On the Verge of Hipster

I don’t know if that was hateful or heartfelt. Emotions don’t translate well via blogging.

Ohhhhhhh shiiit

If I was selfish you would still be in hell. My looks? I don’t give a fuck about what I look like. I wear pedophile glasses. Do you really think I care? I love you but you take everything too serious. Also, I’m not going to idly stand by while you fuck up your life. If you are with a guy who has a child, no job, on unemployment and still lives with his parents…you bet I’m gonna bitch. Don’t lower yourself for some white trash loser who needs stay in Sun Valley. I do the shit I do because I love you. You shouldn’t smoke. I don’t like seeing my bestfriend slowly kill herself. Stop trying to make other people think you’re something you’re not. Stop letting them walk all over you. Stop having sex with guys who could give less of a fuck. Do something for YOU. I’m going to act like your mom until I see you grow up a little. I would do anything to see you succeed in life and that’s why I act like such a bitch when you treat yourself like you’re not worth a damn thing. FUCK. Get it together pumpkin spice!

That reason is you. You weren’t suppose to survive. Any normal person would have died instantaneously. It’s a damn miracle. I remember that day. Even though it was five years ago, I remember. I remember the phone call. I remember where I was standing and what I was doing when I heard mom start screaming and crying. I remember that I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach and ripped out every part of intestines. Just emptied me. I just felt empty. I remember the panic. I remember trying to calm mom down when I was irrational as well. I remember pulling up to the emergency room and not knowing if you were fine or on the brink of death. I remember that cop handing mom and I that tissue, with no words, just understood sympathy. I remember being in the E.R. with you. I remember the blood. I remember amount of doctors rushing around trying everyone who was in the accident. I remember you smiling, even though you were in pain, you smiled to make me know you’d be okay. I remember feeling nauseous as they took the shards of broken glass and rocks out of your skin. I remember mom taking one of those bloody little rocks and putting in her purse as a keepsake or how lucky you are. I remember when the Swedish nurse started to cry because I was crying….not very professional, eh? Ahaha. I remember looking at you in complete astonishment. You should have died. June 11, 2006 is vividly in my mind. June 11, 2006, the day I witnessed a miracle.

I can write anything I want. No one reads this shit anyways. 

I feel like dancing.

I miss my brother. I don’t know when I became so attached to him. Maybe that day he picked me up from Shea’s and I spilled all my secrets to him. Possibly? Maybe it was when we watched documentaries all day. Or the other time when we watched ‘The Big Lebowski’ over and over, reciting every line that came out of ‘The Dude’s’ mouth. Could have been when I would stay up until 5 a.m. because I was worried about him. Although, I would never want him to think that, I just said it was because I couldn’t sleep and mom and dad were just pissing me off. You’ve been gone for only half an hour, but I fucking miss you. SHIT! I’m that clingy little sister. I’m glad I love my brother though. I’m glad I can tell him anything. I’m glad he’ll hug me and reassure me everything will be just fine when everything is going wrong. We can talk shit about eachother and I still love you. I steal all your neat-o things you have and you still would kill anyone that even dared lay a hand on me. Tony, be safe, don’t do anything stupid and come back in one piece. Okay?

I like the smell of red wine and the sounds of Bobby Darin. It is going to be all right.

I’m back. I’m in one of those depressing, melancholy, slit your wrists kind of moods. I don’t think listening to a collection of music based on Burt Bacharach is helping at all. Randrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head is fucking sad, really fucking depressing.