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Here's Something to Read, or Not

I. Am. Angry. And not just regular "ohhhh, I'm sooo mad" angry. I mean, irrational, smash a window with a tire iron angry. Hulk SMASH, angry. BUT LET ME TELL YOU WHY.

I am not a Christian and I have never identified as one. As a child, my mom stopped taking me to church when she realized the pastor was some shady cat who may, or may not, have been stealing money. I don't know and I never found out. But I didn't care. All I cared about was that I could finally stop trying to come up with reasons on why I didn't want to go to church and believe me, I was a very imaginative 8 year old. I had all the excuses. As an adult, I now have even more.

It will come as no surprise to most of you that I was bullied as a child. The quiet, little fat girl who kept to herself and drew dumb comics. Also the little girl who has consistently been called a dyke, not once or even twice, but weekly, at the very least, since she was a small, small child. Even when I was 5 years old and I fit the stereotype of a 5 year old girl with my bright purple shirt and my hair hanging down to my thighs, I was teased for being "into boy things." What boys things? Ninja Turtles. A 5 year old that loves a cartoon that was "meant for boys" was relentlessly teased. Guess what everyone? I'm going to clue you in on something. Cartoons and toys aren't meant for a specific sex of child, they are meant for children.

I was in the 3rd grade when a girl sitting behind me on the bus put a fist full of duct tape on the crown of my head and then, with both hands, squeezed my hair around it. I came home in absolute tears. My mom pulled and cut at the tape, but could not get it loose. That was the first time I cut all my hair off. I screamed and I cried and I swore I'd never go back to school. But I did. And the next day, on the very same bus, I heard the word lesbian for the first time in my life. "I bet you're a lesbian, aren't you?" No, I'm not. Over and over I defended myself against a word I had no grasp of. It was like that for the entire 30 minute bus ride home. Lesbian. No. Lesbian. No! Lesbian. NO! I was 9 years old then. The boys who were teasing me couldn't have been older than 11. Where had they heard that word spoken with such disdain? Most likely they heard it at home. Some parent or other family member, filled with disgust, had said something in the privacy of their home that was, to say the least, off color. I got home that day and sat at the kitchen table, asking my mother the first truly awkward question since I'd first wondered about babies and where they came from. What's a lesbian? I'll tell you when you're older. Well she never told me. I guess I found out on my own.

Back when I was 5, people would walk up to my mother while we were shopping and say things like, "Oh is this your son?" and "What a sweet little boy you have!" She would rage. Excuse me, sir/ma'am. That. Is a girl. That. Is my daughter. Her name is Annie. And we are leaving. My mom went so far as to refuse to buy me black shoes because she was afraid that was what was making me too boy-like. When I was little, we were so poor at times, that my mom couldn't afford to buy me shoes when the school year started, so my aunt would always take me and let me pick out whatever I wanted. And everytime, I would go back to that same store with my mother and a receipt to exchange the shoes for "girl" shoes. Over time, though it pained her to do so, she had to give in. As an adult, I wear a size 10 1/2. In men's sizes. My feet haven't fit into anything less than a women's size 12 since I came of age and then, only if it was of the wide variety. I endured too many first-months-of-school in shoes that were too small and made my feet swell up. I tried, for my mom, to squeeze my big boat-like feeties into those tiny Disney princess sneakers. I tried every year, but we would end up, again, having to rid ourselves of these pink feet-demons. Eventually, "boy" shoes were the only ones that fit me. Usually black or red with dinosaurs and trucks, I would trudge to school, to the babysitter's, to the store, and my mother would fret about what others would think of me. At a routine check-up when I was around 14 (just before bandcamp, actually) a doctor told me that I have a hormone imbalance. Annie, there's nothing wrong with you, he said. You just have a higher testosterone level than the average female. Huh, well then. Sometime around 16, I stopped correcting people when they assumed I was male. It took so much effort and for what? A few seconds of surprised apology and the knowledge that I had embarrassed someone? I sure wasn't the one embarrassed. It took me a long time to come to grips with who I am and how I am, but I eventually learned to love myself just how I am, extra pounds not included. Yesterday at work, an older woman said how courteous and helpful I was as I handed her the sliced cheeses she ordered and called to me as she walked away, "Thank you, sir! Have a blessed day!" I was happy to help her and she walked away in a better mood than she previously was. Win/Win.

Now let's talk about something that holds a near and dear place in my heart. The homosexuals. I love gays and lesbians. I love bisexuals. I love the transgendered. I fucking loooove drag queens, I don't ever care. I love queers. Period. Scott is under the impression that everyone I know now, or knew in high school is/was gay. Now the reason that I love lgbtq as much as I do is because these people are proud of who they are. I see it in their eyes and their faces. I feel like I share a connection with them. I know, at some point in their lives, they got to where they are now by sitting down and figuring out exactly who they are. No, sexuality does not make a person, the same way a political opinion doesn't. I know many Republicans who are still bearable human beings. ;-P It will also not suprise many of you to find out that I identify as a bisexual and have for a few years now. I struggled with my sexuality almost as much as with my gender identity. As a teenager, I wanted to be the model heterosexual female woman, but guess what? Nothing fit into that stereotype. And I'm a little sad to say that if I hadn't been going to war in my head for so long, I'd have been busy asking Brittany Taylor on a date. So here I am, as a high-testosterone, deep-voiced, wide-shouldered, big-assed, short-haircut manwoman. And it's pretty cool, I have to say.

It wasn't always though. I thought a lot about taking my own life when I was growing up. I'm glad that I didn't. I wouldn't have met Scott, who I love so dearly even when he makes me all mad face. And y'know something? I'd love him just the same if he'd been born Scarlett instead of Scott. To look in the face of someone you care for and say, "Baby, you know I love you, but if this were in some other dimension where you were you, except the opposite sex, well I sure wouldn't love you then," is bullshit. And it's an insult to your relationship. It's the same thing I say to people who get whiny when I chop my hair off every summer. They say, "Won't your boyfriend get mad? My husband would kill me if I ever did anything like that!" No, idiot. He won't get mad at me because he loves me and not my fucking hair that will grow back in 2 months anyway. He loves my personality and that I sit around and play video games with him. He loves that I make dumb faces when I'm attempting to be all seductive, 'cause I'm bad at it. He doesn't love my hair, or my shoes, or the purse I don't have. He loves the way I carry myself. He loves me. And if you're husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend/ doesn't feel the same way, then I feel sorry for you.

Now this whole homophobia stuff is just getting to the point where it's ridiculous. I do not have a problem with you as a Christian, assuming you're not a dick about it, but I have a problem with religion and Christianity specifically. When are you going to realize how dangerous it is to be homophobic or anti-gay or "pro traditional marriage." Do you realize children are taking their lives because of people like you. The most recent that took the news by storm was Jamey Rodemeyer. What about what happened to Jorge? Or what's happening in Michele Bachmann's hometown. What about when your missionaries go to other nations and fan hate-filled flames with their piss poor information. You know what it is? Red Scare. Yes, yes we all laughed at the Ugandan minister when he said "eat da poo poo," but take a step back and look at how these Christian missionaries have used the holy word of God as a weapon of ignorance. Or take, for example, this asshole. Really, dude? REALLY? You can't step away from your fucking life for one second to take a look at how this man was horribly murdered beacuse he loved someone that others thought he shouldn't? Christians are bullied alright. Yup, religious perrrrrsecution.



Anderson Cooper recently came out of the closet, after years of being mute on the subject. He says he stayed silent because he believes a journalist should be unbiased and I respect him for that. But he came out anyway because he's not ashamed of himself and he didn't want his silence to be taken as such. I would love to say I was shocked at the hate that flowed his way on news stations and blogs, but I'm not. Every man created equal, my ass.

It's not about politics, it's about being a decent person and accepting that everyone is different and that's a-okay. This isn't about chicken, either. Yes, fuck Chick-fil-a; they will never have my money ever again, but please enjoy your bigot sandwich.



And it was never about the chicken, so much as it was about where the chicken money trail led. It led to some very bad places. I'm sorry for anyone who thought it was an attack on your religion, but it was more a defense of the right to life for people who are anything but straight. Please do not mistake my agnosticism/vague sense of atheism for hostility. If Jesus gets you through the day, then good for you. But having that safety net comes at a cost. I can go about my day carefree and happy, never bothering you and your beliefs, but when you push support or voice an opinion that directly attacks someone's right to live, then yes I have a motherfucking problem. I'm the one filled with anger right now, but you just might be the one filled with hate.

And if you are wondering where you fall in the sexuality/gender stuggle, here's a nifty little chart. Clickity-clack.



I myself, identify as: genderqueer, feminine/androgynous, female, and bisexual. Feel free to post yours. There's no wrong answer!

The King of Crabs

For my boss. You suck

The king of kings
The king of crabs
The crab king scuttling
Covered in scabs
The scabby crabby kingy
All lonely and sad
So he roars and he foams
And shakes up the land
That his father has built
From wood, stone, and sand
And he rages and chokes
At the curly-fried folk
Scaring and tearing
Their curly-fried cloaks
Abused and downtrodden
They ignore his words
And work hand in hand
As the king pulls his sword
"Little one, you there,"
The crabby king, he say
"I cannot deal with failure
so it's you I must slay."
The cries and the pleads
And the sighs and the screams
Won't change the scabby mind
Of the stabby crabby king
The blade swings high
And cuts deep and raw
The sauce on the blade
Is not blood at all
From under his shell
A tray, what he pulls
A deathbed, a tomb
Seasoned in salt and oil
Laid out just right
And wrapped up tight
"Would like to try a turnover
To go with this soul
Tonight?"

December 20th, sweet fucking freedom.
So I wrote this at work one day when I was stupidbored and before it became punishable by death to be creative while on the clock. Enjoy!


BEFORE . . .


Marvin is staring blankly at me from across the lobby. The neon lights that surround the
concession counter cast an unnatural glow onto his pale skin. It makes me think of radiation
poisoning, like Marvin is a terribly depressed teenage version of that bizarre Captain Planet
villain. Y’know, the one made out of nuclear waste? I return Marvin’s gaze, equally blank, as
the palm of my hand inches slowly up the side of my face. Right now, it has almost reached
my forehead, dragging with it just enough cheek-skin to pull my lips apart in a half-sneer of pure
boredom. I think of Tommy Lee Jones in Batman Forever.

The only objects obstructing my view are a couple of meandering potential customers and the
maze of rope barriers that hold the herds of stampeding customers at bay. Just like in so many
western-ranch-moving-cattle-across-the-plains-type films, the flimsy barriers corral the agitated cow-people and their overly-sugared cow-babies into a state of almost humanity. They still snort hot, smelly breath through their overlarge nostrils and shake their huge heads back and forth in frustration, but at least they don’t push and shove each other. Even on days when we are unexpectedly busy, they moo with severe impatience and restlessness. The fact that I am only one feeble human with only two puny arms to work with is entirely irrelevant to moo-cow-people. They only continue to inhale the intense smells of snacks food, their nosing dripping from all the salt in the air, and work themselves into a weird sort of feeding frenzy. Not blood, but soda. If you don’t sell them their tickets fast enough, then tough shit for you for standing in the way of their precious large popcorn (layer the butter!) and large diet soda. They waddle their fat bodies over to the counter, order way too much, and complain about the price. Whenever someone yells at me about how paying twenty five dollars for a drink, popcorn, and candy is the most ridiculous thing they’ve ever heard, I want to say, “You don’t have to buy this. You are, in fact, an adult and can make decisions yourself. Why don’t you just sneak it in like everyone else?” And then I’d slap them right across the face.

“What’s the count?” asks Marvin from his post at register four.

“32.”

He laughs. Business has been like this for nearly a month.


The cinema that employs us is the home of ten auditoriums, four of which are digital, with two digital ones equipped for 3-D. Two hallways break off from the lobby. One leads to theatres one through five, the other to six through ten. Ten and one have the largest seating capacity of 350 butts. Next in line come nine and two, with 265 each. After that is three and eight with 205, four and seven have 170, and lastly five and six end each hall with room for 110 butts. Math types tell me that all adds up to 2200. 32 seats with butts. 2168 seats without butts. God, I can only hope that the corporate office is shitting every pair of pants they own.



NOW . . .



Oh God. Oh my God. Oh my-fucking-God! Sweat drips from my brow into my eye, burning and blinding me for a fragment of a second. Fear pulls at my naval and forces my stomach to turn gymnastics tricks it doesn’t need to know in the first place. Breathing comes quick and shallow through my bloody nose.
Panic!
Panic!
Panic!
I have no idea where Marvin is. I lost him downstairs. He could be trapped. He could be running. He could be one of … No! Don’t think like that. He’s okay. Marvin is okay. He’s a smart kid. He’s found a way out. Not like you, dumb ass. Getting yourself stuck in an upstairs stockroom with only one exit. Stupid, stupid!

I can hear them mooing. Outside of the door. They’re here, they’ve found me. The herd is outside waiting for me to serve the delicious snacks of sugar and butter and blood. Their hunger never ends, will never end now. Can I get that popcorn layered with blood? Yes, just layer it on there, thick as you like. That’s the stuff. Just the way momma used to make it

In the darkness I am surrounded by familiar faces, two-dimensional cardboard bodies; an army of fake celebrities. Sean Connery squints at me from the opposite wall. Beside me, Dwayne Johnson stares off into the distant horizon, his clothing covered in dust bunnies. Near the door, the bright green face of Jim Carrey stares back at me, his yellow suit brilliant compared to the darkness around him. His crazed smile and wild eyes are all too unnerving. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know he’s going to come to life and spring at me. He’s one of them and he wants me dead. My eyes strain against the dark, desperately searching for some sort of savior, a chance of rescue, a way out, and fall instead upon a sliver of daylight creeping through a crack in the ceiling.

The Freedom Door.

Cloverfield and There Will Be Blood.

WARNING: MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS!!!

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THERE WILL BE BLOODCollapse )

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1979 - 2008

Heath Ledger.

I was hooked after A Knight's Tale, just so you know. I was never a huge fan, as far as knowing obscure facts goes, but I was very aware of his talent and was always pleasantly surprised every time I saw him on the screen. I truly believe that, because he wasn't quite a household name yet, that many will never realize just how much raw talent this man had. And I think that that fact, alone, is a disgrace to his memory.

I was, to put it plainly, shocked that I spoke with two people in a row who had no interest in seeing The Dark Knight. I raved and raved about this man and how his portrayal of the Joker was going to be the very best in any of the series and perhaps the best ever, period, yet people continued to tell me things like, "Ledger? He's really the Joker?! That's bullshit" or "I can't watch him in anything after seeing Brokeback Mountain."

Are you fucking serious?

It's incredibly sad that people will look at Brokeback Mountain and dismiss Heath Ledger ( and Jake Gyllenhaal) as as a complete hack because:

A) They're prejudice asshats who "don't wan' see no cowboys fuckin'."

or

B) They think he took the role for shock value and only to draw attention to himself.

When in reality he was very dedicated to his craft and liked to take on roles that were challenging because, oh I don't know, I guess he wanted to the best that he could be, or some other obvious bullshit like that, right? I mean, c'mon people! this was going to be Heath's breakout role. The Dark Knight was going to solidify his name in Hollywood and throughout geeky faux-critics' and director-wannabes' blogs, such as mine, for eternity. This flick was going to make him. And I know he had so much more to offer us, in the way of entertainment.

Being the geek that I am, I scoured The Dark Knight's site and viral marketing ploys. Why? Because it's fun and the campaigns kept with the way I've always saw the Joker. They were tricks, and puzzles, and nerdy little things to keep us all busy as we waited, perhaps not so patiently, for that fateful image to show itself; who was playing the Joker?! When Heath's face showed up behind the make-up, I knew instantly that this was going to be good, good. I knew it because, to me, it was an odd choice. He's a good looking guy and, well, the Joker's not. He's the teen heart throb type and the Joker is a psychopathic murderer. This guy had to have been incredible for the casting directors to choose him, because he's got some big Nicholson shoes to fill.

Of course, time will only tell if this is all true, but I'm positive that no one will be disappointed by his performance. I mean, after all, Sir Michael Caine said, "It was the scariest performance I have ever seen." You've got to be balls-out good and crazy to make fucking Sir Michael Caine forget his lines on the set at the mere sight of you. Goddamn, that's....incredible. Caine's like, 74, or some shit, well he's been around a good while and he's seen some stuff, but Ledger was the scariest performance he's ever seen in 74 years? Awesome, absolutely fucking awesome.

It's terrible to say goodbye to what was, so I've read, a very kind man, a wonderful father, and a tremendous talent. I hate to think The Dark Knight is his final performance, but I guess it's not too bad to, y'know, go out with a bang.




See you guys on July 18th.

x-posted to MySpace

Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows

HEY. HEY YOU. YEAH, YOU! WATCH IT, THAR BE SPOILERS.

CUT FOR TEH CAPSLOCK!SPOILERSCollapse )
Man, I would do Steven Page SO HARD right now. *pelvic thrust*

So, the movies have severely pissed me off. Carmike Theatres? FUCK YOU. GAWD. I went to see Arthur and the Invisibles on Monday because I had no homework and fucking halfway through the movie the screen cut off and just the audio was playing. motherfuckers. I mean, c'mon! Just when I was getting into the goddamn story and NOT noticing that the setting was in a farm town in Connecticut and Freddie Highmore was using his normal BRITISH accent. The kid's cute and all, butjustno.

Reno 911! Wait for the DVD, the show's funnier. The raunchier it got, the more I hated it. Also saw Reno at a Carmike Theatre. Coincidence? I think not. Carmike, you fail at everything.




OH FUCK 3D MEDIA CHAIR IS FUCKING ME OVER RIGHT NOW AND GODDAMN I NEED OUT OF THIS HOUSE.


>.<

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I still feel the loneliness. Sometimes I think that it'll never go away, but it will. It always does, right? I want out of my house so fucking badly and nobody really understands. I slept in the basement today because Jenn was on my computer and I was too tired to care or to even attempt to kick her out. I just laid on the bed downstairs and cried for 20 entire minutes. I'm not sure why I cried, I just couldn't help it. Now I'm here, on livejournal, spouting my problems.

Fuck man, I just want to get out. When college was happening near the end of senior year, I wasn't like everyone else. I never had a urge to get out of Knoxville for any reason; still don't. I love this place and I always will. But now, I'm ready. I'm ready to stay in Knoxville. I'm ready to start a new life in Knoxville. I'm ready to be on my own, to pay my own rent, to have bills in my name, to buy my own groceries and be truly responsible for what I eat, to be me IN KNOXVILLE.



By the way, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows? Well, okay then.
Holy shit, this paper is a ten gallons worth of homosexual. Multiculturalism, who cares? Not me.

My God, it was so cold out the other day and today it was like, 65? AND IT'S FUCKIN' SNOWIN' IN TEXAS. Never thought I'd see the day, screw them, we're further North!...Ugh, I'm moving to Texas.

So I turned in my art portfolio today. I worked for nearly 3 hours on this really cool ink thingy for it too. It was number 15 out of 15 that I needed for my 'folio. I thought "Hey, I'll be super/artsy/emo/stupid and burn the edges. It'll be great, lolz!" Yep, SET IT ABLAZE. It just, went up in flames...I didn't even notice it at first until it burned the piss out of my finger. I turned my portfolio in anyways and was like, "Yeah, you only get 14 drawings because I'm a pyro." He just stared at me, so I left. I HATE THAT CLASS. Grr. Good news though, the closet case, I mean TJ...and I...have 3D Design together next semester. Hooray for a class with someone I fucking know, srsly.

College, stop being stupid. AND START WRITING PAPERS FOR ME.

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OKSO.

JKR has announced that booksevenSevenSEVEN will come out on July 7th, 2007.

OOTP comes out on July 13th.

...I will die from Harry Potter explosions.