Friday, April 27, 2012

Amanda Sierra- A Brief History of Infinite Surliness

1988- Is born. Late.

 1989-1993- Spends a long time "workin' my craft". Motor skills are rocking, but are used mostly for dramatic drawings and talking to stray cats.

 1994- Little brother, Mitchell, is born. The older sister superiority sets in. Overfeeds the fish until they die sad, bloated deaths. TO PROVE A POINT.

 1995-1998- Integrates well in the school's always the quiet ones.

 1999- Buys first CD, it is Alanis Morissette. Bemoans men and their ways despite never having actually had a boyfriend.

 2000- Watches Daria a lot at night. Feels comforted.

 2002- Enters high school. Dyes hair black sophomore year. Develops crushes on musicians (takes a long time to recover from crushes on musicians).

 2004- Contemplates learning the bass. Because fuck diva ass lead singers. Fuck singing. Fuck voices. 

2006- Starts smoking frequently and replaces blood with oil from the tater-tots at Grill (RIP, *pours Dr. Pepper on ground, for ones homies*).

 2007- Goes Keroac on everybody's asses.

 2008- Has a son. Votes for Obama. Goes soft.

 2009-2011- Blogs a lot about going soft.

 2012- Watches Daria, eats a shitload of chili. Drinks a little more.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Easter 2012

It's hard to log into Blogger and see all the wonderful pictures of families. Families celebrating Easter, children with eggs clasped in their excited hands.

Nobody tells you that, when getting divorced, you split everything into two and one of you will periodically be stuck with the short end of the stick. Holidays are better spent with family and when yours is split, holidays take on a different shade. Grey with streams of light that sneak through your bedroom window antagonizing your eyes.

"Maybe next year..."

You begin to lose your enthusiasm for the dates that come pre-marked on your calendar. You superimpose your own meaning on days where everybody else is busily trudging away through the daily tasks of life. This makes you creative. But not creative enough to escape the inevitable twinge of melancholy that finds you at 2 p.m., still clad in your pajamas, drinking vodka sodas and watching movies on TV. Because what else do you do when you know you've lost another round of Happy Normalcy?

You go to bed early, you distract yourself with other things, you wake up and wonder if Jack will like jelly beans on Friday the 13th instead.