Over and over I will say that I don’t really give a rat’s ass if people don’t like what I write. So many have taken great offense to something that is supposed to be random and funny, and they don’t realize it is not a person and direct attack on anyone. They have took it upon themselves to write me under fake alias’ and tell me how horrible of a person I am, and that I should go to hell or kill myself…
First as much as I love a good joke, telling anyone to kill themselves is a little extreme and NO one no matter how horrible of a person they are, deserves to be told their life is too insignificant for living. So for you…Samantha Myers, or whatever the hell your real name is, I really hope no one has taken your threats to heart and has killed themselves, and congrats, you finally made it onto my website.
So rather than completely deleting the website over a few choice words with people, I have decided to spend more time on here, my website needed more love. What better way to do that than to tell you how I got it started?
I walked into my English class at IVY tech last year and was talking to someone about an awful date I went on… The date wasn’t really something I wanted to do… But my ex was hung up and obsessed with this guy, so I decided to go out on a date with him, obviously that is a shitty thing to do, but sometimes you just got to piss people off and ruffle some feathers. That is a story for another day though.
I was telling some kids in class and they were cracking up over how I was telling my story and told me I should write it down, and send it in as an essay in class. I laughed at the idea, but then thought about it… What if not only did I read it to the class, but I also posted it for EVERYONE to see. It should be obvious to everyone by now, that I apparently LOVE embarrassing myself.
It wasn’t easy when I decided to start writing… I was super busy and the only time I had to write was during class. I sometimes find it difficult to write in a confined setting. Ivy tech is one of those settings. Not only is in cramped and uncomfortable, but I feel like I should always carry a shank on me, waiting to stab someone at any moment. My first day of class I made sure to dress in jeans… I didn’t want to be caught DEAD in the same pajama pants as the girl next to me. This was almost dress code, pajama pants!
I repeatedly tried to start a blog, while completely ignoring my professor talking about APA formatting, but the site was red flagged because it said ‘shit’ in the title. After staring at my professor and his crazy eye for an hour and a half, I ran to the library to see if I could start writing a blog there. The computer worked for about five minutes, but as time went on it got red flagged again and shut down. Eventually, after jumping from one computer to another, I got super pissed and walked up to the librarian in the computer lab.
“I am trying to write a blog, and I the internet keeps going down,” I sweetly smiled at the homo behind the counter. At first I just stereotyped him as a homo because he was a male librarian, but then when I saw him jump to his feet and rush over to the computer with a little switch in his run, I knew. His hands flew across the keyboard as he typed in code after code trying to assist me.
“Shit show?” He said disgusted and looked up at me… I knew he thought I was a freak, and to my surprised he looked disappointed.
“Oh yeah,” I began, “it’s not what it sounds like, it is just about dumb things I have done, there is no actual poop in the site.” I was beat red in the face, I could only imagine what he thought I was putting online for the world to see. He probably thought I was taking pictures of my shadoobees and posting them online.
“You can’t do that here,” He said and walked away. Embarrassed and ashamed, I logged off and ran out of the room. I would have to do this long handed and later transfer what I wrote to a computer when I got home, where no one would judge me, and I couldn’t think of a more cliché place then Starbucks.
I walked in with a notebook and pen, and ordered some ridiculously overpriced. It took the woman forever to make my order, and she asked if I wanted to purchase a bottle of water. I picked it up cause there was a large sign stating that every bottle they sell helps relief in Africa for water wells. I looked at the bottle, 2% of sales? Really? That is it? I put the water bottle down and shook my head at the stand, for SHAME! Eventually I grabbed my coffee and made my way to an empty table and began to look around waiting for inspiration and trying to recall funny and embarrassing things that have happened to me. This was my first mistake. Instead of brainstorming I looked out into the room and could see everyone, and all their pathetic and hipster glory.
First off I hate when people call themselves ‘unique individuals’ because they wear thick framed glasses, enjoy coffee, and are reading Walt Whitman. Actually that kind of makes you like everyone else trying to be an individual. You know who I am talking about. The kid that acts like he buys all his clothes from goodwill and other second hand stores, but really he got them at hottopic and H&M and just dirties them up before he wears them… Yeah well this place was FULL of them.
The first thing that caught my eye was the earthy mother that was sitting with her young friend discussing politics. This wasn’t what caught my eye, what caught my eye was that the woman, with absolutely no hesitation, whipped her boob out and started allowing her child to feed. First you should know I am a feminist. I love women’s rights and all that jazz, what I don’t love is seeing nipple while drinking a warm dairy beverage. It makes me feel the need to ask for assistance in putting milk in my coffee.
Eventually the woman’s friend must have came to her sense and told her girl to cover her shit up. The woman threw a blanket over her breasts and the baby’s head, and continued her conversation like nothing had happened.
Immediately I started writing as fast as my little hand could. Public boob was gold. ‘People would read this and eat it up’, I thought to myself. That was until the asshole sitting in front of me had a throat clearing fit.
I looked at the twenty some, semi attractive, guy sitting in front of me, clearing his throat and pulling at his hair. Obviously this is one of the schmucks who comes into a coffee shop, cause he likes to make it aware to everyone that he is a writer.
“Everything okay?” I grunted. I knew I was giving him exactly what he wanted, the chance to talk about himself, which I was kind of okay with. At the time I was single, and thought it may be a cute story when he and I got married that we met at a coffee shop.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I am writing a multi-genre research paper on the middle class American and how I believe they are attacked too much with increases in taxes when the government should clearly be taxing the upper-class.” I looked blankly at the guy, who took a sip of his coffee- or more than likely his hot chocolate. He didn’t have the balls to drink coffee. Obviously he thought he was a good liar, there was no way in hell he was writing a paper like that on his dumb Macbook.
“That sounds awful. Is there much you can find in that? Poems, songs, lyrical essays? It’s multi genre, how many genres are you suppose to have?” I asked him as I sipped on my black coffee. That is right, asshole, I was drinking a man’s drink, mostly because black coffee was the cheapest thing there, and for some reason I was having a Puerto Rican attack and NEEDED some black coffee….Either way it was a MANS drink….or at least a gay mans drink… I guess men drink whiskey or tigers blood.
“Oh, no it’s not too bad, and its only five genres,” he stumbled over his words. What an awful liar. I rolled my eyes and begin to write about this tool now in my notebook. Five minutes of no talking went by until eventually the guy began clearing his voice again. DAMMIT! If you want someone’s attention why not just say ‘hey fucker let’s talk’, or start taking off your clothes like mother dearest did earlier. A nipple wink and I would have gotten the hint from the guy that he wanted to talk.
“So what are you writing about?” He finally asked, leaning over to see my writings.
I tilted my notebook toward myself so he couldn’t read it…this guy was such an asshole, and had no right to read what I was putting down, it was my business and I didn’t want him to see what I was writing about him. I flipped my notebook over and I smiled at him.
“I am writing an erotic novel about animals,” I said without missing a beat and smiling. “It’s kind of like ‘Animal Farm’, but with more sex and less politics”.
The guy looked at me and nodded. He then left his seat and moved to a couple tables down. He had finally got my hint, and by the looks of it, was a little creeped out by me. I finished my coffee and ran out the door, I had about 20 minutes to get home before this coffee was going right through me, and I would start shitting my brains out, plus, that ‘Animal Farm’ idea wasn’t going to write itself.