my composure completely and since she's the only one who can save me when that happens, I...do not know what will happen. weerwrerrg4jklenjkhjkbwjkebwbw
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(no subject)	[Aug. 11th, 2008\|10:37 pm]
I was supposed to update every day but didn't because.... - Went to Ireland - Did things with various friends - Did various things with Sheila - Did absolutely nothing today except pick up pictures for mom and drew some shit that I immediately hated and napped Tomorrow will be more something.
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DETHKLOK	[Jul. 3rd, 2008\|04:59 pm]
So, the Dethklok concert was pretty amazing. The opening bands, Soylent Green and Chimera were pretty cool, too; not only did their music not suck, they weren't huge assholes like some opening bands I've experienced. Chimera had very dramatic strobe lights and smoke machines, and the lead singer was hilariously INTEEENSSSSE. I think I would have enjoyed the concert more if I could have danced, moshed, and crowd-surfed, but I was getting the shit beaten out of me up against the barrier. Next time. This time, I wanted to be there to SEE them, look Brendon Small in the face, watch the videos they were projecting, et cetera. Next time: slow dance to Briefcase Full of Guts. I have a big bruise on my hip, my chest aches and hurts whenever touched from being slammed up against the barrier, and my neck hurt so badly I couldn't move it until I took two Tylenol, two Ibuprofin, seven asprin, and two heating pads. I still can't move it much. My shoulders and arms ache, too.
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(no subject)	[Jun. 27th, 2008\|02:04 pm]
I was SUPPOSED to do stand-up at the Relapse again, but we got so hopelessly lost that instead I just took Hannah, Kathryn and Sheila to Waffle House, then we sat in the car talking. I even got to smoke a beautiful, beautiful cig. It was wonderful.
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