That is right.  Friends only from here on out. 

Comment to be added.

Things I learned this weekend

• Aaron and Drew are GREAT drinking buddies (love you, boys!)


• Any toast that starts "To bad ideas!" is going to end well


• Doing shots of SoCo will fuck. your. shit. up. in a good way


• I still love hiking


• There is nothing better in the world than having your head scratched while you are drunk


• I think people with deep south accents are kind of dumb, true or not


• Gaming stores in Kentucky are often populated by dicks


• Crazy old men in flea markets will always talk to you, like it or not


• I still love flea markets


• Jennifer and I can still cry and have "I-eye-eye lu-luh-luve yooo" conversations (You know, where you cry too hard to talk)


• Video taping drunken escapades seems like a better idea while drunk


• Glitter and confetti are your friend


• Shayne is too tall for Hondas


• That doesn't matter


• Lasagna, Chilli, Teriyaki pork, Mexican feast and Sonny's are all one really needs to eat


• Nerf wars are the shit


• Listening to World War Z in the car makes every road trip go faster


• You should always bring the kick pedal for Guitar Hero's drum set, that shit is impossible to replace


• Cuddling with your friends on one couch is the best


• Zombies, the board game, is murderous fun!


• I have just as much fun with my friends sober as drunk

I love my friends so very fucking much

The absolute last thing I expected to hear when I spoke to dad on the phone was that Charles had died. I knew he was old, absolutely, but Alma's health was failing more quickly. I didn't even give thought to when I expected him to go...so I guess he was at the bottom of the list of "Expected upcoming mortalities," behind Alma and Uncle Bob.

But it was quick and I am incredibly thankful. Charles loved to be the center of attention and in some "dry humor" kind of way, I think this was exactly what he would have wanted. He had a meal mom had cooked and was sitting, playing cards with his wife, mom and dad. No hospital. No dragging him back. Everyone around him stopped and saw him leave this world. His shoulder hurt and he was gone. His faithful old heart just stopped.

He would have been 92 in September. He was born in 1916.

Let us milk that: He was born in 1916. He met Alma when they were kids (she was eight and he was ten). He moved away but, in his own words, "Never forgot that little girl." He asked her out by slipping up to the back door of her workplace and saying, "I thought you'd like a cup of coffee after work or something?" He married Alma on December 7, 1940. You know, Pearl Harbor? That was their first anniversary.

He was in the army. He enlisted several months after Pearl Harbor. He went in thinking he'd sign his paperwork and have a couple of days to say goodbye before shipping out. He left to enlist and didn't come home for three years; he was whisked away. He was anti-aircraft. He shot planes out of the sky for three years. He marched from North Africa to Italy, Italy to France, France to Germany.

He came home safely and started a company, hauling/dump trucks, and took care of Alma. Her health has always been fragile, she had rheumatic fever and a damaged heart as a result, and he treasured her. She never held a job after they got married. She never got a driver's license. He took her everywhere and anywhere she wanted to go. Ever. He took her out every day so she wouldn't feel housebound.

I came along after he'd retired, when he was still spry and in his seventies, so I know of his life of leisure. He took her to Florida every winter, in an airstream trailer he pulled, because the warmth was better for her heart. He took her fishing on a boat he bought her. He took her on month long vacations in every one of the 48 contiguous states. He kept the land her grandparents built a homestead on, the land her great-grandparents claimed after traveling across the plains in a covered wagon. He tended the land and fields, took her into the forests on that land whenever she wanted to find inspiration for her painting. He spent untold hours at art and craft shows letting (revolutionary at the time) and helping Alma sell her paintings. When Alma's sister was widowed, she moved in with them. He paid for her health care until she died in my home. She was in her nineties, as well. He never said a word about the burden or expense of an Alzheimer-cursed sister. I think every thing he did was for Alma. He simpered over animals, though I never saw him with a pet, and he adored every pet I ever had.

Early in his life Charles Smock chose the path he wanted his life to follow--Alma's.

You can't tell Charles' story without telling Alma's. They entwined their lives so completely that you can't separate them. He lay his allegiances at the foot his partner. And so they lived for the 67 years they were married. They were together till the very bitter end, when his faculties had left him, and Alma loved him. She loved him when he'd gotten lost in dementia--when he spewed hateful things out of confusion, she heard whispered pledges of love. He spent so long loving her that nothing could drive that from her mind, not even him. She was his life and he was hers.

And really, isn't that what we all want? What we hope for? To find that person that will love us until the day we die? No matter what?

He found it and he spent his whole life with that person.

I am sad he's gone and startled that it happened so very quickly...but I can't truly mourn a life spent so happily.

May we all have that happiness.

Goodbye, Milissa Moore.

I'm sorry your life was so short. I'm sorry your baby will never remember your laugh. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend.


You'll be remembered, always. I'll never forget sitting in my livingroom with you, crying as Veronica's little body was broken. You were my strength that day. You'll be your baby's strength for years to come.

It seems random and cruel but I know it isn't. I wish I knew what to say to make it better. But I don't.

My yearbooks. I see your messages to me, your face…and it’s just not the same.

♥

It all started just over year ago and we are still going strong.

I'm happier than I've ever been.
I'm in love and I used to think I could never be in love.
I've gotten roses for the first time in my life.
I've managed not to cry when I read "Here's to the year after that and the year after that ♥ ♥ ♥".

Shayne, my love, I cannot think you enough for entering my life and staying here.


I love you.
The world moves before love, bows down before it

I had a work related post plotted out...but thats been superceded.Two girls I went to high school with are dead. They died in a private plane crash in Georgia along with their grandmother and her fiancee.

Goodbye Ashton, Brianne You were sweet girls. I will miss you. You were and are loved.

I can't....wow.. I mean. I used to watch Ashton play some badassed games of golf and win tourneys...and her sister was always there cheering her on. Now I'm seeing boys I used to know crying on the news as they try to say goodbye. I'm imagining their last moments as a plane fucking FELL APART around them in the air. And god....to go to a funeral for your mother and your children at the same time...I can't even...imagine

She knows me inside and out

"There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me."
--Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Remember that.
I will.

I had a conversation with someone at lunch last week, clearing the air on a few things when I was asked if I either was or knew who FalseEnemy was. This, combined with an "anonymous" comment I got in my journal, lead me to spend some time browsing www.opendiary.com. After some time I was startled to come across my own words in a diary, my words in conjunction with an accusation that I am the instigator known as FalseEnemy. I guess a lot of you agree with that. You agree because you took words of mine, completely out of context, and assumed that they were aimed at you because of the style.

You are correct. I am False Enemy. I have nothing better to do with my life than to spend time I do not have to create melodramatic outbursts in the drama department. I spend my precious free time and my study time writing horrible things to people I barely know or do not know at all. I put aside my 200+ pages of reading a night, my friends, my boyfriend, my family, sleep and my own private time to lurk about www.opendiary.com and belittle people I do not care about. I make myself look like a jackass by doing so and risking my discovery when the entire world knows I have a public journal. I specifically patterned all of the things I wrote in my FalseEnemy diary after my own writings in my personal journal because I wanted to get caught and look like a jackass. I have given up my face-to-face ways of handling conflict in favor of anonymous and spineless acts on the internet. I am no longer a person who favors clearing the air by having a conversation with someone I am experiencing conflict with, instead I prefer to let problems linger inside of me until they drive me insane. I am no longer a vocal and outspoken person. I am FalseEnemy. That is correct ladies and gentlement! Ding Ding Ding! After I spend my time antagonizing the drama department as FalseEnemy, I then go back to the batcave to eat a hive of bees because the bees help me to build a honeycomb shaped device to protect me from all of your stupidity. They help me to avoid the fate of a moronic drooling plebian diary slave. The beeswax also helps me to keep the batmobile waxed to shiny perfection.

Fuck off, all of you. I would never do that and any single person who is halfway close to knowing me also knows my outspoken, face-to-face verbal style of handling conflict and confrontation. That means they also know that this person is not me. Move on and gang up on someone else. Victimize someone else. Figure out who really did it. Find another publically acceptable scapegoat. One who is not me.

This is the only time I will be addressing this in my journal because this is the most pathetic way in the world to solve grievances. If you have more accusations to hurl at me, please do so to my face.
Thank you.

I'm doing it again. I've been reading SO much Shakespeare lately that I'm prepared to lose it. Wednesday night I read two Shakespearean plays AND watched the movies so I could take my midterm on Thursday. Right now I am in the middle of another history play (Richard II). My thoughts have begun to come in Shakespearean terms again, just like in winter term, Dammit. remember? Yup. It even invaded my writing style when I got pissed off at a girl on campus who forbade her boyfriend to talk to me. and when I was this tired? Thats what I am operating on, generally speaking.

I guess I will be continually talking in "Shakespeare Speak" for a while. Perhaps my eloquence will improve, hm?

So now I go to finish my Canadian Lit assignment, then on to my Shakespeare reading because what else is there to do while in Monrovia? Yeah. Exactly.

Ever.

Genevieve has this alarmclock...it is an oldfashioned bitch of an alarmclock that is guaranteed to raise the dead, and if allowed to go off long enough it will curb them from eating flesh. Seriously, just tell a zombie you will never shut that thing off as long as it eats flesh and that fucker would agree to starve to death if you'd just shut the alarm off, for God's sake shut it OFF!!!

This morning the alarm went off after Shayne and I had gotten about 4 hours of sleep.  Genevieve, as per usual, slowly OH SO MOTHERFUCKING SLOWLY clambered out of her top bunk bed and shut the fucker off after several minutes of pure agony and misery on my part.  Shayne crawled out of the bed and plopped down on my floor muttering "ugggghh...I think my brain was just raped"

I stared at him blankly for a few moments.  "Yeah... I think mine was sodomized against it's will."

"Your brain takes it up the pooper!" he exclaimed with joy.

We both promptly fell over laughing while Genevieve blinked at us in stark unamusement (that bitch).

 

Thats right kids.  My brain takes it up the pooper at 8 am.  Shayne said so.

 

heh.  I Still can't  say it or type it without laughing till I cry. If I try, I snort.

I'm on the phone with Karen right now.She called me to tell me she saw a hot boy on a hot bike (yeah, we both have a certain appreciation for crotch rockets) and chased him down to tell him he had a nice bike and flirt with him, because that is what we do. And she obviously cannot share that with her boyfriend. So she called me to tell me. =D I miss my best friend.We have to do something over spring break. Simply must.

I vowed this morning that the first person who pinched me for not wearing green gets punched until their face and soup are of the same consistency. Which is saying something as my right index finger does not bend (I punched a man several times last night, and during one of those punches I hit a wall with that hand, bruising my finger; tis swollen and won't bend) but I meant do mean it.

I have punched no one today. Yet.

What can you do about a friend who has taken a turn for the worse?
How do you help someone who continually pushes those that love away?
How do you help someone who makes you so mad that sometimes you do not want to help?
What do you do as you watch them throw everything they have worked so hard for down the drain?
How do you say any of that without them taking offense and completely missing the point?
How can you say "You need help that I cannot provide" without having them turn against you?

I cannot help. I cannot do anything. I cannot say anything.It seems all I can do is watch.But watching is killing me.

( Give a lick, see what I taste like )

So I've been busy, yes? Let us see.

Last Wednesday was mom's birthday, so I went home to see her. Thursday was Shayne's birthday. I think they both had good birthdays.

Thursday, Friday and Saturday we performed Choyses a work in progress by Stephanie ******. That play changed so much from when Andrew and I first got it. It was so offensive and harsh, lacking a great deal of humor. We helped her to find ways to say what she wanted to say without losing her audience to offense. The cast (the 4 actors) had a great deal to do with adding the humor in that play. It was funny on stage. Because the actors were funny.
Not once, ever, did she credit the actors. Jennifer worked on it just as much as Andrew and I did, but did Jennifer get thanks? or even a card? Nope. She put in JUST as much time as Andrew and I did. Acknowledgement? Nooooo. Hell, I got a card, even if it was the rudest card I've ever recieved. *shakes head* I am just glad to be free of that entanglement. May she graduate and get the hell out of Franklin.

I went to the Lion King on Sunday night. That was wonderful. I enjoyed myself muchly. That show is just awe inspiring. We got to go backstage and see some of the puppets up close and talk to the actor who played Timone. He was funny, though very very quirky.

My classes are really settling in to kick my ass. This next couple of weeks will be interesting. Yeah.

I haven't been feeling too well as of late...I nearly had to bail on lunch today.
Shayne and I are doing really well. I think we make eachother pretty happy :) well, I know he makes me happy.

Off to class. Stupid Shakespeare class.

Christina: JESUS Gen snores like a freight train.
Ryan: Jesus Gen?
Christina: YES
Christina: I'm about to put tissues in her nostrils
Ryan: that's mean
Ryan: i once stuck a sock in my sisters mouth when she was snoring
Ryan: it worked in the cartoons
Christina: did it work on her?
Christina: I just told her she snores like a freight train. and she said "Yep. Even more when I'm sick" and snuggled back into her bed with complete contentment, as though she could now dream happily knowing that I can audibly verify that she breaths.

No, Gen. I won't put tissues in your nose. Yet. I've handled it for 15 hours now. I can handle it longer. ^_~

Fuck you.It started out as a good day. I swear it did.

Comes from our friend Clint. And who can be amazed?
"lol and he's jewish, my parents are going to freak when they find out I boned a jewish cat puppet"

Thats right kids.well. in all fairness. My parents would freak too.

I've pretty much stopped doing real entries. None of you really want or need to know whats going on in my head. So anyhow, in the spirit of doing shitty entries

You don't know what you have done, Bitches.
Here it comes.

Dalin is Krista's little brother, Amanda is her cousin who is the same age as Dalin. This is what she told me tonight about the things going on in our little hometown. This is horrifying to me because it is happening so YOUNG and so FREQUENTLY now. There was a kid with a list when I was in high school, I was on the list. Now we are friends. 6 years before Robert was making his list these kids are making lists. That terrifies me. eep.

BFs College Girl: whats the news from home?
KristaElizabeth: this kid got suspended from hall 'cause he had a fucking HIT LIST, if he could kill, that's who he would
BFs College Girl: how old?
KristaElizabeth: 6th grade
KristaElizabeth: amanda was on the list i don't know about dalin
BFs College Girl: oh my GOD! how did Amanda get there?
KristaElizabeth: yes, i don't know
KristaElizabeth: another kid was suspended last week for sayin he was gonna kill some kids
AND another kid just got expelled from mooresville for having a knife at school,...and he now goes to hall so
KristaElizabeth: what do u think of that
KristaElizabeth: i'm worried especially since amanda was on the list and if dalin was on there i'd shit
BFs College Girl: what are they doing with this kid?
KristaElizabeth: they suspended him for 2 DAYS that's it
BFs College Girl: thats IT? jesus they did more to robert viccars and I was ON the list
KristaElizabeth: yeah i know

2004/Fall: You can not register until: 3/4/2004 6:00 PM and you need advisor authorization to register.
2003/Summer: You can not register until: 3/4/2004 6:00 PM


My advisor cleared the wrong section of class registration. I can register for this summer but not for fall term. Which BITES BIG ASS since I'm not taking summer courses. *waves good bye to her schedule for next term*

Toss orders at me, cast glances and mutter things as you will.

It matters not.It does not matter because you are a weightless soul, cast upon the rocks at my feet. I look down at you with disgust while I wait for you to wither up and blow away in the wind. Cowards do that, you know...they drift away because no one will hold on to them and help them when they falter...no one will do that because cowards do not deserve to be helped.

I do have to thank you though...because I now know that I am stronger than I thought. I know that I am loved and cared for. I know that I will last...I will not simply endure, as you will. I will live a long, happy, full and exultant life. Sometimes I forget that. But you reminded me.

Thanks.

the boys who live below us keep blowing a fucking FOGHORN

I stormed down there and BANGED on someone's fucking door (this has been going on for a week and the guys have been asked repeatedly by the RAs to stop) and SCREAMED "IF YOU BLOW THAT FUCKING THING ONE MORE TIME I SWEAR TO GOD YOU WILL CRY"
People up here on MY floor heard me with the door shut. My ra stopped by to check on me (after she went to shut them up) and I told her if she didn't stop them that" the guys would soon hate me because I would make them cry in public. I have no problem with immasculating and humiliating them in public"

I then proceeded to tell her to write them up because we live on a quiet floor and to question the intelligence of their RA and the hall coordinator because they spend so much time drunk. I think my anger was quite on display. In fact I suspect my RA is afraid of me now.
Hm.

I am currently listening to a song by a young blond girl named Joss Stone .
The song is called "Fell in love with a boy".
It is a cover of the White Stripes' "Fell In Love with a girl".
Its fucking jazzy-hiphop by a blond girl named Joss.

I am speechless.

"Christina. Go buy cough medicine, please? For your health."

These are words I need to hear tomorrow. Please say them to me when you see me next. Convince me to buy some medicine. And remind me that right now my throat feels like someone ran sidewalk salt through vinegar and stuck it to the back of my trachea. Then send me to CVS, please.

Thank You.

Hm. It was a good day, I suppose. Classes went fine, hung out with mendal, Aaron, and Brett tonight. We went for a walk out to the graveyard and back. Then to rent Lost Boys and Taco Bell. Back here to watch Lost Boys then a rousing game of "Punch N Tha Face" which involved every male in my room being punched in the face.

Brett punched Shayne!
Shayne punched Brett!
Aaron punched Shayne!
Shayne punched Aaron!

Genevieve and I looked on in HORROR...and amusement. Cuz girls don't DO that shit. Not the smart ones. Perfectly intelligent guys do it (I know this because I watched 3 of them do it) but I've never seen smart girls do it.

I'm tired but not sleepy. I need to sleep. I'm getting sick. My throat is driving me insane, my nose is pissed off at me and my body randomly says "Fuck you, take me to bed. Alone. and don't move. OR ELSE." And you cannot argue with that. I put my head down and tried to sleep at the dinner talbe tonight. Cuz you cannot argue with that.

Funny thing happened today. You see, last week I worked on a paper for a boy...a boy we shall call...Jerry. I edited Jerry's paper last Tuesday while I was working at the Write Place. Neat. His paper was due before he would have time to come back in and have me edit it (to make sure the suggested changes were actually a good idea) again. I suggested any of the other Write Place employees as they are all resonably intelligent human beings. Of course they are not as intelligent as me, because I am the English God (I AM THE ENGLISH GOD BWAHAHAHAHAHA) and they are NOT. I mean, they are merely humans. Humans who are good at what they do...simply not as good as I am. But they will do in a pinch, right?

Anyhow, I suggested he see them, and then I forgot about the shit. Today he calls MY ROOM. MY ROOM at 1 pm. He reminds me of who he is (politely, this is all done politely) and tells me his paper is due at 10 on Tuesday, I do not work again until 11 on Tuesday so could I please look over his paper tonight. In my stupor I agreed. Why, you ask? Because I am a dumbass. Thats right. As Shayne put it, its kind of like having a contractor build you a house. And you like the house. So you call the contractor on their lunch break and ask them to come and build you a patio in their free time without compensation. And they agree. I am that contractor. Do I look like a contractor to you? NO. I'm a fucking English major with a cold, dammit. I'm pale and bookwormish, not tan and brawney. I carry highlighters and pens not hammers and nails. SCREW THIS. So when he called I was out walking in a graveyard with 3 of the funniest guys ever. I cracked up the whole time. Then he called while we were watching Lost Boys and Gen took a message. I checked my voicemail...and he'd left me a message hours before that (around 7:30) saying that he was gonna go see MIRACLE with his basketball team, and that if he got back too late not to worry about it. Yeah. Thats right. He called the contractor, the contractor AGREEED to do the work and then he bailed and went to watch a disney movie. Yep.
Just so you know...I'm setting up a contingency plan now. This won't happen again.

I dunno. I've been so messed up lately. So stressed out...I handle it well sometimes...I'm good, got a grip, things are fine. Then it all comes crashing around me. The delusion I've sold myself...that everything is okay, that everyone I love is fine, that everyone I love loves me in return. Then I just want to break down and cry, run from the room with tears streaming down my face for no specific reason other than I am just hurting. God love my friends, they notice...ask me what is wrong...try to help. But when they ask what is wrong there is no ANSWER I can give, and "nothing" is obviously a lie. So I just fall back on being sick and tired because that IS the closest truth I can give them that doesn't end with me freaking out and sobbing like a retarded clown who has lost his wig to the wind. It has been bad lately. Moments where someone's laughter intrudes on my pain, my solitude or my revelry...and I feel like I will just shatter because their joy irritates the raw nerves of my soul like asphalt on the tender flesh of the stomach. Moments where I crave nothing more in the world than to be left alone in a dark corner to sob it all out of my soul even though I need to get up and do some homework or maybe even just take a nap. I'm sorry if you have noticed. I am sorry if I am a kill joy. I do not mean to be. Honest.

Lately I'm as fucking full of change as any stereotypical woman you've ever met. And that just pisses me off because its not me. I'm sort of moody and short tempered, sure. Okay okay, drop the sort of. I'm moody and short tempered. Me without the moodiness and short fuse is like having a tall Danny Devito or flat chested Dolly Parton. It just isn't right. Fine, I admit that. But its different. This is out of control for me. I've got no control over this shit...I'm happy, sad, lost, in control, confused and full of wisdom in 5 minutes, no knowledge of how I got from one to the other. It sucks man. I cannot wait to get my shit back in control. Fuck if I'll be like this for long. I'll either die or get it together.

Currently taking bets on which it will be.And if you don't bet I'm going to get it together I'm going to hunt you down and feed you to the 680 pound man that Jerry Springer had removed from his home. How would you like that? To be the last bit of flesh that threw him over the edge and into a full blown heart attack. YOU KILLED HIM. YOUUUU BASTARD YOU KILLED HIM.

In other news crazykidben has put up something at this site that rocks my socks off. Tis an art project of his.
As for an explanation of this piece of art, here we go:
( indigestion? )

Good luck BenBen. No sleep sucks but can be fun, particularly when you get giddy enough to laugh at everything.

Hm...I downloaded a new LJ client and got rid of LochJournal. Let us see what sorts of trouble I can make with this biatch.
FUN
and yeah, I really ought to be doing homework. Screw ya.