How I Got Where I Am

Listening: Don't Tell Me It's Over- Gym Class Heroes

It was early July and I was hurdling down the highway in a car belonging to my friend’s parents when I decided I was going to move to Maine. This was sort of a shock to me, but not nearly as much as to the dear friend I had already bargained to move in with in Boise, Idaho.

I spent several years in Idaho and attempted to go back every other year. It had a desert beauty that was different than any other place I had lived. The smell of sage in the summer, the nearly unbearable heat, and the putrid cold of the winter had haunted my soul and dreams for every day since I had been removed on military orders. I missed it. Anytime we rolled passed a pasture of cows I would get homesick for the barren lower west of the state. My plans had always involved going back, getting a degree from Boise State and spending my adult life lounging around with some of my favorite people in the world. Friends I still depended on all the time to keep me sane and grounded.

But from the point that the wheels of the jet landed in the Portland Jetport, I felt something I had not felt in years.

I felt at home.

It was an idea I battled for the first few days of my visit. I had promised, swore even, that I would go to Idaho when I graduated with my degree in December. It was all I had wanted for years of my life. An attainable dream I was five months away from achieving.

As the car that picked me rolled down the interstate away from the city to Augusta and we were surrounded by trees and stories of how the pack I would be introduced to got along, I felt comfortable and even eager to meet these strangers. Admittedly, and I let my friend know this, I hated people. Over all they just aren’t the sort of beings I like to be around. Emily had great taste though, and I trusted her.

Days later when we were heading back from the coast with her brother in the driver seat and me and the lovely earth eyed David in the backseat discussing the itis and sleep comas and what are plans would be for me leaving I knew I was going to move up there. I was trying to convince Sarah to come with me because I love her endlessly and we are family, and I cannot imagine life without her. There was no plan, no organization. Simply the knowledge that I was going to live in Maine because its where I felt like I belonged.

I have been accused of moving for a boy. Though, we were not seeing each at the time and in all honesty hadn’t spent a lot of time together. It’s hard to explain that when someone already has their ideas set about a situation. Yes, David is a factor in my choice, but at the time I had no idea if my fantasy of dating him would ever be a reality. I simply had a feeling I had not felt in several years.

I was content.

It is such a simply thing to be, a state that too many take for granted with demands for more and more until their misery consumes them and their inability to sustain their happiness drowns them. The past four years had been a trial to me at times and fast-forwarded in others. There was no sense of stability for me to hold on to. I had my family, but the fear of it falling apart was too real for it to be a comfort. I had my schooling but in the scheme of my life listening to a professor tell me how to understand something lost the beauty it held when I was in grade school.

In Maine, driving along the tree lined highways where deer and fawns could be seen waiting to cross a street and the river cuts under an abandoned railroad bridge behind the gaming café, I was comfortable and happy. I was at peace. I hadn’t expected that to happen, not to me, and definitely not in a place I had chosen to visit on a whim to escape the reality of my life for a few days. A close friend and I had mutually chosen to put an end to whatever romance that could have been. It was the year after my grandfather, a man I loved dearly and had not seen in 13 years, had passed away from a heart attack. My first funeral.

I suppose in retrospect after I received that phone call from my wailing younger sister, who was fourteen at the time, I had changed. The anger at my biological father over being so self-absorbed and cowardly about calling me himself burned at me for several months. My anger at him for not bothering to pick up his other daughter so she could say goodbye to her grandfather, a man she’d known her whole life, made me want to hit him. I wanted very badly to hurt him and make him understand what type of person I thought he was. When I saw him for the first time since 1997, I lost my nerve. He was a wreck and my eyes burned from my mascara mingling with my tears. I hugged him and tried desperately to let it go.

My boyfriend at the time broke up with abruptly right after I got back from the funeral and I took two months off from work. Two weeks of that time were spent driving through Oregon with Sarah, and staying in a cabin on the beach. It was beautiful and calming and I will never be able to make her understand what she did for me. I felt like I was falling into tiny, miserable pieces and had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. But she was there to help be and we were adventurers and for a few weeks the world was our oyster.

I think that was when I really decided I needed to go. It was solidified, there were no actual plans made, but it was what I wanted. It’s what I needed, in all honesty. My baby brother was off to be a first year at the University of Virginia, I was stuck in a dead end retail job with managers I hated and customers who gave me ulcers. I developed severe anxiety about life. Nothing felt real, nothing made sense and nothing mattered. Eventually I started trying again. I made friends with a girl from work, and tried not to hate where I was at in my life. I began rewriting my novel. I tried to decide exactly what I needed to do with my life to be happy.

I changed my hair every three weeks until I was exhausted with running away from myself and who I was.

A friend and I began hanging out, and he reminded me of everything I wished I could be sometimes. I began taking Paxil to control the gut-ringing anxiety that had made me lose 15 pounds in two weeks until I was a meager 103 pounds soaking wet. The new manager at my job made me wonder how much jail time I could get for fist-fighting on company property. I made more friends and we went to dinner every week and it was great. I was gaining something of myself back. This gentleman and I parted ways peacefully and I cut my hair and bought a plane ticket that would change the direction of my life.

Emily greeted in Portland (Maine, not Oregon. Portland in Oregon is for bitches) with a bear hug and a stranger named Chelsie who was decent but obviously had stuff to work through that got in the way of her personality. I was greeted at the gaming café by Emily’s mom, dad and brother. Everyone loved me and I felt like I was 10 years old again staying the night. Sue fussed over my weight and we all laughed. I played pool. Then I met Jaime and David while we made plans to do silly things like ghost walks (worth it) and touring an abandoned asylum. David wore cargo shorts and a scarf with Converse in desperate need of duct tape or super glue and Jaime had cropped hair and shorts on over her colorful tights and purple shoes. They were beautiful and there was an instantaneous need for me to know them, and I wasn’t going to rest until I did.

The way the group worked was something I had missed after years of having one or two friends at a time. They were a family. We all slept over at Emily’s house in a pile in the living room while David played and beat Dead Space 2 all night long until us four girls took over the bedroom with beanbags and open windows. It was the best sleep in a few months for me, and it was nice to be in a place where leaving the door unlocked wasn’t considered idiocy.

I knew pretty immediately that I was going to live there. I had no idea how I was going to get there, or how I was going to pay for it, but I knew. I kept telling Emily and David and my parents that it was going to work out and to stop worrying about it. Things fall into place when they should, and this was going to happen. I had no doubts. Plans or no plans there nothing stopping this force of nature from occurring because when I had been up in the state I had been told in a subtle voice from nowhere that it would happen. Everyone has become pieced together in magically mind-bending ways.

After mom’s second hospital stay and I quit my job at Forever 21, I took a few months off from work. My car, my beloved white ninja, was murdered by a flashflood that took over our rented condo. I visited my family in South Carolina a few times. I wondered how I was going to make this happen. Emily and I began planning. I bought a new car and lived off of my payoff and savings until I landed a fantastic job at H&M that I was able to get transferred up north. Emily found an apartment that adores dogs and was just within our price range and didn’t have bars on the windows.

It’s open for us to move in the weekend I move up there. Destiny or something like that. I’m excited about it and I can’t wait. I have to visit my brother at school before I leave, and I need money to rent the U-Haul but it’s coming. I’m going to pay my grandfather back as well. I’m scared of leaving my family for the first time, but I know I’ll be alright. Dad is making me sign a contract stating if he gets his business to happen that I’ll come down and work it. Which I will. A promise is a promise. I’ll make him pay for it and count it as a tax write-off though.

17 days to go. Here I come, ready or not. Here I come.

Schools Out

The only graduation song I need. 

So, the race is won and what not. I beat the American education system with my small freckled fist like the boss I was born to be. Hilariously, the day before graduation the arts building caught fire because of the decrepit heating system. It was saved, no extensive books. But I felt Alice Cooper would be appropriate. Now I can focus on making money, going to Maine and introducing another state to my awesomeness.

On a related note to making money because I'm poor as fuck, popcorn is now a food group to me. My pyramid sort of looks like ramen over popcorn over sugar with a caffeine base. I forgot to eat before work so I came home, popped a bag and am chilling out to the Venture Bros. with it while Gidget complains about her lack of sex. She went into heat and apparently is heart broken that I put Biscuit in mom's room. Poor guy was wiped out. And walking funny. I thought he could use a break.

Hilariously, Gidget doesn't totally understand mating, so when Biscuit slows down she tries to take the top position. I don't think she knows it doesn't work that way.

Its almost Christmas. In case you didn't know. I'm stoked to the max. No idea what I'm getting, really, but everyone is home and getting along. There's a ton of cookies and macaroni and cheese. There will be bacon and meat. And cookies. And bacon. I've been listening to my random Christmas songs, like Here Comes Son Goku and what not.

H&M is great. The best job so far. Though tonight was slow and boring, I won't complain because I'm making moneys. The people are nice, the work is decent and the customers are better than Forever 21. However, those last minute bitches who like to mess up my perfect racks piss me the fuck off. Don't come into my store 10 minutes before closing, flip clothes over the rack and not even buy something. I also don't want to hear you bitch that a seven dollar dress doesn't come in your size, you angry moo cow. BITCH. This is not Torrid.

Which is horrible of me, but that woman was a level 10 narcissistic douche. I apologize we don't carry your size, I do, but don't take it out on my racks. Just because I get paid to work there doesn't mean you get to treat my store like a fucking free for all. Also, keep you damn kids out of my displays or I swear I'll loosen the mannequins from the bases enough to scare the shit out of them. Inattentive parenting dicks.

Rambling done. Good job is still good.

Sarah told me recently I don't talk about David all that often. Which is true. Why? Because if the world discovered just how freaking awesome he is, someone may try to take him. And that would mean I'd have to fight a bitch. He really is the best man in the world. Sweet, funny, smart, witty. It totally helps he thinks I'm beautiful and tells me so every day. And that he believes that my craziness is what makes me epic.

So, I try not to talk about him not just to rub how fucking great he is into my friends' faces, but also because I fear becoming that girl whose always ranting about her boyfriend. I now he's awesome. He knows I know. Fuck the world, we make our own rules. I don't want to go on facebook and do the 'I miss you baby' 'My sweetie is so cool. Can't breathe without him. Its like Stockholm but more romantic' or 'I love my boyfriend because he hasn't filed a restraining order yet, and even when he does, it won't stop me'. Those girls aggravate me to no end. I can live without David. Its perfectly human.

But I really don't want to. I think that's more important. We would survive without each other just fine, but neither of us wants to face that world. Missing pieces and whatnot.

Anyway, Goodnight world. Popcorn is gone so its time for dreams.

Tree Octopodes

It's finals week, I'm panicking like a mad woman. The weather is shifting so rapidly my head feels like it will explode in five seconds. There's a lot going on, I've got to say.

So, in my mad rush yesterday to finish (by finish I mean start, edit, and print) my eight page autobiography for Fiction class I happened to be present for something interesting. A psychology graduate student was being reviewed by a panel of senior staff (double entendre there, because all the gents were old as sin).

On a random note, I'm getting pissed at Chrome for telling me entendre is not a word, but gents is. Moving back to the topic at hand.

This girl is about twenty-two at most. She's explaining to them that in her teaching assignment she wanted to explain things in two meshed ways. Be innovative. Involve the class. How to use Xtra Normal to get the students to build funny tutorials so they grasp the materials. That caught my attention. I about pissed myself with laughter when she started explaining about The Pacific Northwest Tree Octopus and the movement to save it as an endangered species. When one the older men asked if this was a legitimate campaign I almost had to walk away.

I had never heard of this before at this point, but the mere idea was enough to make me die of laughter. Then I looked it up.

I had a joygasm. Legitimately, I snorted and felt euphoric amounts of pleasure. A website that mentions both Sasquatch, an octopus that lives in conifers, fights over grammar and how to become the biggest idiot in the woods since snype hunting is what heaven is made of. The further I got into the website, the more ridiculously amazing it became. They have faux scientific names and photos and everything. This is the best internet hoax since Bonsai Kitty.

In other news, Russia is in the midst of a revolution because Valdimir Putin rigged the presidential election in the most idiotic way possible. 140% of votes went to him alone. That's not including the votes for other candidates, mind you. You want the news on that, go to 9gag.com. Because apparently Russian government has implemented one hell of a blackout on the media so the story can't be leaked. You know. Since the developed world isn't all the keen on outright oppression.

Let's see. I'm starting work tomorrow. I have two exams left until I'm done with the semester and hopefully school. I'm anxious about it.

I don't have much else to say at the moment. So, goodnight world!

The Bitch Please Paradox

Fuck you. Fuck you and your ridiculous grade school form of cowardice that has let you bitch to me for almost TEN years instead of fixing your fucking middle class issues. Fuck the fact that with all the shit you talk about your life, with all the texts I've answered, phone calls I've taken, advice I've given, projects we've made and all the absolute whining you've done that you don't respect me enough to at least tell me you don't want to speak to me anymore. Double fuck the fact that you were cool until he put that ring on your finger.

I try not to ask for much from people. Honesty, respect. Basic human wants, I think. I ask that you treat me as well as I treat you and not more. If you can't give that, then cut ties so we can both be on our own ways. I guess that's what happened. I just had more invested than the other party.

The deal is, I had a friend from seventh grade until earlier this year. She was really close to me when we lived in Idaho, decently close in Hawaii and since I've been in Virginia due to mutual shit storms our lives haven't totally meshed. But we were still friends. When her douchebag boyfriend cheated on her and they broke up for 48 hours? I was the one she called. And I took that call. We texted and what not. Not always frequently, but I don't consistently text anyone. Even Sarah. And for God's sake, we're engaged!

I go on Facebook, curious because none of my previous texts had been answered and none of my messages or comments replied to to find out she deleted me. Okay, I get it. You're all engaged and growing up. I'm not always easy to deal with and those who can deserve a trophy no doubt. But you could have the fucking respect to tell me personally you have a problem or are tired or whatever the issue is before just cowardly dipping out like a bitch.

In all honesty, its understandable. I won't lie about it. Anyone who knows me knows I can not only be a bitch, but that I'm sometimes very hard to deal with. I'm not even angry she doesn't want to be friends. I'm completely angry with how she went about it. She's not a bad person. As annoyed as I am I'm not an idiot. She's starting a life with someone she loves and all that. Being all adulty. My complaint is completely related to the fact she didn't have the courtesy to forewarn me. Granted, its her nature to avoid conflict as much as humanly possible, still. 8 years feels like it merits some sort of heads up. Well, at any rate I wish her the best. I hope her fiance mans up and matures. I hope she finds a job she's happy at and that her self esteem starts to sky rocket. She does deserve to be happy for once. Its not something she's had a lot of in her life.

In other news. I graduate soon! WOO. I will be the fourth Foltermann, second member of my household and I believe first Holt to receive a college degree. Maybe. My cousin or aunt may have beaten me to it. I will be officially done with school December 17th and plan to party it up with my parents and maybe Tim and a few former work buddies.

I have a new job. I now work at the illustrious H&M, and I am obligated to mention none of my opinions or rants reflect the company, personnel, or values and I am not in any manner a spokesperson or public endorser. I'm excited about it. The company in itself is very interesting and well coordinated, the staff is awesome and the work is stuff I can do. Oh, and there's a store in Portland, Maine so I can likely transfer up there after my exit exam in January.

Which, my move date has been pushed back about a month. I neglected to take my exit exam BEFORE graduating, so I have to take the next one in January. After that I should be home free. I'll be in Maine, tackling moose, cuddling with my beau, and partying with Emily. Who is, by the way, going to be the bestest roommate in the whole wide world. I can't wait to live with her.

I want some steampunk-esque goggles to wear on top of my head. I don't know why, other than I like the way they look. And I have some things to ask my new manager about  before I do them. There's nothing in the handbook for H&M about hair, tattoos or piercings so I want to double check with her before I dye my bangs green or turquoise. I had them pink but it faded quickly.

I'm also on chapter 9 of my novel and missed my National Novel Writing Month deadline by 433 words. One day this book will be on shelves. I will see it happen!

I'm too tired to type right. Off to bed I go.

Goodnight world!!

No longer a Ginger, Still no Soul

Well. I'm hungry, its 11:12pm and I have no more episodes of Big Bang Theory to ogle. Ramen it is.

So, I've been rotating easily between the two worlds of severe boredom and sleep deprivation lately and the result is doing some odd things, writing several chapters for National Novel Writing Month in a single day, and discovering 9GAG. Oh, 9GAG. I feel like you're what everyone meant to save me from my warning me about 4chan. Too late. Soul's gone.

Escaped being a ginger (not that I dislike it) by dyeing my hair dark brown, still forfeit my soul. I'm just doomed, it seems, might as well enjoy it!

So, I'm not sure if I actually made a reference to this or not before but when I visited Maine a post-friend of a friend of mine kept doing what they called The Necromorph Dance. Dead Space, bro. Now, these fucking humanoid monstrosities are nightmares bred with spiders.

(Stolen from Courtesy of ....too fucking long. Its from Google)

They like to eat you. Or stab you. Or delight you with a casual dance that is meant to be imitated with two human beings because we simply lack the sheer number of arms necessary to accomplish the dance on our own. Watching this was a highlight of my visit. Watching Emily fling herself onto David's back and they both started doing it without cue? Out of this world. Doing it on your own, behind your father's back?

Yeah, not as cool. Anyway, school is nearly done and I'm managing to fight the horde of zombies also known as final projects. You want something that truly wants your brain? Try be a fucking engineer. I'm not, but still, vector calculus looks like Klingon to me. 

In local news, I need a FUCKING job. Applied at Target, got a dismissal email. Ka-fucking-pow, bro. Not even a decent rejection call. Just an email that basically said "We saw you worked for Forever 21, and we choose to not associate with your kind." I cuss a lot more later at night than I do when the sun is out. Like a language vampire. Not that I'm much better during the day. I applied at H&M, so hopefully that goes through. Its a temp position, which is what I want, pays over minimum and hey, clothes. All I know is that I need to get my savings back up so I can get my ass up north. I want to start my year of good graces. 

Well, I'm done ranting and such for the night. More updating. Other than my ferrets being overly stimulated jackwagons there isn't much else to talk about. So, have a goodnight. 

Ciao, bitches. 

Land Ducks

Ninja the Ferret is a small furry pain my ass, too good at proving his name. This damn critter devises ways to escape all of his prisons. Seriously. If I didn't have Gidget I'd lose him again. She's a pretty good pointer when it comes to the ferrets, honestly. She nudges him back over the baby gate with her nose. She herds and traps him when he gets loose until I can come fetch him. In another world she'd be a fabulous hunting dog. The one thing she isn't afraid of.

The other ferrets are growing pretty big. They're getting heavy. And way more cuddly than ferrets of the past have been. Gizmo loves to be held. Stitch likes to have his belly rubbed. They're so adorable. I love my boys.

In celebration of my dad's success in school we went out to lunch at El Azteca, a Mexican restaurant. It was nice, we don't go to that particular spot often. The food was really good though. Seriously. And my favorite part? There were freaking ducks outside.

Land ducks.

I say land ducks because back in September, on the 11th when we were hunting for ferrets at Animal Jungle we saw a momma with ducklings. They were adorable fuzz balls. We had to swing the truck around a bend to get close enough for pictures without bothering them. They were living under the cover of a tree by a bank. It caught us my surprise not only because they were in middle of a fucking shopping center, but because these little fluffy bumpkins looked to be very young pretty late in the year.

See? Momma and her little ducklings hiding out under a tree.

Well, we go into El Azteca to get to Mexican party on. Without the tequila. My parents don't need to see me like that, no sir. So, we come waddling out of the place and what do I see round the corner of the back of the building? Land ducks. And they've gotten BIG.

In typical Cynthia fashion I made a big fuss and said if I was out of the truck I would grab one of those ducks. Mom says she'd like to see that. Dad decides this show would indeed be worth it, pulls around the parking lot and parks letting me escape the truck. Mom is taking pictures of this whole thing, by the way, determined I'm going to get mauled. Ducks are some of the only birds I tolerate. Birds are freaky. I dislike most of the them. Annoying, chirpy gits.

What happens when I stalk up to these late bloomers?

The little guys come running right up to me wagging their little ducky tails. It was amazing. I pet a duck and I liked it. Nothing quite like disappointing your mother when she's expecting you to be attacked outright by wild animals you have no business messing with in the first place. And for the record, I do not endorse this. Because they are my ducks. You can go assault your own land ridden aquatic fowl. 

Look at em. Cute little buggers. They're still clinging to a few baby down feathers. Such an odd thing, but it was amazing. I thought I'd share this amazing story. And for the record, Virginia Beach Kill Shelters, if you take my ducks I will maim you.

Quack, motherfucker. 

Like and Addict

I'm sick. Again. This is getting old fast, I used to have an immune system you set a fucking atom bomb off near without repercussions. Now I'm on a mixture of leftover hydrocodone and Tylenol Cold PM Warming, still unable to sleep. I'm considering making my own variety of Lazy Cakes with belladonna and melatonin.

I wrote a crappy rough draft of my project piece for Experimental Psychology, a class I'm pretty much scrapping by in based on my ability to take tastes and bullshit papers. Also, eating extra credit like its a fucking cupcake. The paper was late, so I'm sure that adding that to the fact it was realistically incomplete  I might not get good credit for it. I'm going to have to set up a time to talk to the professor and see if I can make up the projects somehow. Oh, to top off the beginning of the week I have two exams. Awesome. And I believe I have a story due in Fiction.

I'm not in the best of moods. Thank God tomorrow is Halloween. I love Halloween. And I hope I get the call from JCPenney tomorrow. I'm tired of arguing with my mom over whether or not I'll be able to move in December. Its happening, whether or not I'm totally prepped for it. I've made up my mind and for once in my life I'm sticking to my guns and gritting through the speed bumps.

There was something else I wanted to say, but I don't remember. Let's see... Friday was awesome even though I got sick from it. Time with Tim is always a way to go about my life. We went to dinner, frozen yogurt and then to Hunt Club Farms and tortured some children. I was really on my game and I got lei'd by a doll girl. It was awesome. I made friends with zombies and got attacked by a small hillbilly child who was the most adorable fucking thing ever. I also pet sat some guinea pigs who were very sweet. Getting paid in cookies? The only way to live, man.

Oh! I realized Saturday that I treat everything like I'm addicted to it. I drink like I'm in recovery, I refuse drugs because of the idea that I may fall into a deep abyss of pain and ruin, I don't play internet games or do anything outright fun and of my generation for the fear that it will consume me. Its an interesting realization. I may expand on that later.

I have to go now, I think the medicine is kicking in. I'm about to pass out.