questioning the crazies

Am I really crazy? I cannot begin to count the number of times in the last few months that I've been called crazy. Not in that friendly laughing, "girl, you're crazy" tone, rather the condecending, disbelieving, mouth agape look that one give's in rare times of really seeing another's soul & deep inner workings.

Yeah. SO?

Fucking ppl drive me insane. Calling me all the time. Wanting irrational things from me.

Stupid ass questions. What are you doing? Can you take me to do laundry? Can you come pick me up (At 3am) so we can sleep in a tent (in 40 degree weather) even though you have to be awake at 6am? Can you take me to the court house? Can you help me see my children? If your going to buy a different car, can I have yours? Can you give me a ride? What was this morning about? Why are you being so nice to me? Do you want this saddle to hang on your wall? What do you think I should do about Mike? Why do you put up with him? How many times a day do women like to have sex? Why don't you come work for me on the Wave Source Chair venture? Why do you work in a bar when you're so much smarter, you have so much potential?

Maybe because I fucking want to. Maybe because in this unforgiving world that forsaken venue full of assholes makes me feel sane. Because I want to. And I will never be able to explain that to you.

I'm so tired of questions. Always wanting answers that I don't have. Ridiculing the answers I do have.

Fuck you.

You know who you are.

innebriation takes hold

Ah, yes, I'm back. The old "buzzing" me that used to fill out late night myspace bulletin/questionaires because life has my brain tpo scrambled to sleep so I put on a quick buzz. And ramble.

I'm a true light weight though. I'm stumbling fuzzy after 3 bud lights. That should tell you something. No shots. No hard liquor. Just an hour and half with 3 beers. $4.50 has me toasty warm and ready to ramble my heart out. (It's $1.50 beer night at Brass Rail - which i didn't know until I got there because I've never been there.)

In the five whole minutes that it took me to get home, I thought about words that I've heard ppl use to describe me lately. I'm really taking a good hard look at myself because the person I see is so obviously NOT the person everyone else sees. That really makes me think. HARD.

Stubborn. Strong willed. Loud. Other words that I cannot put here. Hmmm, maybe its true. I am all of these things. But I didn't used to be, so when did it change? How did I become who I am now? At least that much I can answer, but it doesn't need to be answered because anyone who knows me knows full well that answer.

I'm not going back though. So if you don't like me now, you either need to change your opinion or change our friendship status, because here I am people. Simple & complicated rolled into one lil neat & messy ME.

Undefinable. Unforgetable. And if there were such a word, un-understandable.

above all else, TRUTH

Written Saturday, March 8, 2008.

"The mind can be selfish and unforgiving and thoughts have no threshold for sensitivity. Thoughts are immmature, and a mature thought is merely an afterthought. Subconscious thoughts are even more devastating. The subconscious, the father of the conspiracy, can warp imaginations and twist a normal human being into a cynical sociopath." ~Rajen Persaud

So here I am. Honest and Open. Unappreciated for the pure simple honesty that everyone thinks they want, but in reality cannot handle. The cynical sociopaths.

Greedy little bastards. You want and want and want. Take all that is offered and still expect more. Evil angels, expecting everything, wanting it ALL but not seeing what is there.

Using the excuses that I've heard so many times. Just now realizing how selfish you've been.

I've told you that I was selfish. I don't deny who I truly am inside. You told me to throw away my mirror.

I've told you intimate details. Everything there is to know. You told me I was wrong. Because you only saw what you wanted. The potential. Not the reality.

Have you had enough?

pink hair and cowboy boots

This was written February 29th. Blog spot was giving me issues so I posted it on myspace. I've decided to move it here where it belongs, even though it's out of order...

My hair is now brown. It was pink. Kinda orange too. With blonde streaks....

Ok, so let me explain. Two months ago I used a hair color that must've been WAYYY too old 'cuz it turned my hair a moldy green color instead of the ash blonde that it describe on the box. My remedy to that was to bleach it as white as I could get it. Then, my roots turned an almost golden orange for a few days. The rest of my hair was fried. Beyond "hair" recognition.

This past Wednesday morning I get up & decide I want to go strawberry blonde for awhile. Well, my fried hair decided it wanted to be pink, orange, and streaky blonde. Not cool for a 28 year old going to job interviews. I had to go to a salon & have it "fixed". She said it would take two sessions & at least $80 for a correct fix. I said fuck that, as long as it's not orange or pink I don't care what color it is! So, it's now two toned, copper roots & the rest is ash colored. Ahhh me! I shouldn't be allowed to spend my own money. It's hazardous!

Lately I've been randomly meeting people from past parts of my life. Tuesday night I ran into a girl that I went to CN with. I don't remember her, she doesn't remember me, but we know some of the same people so we chatted all night at work. Nice to chat about some of the same peeps.

Wednesday I literally ran into a guy at King Gyros. I stopped & had to blurt out, "Didn't you go to 'Busco? And didn't you go to church at Sugar Grove?" Oddly enough, I was right. I even remembered his name was Andy. But that was all I could remember. And he had no idea who I was. So the conversation ended & I went on my quirky little way.

Thursday as I walked into work my boss says, "Hi Triana, how was your day?" ~ his usual greeting. I go into the kitchen, punch in & grab my daily "paperwork" to get started. I hadn't noticed a new customer sitting midway down the bar; just the usuals sitting at my end of the bar. Out of no where she loudly asks "hey, did you go to 'Busco?" (Must be a good line ...) I replied with a "kind of..."

This is where it gets good.

She tells me that her & I used to be BEST friends; that her mom has a picture of us in the second grade together on the swing set. She tells me her name. NOPE. Not ringing a bell. I have a very good memory, especially if I actually had a friend in grade school. I would remember that shit.

Are you still reading? 'Cuz it gets better.

I said, nope, you must have the wrong chic. She says in a matter-of-fact tone, "I've never heard anyone else with that name" (good point) "and you used to have blonde hair, so blonde it was almost white" (yes, up until yesterday...) "and you used to wear cowboy boots to school everyday."

Uh oh. I ducked behind the bar, red faced, as at this point all eyes are on me & everyone is chuckling. The sort of slow rumbling chuckle that quickly bursts into all out laughter.

It was momentarily almost like one of those dreams where you walk into school and everyone is laughing, then you realize they're laughing AT YOU 'cuz your naked.

I was just stripped of my self confidence. For one quick minute, I was flushed back into the painstaking embarrasment of elementary school. Of the geeky, shy, nerd that hid in the shadows of Churubusco's halls for nine precious years, afraid to be noticed lest I be shoved into yet another locker or beat up in gym class or laughed at for wearing cowboy boots to school. Thanks mom.

This time though, I stood up to the laughter. Yes, that was me. I wore boots.

Cruel irony: Now the guys think it's hot & want me to wear boots to work. Yowza! That would hurt like hell & I would slip all over that damn tiled floor at work!

I was even asked if I would wear cowboy boots to bed! Life never makes sense.

incites to a random me

I don't drink coffee. I don't really like chocolate. I don't really eat berries. But there is an unexplainable comfort in holding a cup of steaming hot chocolate raspberry latte between my hands and breathing in the enticing aroma. Somehow the combination of such unlikely ingredients soothes my soul in a way that nothing else can. Well, maybe somethings can, but not on a rainy/snowy April afternoon. It's a winter remedy.

I'm sitting alone in a local coffee shop. It's Sunday afternoon. I need a few moments to think about who I am. Where I'm going. But most importantly, Who I want to be and who I am capable of being.

On one of my "friend's" blogger site she did an update on her goals that she set earlier this year - a retrospective measurement of how well she was doing at accomplishing her goals. I need goals. I've never been a goal setter. It's an issue that I've constantly been criticized for. So here's my solution: I'm going to start setting goals. My first will be this: to work on a set of goals.

Wow, I'm such an over achiever.

My issue is this: in my mind, goals have parameters. Parameters are, in a sense, limitations to my freedom. As I have stated before, I have a serious fear of gravity, anything that might hold me down. To you readers I might sound insane or just plain stupid, but it's one of those irrational fears, like being claustrophobic. Yes, rationally I completely understand that goals are flexible, but they are just not ME. So I'm going to spend some time trying to ever-so-slowly alter this character flaw. In the end, it might not be a flaw at all. But I'll never know if it could help me be a better version of myself until I try it. Wish me luck...

Traditionally, I have scooted through life day-to-day. Bumping and scraping along life's barriers; testing the strength of natural limits. (I'm going for a 'scrape-ing' and not a 'scrap-ing' in that previous sentence & can't decide which one actually has two p's, in case anyone noticed. It's been a long day & my head is aching. Have you ever stared at a word for so long that it begins to look foreign?? I'm giving up on it.)