Your Mother Is So Uptight.....

that people routinely jest that she must have had a rod inserted in her ass. What they fail to realize, however, is how close this comes to the truth. Whenever someone mentions the proverbial rod, you fake a laugh and say apologetically, “Come on guys, she’s not that bad.” You do this to draw attention away from your own guilty countenance, your eyes cast downward, since your mother does actually have a stainless steel rod and it’s there because of you. Let’s be clear, though: it’s not up her ass; the rod was surgically grafted into the lumbar section of her spine after her back was broken in a car crash. A car crash that you caused.

It happened the same day you passed your driving test, and afterwards you begged your mom to let you drive home on the freeway. She was naturally apprehensive, you being such a new driver and also (it pained her to admit) not the smartest of her children, but you persisted (in that high-pitched wail you always use to get your way — you know what I’m talking about) until she finally gave in on the condition that you keep it under 50 miles an hour and only take the freeway for a single exit. Immediately, you swerved into traffic without checking all three mirrors. As though you’d already forgotten your driver’s ed classes, your hands were all over the wheel instead of the recommended 10 o’clock and 2 o’clock position. Other drivers honked and shook angry fists at you and your mother politely suggested that you pay more attention to what was going on around you.

Blame the exuberance of the new driver, blame the sting of her criticism, but regardless of the mitigating circumstances, at that moment you stomped down on the accelerator, a desperate gleam in your eye. A split-second later the car was upside-down on the exit shoulder. The car had only a single airbag, keeping you safe, but your mother was thrown forward with such force that when the seatbelt stopped her it broke two of her vertebrae. Before the police and ambulance arrived, you both stayed in the car, still strapped painfully in your seats, clutching hands and crying. You sobbed profuse apologies for those few minutes that seemed to you both to last for days. Your mother, though she was in great pain, told you over and over that it would be okay.

Although her injuries were minor compared to what they might have been, her specific type of spinal trauma was degenerative. After wearing a back brace for five months, she was, at first, fine. It was only after another two years that the long term affects of the injury began to show. Before long, her pain became unbearable. The only choice, Dr. Zakorsky told her, was to fuse a section of her spine via rod-insertion. Her movement would be greatly impaired (she can no longer tie her own shoes or use a standard toilet), but to be rid of the debilitating pain it was a small price to pay.

However, after the fusion she became increasingly curt in her demeanor. She began rudely interrupting people and had seemingly lost all tolerance for others. She and your father haven’t been intimate in four years (he now discreetly visits prostitutes twice a month, of which your mother is aware, which, as much as she hides it, fills her with shame and only exacerbates her bitterness toward you). To help alleviate the burden of your guilt for having caused all this, you now drink heavily in secret. It makes things bearable, but only just. Next week you’re planning on visiting your parents, but you already know what you’ll find and it fills you with despair.

Your mother is so gay.........

that during the 2008 election, she vehemently opposed Proposition 8. Seeing as Prop 8 received the vast share of its funding from the Church of the Latter Day Saints, this marked the final schism between your mother and her devoutly Mormon family still living back in Utah. Having only returned for occasional visits after graduating Cum Laude from Bryn Mawr, her complete estrangement from her parents was largely a foregone conclusion already by the time she chose to be artificially inseminated and raise a child with her longterm companion, Terry, but the fact that her own parents, she was shocked to learn, had financially contributed to the passage of legislation that would rob her of a basical civil right cured her of any lingering hope that they might yet one day come to accept her lifestyle. By the time of the 2008 election, although not yet of voting age, you accompanied your mother and Terry to every rally and action throughout California; you held protest signs aloft and chanted in unison despite not being gay yourself. However, just by dint of your presence at so many rallies, people you’d seen once or twice and recognized by face began to draw conclusions about your own burgeoning sexuality. Once or twice at each event, other young men would approach you in a manner you felt was altogether too familiar, too forward. Naturally, wanting to be accepting of others and not wanting to offend anyone, you rebuffed them as politely as possible. After the fourth consecutive weekend, however, during which you were hit on while protesting with your mother and Terry, your patience began to wear thin. Finally, after an especially hirsute man approached you and asked indelicately if you’d like to meet him post-rally for a “blowjay party” in his van, you snapped. “Fuck off, homo!” you yelled, unkindly. You threw down your sign (“Stop the H8!”) and went to look for your mother. You found her and Terry engaged in a yelling match with a small group of Mormons and you told them you’d had enough, that you were leaving and would find your own way home from Sacramento. Your mother asked what had happened, and in your anger you responded, “Why the fuck does everyone have to be so fucking gay?!” and stormed off. This hurt your mother more than you knew at the time, and even though you apologized profusely later that day, in her heart your mother had moved you silently into that category she’d reserved for her family in Utah. Things would never be the same between you.

Troubled Hearts Map Deserts

School is out on Tuesday so I'll post more frequently and posts that are actually on my life and times then. However it is 1:39 in the morning, I am suffering from food poisoning, and I am watching Bill Mahr so I am a tad bit preoccupied. So instead of a lengthy story I'll just post more tattoo pictures, by who else but Thomas Hooper. When school is out I'll stop posting pictures of peoples tattoos, unless there are some "sweet-ass" ones.










Some day.....

Hooper's at it again

Thomas Hooper's work is too awesome.

Also, this has nothing to do with me and I realize that. However at this moment my head is killing me, and I am being bombarded with demands to go cut my grass.

Peace out

Yes please

Envy.....


Thomas Hooper is awesome

I've been gone for a long time

I haven't posted anything new in a while, and for that I'm sorry. However, as I'm sure all of my readers are aware I live quite the crazy life and therefore my absence should not of come as such a huge surprise.
So here's what I've been up to lately:

I went to prom.
I've watched some TV.
I've done laundry.
I've driven some places.
I saw some movies.
I did some chemistry labs.
I saw some friends.
I've cleaned my room.
I've solved the gas crisis.
I've sent some texts.
I've been in several street fights.
I've done nothing on my "Bucket List"
I destroyed the Death Star, twice.
I have not been to the hospital, nor jail.
I've read some stuff.
I looked up some cool stuff on the internet.
I've listened to some tunes.
I've run for Senator.
I've run for Senior Class Dictator.
I've organized a brutal student government.
I've done some work for the CIA and have taken down some local governments.
I had tray duty once.

I've done all of those, kinda.

Tales of love and loss

This Sunday was Valentine's day, a day that I have never enjoyed. Ever since I can remember Valentine's day has made me feel down and lonely. I personally feel that Valentine's day is simply just a Hallmark holiday, and an excuse for someone to buy you things. So here are two quick stories of love and loss from my life, happy late Valentine's day.

My first story comes from when I was in Pre-K. There was a girl named Stacy in my class who I was quite convinced that I was in love with. Even to this day I can remember staring at her long curly blond hair from across the craft table, trying to end up on the swing next to hers on the playground, and dreaming of playing house with her. While I paid so much attention to Stacy she naturally had no clue that I existed. One day she handed out invitations to her birthday party. I can remember sitting and waiting for a card, expecting her to send me one, however she never did. As I got in the car with my mother I began to sob and cry "I just stood there and waited mommy, I just stood there but she didn't give me one!". Summer soon came and marked my graduation to Kindergarten, Stacy and I didn't go to the same school after that and I never saw her again. However I feel that I will never forget my first crush.

My next story comes from when I was in Kindergarten. After recovering from the loss of Stacy I was ready to pull a "Chance and Real" to "get back in the saddle" and find love all over again. However I found my newest romance in quite the odd place. I can still remember when I saw first saw her, I was breathless at how her blouse matched the leggos she was standing by, at her stunning legs, how the sunlight illuminated her long blonde hair, at her bright red lipstick, and at her name badge that read "Hi my name is Ms. Pam, I'm your teacher". This woman was like nothing I had ever seen before and I was hypnotized with every word that came from her mouth. My feelings went up for my teacher Ms. Pam throughout the school year until right before Christmas. One day Ms. Pam didn't show up to class, and I freaked out. I asked the woman who was subbing where my beloved teacher was and was then blown away by her answer "Oh, well she's getting married later this week so she needs to take some time off to get ready". My heart sunk as these words passed through my ears, I had assumed that Ms. Pam and I would be together forever and could barely fathom the idea of her being engaged to another man. When we went back to school Ms. Pam had become Mrs. Pam, and I finished the year by trying to avoid her at as much as possible.

So there you have it, two stories from earlier in my life where I learned the harsh how harsh love could be.


Fuck Bitches Get Money, right?