Happiness Is A Warm Gun

26 04 2008

(OR HIGH SCHOOL AND ITS TYRANNY)

I’ve felt disconnected for the past few weeks, like nothing was important–including this blog.  Especially this blog.  I click on that login button and I go “UGH, do I have to?”  Not anymore–I feel rejuvenated!  It was this odd chain of events that led to me spending the majority of my weekend with Ms. Rachel Ellane (she is no longer Ramxpage) and working my high school’s junior-senior prom.  And I’ve never had more fun.

As if to remind me how miserable I was during me and Rachel’s spat, our HSAP prompt asked me to recall my fondest memory (or one of them anyway).  The first thing that came to mind was the first time I ever ice skated–and that was with Rachel.  And, in an odd, roundabout way, it made me realize guys are not more important thand a good time.  Does that make sense?  This whole yaer–my whole high school career, in fact–I have let guys make me miserable and make me cry.  And the only crying I’m going to be doing is when my favorite teacher leaves.  (Don’t worry.  I’ll still talk to her–that’s not what makes me cry; I’ll be crying because she’ll finally escape the tyranny of our high school.)

I’ve always said that the line about hapiness coming from within was pretty much bullshit.  Shows how much I thought I knew.  Because, at the moment, I am completely content inside.  Rachel and I are back to normal–annoying each other for fun–and I don’t really like any guy at the moment, except for the boy in my class, but I’m taking that extremely slow due to some advice. (*cough*diane*cough*)  So that means the only thing I’m stressing over is what I’m wearing to HSAP testing tomorrow.  (Sounds like a disease, doesn’t it?  AIDS, HSAP, HIV, can you name the STD?)

I’m watching Ratatouille, which is an amazing movie.  You’ve got to love the characters.  Speaking of charactesr, I should work on a post for my writing blog.  It’s going to be interesting juggling all the internet crap I’ve got piled up.  I recently revived my livejournal for Rachel, so I’m juggling that, two wordpress blogs, twitter, etc.  Joy.  Plus, I forget, like, everything.  I forgot to message people on Twitter because I was caught up in Backseat Goodbye’s “Hello Yellow” (which is all RACHEL’S FAULT.)

So, I’ll leave you with this song that sums up a lot.

Sometimes I fear that I might dissapear
In the blur of fast forward I faulter again
Forgetting to breathe, I need to sleep
I’m getting nowhere

All that I’ve missed I see in the reflection
Passed me while I wasn’t paying attention
Tired of rushing, racing and running
I’m falling apart

Tell me
Oh won’t you take my hand and lead me
Slow me down
Don’t let love pass me by
Just show me how
‘Cause I’m ready to fall
Slow me down
Don’t let me live a lie
Before my life flys by
I need you to slow me down
-“Slow Me Down” by Emmy Rossum





Fix You

15 04 2008

So my personal posts have been on the minimum lately, because…well, because there’s really been so much bothering me that to post about all of it would take years–and it’s only happened in a matter of days.  Time feels as if it is passing by sluggishly–like Father Time decided to take a couple Loritabs like the rest of American society to dull the pain of a dull life.  It’s so tiring that when I get home, I just lay down and close my eyes and hope everything goes away.  I thought I would be happier now that I’m working on a relationship.  Now, I think the relationship is making me more miserable.

There is this one guy.  I’m not dating him, I don’t even know if he calls me his friend, but he is utterfly amazing.  He is the opposite of everything I have ever been drawn to in my whole life.  I am usually drawn to the bad boys, and while he has a certain air of “bad boy” he’s not a druggie, nor does he feel the need to break the law.  He’s actually an athlete, a swimmer to be precise and he is…He’s really nice to me, he talks to me, and sometimes he’ll call me out when I say something that makes me seem blond, but he never, ever makes me feel stupid, which is something even my best friends make me feel.  I think he is perfect.  I think that, if we dated, I would be happier than I ever was.  He’s sort of blond…I don’t think he can technically be called blond–it’s more of a honey brown.  He listens to a lot of the same music, which starts a lot of conversations.  He also reads!  Yeah!  I know!  Me, like someone who’s actually literate?  Amazing.  He’s read The Stand of all things, which even I can’t get through.

He sits in front of me in my English class, and when I talk to him, I think time should just stop for us.  He probably doesn’t even think of me in passing during the day, but, you know what, I’m okay with that.  He’s just so…ah!  I can’t even describe it.  It’s one of those you-have-no-words-for-it-it’s-so-amazing.  It’s unspeakable.  It’s like someone lit a fire in my stomach and poured gasoline on it.  I don’t hate him, like I hate most the people I’m attracted.  I just think it’s a safe admiration from a safe distance…although, it’s like less than two feet away.  Who knows if he does maybe care just a tiny bit?  I dated his friend for a few months, so he’s known about me for a really, really long time.

He just seems like the one who might be able to fix me, put me back together.  My friend told me he was horrible in relationships, but that doesn’t matter.  My friend isn’t trying to put himself back together.

When you try your best, but you don’t succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can’t sleep

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

~ Coldplay “Fix You”





Introductory Course: Who Is Curbxstomp?

6 03 2008

My name: Kaelie Curbxstomp
Occupation: Oppressed student/writer/blogger
Dream: To make a difference.

I have begun the record keeping of my life as I know it because of a question a mentor recently asked me:

“The bigger question is: Who is Kaelie Curbxstomp?”

I have been dwelling on this question for days and days.  (Okay, it’s only been maybe three days, but oh well.  I am entitled to my exaggerations.)  Who am I?  I don’t really know.  I don’t think it’s an identity crisis; I think it’s lack of time to think about myself.  You’re thinking “narcissistic” right about now, but it’s not narcissism, it’s “soul searching” but that can be both an oversimplification (I have seen that word twice in one day, so I have added it to my ever expanding vocabulary) and an exaggeration.  When applied to me, I don’t know.

So, on my excursion, I am going to learn about myself, and I will begin by citing what I do know:

  • Learning is a number one priority: as a writer, most of my work contains research.  I love research.
  • Music makes me happy, no matter what I’m listening to.  I could be listening to “Sleeping With Ghosts” which is probably the most depressing song in the world.  (Note: this may explain my attraction to dark haired musicians…)

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  • Without writing, I would self destruct.  Even music couldn’t save me.  Paired with this, is my avid hobby of reading.  It helps my writing and my vocabulary.  What’s not to love?
  • Family is very important; I think it’s my Italian roots.  Friends often become family in my book, because to me, family doesn’t mean blood relation.  One more thing, these friends that cross into the family territory have warranted my full protection.  I may not look threatening, but when I’m pissed, I’m dangerous.
  • Movies are literature that I would disintegrate without.  I took Film Criticism because I wanted to know more about what I loves, and I’m glad I did. 

That’s about it.  For sure, anyway.  A few things are questionable at the moment, but I will explain that when I actually figure it out.  Example: my view on marriage and chilren (mainly pregnancy, in the children area) Both are EVIL (they’re the devil!…for you Waterboy fans) in my book.  But I’m 15 years old.  What do I know?

Ah! One more thing.  Americans have this weight issue nowadays.  I am proud to say that I love me for me.  I am veeery curvy, but I’ve been told–by several guys–that it’s attractive (not necessarily me, but curves as a whole).  I like my body.  I’m 5’5″ and 130 pounds and I’ve never been happier.  I may not wear a Ø but at least I have boobs.  How many of you Ø wearers can sya that?  My point exactly.  I am not insulting all of you, but the ones who have the nerve to tell me I’m fat, is all.  Love you guys, too.

I will be back with more Curbxstomp!

Current Music: “Fake Plastic Trees” by Radiohead

 





Talk About PMS

28 02 2008

I bought so much food today at lunch it is insane.  I am like two days away from my period and I’m going crazy.  It really explains the moodswings. 😀 Anyway, time to talk about my life…

I think my blog is boring.  I don’t do the cool picture thing everyone else does on like a weekly basis. When I need to represent a feeling I can’t put into words, I’ll put a picture up.  But other than that, it’s not happening.  Andrew calls this my “rant page” as if the blog is all one page.  (He knows nothing of blogs.)

Moving on.  Being in love isn’t as bad as it has been all year.  Still in love with the guy who is completely blind, according to my favorite hamster.  Whatever.  The year’s almost over, so it’ll probably be over then.  I pray that it won’t, but it will, because having confidence in the keeping in touch thing is really difficult.  I am trying to focus my doting attention upon my new love, William, the character of my book that is currently in the stage of rewrite!

Rewriting isn’t as hard as writing the book was in the first place, so that’s all good.  It’s easier to write it like it’s in the twenty-first century instead of in the nineteenth.  It’s a two hundred year difference.  My characters are a little more believable, because I have no idea how they talked back then, so there are no contractions throughout the novel.  (I mean the don’t, can’t shouldn’t, not the birth ones.)  Plus, I can make William look exactly how I want him:  tattoos and piercings, wherever I want them.  (Hah! You’re sick if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking.)

So, I was sitting on my bed the other day, minding my own business, reading my Batman comic book when I realized, life really isn’t as difficult as people make it out to be.  I mean, it’s difficult in varying levels for varying people, but my life is fairly simple.  If I did my homework every so often, I could probably be class valedictorian.  Our class valedictorian has a teacher for  a parent, so they expect alot more.  My parents just expect me to the best I can.  I have a 4.2 doing absolutely nothing.  If I tried, it’d be a lot higher than that, but I have aspirations outside of doing homework seven hours a day. 

My weekend will be spent doing a research paper, and what little homework I want to do, while reading Michael Crichton’s Timeline, which is an amazing book.  I don’t really like male writers.  I have three exceptions:  Michael Crichton, John Grisham, and The Struggling Writer.

I hope all of you have a fabulous weekend, if I don’t post again until Monday, which is really probable, because I’ll be rewriting!  Here’s a picture for you to think about:

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Aren’t they beautiful?

 





Hope We Both Learned Our Lesson

19 02 2008

That’s from Bayside’s “We’ll Be OK”, which is a wonderful song because of content.  I don’t really like the music, but the words are amazing.  It may not seem like it totally relates to this post, but I can’t give out all the information to what happened, because I don’t know if the other person implicated in this would care.  I don’t think he would, but I don’t want to take a chance. 

I was in a good mood before I went to lunch.  For reasons I will not divulge, I could not take the smile off of my face.  After lunch, however, this big rock of irritation and anger seemed to be crushing my ribs, breaking them into a thousand tiny pieces.  Those pieces were piercing my lungs and my hearts. 

Rachel was bitching about everything, and I love her, but I realize all we do is complain.  “I’m tired” “I have a headache”  “I hate people”  “I’m failing my class”.  We are a pair of whiny bitches.  I will tell you that. 

So, I’m already angry, because she’s been really snappy with me, and I think that she’s better friends with another girl, but I can’t tell.  I don’t even think I care anymore.  Then, I get into fourth, and I’m going to do something.  I have to go get a quote for yearbook.  There was this whole fiasco, which I don’t want to describe here, and I felt horrible. 

The yearbook advisor has officially estranged me from coming back for another year of yearbook.  I am so pissed off right now, that I want to scream my lungs out at everyone who has pissed me off today.  EVERYONE.  I want to scream until I can’t talk anymore. 

People keep telling me that our school sucks.  I used to say, “Oh, it’s not that bad.”  Now, I truly think it does suck.  I don’t care about all the stupid rules about PDA, and all that crap.  I’m a good student.  Sharing a seat with a guy friend does not mean I’m going to fail.  The yearbook advisor said today that she was the boss for the next week.  She said that she didn’t always agree with her boss, but that she bit her tongue and did it anyway.

I am tired of biting my tongue and following the rules.  I think that there is a line between breaking the rules wrongly, and breaking them for your own good.  I’m not sure where that line is, but I might just find out.  I’m not going to turn into a freaking delinquent, but I am going to evaluate my status as a goody two shoes, which I am sometimes.  I don’t care about much, but I almost never, ever get into trouble with the school. 

I’m probably going to get scolded for this post, but at the moment I don’t care.  This blog is not attached to the school, I have the right to freedom of speech and I am sure as hell going to express it.

I think I’m hyperventilating.





Overrated Anomaly

15 02 2008

As a 15 year old girl, I should be having a wild social life, chasing every boy that passes by, and drinking till I don’t remember anything.  I just don’t want to. 

Ramxpage and I are an anomaly.  While other girls have issues finding guys, we have issues getting rid of them.  No joke.  We also have issues picking winners, because, trust us, a lot of the guys we consider are…  Well, we have a list actually, and maybe we’ll post that.  For me, it seems the number one attraction involves  him doing drugs, because I have never dated a guy without a drug, alcohol, or sex problem.  Everyone has their problems, but my typical boyfriend just seems to have those.  My friends look at me with those “What the hell are you thinking?” looks and I’m just like, you know what?

My taste in guys sucks.  I usually end up in crappy relationships, and then I get my heart broken, and have a fight with my dad, because I won’t tell him what’s wrong.  I just won’t talk to my dad about breakups, I don’t care how upset I am.  It’s awkward, and I don’t want him running amok with a shotgun, looking for the poor unfortunate soul who had once dated me.

It’s like a big warning sign:

DO NOT DATE THIS GIRL IF YOU ARE COMPLETELY NORMAL AND DO NOT DO DRUGS AND ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 15!

That’s the other thing.  I won’t date anyone younger than me.  I’ve had offers, but I turned ’em down flat.  Sorry, not interested.  I can’t handle knowing that I’m older than the kid physically, but if I’m physically older, than I am mentally older too.  I am like a mother in my mindset.  I have the strange urge to protect everyone.  Have you ever seen the movie Raising Helen?  I am Joan Cusack’s character to a t, but I keep everything inside. 

I mean, what is up with me?  Why does my taste suck so badly?  It’s horrible, and I can’t really fix it, because it’s like ingrained on my skull.  I find the bad boys completely appealing.  Add in lip piercings and tattoos and I’m good.  I mean, I would marry the Punisher, for God’s sakes, just because he has that edge of danger.  Omg, I have problems. 

Anyway, I am an anomaly, and men are overrated.  Someone help me.





Intimidation At Its Best

14 02 2008

When I look at a lot of the blogs I have recently started to visit, I get really, really intimidated.   Maybe not so much by the posts–which intimidate me sometimes–but the comments.  These people sound so intelligent and I have absolutely no idea what they are talking about!  It makes me look like a fluff when I sit there, trying to figure out what they’re saying when it is really one of the simplest things in the world.  The comments I was just trying to read on Students 2.0 made my eyes wide, because I was going to comment.  I was so scared of sounding like an idiot that I just refrained from saying anything whatsoever.  Like that quote by Mark Twain:  “It is better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt.”

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This is what I feel like in the cyber world.  My comments are usually just quirky little things to bring smiles to people’s faces, but when I look at others’ comments, I lose my train of thought, and my palms get sweaty.  I don’t want to look like an idiot to these people.

I was talking to the Shield–my favorite teacher’s anonymous name–about the technicality of a lot of these people’s blogs.  It’s so technical to me sometimes I can’t even comment, because I don’t even know what’s going on in the first place. 

When I was writing my post for the Students 2.0, I was pretty satisfied with it, thought it was pretty good.  Then I saw everyone else’s.  Let me tell you, it wasn’t a confidence booster.  Was I stupid compared to these people?  Maybe. They are older than me, so they’re probably going to academically know more than me, or their vocabulary is more advanced.  Well, I thought my vocabulary was advanced, because I stopped reading the typical teen novels when I was 12, so I thought I was pretty smart.  Which, I am compared to my classmates, but not to these people.  They make me feel…not stupid, but maybe they make me feel uneducated, like I don’t know anything.

But, I do know stuff.  Most of it won’t really help me in the academic world, but it will help me with people, which will probably serve me better than anything else I may learn.  I mean, I didn’t even know what a mortgage was until the Shield explained it to our class.  I was ashamed, I can tell you that much. 

So, if I’m feeling intimidated when I’m reading comments, I don’t even want to know the reaction my post will get.  What if they hate it?  What if it isn’t as deep as everyone else’s?  I don’t claim to be a shallow person, but I’m not exactly deep either.  You have to catch me on the right day, because I don’t like thinking deep, because then I look at my life, and I see what’s wrong with it.

Only problem is, I’m not going to take the steps to fix it, becuase I can’t hurt people.