#(thirdly I am thinking of the Barbie movie...) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

locktobre · 3 years ago

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You get to pick exactly ONE Barbie movie to eradicate from existence. Which is it and why? (If this is too negative though you don't have to answer)

Ooh, this is a great question... Several came to mind immediately, but really, when I think about it, it HAS to be Puppy Chase. Puppy Chase is when the franchise went to hell, bc it’s stupid from the ground up.

I’ve talked about how much this movie sucks before, but I’ll do it again, just for fun.

Firstly, you can’t take dogs to Hawaii (well, you can, but it is a lengthy and expensive process), and like fine, it’s a kids movie and maybe they don’t care about that and maybe it wouldn’t bother me so much if LOSING THE PUPPIES wasn’t the entire fucking PLOT. Like if they were just there, fine. But if the whole PLOT is about them, fuck off. This is when the writing on the puppies got stupid, and it was only the second movie they were in lmfao. And this is when them never being on leashes becomes straight-up life ruining. I could excuse it a little bit in Great Puppy Adventure, bc Willows is a small town and the puppies end up actually being useful at a few points, but in Hawaii? FUCK OFF. ENTIRELY.

Secondly, this movie also rests on Barbie herself being a complete idiot. They don’t book a car before they get there, that’s stupid. Barbie--any Barbie, really, but how about the one from SPRING 2016 in Spy Squad--is a rational, prepared person. Yes, she’s 17 and can therefore be immature, but C’MON. That’s trip planning 101, making sure you have transportation when you get there! I would not harp on this so much if, again, the entire movie didn’t unfold the way it does bc they got stuck in that stupid fucking golf cart.

Thirdly, Barbie is completely selfish in this movie. She totally ignores what ALL THREE of her sisters want, but the worst is Chelsea, bc CHELSEA IS THE WHOLE ENTIRE REASON THEY WENT TO HAWAII IN THE FIRST PLACE. AND BARBIE DOESN’T CARE. Chelsea is nervous and wants to go to the hotel and practice, but does Barbie give a fuck? No! They have to go see the dancing horses! It’s more important than CHELSEA’S DANCE COMPETITION THAT BROUGHT THEM TO HAWAII.

Fourthly, watching 4 children from ages 6-17 get lost in the wilderness for like 2 full days makes me so anxious. I know kids read this stuff as “cool adventure,” but an adult like myself is thinking, “where are their fucking parents or just any adult to help them please god they need it.” It’s also just stupid, bc the only reason they get lost is bc Barbie tries to drive THROUGH THE TREE with their STUPID FUCKING GOLF CART bc they’re GOING AFTER THE PUPPIES. The plot is so stupid and it rests on so many stupid, avoidable mistakes! It’s not funny or clever, it’s not a perfect storm of mishaps or anything, it’s carelessness from both the characters and writers. Awful all around.

Fifthly, there is also racism in this movie. I know this is probably further down my list than racism ought to be but I’m going in roughly chronological order here. I myself am white, and the only time I went to Hawaii I was 4 years old and I don’t really remember anything about it, or how the hospitality industry is there, or anything. But hearing a native Hawaiian woman tell a random white girl she can call her “Auntie” feels... really off to me. Like, isn’t that more for ppl you actually know? Plus, every time they run into a woman on the island they’re like oh you’re that other lady... Which makes sense at the end, when you see Hannah, Anna and Savannah all together and you can see they’re identical triplets, but feels weird when they’re encountering them, bc like... not all Hawaiian(/non-white) ppl look the same... And yes I know it’s a joke bc these women are actually identical, but it just feels weird in this context. This I will admit, maybe I am overreacting on, but maybe not.

Because there is also Lindsay. Lindsay is a little Black girl also in the contest, who practiced hard (we see her dancing as she gets off the plane), performed well, and also, y’know, followed all the rules and was actually there at the contest. She was there and was about to win. But then along comes Chelsea, a little white girl, who missed the ENTIRE fucking contest--which isn’t even her fault bc of Barbie/the puppies, yes, but it still happened--and she is allowed to perform anyway and she wins. Even tho it’s a solo dance contest, and Chelsea is joined by everyhorse and their fucking mother, Lindsay hands over the trophy. FUCK that. FUCK that whole thing. Fuck special little white girls taking awards from hardworking Black girls. (I know I’ve complained recently about Brooklyn’s treatment in BCBD but literally it’s not even the first time they’ve done this bullshit lmfao.) So with Lindsay and the Hannah/Anna/Savannah thing, it is just not a good look.

Sixthly, the dance competition that Chelsea is in makes no sense (I mean, none of it makes sense, but especially this). Each girl appears to be doing an entirely different style of dance, so how and why are they competing against each other? It really doesn’t seem like they’re in the same class, bc again, they’re all doing different things. And why does this contest even have to be in Hawaii? What the hell? Is this a national competition, or local, bc either way, it does not make sense for it to be in Hawaii. How is it not in the continental US? Oh, bc Hawaii is “exotic” but still America I guess. And this also rubs me the wrong way bc of, y’know, the fact that Hawaii is stolen, tourism is ruining the islands, etc.

So like, every single part of this movie sucks. Like, literally every part. The animation isn’t even cute. The songs are forgettable. The plot is a mess from start to finish, like it’s just utterly illogical at literally every turn. I hate it. I hate it SO fucking much.

Anyway maybe if I erase this movie from existence, all the other trash that followed would not happen, or maybe it would be better, or something. This is literally when it all went to complete shit. We peaked with SLA in fall 2016, and then we immediately bottomed out with Puppy Chase, harbinger of doom, also in fall 2016. What a nightmare.

#mel irl #barbie babbles #queen-erika-the-songful #thanks for asking #puppy chase

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aleatoryalarmalligator · 8 years ago

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Being 10 in 1999.

So, on a lark I started typing out my life story. I am about 10 at this point of the tale. If you are curious about anything previous to this part of my life, here is

So Rachelle was gone. This left a very big void in my life. For the first time since I was four years old, I was generally alone all the time. My school friends were just that, they never wanted to see me after school. They thought my house was haunted, and Samantha’s father and my father didn’t like each other. She was also forced to do hard labor and rarely got to leave her house to begin with. And she lived six miles away. And she really didn’t like me anymore so much as she tolerated me so there really wasn’t even enough to go on for me to even ask her to come over once in awhile. Catherine wasn’t actually a friend to me at all, and I more or less just tolerated her and ignored her most of the time since she seemed more interested in making animal noises than she did saying things. I had always resented her for taking Samantha away in second grade, and she was incredibly dishonest. I caught her lying once a day, and she stole from everyone who stayed at her house. And when there was an opportunity to do something mean to someone she would. I just didn’t like her. I have no resentments for her now of course. She had a rougher home life than I did and there was no way for me to understand that and have the much needed empathy to move past that. But it didn’t make her pleasant to me and I certainly never accepted her as a friend.

And Sarah-Mae I didn’t know very well. She seemed like royalty, we didn’t seem close at all. We rarely shared the same conversation. Her and Samantha were becoming more and more inseparable. They had a crush on the same boy named Kevin – and for some reason they both enjoyed obsessing over him, stealing his pencils and chewed gum as memorabilia. They liked the same Spice Girls and Ricky Martin albums. They really liked Lion King II. I didn’t listen to those things, though I do admit that I was quite a fan of Aqua’s ‘Barbie Girl’. They left little room in the group for me. I will just go out on a limb here and say that Samantha was trying to actively get rid of me. They were getting more and more exclusive. Sarah-Mae was even offered to eat lunch with the popular girls once or twice, and Samantha was hoping to tag along. Nobody wanted to be unpopular if they could help it. Except me.

Being alone again, having nothing in the real world to keep me entertained, I withdrew very deep back into my mind. I was so entrenched in my own imagination that I sort of stopped paying attention to anything. I started drawing again. I had kind of stopped for the years that I had been running around breaking and entering and tipping over garbage cans. Rachelle didn’t like drawing. I tried several times to get her into art, but it wasn’t active enough for her, and she would look at my art and mostly feel jealous, which created a dichotomy that I didn’t feel right about, so I avoided drawing around her. Her older sister was a really good painter from what I remember as well. It is never fun to try something new and not only not be naturally good at it – needing more practice than other people, but also being surrounded by people who have perfected the craft. That’s sort of how I feel about music and singing in particular. I have always wanted to be good at music. I love music, a lot more than your average person. But I don’t try making my own anymore. I probably should, but when you surround yourself with musicians, and you just aren’t a natural, it’s hard to find that initial false sense of confidence needed to project you forward. And I imagine that is how Rachelle felt about art.

In my fantasy world, I began collecting pictures in seventeen magazines, mixed with alien pictures that were popular at the time. These scraps of paper were precious to me, and with the, I used them as inspiration to invent these stickish girls that were half alien. I called them Alien Girls – probably not the most inventive, but fairly straight forward. It was kind of my own franchise to an extent. I drew hundreds of them, each having a name that reflected their personal taste in fashion and personality. They were like Betty Spaghetti, Bratz, and actual Greys mixed together. They had big heads, and alien eyes that were kind of cute, but very spaced apart on the sides of their face, tiny noses, little mouths, and long skinny bodies, usually dressed in some ‘cool’ nineties reinvention of sixties fashion that was kind of popular in 1999. There is no way on looking back that their bodies functioned. I never drew them in action, or even posing. I just drew them standing looking straight forward. For the three years that I kept on drawing these girls, It was beyond me what their profiles must have looked like. I never even gave them cheekbones. I created them as a way to make up clothes that either didn’t exist or that I could never wear. They were sort of invented to address my obsession with UFO’s. And they were sort of invented to address the unrealistic beauty standards that were beginning to seep into my impressionable mind. I drew them on all of the assignment papers I got in school. They told me to stop, and I would not. I would get sent to the office, given detentions. I just saw this as more time to draw. It got to where when someone would hand me my homework, I would not even do the homework at all. I would just immediately look for the blank spots on the page and begin drawing compulsively. I became known all through town for these Alien Girls. I think people who weren’t even in school knew about me.

I also started watching a lot of Shirley Temple movies. At one point or another, I have seen every Shirley Temple movie she did as a child, but my favorites for sure were either Bright Eyes or Heidi. I think I got into this because Allison got so much attention for her curls, that were a lot like Shirley Temples. I, on the other hand had thick unmanageable fuzzy hair. I didn’t so much feel resentful. I just wished that my hair would get curly. Strangely enough, it did start to curl. For this reason, as well as others, I have felt that we can sort of project onto ourselves the faces and looks of people we admire. Particularly when we are young. Not to say that you can look like anything you want, but if you stare admiringly at a certain kind of face, your face will start to morph more into that kind of face to the extent that your face can do that. Anyway, I digress.

Thirdly, aside from Alien Girls and Shirley Temple, I kept myself busy with food. Having the misfortune of being born to be genetically predisposed to gain weight for anything I eat ever was unfortunate for me, on top of misfortune of being born into a life where the accumulation of hardship left me to using food as a coping mechanism to begin with. I was unfortunate in this way, and it will always have a stamp on me psychologically. I have PCOS, and this is usually the age when PCOS begins to affect girls. It caused me to gain weight to an extent for no reason at all. I was eating very little for all the time my mom and dad had moved out of the house, and I rode my bicycle about five hours a day. There is no reason an eight year old should be getting fatter as active and starved as I was. But it was happening, slowly at first, and then all at once. Rachelle left, and all the neglect from my family, and anxiety at school and loneliness hit me at once. PCOS affects your appetite as well. You will be full, but your brain just keeps that to itself, like an asshole. So being a child, especially one like me who’s head was in the clouds when it came to matters that were practical, I just felt like eating all the time and so I did. It was one of the few comforts I had really. I didn’t get enormous exactly, but my friends were all tiny so I personally felt huge, and compared to them I kind of was. I seem to always have tiny friends. They were still 85 lbs. I was 130. I was another half of them. And we were all getting to the age where we had to start seeing things like identity, size and shape as mattering a whole lot.

One day, for reasons that I have no memory of, I was watching some boys in my class playing football, and I ran out there and attempted to punch one of them in the face. I think someone might have told me that the boy was attacking them, and I felt the need to defend them. However, this kid, James was his name, really could not have done any of the things he had been accused of because he was playing football all recess, and he wasn’t really the type to bother girls – so I suspect I chose to take a completely fabricated statement to heart and use it as an excuse to do something exciting. So I guess I got super defensive of 'my group’ (the one that would not even hang out with me after school0, and I ran out into the field, while a game was going on. I attempted to attack this James kid (I must have looked completely foolish), with everyone watching me. He put his elbow up in defense, and I ran right into it and it gave me a fat lip. Everyone was confused. I was confused. I think I decided in my mind that James punched me, but that’s not what happened. He was just trying to fend off some random person who decided to attack him during a football game.

This did not help my case at being outcast even further from the social order of my school system and peers. It had started when Roxanne got pregnant, and then I had lost my stellar grades when I stopped doing homework when I had no adults in the house. Then I started getting chubby and filling out a little bit before the other girls in my class. Then I started drawing all the time. And my friends all became boy crazy and wanted to be popular, and I didn’t. And it seemed that I related to my environment differently than everyone else. And there was something else. Since I have been about six years old, I started getting extremely depressed. I stopped being that depressed for a few years, but when I was alone by myself or felt misunderstood – which was often, I would get this stabbing sense of meaninglessness, a sense of self worthlessness, and I wanted to kill myself. I started writing secret suicide letters when I was seven years old. I would hide them under my bed because if my family found out I would get punished. Between the ages of seven and fourteen, I had hundreds of suicide letters that I never did anything with. I would have to periodically throw them out, but they would always fill up again under my bed. This was really difficult for me in a way I cannot explain. When I am down now, I know that it is a mood that will pass. I know that having a sense that I am hated is a bit of a mirage my brain makes up. I had no idea then. Everything that happened to me seriously wrecked me.

When I separate my mind and body now – as I think most people can do if they close there eyes and clear their thoughts, I can feel this underlying humanness that is ugly and terrifying. There have been a few times that I have been drunk or once on hallucinogens where I felt like I could almost see the inner workings of reality, like it was a blanket I could rip off the wall. What becomes more clear than anything, is that I am not who I think I am, and the world is definitely not as I think it is. This underlying reason behind everything that happens is not built from godly goodness, or from great evil. It’s this cosmic chaos that I can barely comprehend, and it brings out all that is needy and desperate in me. And underneath that, I try to understand what motivates this inner animal that is the core of who I am, and what I can place and understand of what lies under my motives, feelings, sense of everything around me is something vast and dark and not fully meant for the human mind to understand. I am not at peace with it. This is the human condition, and I don’t know that anyone really is. It’s wisdom, but it’s also death. And from a very early age, while my friends all played on the monkey bars, It just started creeping up on me early. It made me self aware – and different. It left a mark on me. From this point onward in my life, I suffered with this great crack in the facade of the world that made me feel unloved and empty. That was my way of comprehending the world. As an adult, I consider this subtle aching pain a friend of mine. I fight it to a degree, and try to live on my own terms, but I also know that it’s not going anywhere and eventually I will grow weak and die and what comes next is either nothing or a great big mystery I cannot even begin to understand. And I realize that most of the greatest works of art, the things that really reach into me and make the magic in my head work, all of that inspiration comes from that bleak dark underlying sea of cosmic chaos, and to a degree, the world we live in is not real the way we believe it is. It’s better to embrace it than to pretend it isn’t there. And sometimes I even think it’s helpful.

Something in me at this point was derailing, or emerging out of me. I started talking to myself at the bus stop waiting for the bus to take us to school. I just sat down on a rock about twenty feet away from everyone else and began having a conversation. With myself. This caused the other kids to talk about me, or make fun of me. I didn’t notice too much. People just didn’t seem that real to me anymore. The activities in school didn’t seem very enjoyable. I think teachers tried to tell my parents. I don’t remember how I talked exactly, or even what the back and forth of the dialogue even was, though I do remember having some genuine conversations with myself that stuck with me all day, and none of it was for attention. I felt a lot better after I had had a good heart to heart to myself.

I also began having nose bleeds that the school counselor felt were stress induced. I usually would start having a nose bleed at least four times a week. I remember once in fourth grade I was sitting at my desk, and I had my head on the table in my arms as I was blocking out the school environment to daydream. The teacher called my name strictly to get me to pay attention to the class, and when she did, a massive pool of blood was on the desk. It was pouring down my face and onto my shirt. Everyone was shocked. I hadn’t even known I was bleeding. I hadn’t picked my nose or anything. I was just something that happened a lot.

My parents broke up for good this time. People might disagree, but I really don’t feel like this was the cause of my nosebleeds or my self worth. That stuff was just something I had always had in me personally, and had merely decided to show it’s face to the world around the same time as my parent’s divorce. I think that my parent’s relationship has certainly left it’s mark on me to an extent, but I don’t think my problems stem from this element of my parents. Individually, I have had problems with them, but together they really were more annoying to me than anything. I did not thrive in their undying love they did/or did not have with each other. I remember feeling somewhat relieved that they had finally thrown in the towel. My mother I guess was secretly still on again off again with Huleo on the side, and her friend Germaine (who I will discuss later) had advised that she hook up with my father to see if she could get more money from him. She even faked a burglary to get away with keeping some of the valuables.

My sisters had gotten my mother into meth. It was strange, but Maria and Roxanne had decided that their own drug addictions could be fed more easily if they could get my mother personally invested. My mother has always been very spongelike. She takes in whatever the people around her are doing. Her core identity is childish confusion. Due to my mother’s own bad upbringing with a cruel father, she never really grew up. A part of her is still an eight year old girl. So it was very easy for my older sisters to fool her into taking drugs with them.

Roxanne’s grandmother on her father’s side died around this time. She had been very old. It was a day I remember oddly well. I remember the way the clouds looked, and the way everyone was dressed. It was the first funeral I ever attended. I had not known her well. I was dressed up and I sat through the sermon. Everyone was crying. It made me teary eyed. But mostly I was fixated on the fact that Roxanne’s grandma Abel was laying out for everyone to see. I just stared at that dead body the whole time.

I was eating a lot, but there were also short periods of time where I would phase out and forget to eat for a few days. There was one time where I distinctly remember forgetting to eat for three days without realizing it. I found a bag of those little saltines you put in your tomato soup and I ate the whole bag. Then I threw up the whole bag because my stomach was shocked by the food. This happened the first week at the new weekend home in Clarkston WA. I had chosen to stay primarily with my father for obvious reasons. My mother had moved in with her friend Germaine, and I was to stay with her on the weekends.

Germaine lived in a very large unfinished home with five bedrooms. The set up of the house is very hard to explain. It’s like a very rich couple moved in and then started remodeling but then stopped. There were two separate upstairs that were supposed to be connected but were not. One side of the upstairs you could only get to with a ladder. Germaine never had food in her fridge. She generally began drinking as soon as she woke up in the morning. She didn’t pay for garbage services. Instead she would take the bags of trash and throw them into an unfinished cement swimming pool in the back yard. It was such a disturbing sight. There were old computers, washing machines, countless bags of moldy food waste. I am pretty sure it was illegal. She was very loud, and she had a scratchy voice that sounded like the wicked witch of the west. She was really into Stevie Nicks, Dr. Hook and Steve Miller. Everything tacky about the seventies Germaine loved. She watched the movie Beaches every weekend with Bette Midler. I have seen that movie over 100 times, I am sure of it because of her. The house always smelled like mothballs, and there was always a skunk underneath the house somewhere that often smelled the place up.

Her son Brice would show up for the weekends. He was very hyperactive. I wouldn’t say he was a bad kid exactly, but he was a bit of an asshole if my memory serves me well. He tried to come onto me the first weekend, which disturbed me. He asked me for sex, and we were eventually in a situation where I kicked him hard between the legs. It was a game, and I wasn’t really aware that it really hurt boys that much. But he didn’t like me very much after that. He did however always invite me to help him create the ultimate go-cart. He was obsessed with making go-carts. And Brice had a brilliant mind for a fifth grader. He actually did make an electronic go-cart using scraps from the pool. He would climb into that jungle of filth and come out with scraps from random appliances. This bored me to no end so I stopped participating sooner or later. He also had this monkeyish looking friend named Justin who would not stop asking me out. I was very rude to him, but he didn’t get it at all.

Germaine would sometimes fight with Brice. Often he was being a little brat, but there was a time I remember where she took his head into the cupboards and began slamming his head with the door as hard as she could. Their fights were disturbing and abusive.

I had some very rough nights there. At first, everyone was too drunk and high to give me a place to sleep. There were not enough blankets for everyone. I ended up sleeping on cold concrete. I had cried, but my mom would do nothing about it. Allison found a pile of clothes to sleep in. She was still somewhat of a toddler and I don’t think this bothered her as much. David always slept in the bed with my mother. There was a shortage of food initially. My mother showed no interest in feeding us. She always got food for David, however. They would go to McDonald’s, and Allison and I would just have to figure it out. Maria came to live with my mother and Germaine as well. And she would take the food and blankets. She was pregnant with Earl’s baby, but she had broken it off with Earl. Earl initially was supposed to move in as well, but they had fought and broken up. For the time that he had been there, he kept this disgusting cup of old chew that he spit. It filled up to the top full of tarlike goo. One day, Allison came up to me as a toddler, and she had black all around her little mouth. She kept saying she wanted more yummies. I could not figure out for a moment what it was she had gotten into. And then I found out. She had drank all of Earl’s tobacco spit in the cup. It was probably the grossest thing I have ever witnessed. It makes me want to gag now. She had no idea since she was just a baby.

Eventually they gave me the loft, which was one of parts of the upstairs only accessible with a ladder. I don’t remember why I was so fortunate. It was a nice place for me to get away from everyone. It was a very strange room perched 20 ft above the rest of the house. It was in this dank little room where I began appreciating music. There was a dumb little alarm clock radio in there. At first I didn’t know how to use it, so I was stuck listening to country. But then I learned how to listen to different stations. I quickly became obsessed with the radio. I would sit up there for hours, drawing and filling up notepads. The music I was listening to wasn’t that great to me now, but at the time it was the best. I remember being up there listening to that Aerosmith song that was done for the movie Armageddon. There was also a grand piano where I would play You Are My Sunshine over and over. Usually Maria would make me stop since it was interfering with her soaps. So then I would always move over and play on the Windows 92’. Which I was extremely impressed with.

Maria would eat all the food at first and there was never anything to eat. Germaine had one of those big wooden television sets. We only got one channel. It was the channel that all the soap operas played on, and Friends. Maria would watch television all day and eat all the food. My mother was always either working or at a bar called Smitty’s Barrel. She came home to see my little brother, who was beginning to be kind of a spoiled tyrant in his own right. Maria would often yell at me. She became very abusive to me in general and difficult to live with. She blamed me for everything she felt my father had ever wronged her for. One time she locked me out of the house when it was 105 degrees for nine hours without food or water. I had no shoes, and the town of Clarkston is completely overrun by devils-weed since the area was very arid and dry. To find shade, I had to walk across a field of this stuff, and my feet were bloody by the time I got to the shed to hide. Every weekend I would dread Maria’s pregnant wrath.

Roxanne, her baby Sagen, and her new boyfriend Jody had moved in as well. It was a very full house. Jody and my sister Maria eventually got jobs at the local KFC. After that, they always brought bad KFC food home. My mom had found a new boyfriend. Huleo left her shortly after she broke it off with my father, and then she dated a guy named Shane for awhile. But he could not stand sharing my mother with my little brother either. My mom got involved with this guy named James. People called him Jimbo. He was about 4'5. He had hair down to his knees. He was a drummer in a do nothing concept band that aspired to be the ultimate eighties christian heavy metal band. James was generally unemployed. He always smelled like sweat and hot sauce. And he was always completely stoned. My mother got involved in his band. She started having these corny visions that the band was going to bring about biblical apocalypse. And all these dumb corny eighties guys took her seriously. In her mind, the four horsemen were coming. And when they did, their band – which never had a name would be playing as demonic storms rose against them on a mountainside, and God’s hand would come down and shelter them from the devil’s malice. She felt that the band’s existence, that her own personal existence, had been prophesied in the bible somehow. My mother wrote these semi horrible lyrics. They weren’t actually horrible. They were just what they should be. But the whole thing was so awful. It became this big thing that everyone in the house had to take seriously. It would not have been as bad had they actually practiced, which they didn’t. And the whole thing was a way for them to pretend to be devil worshipers but pretend that they were doin’ it for Christ.

Eventually the singer, Chris moved into the place too and started dating Maria. He was this big caveman. He smelled horrible. He changed his underwear once every two months and he was proud of this. And when he wasn’t sleeping or eating, or trying to sing like Dio, he would take this stuffed animal Barney the Dinosaur that belonged to my little brother and pretend to fight with it on the living room floor. It was disturbing. I would walk into the living room, and there would be this full grown man in his late twenties on the floor screaming at this stuffed animal, wrestling it wildly like it was fighting back or something. His pants would be falling off he was so entangled with this dumb fake fight, and his hairy butt would alarm me.

My mom got about 40,000 of my father’s savings from the divorce. From that, she wasted most all of it. She bought a lot of tasteless items that she never used. I think most of it went to drugs. She bought the band a bunch of speakers. James trashed them and carved upside-down crosses all over them. She bought herself this white Camaro that she ended up having for quite awhile. We eventually named it The White Bitch later on when Allison, David and I were older. Most all of it went to complete waste though.

My mom and Germaine had these horrible parties with thirty or so people. This really bothered me. It was hard to sleep over all the screaming and noise. I know parties can be fun for people, but I had to deal with so many of these parties as a child that I kind of grew resentful of loud parties in general, even to this day. I try very hard not to be critical based on my own personal experience, but the people were completely tasteless. I would wake up in the morning, and everyone was passed out all over the floor. There were piles of vomit everywhere. Later on, overtime, I learned to pickpocket loose change from these drunkards spread about. But at first it was extremely disappointing and shocking to me.

I think these parties did hurt my relationship with my mother what little was left to salvage. I was not nearly as callous then as I am now. Eventually, as the parties became more and more extreme, I would get really upset, because I wanted some stability. I never saw my mom at all, and nobody liked me at school or at home. These seven or so adults were all sitting around the table getting hammered, and I came in and begged my mother to stop drinking. She laughed at me and told me I was not her daughter. Her friends started calling me fat and ugly. I started crying. I tried to get away from them but they followed me, my mother being one of them. I was sobbing uncontrollably at this point. Between sobs I told them all that I didn’t want to be alive anymore and that I was going to kill myself, and they all laughed very hard, my mother being one of these mindless idiots. They told me I should do it. That it would make the world a better place. This traumatized me. I think I cried for eight hours straight very hard till I eventually passed out. After that, I just felt numb. I felt like my thoughts were stuffed with cotton, and there was a certain ringing in my ears everywhere I went. I wasn’t really the same after that experience. I don’t think I was able to process the situation correctly being nine or ten at the time. I truly believe that synapses happened in my brain that night that altered me forever.

On the bright side, Maria got a puppy. James used to watch Conan the Barbarian all the time in his stuffy little room and there is a character in the movie named Crom. He thought it would be really edgy and cool to name the puppy Crom. Crom became my puppy eventually since Maria didn’t want him anymore. And like most things I like, Crom became a fixation. Eventually, I got the dumb idea to take the puppy up the ladder with me so he could be up in the loft with me. I managed to push him up the ladder. But he was not happy up there, in fact, I think it made him become panicked and disoriented. I think it confused poor little Crom. He ended up jumping off of this place where there were no railings. He fell and broke a bunch of bones in his body. I watched the whole thing happen in shock. Maria came in and was screaming at me that I was a murderer. The whole scene was too awful. I thought I had killed another pet dog, for the second time. He ended up going to the vet, and getting fixed up.

When things became too much in the house. Sometimes I would go outside, and I would begin digging up massive ant homes under the dirt. I would sometimes spend endless hours out there studying ants. I decided that I didn’t want to be an artist, a ballerina, a comedian, a playwright or a cartoonist. I just wanted to tear societies apart. As I studied these ants, I really got the feeling that society itself was like ant colonies. And it fascinated me. I had no control over my real life or the people in it at all. I connected with nobody. But I had these ants. They were mine. I could learn to control them and manipulate their simple little lives. Or i could bring food for them and help them rebuild. I was their version of God, or the Devil, whatever i felt like being. I liked inspecting what motivated the ants. I created all sorts of social experiences to see how the ants would respond. I transported some ants from one place to another, to see if they would make their own hives. In this weird way, I think in my mind I felt like I was doing this with people. It gave me perspective.

These were bad, gross, ugly, embarrassing, empty meaningless, cold hard times for me. And sadly ,they were just the beginning.

If you would like to read the first three parts to my life here are these links -

Part 1

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/160186590059/about-me-life-story-part-1

Part 2

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/160333575899/life-story-part-2

Part 3

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/160399693214/about-me-the-third-part-i-did-it-after-all

So without further ado..

#text #life story

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