View from a grassy knoll

12:56 p.m. Stickin it to the man 2004-01-19

Reaped Ahh, MLK day. Gotta love the Civil Rights movement giving me a day off to ponder the finer intricacies of social construction.
To celebrate, I wrote the world's biggest fuck you email to my father. We'll see how that goes. I had to, the guilt manifesting in dreams where Evil Gramma chases me barefoot onto melting asphalt were getting to be a bit too much. My horoscope yesterday read "the one who makes the first move will get more personal benefit from the resolution." You can't argue with the stars as read by Hollywood's advisor to them, now can you?
So weez sent the virtiolic letter, wanna hear it, here it go:
This is not an apology. I said those over vacation, however undeserved & unwarranted they may have been. You invited us into a wasp�s nest, & then expected us to stay to take the poison. I�m thankful for that experience though, it taught me that nothing in life is free, however clich� that may sound. Water is thicker than blood, especially when the blood is that of your inconvenient brat offspring.
This is not an apology. In fact, you should be the one asking for forgiveness. Remember my twelfth birthday? Probably not, you didn�t even send a card because you were too busy
snorting coke off some South Florida stripper�s tit. You weren�t around the summer you dropped us off at the West Palm Condo. You weren�t there when your mother locked us in our room, screaming about some horrible faux pas we committed, reading my diary and then WRITING RESPONSES IN IT. I�ll send you a copy if you like. You were absent the year mom used the birthday money you sent me to pay the electric bill, you
conveniently missed most of our awful childhood, & expected new clothes & trips to Universal Studios would make up for it. You can�t believe we left like that, our behavior is so mortifying, but you were never want to listen to the reasons why we are how we are.
A long time ago you sent me some apologetic card, explaining how fucked up everything was, & that some day you�d sit down & explain it all to me. To be honest, I don�t need to know. I figured it out for myself, & this is what I�ve discovered: we�re an inconvenience.
A mistake you�d rather forget in a large puddle of Cap�n Morgan�s. An old photo exiled to the junk room of your perfect house.
You know what though, that�s fine. I�m grown up, & learned to accept things the way they are. I don�t need your vitriolic family judging me when I�ve done pretty well on my own. I don�t need to watch you kill yourself with a bottle. Remember my high school graduation, when you came over the morning after to say goodbye? All your father could say was, �you shoulda had a boy Margie, you shoulda had a boy.� & you finally did get a boy, and hopefully that will turn out well for you. Something to be proud of where the brats have failed. This is not an apology. This is the way things are.
You should be proud of us, we�re not pregnant or incarcerated or addicted to meth. We don�t ask you for scads of money, we turn a blind eye to your drinking & past indiscretions. We�re getting Master�s degrees, good jobs, & going out on our own in the world. We don�t give a fuck what people think. But still we are your little brats, your
spawn of that crazy bitch you accidentally married, freaky inconveniences to be judged, demonized & kept at bay.
Well dad, that�s fine. I don�t plan on returning to Florida for awhile. I don�t plan to talk to you or see you if I can help it. I�m over being sorry. I�m no longer the victim. The point�s been made, we�re not welcome in your home. & if it�s because you think we�re too dirty, freaky & unmannered to be seen with the better part of your family, that�s your problem. Frankly, we like who we are, & in the long run, you did nothing to make us turn out this
way. Maybe that�s why you hate us. Maybe that�s why you�re adverse to spending more than twelve hours with one of your offspring, why you couldn�t drive W back home after break, why you laugh at the things we do, why you drink so goddamn much. You�ve hurt me for the last time. My sister too. Just keep in mind, while your mother was kicking us out of town & telling us in no uncertain terms how shitty we were, W might be dying of ovarian cancer. But there was no time to talk about that when we could make fun
of how much she eats, was there? Another thing to forget during happy hour, I suppose. It would be a shame, to outlive all your siblings and a daughter, but I digress.
This is not an apology, I want this letter to hurt you. I want you to realize the pain & bullshit you�ve put us through for the better part of our lives. I want you to understand why we left & didn�t come back. We let you back in when most people would have told
you to fuck off, & perhaps that was our mistake. I don�t regret it though, I just feel stronger. Have a nice life, if you can call it that.
Yeah, I'm a bitch. "honor thy mother & father", whatever. Somebody needs to honor me first.
Onto bigger & better things. NOLA life has reached that easy calm before the MG storm. Thursday & Saturdays for dancing, Sunday for hack and slashing, the rest of the week for toiling. It's cool. I'm not leaving for awhile.
& I'm getting a column published in MLAnew5 in a couple months. Just a lil' ol newsletter type thing, but ol' weez's name is finally in the big print. Archived in the Lib Lit Database for all eternity. Step one of my world domination is complete.
So plans for the day: Bil0xi boy is coming to visit. We're going to the Suicide Girl's burlesque show. New tats beneath my ridiculously short skirt & a tall boy on my arm, mmm hmm.
So happy MLK day, be you toiling or troubling. Do something for yourself or your fellow human, & take a lesson from the day's namesake: never be afraid to stick it to the man.
Sown

Fresh Cut
New digs - 2004-05-25
Bachelor hell - 2004-05-10
Grumble - 2004-05-07
Coachella pt. 2, or goddamn do my fingers hurt - 2004-05-05
Coachella part one, or, this monkey's gone to indio rawk heaven - 2004-05-05

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12:56 p.m.	Stickin it to the man	2004-01-19
Reaped	Ahh, MLK day. Gotta love the Civil Rights movement giving me a day off to ponder the finer intricacies of social construction. To celebrate, I wrote the world's biggest fuck you email to my father. We'll see how that goes. I had to, the guilt manifesting in dreams where Evil Gramma chases me barefoot onto melting asphalt were getting to be a bit too much. My horoscope yesterday read "the one who makes the first move will get more personal benefit from the resolution." You can't argue with the stars as read by Hollywood's advisor to them, now can you? So weez sent the virtiolic letter, wanna hear it, here it go: This is not an apology. I said those over vacation, however undeserved & unwarranted they may have been. You invited us into a wasp�s nest, & then expected us to stay to take the poison. I�m thankful for that experience though, it taught me that nothing in life is free, however clich� that may sound. Water is thicker than blood, especially when the blood is that of your inconvenient brat offspring. This is not an apology. In fact, you should be the one asking for forgiveness. Remember my twelfth birthday? Probably not, you didn�t even send a card because you were too busy snorting coke off some South Florida stripper�s tit. You weren�t around the summer you dropped us off at the West Palm Condo. You weren�t there when your mother locked us in our room, screaming about some horrible faux pas we committed, reading my diary and then WRITING RESPONSES IN IT. I�ll send you a copy if you like. You were absent the year mom used the birthday money you sent me to pay the electric bill, you conveniently missed most of our awful childhood, & expected new clothes & trips to Universal Studios would make up for it. You can�t believe we left like that, our behavior is so mortifying, but you were never want to listen to the reasons why we are how we are. A long time ago you sent me some apologetic card, explaining how fucked up everything was, & that some day you�d sit down & explain it all to me. To be honest, I don�t need to know. I figured it out for myself, & this is what I�ve discovered: we�re an inconvenience. A mistake you�d rather forget in a large puddle of Cap�n Morgan�s. An old photo exiled to the junk room of your perfect house. You know what though, that�s fine. I�m grown up, & learned to accept things the way they are. I don�t need your vitriolic family judging me when I�ve done pretty well on my own. I don�t need to watch you kill yourself with a bottle. Remember my high school graduation, when you came over the morning after to say goodbye? All your father could say was, �you shoulda had a boy Margie, you shoulda had a boy.� & you finally did get a boy, and hopefully that will turn out well for you. Something to be proud of where the brats have failed. This is not an apology. This is the way things are. You should be proud of us, we�re not pregnant or incarcerated or addicted to meth. We don�t ask you for scads of money, we turn a blind eye to your drinking & past indiscretions. We�re getting Master�s degrees, good jobs, & going out on our own in the world. We don�t give a fuck what people think. But still we are your little brats, your spawn of that crazy bitch you accidentally married, freaky inconveniences to be judged, demonized & kept at bay. Well dad, that�s fine. I don�t plan on returning to Florida for awhile. I don�t plan to talk to you or see you if I can help it. I�m over being sorry. I�m no longer the victim. The point�s been made, we�re not welcome in your home. & if it�s because you think we�re too dirty, freaky & unmannered to be seen with the better part of your family, that�s your problem. Frankly, we like who we are, & in the long run, you did nothing to make us turn out this way. Maybe that�s why you hate us. Maybe that�s why you�re adverse to spending more than twelve hours with one of your offspring, why you couldn�t drive W back home after break, why you laugh at the things we do, why you drink so goddamn much. You�ve hurt me for the last time. My sister too. Just keep in mind, while your mother was kicking us out of town & telling us in no uncertain terms how shitty we were, W might be dying of ovarian cancer. But there was no time to talk about that when we could make fun of how much she eats, was there? Another thing to forget during happy hour, I suppose. It would be a shame, to outlive all your siblings and a daughter, but I digress. This is not an apology, I want this letter to hurt you. I want you to realize the pain & bullshit you�ve put us through for the better part of our lives. I want you to understand why we left & didn�t come back. We let you back in when most people would have told you to fuck off, & perhaps that was our mistake. I don�t regret it though, I just feel stronger. Have a nice life, if you can call it that. Yeah, I'm a bitch. "honor thy mother & father", whatever. Somebody needs to honor me first. Onto bigger & better things. NOLA life has reached that easy calm before the MG storm. Thursday & Saturdays for dancing, Sunday for hack and slashing, the rest of the week for toiling. It's cool. I'm not leaving for awhile. & I'm getting a column published in MLAnew5 in a couple months. Just a lil' ol newsletter type thing, but ol' weez's name is finally in the big print. Archived in the Lib Lit Database for all eternity. Step one of my world domination is complete. So plans for the day: Bil0xi boy is coming to visit. We're going to the Suicide Girl's burlesque show. New tats beneath my ridiculously short skirt & a tall boy on my arm, mmm hmm. So happy MLK day, be you toiling or troubling. Do something for yourself or your fellow human, & take a lesson from the day's namesake: never be afraid to stick it to the man.	Sown
Fresh Cut New digs - 2004-05-25 Bachelor hell - 2004-05-10 Grumble - 2004-05-07 Coachella pt. 2, or goddamn do my fingers hurt - 2004-05-05 Coachella part one, or, this monkey's gone to indio rawk heaven - 2004-05-05 Random Shearings Rings		Profile Guestbook Mail D-land Older Home 26 Links Bandified Geek Philosopher /. Drudge Worst.Site.Ever.
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Bandified
Geek Philosopher
/.
Drudge
Worst.Site.Ever.