Pretty WILD

Anger brings out the beast (Apollo) in me. And I'm not kidding! Once I was so angry I ripped the handle off the back door. I also used to beat up on my little sisters and I didn't know my own strength. So a lot of things had been angering me lately and I've been avoiding talking about it just 'cause I usually lash out at anyone who happens to be in my way.. Sad, I know.

So I'm here today to tell you a few warning signs to let you know when the fangs are about to come out! Good luck.

Bold = things that happen that only I can feel!

WARNING SIGNS, BEWARE;
1.) I jut my jaw out and clench! So it looks like I have a massive under bite, but I don't...
2.) My palms get sweaty
3.) I walk fast in the halls. Honestly I look like I'm on a mission and that I could mow you down if you get in my way.
4.) My chest tightens. It feels like there are iron vises crushing my ribs in, but at the same time there are big meat hooks pulling them out. Painful? Yes.
5.) My arms feel like if I don't move them they are going to lock in place. The urge to hit something or someone is so strong that I have to do something productive in order for the feeling to go away.
6.) I swear... Like a sailor... or a rapper... Depends on the degree of my mood.
7.) My thoughts travel at the speed of light.. Which if you don't know is : 299 792 458 m / s.. Wow that's fast B! I know.. Believe me.
8.) I avoid all physical contact. There is a better chance that I will lash out at you if you get too close.
9.) If a thought occurs and I linger on that thought for too long I believe what ever happened in that thought actually happened.. and my mood goes from worse to "GET THE F OUT OF MY WAY NOW!"
10.) I fidget.. Probably the most impossible thing to do when I am angry is sit still.
11.) I become quiet. Not the oh I am just thinking quiet.. but the I am silently plotting your destruction.. go away quiet.
12.) I walk away from people. I want to be alone so I can cool down. I don't want you to follow, just stay and wait until I am OK..
13.) I play with my hair, it's a self-soothing technique that I have no control over. But playing with hair is an everyday thing, how do we know when you are angry? Well my dear blogger, its like this.. If you are trying to talk to me and I don't look up at you while I'm playing with my hair.. I'm PISSED. Or if I am "searching for split ends"... *whistles*
14.) **ONLY IN EXTREME CASES** I shake. Uncontrollably.

Now I don't give you these warning symptoms so you can avoid me at all costs every day.. just on the bad ones. I try not to be angry because I know there is no use in fighting any more. And I hate yelling.. It has something to do with how f-ed up my childhood was and how I witnessed so much yelling.. but that is not the point. The point is that if I yell I am truly offended/hurt/pissed/scared.

I hate confrontations! I won't talk to you about it... But if it means a lot to me I will.. WILL.. Confront you.. If I do, you know YOU did something wrong..

So continue you at your own risk if I am mad and you see that.
The outcome won't be pretty.

SCREW YOU OLD MAN

Perfect opportunity for Blair to make herself known to other people. But of course I got in the way because I wanted to be respectful, and not talk back to my elders. But no, it's been churning in my head and it downright pisses me the F off!

I may be the best driver in my whole family. No, I AM the best. I am cautious and make sure I am a considerate driver. I think about the other person's feelings before I actually act. My mom jokingly nicknamed me a "grandma driver". I laugh and say it's always better to be cautious than get into an accident.

So today I decide against all my rules, I'm running late I don't have time to be cautious.. I'm literally like five blocks from school.. I'll be a little reckless. So I am coming up to the turn which I take to take me directly to the school. There is a white car next to me and there is a good 70 meters till the turn, I speed up make sure there is a good distance between me and the car.

Good Distance = I'm not going to hit you if I accidentally swerve or something. And you don't have to haul on your brakes to avoid hitting me.

So I keep going and the white car follows me, I think nothing of it. Tons of kids take this route to school, I can think of about ten friends of mine who take it.. No big deal right? The fishy-ness starts when I pull into the parking spot and the white car is STILL behind me, parked this time. Windshield wipers stopped in the center of the window.

This guy must be in a hurry to get to class too right?

WRONG.

I turn off the car just in time to catch this.

"What driving school did you go to?"

Exsqueeze me? What did I do wrong?

"You cut me off back there!"

This old man, maybe 80+ years, comes raging towards my driver's side door. He's yelling about how I cut him off and how I'm going to cause accidents if I don't shapen up!

I'll let Blair take it from here.

Excuse me, excuuuuuuuuse me. You are not my grandfather NOR my father, you have no right to tell me how to drive! And, no, I did not CUT YOU OFF, I passed you. There was a good 20-30 feet in between our two somewhat crappy cars!

Did I hit you? Did you have to slam on your brakes to avoiding hitting me?

No you didn't!

And don't you DARE tell me I'm a bad driver for the ONE mistake I made. You don't know me, you don't know my record of driving. I have no tickets, haven't gotten in ANY accidents.

"How many years have you had your license?"

"Two years..."

"Three years? Well then you have not have learned!"

Listen to what I'm saying old man! I've had my license for TWO years... TWO! And don't talk to me like you know me. You are obviously senile and don't know what's going on! You keep repeating yourself.. what driving school did I go to? None of your damn business.

This is why I hate old people. Besides the downright creepy-ness of them, they are senile can't remember a damned thing and they drive like bats outta hell themselves! They drive under the speed limit.. Frankly, they are HORRIBLE drivers and should have their license taken away after the age of 80.

So the guy keeps coming at us like we're the worst driver in the whole world. And honestly I am ready to pounce on this guy because really I don't see what we did wrong.. But Becca decided to listen to this guy. Because that's the weakling she is. F Becca!

Screw being respectful right now, this guy had no right to criticize our driving.

Thank you, Blair.

This puts a damper on my mood for the whole day. I don't want to be a "bad driver". I want to be a good driver who does everything with complete and utter care! So screw you old man, my middle finger goes out to you.

My Phoenix

The myth of the Phoenix originated in Persian mythology. It tells of a beautiful fire bird that dies in the flames and then is reborn from the ashes.

When I say my phoenix I mean my soon-to-be tattoo. I've been thinking and thinking about the placement, the colors, the words to go with it... And I finally figured out what is going next to my fire bird.

Dallas: Oh I know!

Becca: Of course you know, but they don't!

Dallas: Do they even know the story behind it?

Becca: Well they know half-

Dallas: Half isn't enough! Let me tell the story!

Becca: Uh... Ok.

Dallas: We decided that the placing would be on our right shoulder, next to the blade, it will extend down pretty far down with vibrant colors and my all time favorite lyrics ever from a song! "Arise and be all that you dreamed" from the song Arise by Flyleaf.

Becca: Good job, now the story...

Dallas: Gosh, rein in your ponies.

Becca: Rein my-

Dallas: The story behind it is the year 2009 and all it's ups and downs. With Generose, losing friends, fights, just the worst and the tears, oh the tears that were shed could fill all of East Battle Lake!

Becca: Now tell them what Dad said..

Dallas: Wha-oh. He said "I will not support the idea of you getting a tattoo."

Becca: And what did we do?

Dallas: Shook our fists and jutted our jaws!

Becca: Good, but keep your head held high, Dal. We'll get it soon enough.

Dallas: But what about those lame people out there who copy other people's ideas?

Becca: Easy, copy my ink and I'll skin them (:

Dallas: Absolutely barbaric.

Becca: You love it.

Give Me A Sign

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=97S66xee0U8

May 6
It's coming up really quick.
It'll be the one year anniversary.
One year since I was at my lowest,
One year since I met Lux,
One year since I went into the hospital.
So let me tell you a story;
Two days, both alike in routines,
In fair Rochester, where we lay our scene,
From ancient pain break to new depression,
Where unwanted thought makes civil hands unclean.
I sit across from my mother at dinner,
We are celebrating our heritage.
I am surprised by my acting skills,
I'm able to smile and laugh, while a battle rages in my heart.
Open the scene to a new time,
I'm making up a test in my least favorite class.
Every now and I then I look up to the clock,
Time is passing quickly and I need to leave.
I almost miss my appointment with Dr. Palzter.
Anxiously waiting in the reception area I run through all the things,
Everything I should share with her.
After safely making into her room,
I sink onto the uncomfortable couch,
A place I know very well,
Everything releases, flood gates are open.
Blair sits next to me, patting my back,
Right now she is the only one with me.
Hours pass and a decision is made,
I can't live like this any longer, I need help.
I'm left alone for a few minutes while Dr. Paltzer sorts things out.
I'm left alone to meet Lux for the very first time.
She covered all the signs, everything,
And I realize how dangerous that is.
Mom comes to get me, and takes me to my new room,
Its cold and lonely, alien to me.
I want home, and happiness.
I need to go through this to get there though.
One year later, and it's almost the same.
The signs are still, they're just hidden.
So I'll give you a sign, if you know how to interpret them.

Jumbled Thoughts

I'm standing in front of the crowd,

All familiar faces, just blurred and contorted.

Reassuring hands on my arms tell me,

"We're here for you, we love you."

Leave it to the egos to save the day.

I clear my throat, one, two, three,

Take the breaths I know all too well.

It's time to let the caged phoenix sing,

All the ugly thoughts and feelings you made me feel.

Take it, you owe me that much.

But when the words won't come, what then?

Choked by the fear of rejection,

I surrender to Blair, I let Lux do her job.

They can handle your lies, I can't.

Those light sea-foam green pills don't do the job anymore,

I take them to change, to make me more enjoyable.

I take them for you.

If I miss a day I see down to the depths,

Deep down to every soulless word you've ever spoken.

I'm not the Zoloft trained zombie I used to be.

The pressure in my heart, like iron hands squeezing,

I see the truth now.

You convinced me that everything would be alright,

And look at it now.

Broken hearts, tears, hate filled words.

This isn't what best friends looks like, not anymore.

Faded gloves slip onto my hands,

I know the lion in me is roaring to be released.

I could unleash it, say words that will burn,

But that's not how I want this to end.

I find my voice again and know what I want to say,

I want to know why.

Why can't I ever truly tell you what I'm thinking?

Why do you constantly pick her over me?

What is wrong with me?

What did I do?

Jealousy is a friend I know very well,

He keeps a room in the back of my very being.

But beyond that, beyond those questions,

Beyond the feeling of envy and betrayal...

There is one question burning, searing, the very tip of my tongue.

If I left you early, would you even notice?

If I did resort to the thing I promised you I would never do,

What happens then?

I've pretended and pushed through all of the crap,

I've taken the beatings, I've been taken advantage of,

I've came out of my shell only to be forced back in,

My ideas cut off by more exciting and fresh ones.

I'll jump through hoops to entertain you,

Nothing it seems is reciprocated.

I'm worn out, bruised and tired.

I can't fight anymore.

It's your turn.

Popeye

I received this text during 7th hour Physics today;



"Your grandpa is recovering in sioux falls from an infection that developed due to a surgery related to a twisted bowel. Will give you all an update tonight."



Today's blog isn't going to be about boys or school, softball or friends... It's going to be about love and the ones I love. The ones who knew me since I was just the size of a pea pod. This blog is going to be about my grandparents; Nannie and Popeye.



My stomach dropped seventh hour when I read the text. Mr. Howard's voice began to fade to just a murmur as I fingered the keypad on my phone. Thoughts went zooming through my head as minutes passed waiting for a reply from my dad. When he told me that Popeye was sedated and resting I breathed a sigh of relief.



Relief only lasted a few minutes before I realized that my grandpa is old. Not the evil soul sucker old, but old enough. I can't imagine life without him and that scares me. Summers wouldn't be the same. The cabin would just seem like another place when it would normally seem like a nirvana with all my family around me.



And then I started to think about my grandmother. I couldn't imagine them not together. How was she feeling? Is she okay? Is she in the room with him? Is she scared? My grandparents have been married for 52 years and I can still see the love in my grandpa's eyes when he looks at my grandmother. I want a love like theirs. A love that last half a century without losing the spark that brought them together.



I always enjoy hearing about how they met; my grandma was a freshman in high school and my grandpa a sophomore. My great grandmother didn't like my grandpa one bit, she called him a troublemaker and always told my grandma to "stay away from that Jimmy Moir." Of course Nannie didn't listen and fell in love with Popeye.



At my father's wedding two summers ago my grandma made a special request to the DJ; "Play 'The Leader of the Pack' by The Shangri-Las." Watching those two dance together made everyone smile and made me want my marriage to last the long. To have someone to grow old with.



That same summer we celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. It was a huge production that my family had been planning since the previous summer, all of it a surprise to them. A whole week was dedicated to their love. And the surprises went like this;



My cousin Morgan woke up really early in the morning and went to wake up my grandparents in the cabin. He told them he thought they had bed bugs in the bunkhouse and to help him investigate. They reluctantly walked over to the bunkhouse and opened the screen door only to be surprised when three other people (my cousins Brad and Marta, and my sister Lindsey) who popped up from behind the bed. The three of them were supposed to arrived three days later.



I drove up with my cousin Josh, his girlfriend Randi, my cousin Megan, sisters Amy and Mary, and Aunt Annie and Uncle Brad. We knew that all of the people at the cabin would be down by the dock so we snuck around the bunkhouse to get a view of the dock. We then decided that Josh, one of my eldest cousins whom my grandparents haven't seen in ages would be the one to walk out and say "hello." We giggled as we watched him walk straight up to Nannie, as she paused and tried to recognize him, and then as she screamed "OH MY GOODNESS! JOSH!" We then walked into view and Nannie hugged each of us while tears poured from her eyes.



The next couple of days included arrivals of old family members, dinners with everyone, and finally ended with the main dinner. The food wasn't all that great but watching Nannie and Popeye give the toast was the best part. They had tears in their eyes, grateful and just so happy to be surrounded by people who loved them and who they loved dearly. Tissues were passed around as the audience teared up from the kind words. We concluded the night with homemade ice cream, enough to feed a firehouse, and a specially made DVD. On the DVD were pictures ranging from when Nannie and Popeye were just babies to now with all of their grand kids.



One moment I'll never forget is when I looked back at Popeye during the movie and he was crying. Not just teary eyed, but tears were rolling down his wrinkled face. I remember it shocking me because I had always thought Popeye was not the one to cry, he was too tough. But there he sat with tears pouring from his eyes. He was touched and couldn't help but cry.

My grandfather means a lot to me, like I'm sure most people's grandparents do. And I can't help but look back on all the memories I have of him and almost tear up because I can't imagine them without him.

To say that losing him would break my heart is an understatement. But not only would it be an understatement about me, but also to my whole family. For what is Moirs Mooring without it's proprietor?

I love you, Popeye.

Bite My Lip

Bite My Lip

A poem by Dallas

Biting my lip when I see you stare,

But knowing you don't care,

All of it just so unfair.

Butterflies flutter when I see you in the hall,

Bite my lip to silence my call,

How can you make me feel so small?

Bite back my tears when my changes, whatever the size,

Won't turn your eyes,

And it hurts to realize.

So what do I do?

Biting my lip around you,

Because I know my dreams are too good to be true.

My lip is getting sore,

I don't think I can do this anymore,

I'll stop, when you stop biting yours.