xhybridrainbowx

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 01:14:17 GMT

Kim, don't push your luck. keep moving, you're leaving soon.

Oh yeah, I have a boyfriend now...sorta. He's sweet, understanding, and not crazy. That scares me because I like him. This summer still sucked though.

I'm leaving soon, I'm really pushing it by getting depressed now. Damn-it.

I'm totally gonna kick my insecurities in the butt

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 00:55:34 GMT

Get up out of bed!!!
Right foot, left foot moving.
Get out of your head!!!
Soon you'll be improving.

It's a start

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Sun, 22 Mar 2009 07:00:39 GMT

For a while I've been struggling with myself. I've put myself in bizarre and awkward situations that have burned so many bridges, I have to swim across Naragansett Bay to get back on the island. As a result I've come to loathe myself for virtually destroying every relationship I've had with a friend or family member. What's more is that the people that keep taking me back (my family) are just as fucked up as I am.

My dad is a depressed egocentric unemployable jerk. He grew up in a culture where you were free to express whatever opinion you had as long as it demeaned somebody else's. He was told to be strong and willful. He must have the fortitude of a man and never back down from his beliefs, no matter how outdated they become. In Puerto Rico, my father had the life he was always told to dream of: a house, an obedient wife, and two healthy children. Everything was there for him, his beliefs and teachings were reinforced with ease because the same people that taught them were our next door neighbors. When he moved to states everything changed for him. He did his best trying to uphold a puerto rican household but our family was too young and easily influenced. Everything fell apart for him. His wife divorced him and then died. He lost his job because he couldn't deal with his gripes and depression. His son was gay and renounced any ties he held to him. His daughter grew up and got an abortion without telling him (or anyone). Years after year a perpetual cycle of depression controls him as self-pity acting as the catalyst. Now, he wants a job, he wants his children to be children again, he wants the wife that left him in more ways than one to come back, and he wants it without consequence. It's not his fault, he had everything taken away from him even after he put so much faith in everything he believed in.

My sister is a girl. She's a teenage girl first, I suppose. She was at one point though, a very frightened little girl who couldn't speak a word of english. Back then everyone knew she was going to grow up to be beautiful. "Just like her mother," everyone used to say. That's the standard my sister holds herself up to. She learned how to cook by watching my mom spend hours roasting a thanksgiving turkey. She learned how to be diligent worker by watching my mom simultaneously hold 3 jobs to pay rent. She learned how to be patient when her brother would make their mom's life impossible by being a teenager. When her mom died, she wouldn't let anyone take her teachers place, but she still needed to figure out how to turn herself from frightened little girl to a confident woman. So, she taught herself how to sneak out of the house. She taught herself how to shut her entire family out of her life. She taught herself how to make awful friends. She taught herself how to get pregnant and how to solve the problem. She refuses to ever admit that she's wrong. And well really, who could blame her? She's trying her hardest to be, "Just like her mother."

My step-mom is more of an oddity than anything else. A bright educated woman whose considered an angel by most. She met her boyfriend Luis through a blind date. One thing led to another and his children were coming over to her apartment every other weekend. The dynamic was appropriate and she was smart enough to know what lines she was not allowed to cross. After Luis' wife died he had to take care of his kids, not being legally bound to him she had a decision to make. Four years later and she's nagging luis' son to pick up his room. She had successfully integrated herself into the household as Luis' official girlfriend and his kids unofficial step-mom. The expected problem for her was that she had no idea was she was getting into. The family was already a complete mess to begin with. She constantly found herself acting as a diplomat between Luis and his children making sure to be fair to both parties. She's constantly burdened by Luis swings of emotion, Kim's unpredictable and often self-destructive behavior, and Gina's callous attitude towards her. Still, she takes slight joy in helping these seemingly hopeless people becoming a martyr to her own cause. Even though these three people drive her insane, she said she's never been happier and that other people notice she's changed for the better.

Then there's me. There not a whole lot to say about Kim. He's a good kid, he just can't stand being around himself. He hasn't finished grieving over his mother and he hate's himself. He doesn't expect anyone to understand because how can somebody love him if he can't even love himself. The kid's had it pretty bad although life only pushed him off the horse, he choose not to get back on.

Even though I'm very well aware that my family drives me insane with their endless lists of flaws, I still love them no matter what. Retrospectively the same is possible for me. If I can just accept my flaws and do the best that I can to be a better person then maybe I can love myself. I know it's not perfect and I've got a long way to go, but maybe this is where I start. Yeah, thats it. Today, I start loving myself.

Go fuck yourself Kim Mc Dougall

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 06:05:01 GMT

I want to be happy.
I want to stop crying for cutting my finger while chopping potatoes.

I want to to do something with my life.
I want to stop isolating myself from people.
I want to quit smoking.

I want to forgive my father.
I want to scream at my mothers grave.
I want to my fingernails to stop growing in funny directions
I want to have a dog.

I want to have a dora the explorer band-aid for the cut on my finger, the kind that glows in the dark.
I want to have new glasses.

I want to love myself.
I want to love somebody else.
I want to stop hating people.
I want to make Miley Cirus stop annoying me.

I want to have people listen to me

I want to fly, like super powers.
I want to be in art school.
I want to watch every old disney movie, but like before the 90's when they looked so beautiful. ok maybe I'll watch Lion King too.

I want a cardboard fort
I want to have my own family.
I want to stop being scared to die.

I want to do things for myself.
I want to contribute to the world.
I want to have everything.
I want to stop being selfish.

I want to call Ari.
I want to call Shannon.
I want to call Sarah.
I want to stop calling Stephan.

I want to understand my sister.
I want to understand myself.
I want to be...
I want to be...
I want to be...

I need to figure out my life, now.

Happy Suckday

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 23:33:27 GMT

Here's what happening on my BIRTHDAY!!!!

-I turn 21 (hooray! for having lived that long)
-I am moving out my house (boo! i'm going to be homeless)
-I have to turn in my Mass Art applications (ugh...)

It's funny how one day can be so epic. Other than that I really am not sure what's going to happen to me. Family Therapy hasn't felt productive and my parents don't want me back. Again, I feel like everyone is putting the blame on me. Sentences such as "you haven't changed" or "you don't try enough" I feel are not only incorrect but also disheartening. Or maybe its true. I can't stop listening to Robert Post and think about how music always seems relevant to my life.

You know that if it's up to me I'll still be holding
My own hand the day I die
So please release me now

I've tried to be the mean mysterious one
I've tried to be the sweetest candy you'd suck on
I've still got none
Got nothing at all

*Edit* mercury also ends it retrograde cycle (thank god)

All is wrong in the world

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Thu, 01 Jan 2009 14:47:56 GMT

worst fucking new year ever.

All is right in the world

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 17:56:38 GMT

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 07:41:51 GMT

I had a lover,
I don't think I'll risk another
These days.
And if I seem to be afraid
To live the life that I have made in song
It's just that I've been losing so long.

I've stopped my dreaming,
I won't do too much scheming
These days.
These days I sit on corner stones
And count the time in quarter tones to ten.
Please don't confront me with my failures,
I had not forgotten them.

Just so there's no more confusion about my name

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 02:11:51 GMT

Ever since my days at the playground in pre-school the adjective weird was best used to describe me. For a good while I always felt insulted by this and understandably too. Weird has negative connotations associated with it. Being weird means you're different, but not in that cool edgy alternative way. When you're weird people are confused about why you do things the way you do. For me being weird is the result of having bizarre life events conspire against me before I was even born. Whether they be physical deformities or a ridiculous family history I believe that if others experience what I have they wouldn't act too differently from the way I do now.

As insurance to my inevitable future as a weirdo, fate started before I was even born, my lineage. I'm a male Puerto Rican and my name is Kim Mc Dougall. My great, great, great, greatly over-sexed grandfather, Shamus Mc Dougall IV, was totally loaded and known as a "lady pleaser" in his homeland of Scotland. During that time period there was a small surge of European tourism to the Caribbean islands, Puerto Rico being one those islands. It was there that Shamus the great met Consuela, my equally great of a whore, grandmother. Consuela was not actually Puerto Rican, she was from Spain enjoying the same pleasures Shamus was. Like one of those cheap love novels the affluent gentleman Shamus met the homely well kept Consuela and they (probably) had lots of raunchy sex on the beach. Six months and hundreds of fat jokes later, Consuela had realized she was pregnant. Shamus left Puerto Rico before the baby was even born. It was absolutely unacceptable for him to father a child to a mom he wasn't married to, it just wasn't high class. Unfortunately Consuela fell gravely ill during her pregnancy and died while giving birth. She left the baby behind to be raised by the locals, but as a final act of revenge when asked what the babies' last name was she whispered, "Mc Dougall."

Now if we fast-forward a hundred years we meet my parents in Puerto Rico. My mom and dad were polar opposites. Luis was a stern, healthy, rigid man. Carmen was a chain-smoking loud mouth girl who loved playing pranks. The two were next door neighbors, but rarely saw each other until Carmen went a little too far with one of her pranks. Carmen had taken the mugs from the teachers room, sprayed phenyl-ethylene (a ph indicator and subsequently a laxative) in them, and covered all the toilets in the school with saran wrap. Luis got involved because Carmen had told him she had found the mugs outside the cafeteria and needed his help to bring them back, now making him an accessory. After the principal found out from eyewitnesses who it was and school committee ripped them a new one Carmen and Luis were suspended from school for one month. As an added punishment, Luis' father made him take up night classes of Tae Kwon Do to ad structure to his life, where he met his teacher Master Kim. With nobody else to hang out with during the day, Carmen and Luis spent a lot of time together eventually becoming friends, lovers, and then (probably) had lots of raunchy sex. Shortly after I was conceived Master Kim died and my father decided to name after his former teacher.

My mom was carrying me to term like any seemingly normal child when 3 weeks before I was born our family got a phone call. Two years after my mom had pulled laxative prank a teacher, Ms. Ramirez, finally decided to press charges. Her case was based on emotional humiliation as the result of public defecation. My father was in Florida for a business meeting at the time so my mom had to go to the court hearing herself. The judge dismissed the case as ludicrous and slightly amusing. Outside the courthouse my mom was wobbling home when Ramirez decided she had some final words for my mom. As soon as the words, "you bitch" spilled out of Ramirez my mom went into labor. In a fluster of panic and irony Ramirez ran to her car drove it around and brought my mom to the hospital. There she filled out all of the necessary paperwork to check in my mom and wished her well. It was in the waiting room that my mom told Ramirez she would be my godmother, as thanks for driving her to the hospital. My birth was routine like any seemingly normal child until they pulled me out to reveal healthy a baby boy. I was a healthy baby boy with six toes.

No, I'm not Scottish. Yes, both of my parents are from Puerto Rico. No, I'm not Asian. No, I didn't keep my sixth toe. No, Kim is not short for anything. Just a few of several answers I've had to repeat over the years. Having all these bizarre life events happen to me before I was even born truly feels like a conspiracy to have made me weird. I doubt most people can have a relatively similar history and still be considered normal. Despite this being weird is part of my personality and although it can be a little annoying with maturity I think I can learn to appreciate it. Retrospectively if I were to get rid of the conspiracies of the past then I wouldn't exist and well, that would just be weird.

Heart Attacking Children

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Tue, 23 Sep 2008 02:19:10 GMT

The only thing I heard about America is that in America people were highly prone to heart attacks. When I heard we were moving I told my parents I didn’t want to go because I didn’t want to have a heart attack. When the U.S. announced the closing of the all the bases in Puerto Rico, I was 8 years old. I remember because my father told me in 10 years he would have a man as a son instead of boy. I didn’t really understand what was going on, I was too busy pretending I was a Power Ranger.

The first day of school in America was no less routine than it was back home. My mom woke me up several hours before the sun would even rise. She would brush my hair, iron my clothes, and make sure my face had an ample supply of saliva on it to cover any blemishes. With pineapple juice box and Lion King themed trapper keeper in hand, I was ready for American school. To my delight the school in America was nearly a carbon copy of what I had left behind. The walls were plastered with crayon drawing from other student's. A, B, C's lined nearly every chalkboard and were accented with calendars and class schedules. Initially it seemed like the transition to American schools would be an easy one. I was nice to be so young and so naive

In America people were really stupid. When I started school I didn’t talk much because I didn’t want to catch a heart attack from the other children. They mistook my silence for incoherence and I mistook adults authority as intelligence. I remember vaguely hearing the sentence from one of my teachers being, "The little brown boy needs help with English...I think he's from Portugal." When I came home and told my mom they put me in an ESL program she walked to the school and yelled at the principal. The next day they put me in a class with other kids that could speak English. My mom's prideful and protective attitude was something that transcended geography, she was never intimidated regardless of where she was. Unfortunately I couldn't take her everywhere with me. Without her I was completely vulnerable and if you know anything about children, it's that they can be evil. In Puerto Rico, the other kids didn’t talk to me because everyone thought I was weird. In America that changed only slightly; people would talk to me only to make fun of my name and me.

I wasn't sure why I generated so much hostility among the other students. Maybe it was the fact that I said Monday started the week or just because I crossed an ocean doesn't make an immigrant or maybe it was that I was hell bent on drawing palm trees and not Pine Trees. Fights were a regular occurrence during recess which always seemed to land me in the Principals office. This was a relatively familiar scenario to Puerto Rico, but unlike my principal at my old school, Americans were far less objective in the approaching the situation. It ended turning out to labeling a victim and a vagrant. Seeing as it was five 4th grade boys against me, I clearly was the one at fault. Relative to my other school I could have even been considered popular back in Puerto Rico. That didn't matter here everyone hated me for being me and the feeling was mutual. Back then I wanted nothing more than to morph into the Red Power Ranger and give all my classmates heart attacks.

"It's OK." She hugged me as blood dripped from my nose on to her new dress. Despite (or maybe in spite) the fact that everyone seemed to find their fist careening towards my face, I was able to find one person who did care. Jess was my polar opposite. White girl, had a dog, picket fence and a pool. We didn't have anything in common: she liked reading, I liked playing outside, she at macaroni and cheese, I ate rice and beans. That was fine, she was kind to me. She had taken the void left behind by Carlos, my best friend back in Puerto Rico. Even though school was insufferable I could get through the day knowing that she would be there.

The first couple of years in America learned a lot. I continued my belief that most Americans were stupid and devoid of culture. I learned how much more I enjoyed being Puerto Rico in contrast to how awful some people treated me up here. This just makes the stereotypical saying all the more true, you really don't appreciate something until it's gone. But to help with the pain when something is gone its always comforting to have friends and family that whose support won't ever change regardless of the state, country, or continent. And yes, I did end up learning that living in America and having a heart attack weren't mutually inclusive.

Gay

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 12:25:45 GMT

I would totally take it up the butt for tofu

Owen Pallent

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Sun, 17 Aug 2008 04:35:50 GMT

"I feel uncomfortable" his words echoed silently as I felt his breath against my neck.

This isn't uncommon. I know he talks in his sleep. He always does. He's so cute when he does it. Even though it does wake me up, his voice is comforting enough where I can ignore it. Why? Because I've accustomed to it. I sleep over at least 3 times a week now. We don't date. We're not even romantically involved or even SEXUALLY. It's much better than any of that. We are...video game buddies.

He knows how many hearts Link can have in Twilight Princess vs. Ocarina of Time (3 hearts). He shares the same love of strategy games I do. Carefully planning every move to a direct and flawless victory. He knows of the finesse required to obtain the seashells in order to kill your shadowself. I know he does. Because he told me. You'd think I'd know better than to fall in love with a level 15 straight boy, when I am merely a lever 7 gay boy. But I just have him around me.

When he's around me, I move him with my thumbs. He WILL resond. I'll write his name his name him nothing. He'll whisper to the author that I can be the only one. Normally this is a haven where no mere mortal can trample but HE is the only friend that I know that doesn't do CHEAT CODES!

We fool around in service codes, but I know that it is metaphorical. I know I'm struggling to kill my shadow self. He's already found the secret shells. I know he was made for love. But lately I'm just made.

"uncomfortable" still echoes. I fee it.
I feel many other things. My shadow self won't allow such thing to be exposed no matter how many shells i find.

Bus Passes we're only meant for 3 toed nuns

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 03:31:02 GMT

To those reading:

I'm still alive. I don't have very much time to do anything except work. Which is hard to get to when the state takes away all the (free) bus passes from low income families and the roads are so bad that you get not 1, not 2, but 3 flat tires on your bike in 7 day span. "You can't ride your bike on the actual road because you are certainly not a car...and hey, weren't you that kid that hit by that nun?" Inquired the lovely police officer who gave me a TICKET for going down a one way street on my BIKE. I've lost weight, but feel like I'm heaviest I've ever been. I can't stop obsessing about my weight or my appearance. My deadly sin is slowly migrating from sloth to vanity, by the time it get across Middletown's inferno nun driving a cop car will have already put me out of my misery.

***BREATHE***

Tomorrow is 42 minutes closer (optimistic)
But so is my death (realistic)

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Sun, 22 Jun 2008 14:08:33 GMT

Consider the following:

Constant bad luck is a sign of overdue karma.

In the instance that something slightly promising happens in my life, I'm doubting how genuine my fortune is. I guess what I'm trying to say is I have a problem. I am addicted to misfortune. My life revolves around how much it sucks. Something always happens. This makes my life eventful, almost fun. Don't call me a martyr or a masochist. I don't take pleasure in the fact I have perpetual shitty luck, but as a result I don't know how to function otherwise. Thats why when my life does become stable, I'm bored.

So I'm bored.

But still busy. Fuck.

for those of you who havent seen it yet

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 02:28:15 GMT

I need a ride

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 02:34:50 GMT

I have a doctors appointment at 1pm tomorrow please I need a ride there if anyone can give me one.

P.S. I got hit by a car, so feel bad, and give me a ride.

P.P.S. I was hit by a nun...yeah, so give me ride.

I have no shame

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 12:14:19 GMT

I made this.
You should watch it.
I command it.

Points of interest

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Sun, 23 Mar 2008 01:30:32 GMT

hair here

vanity here

Seemingly Innocuous

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Fri, 22 Feb 2008 02:56:21 GMT

I could tell she was just in one of those moods where everything irritated her. The way she changed the channel, she stomped around the house, cut the onions for her omelet, all screamed, "I hate everything right now." Normally our paths don't cross and I'm out of the house before she comes back from school, but she had winter break which would only lead to the inevitable encounter.

We were watching, Moesha, and the entire time I reveled in the joy of making fun of the teen drama for being so ridiculous. My sisters, being the little consumer whore she is, was genuinely interested in whether Shanay-nay, would get her baby daddy's child support so she could buy her newports. Being the sadistical bastard I am, I told my sister that Brandy went to jail for manslaughter. She told me she didn't care...because she was watching Moesha.

After my sister finished demonstrating how much mental damage the show was giving her, she asked to borrow my computer. I said, "No, the last time you used my computer you downloaded music."
"I don't care, I wanna use it anyways," my sister snapped with that commanding, self-righteous tone I had come to love.
"Whatever, you're being a brat." And as I was walking away, my sister decided go for the kill and start the fight right there and then.
"You're a fucking bitch!"
As I was turning around to face my sister, I breathe in, close my eyes, and I flashed back to the preceding weeks that started off this awful 2008.

Here's a run down:
Jan 10th-Violently I'll from binge drinking
Jan 15th-Mother's Death Anniversary
Jan 17th-Went to Hospital for cutting myself
Jan 29th-I briefly dated an alcoholic bulimic cancer survivor
Feb 6th- I got a DUI
Feb 9th- Briefly dated pothead/substance abuser with 7 year old son
Feb 20th- Had my pre-trial for court, I loose my license, and I'm 1300 dollars in debt

I opened my eyes again, to see my sister standing there trembling with rage or fear (you can never tell with her) and all I could think about is "God, you look so much like mom."

"Ya know what, Gina, I'm tired of your fucking bullshit, all you do is complain and whine and moan, how about you get a job?"

"Fuck off, Kim, Dad wont let me get a job, because-"

"Because you don't get good enough grades, cause you don't try hard enough!"

"FUCK YOU, at least I'm not 20 years old and living with my parents!" She was breathing heavy at this point with what seemed like a grin on her face, was she enjoying this?

"Ha, at least I buy groceries and actually contribute to the house, what the fuck do you do?

"I do more than you."

"Oh yeah, like go on myspace and take pictures of yourself with barely any clothes on."
The easiest way to piss of my sister is to make comments about her appearance. Shallow people are always easy to take down. Although today, I felt especially enraged. Maybe it's cause my sister embodies everything I hate about youth culture: unambitious, willfully uneducated, superficial. Or maybe it's cause of some deep seeded issues I can never come to turns with because my sister refuses to sit down and share her feelings. Regardless, I felt like being ruthless today.

"Shut up Faggot!"

"Faggot? Thats the best you can come up with? 15 years of knowing me and that's the best you can come up with? HOw about this Gina? You were always in the fucking way, having you around was always burden. You call me fucked up, but you can never admit you have a problem. At least I'm secure enough with myself to be able to admit when I'm wrong-"

"OH yeah right, you're such a fucking liar-"

"Shut the fuck up all you do is manipulate people-"

"NOO you do!"

At this point we were just yelling over each other nothing was audible. It became a contest of who could say the meanest thing the loudest. And then it happened, something so incredibly awful that made my sister shut up, without hesitation.

"Mom loved me more."

Immediately I knew I'd be apologizing for this later, but right now the satisfaction of seeing her cry was too sweet. I know karma will get me later for it, but hey, I couldn't help it...I was just in one of those moods.

I'm starting my meoirs early

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Tue, 05 Feb 2008 04:21:38 GMT

Chapter 36 Part I

As I was laying in my bed, rereading Catcher in the Rye with The Royal Tenenbaums chattering in the background,the phone rings and it's Elena. She had found the tickets and court summonings I had left at her house earlier *shit* from when I was visiting her roommate. I was hoping for her not to find out, at least not so soon. She sounded endearing, as she always did with that sincere inflection, asking, "So, what happened Kim?"
"I'm sorry, I just can't talk about it right now," the forced monotone in my voice only made me sound desperate.
"Well if you need to talk, just, ya know, call me."
"I know."
"And if you need anything don't hesitate to call."
"I know."
"And if you just wanna hang out and I woul-"
"I know."
"Alright, well I hope you feel better...Kim? Are you there?"
"I gotta go."

I don't deal with compassion very well. Aggression, hostility, animosity are all emotions that I'm all too familiar with. Sincerity, genuine concern, impartiality are about as comfortable as being locked in jail forced to sleep in your own vomit. I put the phone next to the carton of cigarettes I'd been smoking all day. I struggled with whether I Should have another one. The phone rings and it's a debt collector calling to let me know that I should smoke the rest of the pack outside.

It was outside in the cold air that my bruises started to hurt again. Fuck. The inconsistency is what drove me nuts, I wish it would hurt all the time or better yet, not hurt at all. What I really hated, was the reminder of the preceding night.

24 hours ago

The super bowl was already 2 hours into the game and the Patriots were ahead by the 3 point, but the Giants had 3 downs and the Patriots linebacker was blah blah blah. The fuck if I cared, I was 8 beers into getting beautifully trashed. The beer tasted like piss, but with every satisfying pop from the bottle came the gratifying sensation of my inhibitions dropping. With that, everything was awesome. Football was awesome. Making fun of the dog with epilepsy was awesome. 13 beeeeeerss waz aweesome. I was no longer Kim, I was whatever was around me, loud music, people making out in the bathroom, the epileptic dog asleep(or dead). Everything I touched felt electric. Everywhere time turned there was a friendly face to greet me. I turned so fast that my revolutions sped time where I turned around and everyone was either gone, sleep, (or dead).

Sitting in my car my head began to flood with emotions, memories, and anxieties.
"My mother is dead."
"I'm ugly and stupid."
"Everyone is against me."
"My mother is dead"
"The world will end in 2012."
"I will never get into college."
"My mother is dead."
"I'm not a good enough artist"
"My mother is dead."
"My mother is dead.""My mother is dead.""My mother is dead.""My mother is dead.""My mother is dead."

Desperate to find another face, my cellphone dialed at it's own discretion. When I failed to contact anyone of my friends, I turned to my exes. With my iPod syncing beautifully with my emotions, a Dashboard Confessional song comes on and I decide to leave the lyrics "And as for now I'm gonna hear the saddest songs and sit alone and wonder how you're making out. And as for me I wish that I was anywhere with anyone making out," with my off again, on again boyfriend Adam. His failure to pick up aggravated me to the point where I sped off. As a result of speeding of I nearly collide with cop car. Sirens blazing and nebulous lights make my heart fall to my stomach that already feels like it has a hole burning through it. The 60 odd year old, white cop whose male pattern baldness is hidden under his hat, and wearing his uniform with such rigid pride you could see the stick poking out of his ass that had made a home there well before I was even born. The cop approaches me with that familiar condescending tone, "What fuck are you thinking, have you been drinking?"
"Haha, you rhymed," I chuckled. Admittedly, not one of my finer moments.
"What was that?"
"I said you rhymed silly."My tone only fueled this officers obvious sense of threat to any happiness from himself or anyone else.
"Step out of the car"

I jumped through an obstacle course of sobriety tests only to trip over my vomit and fall into a jail cell.

2008 is not so great

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 20:33:48 GMT

Here's a video I made this morning

I promise I'll try harder. Tomorrow.

2008 will be GREAT!!!!

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Wed, 02 Jan 2008 15:58:09 GMT

^_^

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Mon, 24 Dec 2007 06:29:19 GMT

My crappy scanner doesn't stop my picture from looking so good

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Thu, 20 Dec 2007 01:19:01 GMT

Artist Statement
In executing this particular project I was strained for time and models. Despite this, my concept developed far beyond my expectations. I play Pokemon, I love video games, I watch Cartoon Network, and on occasion have been caught playing with my old action figures. Now at the age of 19 this isn't considered particularly odd, but as I'm getting older I've noticed that I've become more closeted about my "childish" endeavors. I wanted to explore in my images how a grown woman playing with dolls would appeal (if at all) to a public audience. Surprisingly enough I got a very positive reaction from the pictures. I think this is because most people could relate to the pictures, I think it also helps that I subtly added some humor to the story. Personally, these pictures mean a lot to me. I genuinely feel people do struggle with an inner child and society immediately dismisses anyone who acts on these childish tendencies and mannerisms as immature or unhealthy. I strongly believe playing with Barbies or video games or action figures does not merit somebody to be labeled as a "child" and unlike most of society I don't believe that doing these things are mutually exclusive with mental instability. In doing this project I feel that I can be slightly more uninhibited in expressing my inner child and I hope that those who view this series of photos feel the same way.

everything that is wrong with America in less than 8 minutes

childishendeavor@gmail.com — Sat, 15 Dec 2007 18:02:58 GMT