Mehgan’s Gift

Mehgan was my college sweetheart. At the time it seemed serious. She held children as the glory of the world.

“The one thing I’m naturally trained to do right.” she would say.

We parted ways a little after college. It just didn’t feel right. She’d helped me a lot and I knew she made me graduate but I wasn’t right for her. Along the years that came and went, Mehgan was my friend. We stuck together, even though we weren’t supposed to. The years we’d spent learning everything about each other just made staying around the one another natural.

We went through partners and had a few times where we thought we’d marry but it never happened. We joined together out of loneliness every once in awhile but we never again took up a serious relationship. And when I turned 36, as we sat together topping off the last bottle of liquor that I’d managed to find in the back of her kitchen cabinet, she told me a few things I hadn’t heard from her before.

One was that the bottle of liquor was a flavoring for shaved ice that just happened to have 10% alcohol in it. The second was… She wanted a child with me.

“All men are stupid but at least, with your genes, the child can be beautiful.”

I knew I hadn’t been the cause for her single life. Mehgan was slightly strange like the misplacement of the “h” in her name. She liked to dress in sexy lingerie when no one would see her. She decorated her guest room with porcelain dolls so the pushy dates would run screaming. She had a habit of cracking my fingers when our hands touched. Mehgan could stare silently at someone she didn’t know and base her judgement on how she liked them by their reaction and only that.

Mehgan was my dearest friend. She understood the weird in me and didn’t ask questions when I did things. So on her 35th birthday I gave Mehgan the ingredients to make her child. I surprised her as an extra measure. She knew what I’d done when I collapsed next to her and when I thought she’d be happy she got up and left. I didn’t hear from her again until about 9 months later when she returned my gift. The only thing was, it wasn’t Mehgan who returned the child.

A man stood with the bundle carrying half my genes and told me the child was mine. He told me Mehgan died in child birth. She’d known it was going to happen and told him to give the baby to me. He handed me a clip board like I was signing off on a package and he told me to name my baby. Mehgan had arranged it all, even the way the man spoke sounded so much like her.

I could have done many things. I could have told him that at no point had I actually wanted a child; but, I made the mistake of looking at it. It was a little boy, staring blankly at me, completely silent and he was beautiful. I didn’t see an ounce of me in him. So I pursed my lips and made kissing noises at him. His eyes began to sparkle. He seemed to reach for me so I took him.

“He’s a stare-er.” the man said, “he can look at you all day without a peep.”

I laughed, cuddling the child to me and told the man, “that’s because he doesn’t like you. Isn’t that right, Jayke?”

Where I Am

There’s a place in which I dwell
It tells me things
It gives me Hell
It shows me things for what they are
It gives me life in images, voices, & words
It’s not real and it’s not reality
It doesn’t lie
It doesn’t hide the world’s ugly secrets
Sometimes what it shows me makes me smile
Sometimes what it shows me makes me cry
All the time it’s spinning
Telling it’s tales to me
Always whispering in my ear
Always screaming in my thoughts
I close my eyes and there is no darkness
That darkness would be too comforting
Too soothing
When I close my eyes I see dreams
They float around with hope and love
Fulfillment and fear
They swirl within me
Kept safe and dormant
They tell me things
It gives me…
I don’t know what it gives me
My eyes are open again

Misfortunate

“And so, like all those villains I’d read about as a child, I told myself I could no longer have a human name. I was an outcast, beaten by my own self hate and driven to the outskirts of sanity. I stood on the cliff of despair and I laughed to the sky. ‘My name is Nothing and those who call it will be just like they say.’ I spat over the cliff, watching my loogy become one with the thrashing sea below. ‘I’ll kill them all, Cherie, I’ll kill them all.’ I turned from the ravages of the growing storm and faced my task, the city. I lit a cigarette, ‘they’ll keep you company, Cherie, won’t you like that?’”

That’s all I thought up for the story Misfortunate. It’s raining, I’m bored, and I was editing up a picture of the guy that plays Sheldon Cooper. Ever start editing a picture then think up a story while editing and just edit the pic to look like the character? Whelp this is the main character, the narrator of the story. He looks kinda like the joker & two face put together. Either way he was in an accident that killed his little sister, Cherie & it makes him kinda crazy.

I think it’s interesting to follow a story in a psychopath’s point of view… So people can see the logic behind crazy cuz sometimes it really might make perfect sense to them.

A rainy day from my past

As my xterra rocked I jokingly posted this picture up as that galactis guy from the fantastic four second movie but really.. It was just as scary. Felt like the world was being swallowed…

Christmas Oriented

I made this last year when I didn’t have this and I just remembered its Christmas again. Forgive me, I live in Texas. It’s kinda hard to tell the seasons apart.

On the ___ day of Christmas my true love text to me…

12) less than 3′s
11) bold print words
10) kiss faces
9) forward chains
8 ) new phone numbers
7) where are you’s
6) Christmas pictures
5) o-m-g’s
4) exclamations marks
3) periods
2) t’s in hot

And a semi colon with the number 3

Where the Mind Goes

I believe without a shadow of a doubt that cheating is genetic.

Having said that I suppose there’s an explanation that has to be offered for heated or chilled debate. I offer this:

“Hello, my name is Sara and cheating is in my blood. Now we shall commence the healing.”

For protection sake I won’t say where I get my cheating blood from, only that it is there and siblings of the cheater blood have cheated just as well.

Now don’t misunderstand me. Cheating is in a general state and can be from looking at someone’s answers to a test or having multiple partners. Cheating is a wide and general as you or I can make it without being ridiculous.

The thing I’m getting at is the cheater gene. It’s animalistic and it’s real. Everyone is tempted with it but there are some that have even more influence to follow through. It takes a mixture of deprivation, courage and subtle lack of devotion to oneself. If anyone has said that cheating just happened and they didn’t think about, they have forgotten their thought process. It was thought about but with the now obvious proof it was lost. The thoughts that made it so right then, in the face of trouble, make everything twisted and wrong. It is at this time you have either activated or begun your cheating life. Prepare for the ride, both hands on the bar, buckle your seatbelt, and I’m prepared to see that you’ve cheated and put only one one hand on the bar.

From first cheat you will see the next chances to cheat so much easier. You can work them out in your mind and now have experience to not get caught (or, excuse me, not given the chance to recognize you were wrong). Most of you will find that this calculating knowledge has always been there, weighing the right and wrong on an already tipped balance. This calculator has always proved you right and always will. No matter when you’re wrong this knowledge (tipped to good you) will only tilt backward a small tap. It wants you to cheat. It’s the only way you can do right. Cheating is your fall back when you already know you’re wrong. Cheating is that thing that can control the bad, besides… if you cheat on this one thing you can do better with something else and things will balance out. Cheating is there to help you.

Not that I’d have to say it but I will.. Cheating is bad. Don’t do it. Fight it like only you can, like you have been since you were born.

It’s hard not to cheat but the benefits are plentiful where you can find them. You can even find release on little things that don’t matter. Start a lil diet and cheat, eating a piece of cake. The point is to cheat yourself. You’ll instantly know you just cheated yourself and you can get that disgusting rotting feeling in your stomach that lets you know how others would feel if you cheated them. This slowly but steadily tips your inner scale that relies on cheating. Soon you won’t have to cheat. You’ll return to being tempted but not following through. You cage the monster inside. You tell it no. But it’s always going to be there. It’s always going to rub your shoulders on a hard day and whisper sweet nothing’s into your ear. In the end, it may be the only thing that will never leave you and that sad knowledge, that gruesome battle, is transferred to your child. A world view through your eyes, tucked deep into your blood that raced through your heart where the cheat pumped so wildly. That blood that soaked your reproductive jewels that could each one day be your smiling child. All with that first cheat you have shared your monster with your child who would have been born unknowing of the thrill and instant inner satisfaction of cheating. How sad, right?

Whelp that’s my thought of the day. Amen to that.

Mr. Thomas Riley (seconds, anyone?)

Class started with three concealed weapons, two cheat sheets and a something that looked like a beer bottle with the nozzle in a different spot. I threw the sh*t into my desk, locked the gated area around the board and my desk, and started by talking to the students. It didn’t work. It was like yelling to the singer while you’re in the back of their sold out concert. They just completely ignore you like a douche.

In a month Lucy made a game of asking me about my day at work when she was down. She liked my expressions more than my words so I just started giving her faces as I thought about my day. She thought it was funnier with all my facial tattoos. The dotted brow and very expressive ribbon brow on the opposite side made anger look like a doll on crack. It’s on good standing that Lucy has very amusing sentence wording that I like to repeat when I get the opportunity. I never really do.

One day, at Hell school, a teacher decided to give me advice. He said that I should stand inside the cage; it makes for less scratches and sticky gunk in my hair. Why he waited so long to tell me was and still is beyond me. Nonetheless, I stood inside the cage. They threw larger stuff and a weak chain gave way to a pointy knife. I ended up with a blade in my arm. The scar tore the television with “I Love Lucy” on it in half. Dad tried to make me feel better by drawing angry eyes on the bunny and tortoise and putting smoking escaping the TV. At least I think he was trying to make me feel better. He couldn’t say much else through the tears and laughter making him choke on his cigarette.

I suppose I was mad about the class making my best buds lose their favorite show and only TV. I put glue on every chair, took all their bags away while they struggled, locked the sh*t in my cage and forced knowledge on them. After the first three got duct tape on their mouths the others shut up. It was a peaceful class until the end when I ripped off the tape. I thought I’d get fired. Lucy said I would but I just got my car jacked. If Lucy hadn’t done a number on the duct tape trio when they raided our house then that would have been trashed and robbed too. I treated Lucy to dinner, banged her till she passed out, and called it even. If there’s one thing I didn’t need it was to owe Lucy another damn thing. See I learn. They don’t call me Mr. Thomas Riley for nothing. It’s my name. They have to.

Mr.Thomas Riley

I was five when I got my first tattoo. It wasn’t my idea. It was the idea of some sick, drunk, tattoo artist that felt my face wasn’t manly enough. Many people had sought to impose their ideals on me in the past but none made it so far as to change me. A tattoo was a hell of a way to start.

He slid the needle across my face, piercing my skin again and again like no words could ever do, and in the end, he drew a thick mustache under my nose. I was a five year old pubescent… my father was so proud. He was just so damn proud of his handy work.

Years passed and my father needed a test subject. My entire body slowly filled with missed matched characters from old movies to new cartoons. One of my favorites (since I couldn’t stop him I might as well have tried to think of them as something I wanted) was a bunny sitting against a tortoise, smoking what looked like a beer bottle and watching that old show “I Love Lucy”. I loved Lucy too, hence, the two beer smokers were my best buds. They were my best buds because no one let their kid hang out with the tattooed, baby eyed, freak.

At about 18 I met a girl I couldn’t help but fall in love with. She was into the punk rock (the only type of people I could attract) and she had a gentle personality… half the time. Her name was ironically Lucy and she had a very bad, untreated, chemical imbalance. Her family, in denial, suspected that she was just in a life long rebellion and did their best to work around her mood swings. I, however, had spent my life under needle and smoke. If I had nerves that could feel pain, that was news to me.

Lucy and I lost ourselves in a love so deep it was like being in a never ending mosh pit, screaming for joy while beating the living shit out of each other. She beat me more than I did her but there was only so much I could take before I slugged her back. It seemed the fastest way to get sweet Lucy back… unconsciousness just works that way.

It was Lucy who convinced me to take up teaching. She’d accepted her life long rebellious stage and rightfully believed it would never work around students. I was to live her dream for her. It didn’t matter to me. I was dumb, in love, and had spent my whole life living as someone else’s something. If I’d ever had a choice to be something I wanted to be I would have asked for the right answer. Anyways, on my graduation day, Lucy celebrated by beating me over the head with a celebratory wine bottle and taking off after throwing my “dead” body into the river. I woke before I drowned, returned to my home, and sat, wrapped in a blanket, in my backyard watching my diploma burn in a mini bonfire I’d made.

A month later my dad told me about the local school looking for teachers for their unruly kids as he tattooed “#1 Teacher” across my knuckles. I wasn’t in the mood to answer so I waited for him to take his cigarette out of his mouth, blow smoke in my face, and tell me I should do something with what I learned before I said I’d apply.

As it turns out, schools don’t hire people covered from head to toe in tattoos. At least the interviewer had enough balls to ask if the tattoos went into my hair line as well. About the time I pulled out a blade and shaved off a chunk of my hair to show him my snake head tattoo, I think I lost the job. My father had a big laugh from the retell though. So it wasn’t all bad.

Lucy returned three months after the incident, when she thought everyone had forgotten we had been together. She missed her family and some guy in California had prescribed her some life-long-rebellion suppressants. She fainted when she walked in on her parents and I having dinner together. Oh sure we laughed about the whole “almost killing me” thing but we didn’t think it was safe to get back together. We were both afraid that I might live out a subconscious revenge plan if I ever found an opening. So we agreed to just be friends with benefits (on terms of lonely Friday nights when neither of us had dates and we were horny).

Again, Lucy found a way for me to live out her dream. She all but dipped me in base make-up, taught me the proper way to be an adult, and sent me to every interview that would have me. Two weeks later I had a job as a high school teacher in a downtown area. Kids arrived by VIA bus and the teachers had to park in a parking lot underneath the school. It looked like a run down business building more than a school but it was a start. Lucy didn’t even celebrate by trying to kill me, again. She moved in with me so she could retouch my make-up and go to the nearby college for a teaching degree. Yup… things were really starting to look up for me, good ole Mr. Thomas Riley.

Fight it Up

One of my favorite movies is Fight Club. Just let that hang there for a second. Silently wonder what the heck I’m going to be getting at.

Today I caught myself quoting the movie without even realizing I was quoting the movie.

Before I start to explain I’ll say this one thing. I like to plan out the future. I like to plan it because I’m already living the now and it just seems so much more fun to plan for the future. It could happen, it could not happen… just as long as I feel expectant of it then I’m happy just planning it. So now back to the story…

I was thinking of what I would tell my kids about death. Another one to sink in for a second. Does anyone else wonder what to say to non-existent children about death? Maybe you should…. hmm?

My boyfriend is scared of death. He doesn’t like to talk about it, it doesn’t want to acknowledge it, and I seriously think he’d wither away if I ever died before him. It kinda makes me want to do my best to die after him. But that would mean I’d have to start being healthy D: GASP!

He is the man I want to have children with hence… they’re gonna have a little of him in them. So, naturally, I need to instil a non-fear of death. Sure you need to be aware of it. You need to not seek it out but you can’t be afraid of it. You just can’t.

Are you afraid of breathing? No. It’s natural. You don’t fear nature, you accept it. Death is a part of nature because it will always be there. You cannot defy death. You have to accept that one day you will die. That’s where I realized I was quoting Fight Club and I was all “Shiz! I can’t quote movies to my kids!” but really… Fight Club has very good points.

You must accept death because there is nothing you can do about it. It will happen and when it happens to you, you won’t care as much because you will be gone and as I understand it… in whatever you believe there is a hell of a lot of clarity that comes after death. No one really stands around going “Duh… what do I do now?” Catholics: There’s a tunnel or a lil angel that comes down and leads you to wherever you need to go next, Other Religions: You pass on to be a goat or a caterpillar, Atheist: Nothing happens… you no longer exist to yourself and your left behind body rots in the grave. By the way, a very pleasing visual, ain’t it?

The place where you really have to accept death is when it happens to others because they now got clarity but you… you were left behind. You are living in the world of questions and there aren’t any answers that anyone can agree on. There is only one fact and one fact alone that if you asked someone else they’d know the answer. That person is dead and you are alive.

You must look at the people around you and realize that they will all die one day. That bitch in accounting, that snotty little smart ass kid across the street, and everyone you love will one day die. That is a fact. Now accept it, know it, and cherish them while they’re alive. Hell even take solace in the fact that the people you hate will one day be eaten by ground maggots. Oh so gross… that friggin got me hacking for a second there… ew. But… I WON’T ERASE!!!

So death is death. Living is for the living. While you’re alive make memories and when you’re dying you’ll have something really nice to look over in your mind. The important part to death is that you were living enough to die.

Thank you and Amen to That

Hello world! *winky face* ;D

So this is my first blog \^o^/ hello!

First of all, lets get to know each other. “Hello, how are you? How are the kids?” …. you know it’s very rude to not respond to someone when they’re talking to you >: /

Anywho <–( socially made word… it’s sooo friggin real ) here are the ground rules. I’m going to talk about the things that I think up during the day. I might not get to write it down the same day that I think them up so I might improvise. Improvising (on my part) is a form of lying so if we’re going to start a healthy relationship I think you should know that I’m going to lie to you every now and again. It’s nothing serious, it’ll be like a thought that I had on Monday suddenly turns into a thought I had on Thursday… things like that. We cool with that? … you’re still not answering. This isn’t a good start, ya know. I’m doing my best here!

BACK TO THE LIST! So I’m going to close the blog with “Amen to That”. I’ve always wanted a catch phrase and since this is a mythical experience I think it’s as good a time as any to input a catch phrase for myself. “Amen to That” was the best I could think of in the short expanse of time I allotted myself. I’m supposed to be packing for a weekend trip, you see, and this wasn’t on the list of things I should do at this current moment in time. But there is no time like the present because after you open it, it’s in the past.

Last rule… yea it was a very short list but I went general so that it wouldn’t be too many rules between you and me. I’m thinking of the tangle of lies and experiences we’ll go through in the future. This is only to prepare you for a life of me…. have I told you my name yet? Well I’ll tell you at the end. We’re on the paragraph that talks about the last rule. Lets see… I’m gonna write about whatever I feel, I’m gonna lie, and I’ve made a catch phrase for myself. I actually think I covered everything. Oh no! Wait! Last rule is!!! Don’t take my words as a set in stone Gospel of Truth. I’m a simple woman, a single person. It is the voice of many that create the laws of all. A single phenomenon is flawed and has a single view brought on by two eyes, one brain, and a single experience in the vast world of differences. You cannot just believe one. You must believe yourself, someone else, and the voices that scream from all around you. If you merely do one then you’re not using all your senses.

Okay so now my name. My name is Sara Zuniga. I’m a morbidly obese girl (according to the table chart in my doctor’s office). I have the style that fits me which is comprised of anything that actually, comfortably, fits me from when I was in elementary. I have a slight phobia of crowds when I stand as a single substance. I’m online search inept, I have two cats, one boyfriend, more than 12 cousins, and I’m happy being who I am… even if I’m not all too happy with some of the things I do but as I said, “I’m human.”

Thank You. “Amen to That” haha!