My name is Hex, not Grace

HEX IN THA HOUSE!!!

Slighted intoximacated! I fuckin deserve it because I finished my studies of my first course and all the moodle quizzes with a 90% and booked my final today in a month

!

It's a celebration bitches!

This one has been on my phone a while and since I am apparantly posted wine memes it's going up.

YES IT'S IN FRENCH, YOU'LL HAVE TO GOOGLE IT! :)

This is from tonight, my dad gave a me a bottle of a nice wine I enjoyed after finally finishing up all the notes before review and enjoy the mark I have right now- then there's the final... GAHHH

SO BOTTOMS UP WEIRDOS AND QUEERS!

NOW TIME FOR A LITTLE ANIMOSITY!

SHIT MY NAME IS HEX NOT GRACE, THIS ISN'T A PLACE WHERE WE... I MEAN I CENSOR.

BOTTOM LINE.

Now if you don't feel like listening to my bit of anger than change the channel and read a "family blog."

I'm a weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee bit pissed off still about my lay off. 

I get this is business this is how it works, but I can be as mad as I want about it, it was my career, it was something I built for myself starting at the coffee shop counter and it gave me a sense of purpose. 

I found my niche in the business and felt great doing my job just about everyday. My father leaves for his illness and I was immediately given the chop, get your shit and go, there were outright lies circulating about me that hurt my feelings and left me feeling betrayed by people I wanted to further the business with, make this more than about great food and service, make it special, make it memorable. I believe I accomplished that in my time there and so I don't look back like I did the job inconsistently, EVEN when I was sick myself and was only there 3 days a week.

Everyone lets me get two words of frustration in before they say  

FUCK EM! Don't worry about it, don't let it stress you.

Oh I reassure you it is not entirely stress because of course some of it is, you unexpectedly lose your job after 4 years, THERE IS GOING TO BE STRESS but it is mostly anger and bitterness, which I am allowed to have as long as I want.

The psyche can only stir angrily for so long before it costs you health and energy and vitality, but whats wrong with having a slam fest after the fact regardless of what you can do about it, you can let your anger pile burn a little while.

Ain't no shame.

This is an anger that pushes me forward, pushes me to be BETTER.

WHY IN HELL would I let my sad and angry feelings go by the wayside just to be "positive"?

Well fuck no, positive is how I live my life most days, in between:

Cancer.

Dealt with that like a champ.

Marriage failure.

Didn't let it stop me.

My fathers health.

Staying strong as I can for him.

Laid off.

It won't stop me either and I will be better, but my primary focus is SCHOOL and I am not working on a degree for 10 fucking years. 

I may be 29 but I deserve a chance to be left alone about not working full time or in anything serious as a profession WHY? Because I a student now.

That's why.

Not even life will throw me off the track I'm really on, I will accomplish my dream and no one can stop me, nothing can stop me.

For a few weeks after something hard there is a seething, and either you let it burn inside to only fuck you over more OR you let it loose, not only with loose lips and fuck this guy and fuck that guy I hate this and that and the other thing, LIARS!

I channel my anger well, I have kept up an active lifestyle and if I start crying anger firery tears of hell bitch on wheels with an appetite for flesh in killing mode I go for a run, kick a soccer ball and pretend its so and so's balls.

Feels good.

I will ride out the wave and then I'll be fine.

Sometimes people don't understand it, and that is ok.

It is a good coping mechanism for me, exactly why I head to a metal show and crowd surf or a get a tattoo after something crazy and hard, I always do. 

I can wear the tattoos and hold the memories of my killing of the dead horse again as my badge of honour.

So what's this entry, 

POSITIVE?

NEGATIVE?

DRUNKEN?

A little of all the above my friends.

So yeah I would go kick boxing for more anger assault fantasies but my right leg isn't ready for that. It has improved a lot with physio and fitness but I am SOOOOOO not there yet, hence the soccer ball being assholes balls or bitches heads.

BOOOOOM! THAT'S THE SOUND OF MY SHOTTA!!!

Like I said, my name is Hex not Grace, and I'll be as crass as needed, hint about black magic to look crazy and make up very mean songs about the people who tossed me away.

They should feel lucky, I am using my sweet sweet vocal cords to dedicate Westboro baptist church style parodies that are obviously NOT "Baptist" in the least.

(If you wanna know why I hate that Church so much just google it.)

Getting anger out is fucking inmotherfukingportant godfuckingdammmmmmitttttt dirtyjesus onthe fucking crosssssss!

Whooo that was ruuuude!

http://youtu.be/OjAQ3dGKNck

Do whatever you have to that won't put you or anyone else you know in a vehicle with a spinning light on the top of it, do it in your mind, draw disturbing pictures in a childlike way to get your psycho out, because I believe if you hold it in, in will rot away at your internally and it will kill you.

There is a place to stop and that comes naturally.

I think people should heed my warning so they don't end up in the news and everyone who knew them goes:

HE/SHE SEEMED SO NORMAL! 

HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?

THAT DOESN'T SOUND LIKE THAT PERSON AT ALL!

Well that person kept it festering inside instead of firing off a few glass bottles against a wall or fantasizing about molotov cocktails.

There you go. Logic and reasoning from a half cut poor excuse for a writer!

TAKE CARE AND LOVE TO ALL YOU SHINY SHINY DARLINGS.

I leave you with an inspiring song that I like to parody, if you bring me a bottle of wine I might sing it for ya, however I want to spin it that day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBEXSiFzOfU&feature=share&list=FLpMIfRIs2-_F11Yi4adYbqw

-E.

Laundry weirdo, Inspector Clouseau, and texts... no calls

EVERYTHING!

BUT NOTHING!!!

Here is a random one for all y'all's. 


This one comes with a warning label:


IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHO WINO ERIN IS, STAY AWAY FROM THIS ONE, I MAY STRONGLY OFFEND YOU FOR I ONLY SPEAK THA TRUFFE WHEN I DRINK THA 
GEEE-ZUSS JUICE UP IN THA HOOD. 
SENSITIVE AND OVERLY SELF AWARE BEWARE!

I'm drinking a good Chardonnay and watching dance moms, randomly smashing in laundry and folding, smashing and folding, Salem is broadcasting the meow radio show in each corner, and seems to only want food, not attention or play. 

So last night I was working on the laundry disaster and came into the laundry room round midnight to get the last load of the night and there was a strangely dressed very tall man folding my towels, in the most obscure and kinda wrong way. 

Blonde with an accent that was either Dutch, or maybe even Transylvannian or something very different, I don't imagine these two sound anything alike but it was late and he was apologizing for touching my stuff as soon as I walked in the room, probably stayed in too many European Hostels.

Wearing a not so right for him teal sweatshirt with some tourist spot in god knows where across the front, clam digger sweats and high top slippers, and I've never seen him come in or out of the building.

Just because he was strange in appearance or accents doesn't mean I was offended by him folding my towels, even though he was folding them in a very strange way, some European folding technique for people who only own three towels, makes them bulkier and less storable.

I thanked him with a smile for folding my stuff, but he kept apologizing.


I kept telling him that it was fine and very nice of him to do so.

I told him my name was Erin and me and my husband Matthew lived in 305 and he was welcome to borrow a cup of sugar or a couple eggs, and he looked confused and said his name was Mario.

So Mario, you're weird, even by my standards.

I expect people to be kinda "weird" but this was definitely up there on my weird-o-meter.

So the laundry keeps on, it's like it never ends.

I just took a load downstairs and ran into the CENSUS man, YAY!!!

He is some British Codger type modelling his look after Inspector Clouseau, and he just came to my door and asked me:

HOW MANY PEOPLE LIVE HERE?

MARRIED OR SINGLE?

YEAR AND MONTH OF BIRTH?

DRIVE OR BUS?

Not much else, but he managed to complain about the horrible health system in the states, and how he popped his shoulder out in Denver and they had to pop it back in under some "humanity law" and managed to get in several times how he likes my pale skin, somehow not totally creeping me out and violating me. 

Then he said his pen was running out (he was using a pencil) and then told me more about working only three days a week so the government can't thieve too much of your money... and then about his pension not being enough, so he has to have two jobs.... and I am thinking:

well you look pretty healthy other than your fucked up shoulder, which I'm not kidding was as high as his jaw bone and the other was low low low, and somewhat dislocated itself, I kept thinking about how he had something else in him other than brit codger and then he told me about how his mother is Spanish but it was too fast and I started to wonder if he just had all those papers and knew how to look OFFICIAL and really just wanted to talk.


It probably took 20 minutes when it could have taken one minute, tops.


Inspector Clouseau is fucking lonely as fuck and needs to act like he's getting paid cause he's out of his mind and really is just an anarchist in disguise, and now he knows that I'm married and live in 305.


I like how he used my door knocker, three slow raps, and was such a fucking weirdo.

IN OTHER NEWS


What's with people who nevvvvvver answer phone calls, only texts?


Like, I wanna hear your voice.


Now I can feel my blog getting me into trouble again, with the way I say things but shit, I understand a text is noncommittal and you can get around to it whenevz, but c'mon now, to never never never answer a phone call.... what kind of bizarre non communicating humans are we that we don't have a house phone (most people I know)
and don't even answer our cell phones for a chat?


Is it that we like to be able to ponder what we would say in the text, with time for 20/20 hindsight even, some people answering texts two days after they were sent or not at all.
So why do we have modern technology then? If not to use it to our full advantage to: 


COMMUNICATE


Something that I feel can slide so quickly with Facebook and texts, and it's sad really.


When I was 14 and had some stinking, sticky lump of juice filled gossip I'd pick up the phone and call whoever was my BB at the time, and spill, spill spill, orally.


Not this constant and cold feeling texting.


By the way this is just a general view without anyone in particular in mind. 


Ok maybe several.


Throughout many years really, since people stopped answering phone calls and only texting.


I use texting all the time, but whoever I text, I call.


If they pick up or not isn't a determinate of what I think of them as humans, if I care enough to call or text them at all at least I know I can share great and warm moments with them in person. 


Thing is that I long to speak with those I love, and wish that some of them would have the same desire to return my call, and not just pretend it never happened and send me a text of randomosity later on, like a day later, maybe three.


It's funny cause I wonder if why someone wouldn't want to talk with me on a phone they bought and paid for communicating with, if it is just simply a phobia of pushing one's face against something they use with their fingers, or if it's that I always call at the wrong times (blaming myself) or that I'm not cool enough for them (blaming myself)


I also wonder why they would want to struggle through time with me in person if it's so hard to have a convo on the phone real-quick. 


I have had SOOOOOO many friends over the years since this texting technology has been so easy and affordable, and I truly believe it has ruined the way we communicate with one another, some more than others and believe :


"just a text"
or not
can RUIN a friendship, as I have seen with many many people, and have danced on that line myself.


A text is cold unless you can talk to that person later, or always send a heart and an XO.


That's my NO GUFF baby.


TEXTING WTF???


I'll still use it though.


And Facebook.


Instagram too....


But: AND THIS IS IMPORTANT:


 FUCK PINTREST!


GARBAGE! 

THE EMOTICOTION MOTION IN THE TEXTING OCEAN.

AN ANIMAL.




-E.