people tell me i should write a book, part one.

I "realized" who my biological father was when i was fourteen. I say "realized" because i technically knew the man my entire life, except that i knew him as nothing more than a family friend. To his credit, he didn't know that i was his either, and if he had, my life would have been different. This is the story that i collected surrounding my conception, and it begins with information that was divulged from my father's other child. "if you got coke in the eighties, anywhere between maryland and pennsylvania, you got it from our dad." Nice. The next peice of the story, i inadvertantly recieved by eavesdropping on an argument between my mom and one of her boyfriends. Apparently, my dad moved a lot of coke across state lines weekly and sold large and small amounts, when he was caught, he had a small fortune. Upon being released from jail, he invested his money in alcohol, drugs, and a trailer to party in. Yano, the things that redneck dreams are made of. It was during thus "partying period" that he impregmated two girls, two months apart. Both girls were a few years his junior, both were high school seniors from the same school, and (here's where it gets kind of Jerry Springer-esque), the two were best friends. My mom was the second girl to be graced with my dad's lovechild and the shame and complexity of the circumstances surrounding her pregnancy would be the reason she refused to have my paternity tested until i was almost entering high school.

Letter to a sperm donor.

  Maybe you're wondering why I haven't reached out to you before. In truth, I've started this letter probably twenty times but threw every draft away.
  On the surface, I'm sure you think this all started because you couldn't or wouldn't help me finance a car for school. Initially, I was mad because of that. It hurt me that something that was imperative to my education could mean nothing to you. I was mad because you gave your money freely to your girlfriend for christmas and to justin for his car but when it came to me, my needs just didn't cut it. But these feelings alone wouldn't justify my not speaking to you for years.
  You may not understand or appreciate how easy it is for me to erase someone from my life. It wasn't until after years of introspection that I began to understand it myself. I guess after being left by every man who I ever deemed important - pap, bub, dan - I just learned to move on and sometimes cut people off before they hurt me as a defense mechanism. With others, I never let them get close to me because in my mind, to be close to me would allow them access to hurt me like I'd been before. Like I said, you may not understand that, but I wanted to offer you some explanation as to why I am so guarded and quick to cast people - even important ones - aside.
   When you told me you couldn't help me finance a car for school, you probably thought my response was irrational - and it was. But my reaction was based on something deeper than your words. To me, you were basically saying, "I'll provide for my real kid, and even my girlfriend, but you're on your own." I know you didn't come out and say that but that's how I interpreted it because after 18 years of not getting child support and being raised with nothing, the one time I needed you, you turned me away.
   Anyways, enough of the explanations on my end. I am writing to you now for two reasons. One, I don't know what tomorrow brings and if you were to die today, this letter and my feelings would be on my heart for the rest of my life. Reading these words to your headstone wouldn't allow me to ever get your input, your explanation, or maybe some kind of acceptance that a part of me probably still craves. Reason two is that I want you to know that I made it, and did it mostly on my own. Also, I did a damn good job, if I say so myself, having no kids or drug problems to speak of. Because I knew I couldn't count on your for support, I worked full time the entire way through college. I even graduated as a registered nurse. I thought of inviting you but then decided not to, as you failed to assist in my success in any way.
  So, in closing, in a small way, I want to thank you. Even if all you did was show me how to rely on no one but myself, the family that raised me, and God, you made me a stronger woman.
 

Preach.

“You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She's not perfect - you aren't either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break - her heart. So don't hurt her, don't change her, don't analyze and don't expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she's not there.”
― Bob Marley

Another female conundrum.

I always told myself if I found a man who met each aspect of my unattainable checklist, I would appreciate him. It turns out this is so much easier said than done. He has no kids, crazy exes, or annoying habits. He's college educated, makes me happy, and doesn't mind me fitting him into my already overlapping schedule. I didn't meet him in a club, he hasn't smashed any of the homies and (here goes the kicker) he not only doesn't judge me for laying naked in bed for hours while watching Family Guy, he actually enjoys joining me in doing so.
Perfect right? so what's the issue? Why do I feel like I make him pay for everyone of my douchebag ex boyfriends mistakes? Sometimes I find myself subjecting him to my emotional rants even when I can't remember why I'm mad at him in the first place. Can I not be an emotional ticking time bomb when the men before him laid the foundation and built the bomb themselves? Can one ever truly immerse themselves in a relationship without any of their past insecurities creeping back into view? When you think you're getting good at protecting yourself from the bad ones, you forget how to drop your guard long enough to let the good ones get close.

You say "Hippie" like it's a bad thing.

Do I like sitting in the grass and enjoying good music? Yes.
Do I enjoy partaking in hallucinogenic greenery? Of course.
Do I often disagree with mainstream politics and judgmental fag-tards? Indubitably.
Do any of these things "make" one a "Hippie"? In a word, no.

What "I am" is too complex to be defined by a played out, overused adjective that's lost its original meaning over the generations. Thinking independently from mainstream media, recognizing that underground musicians are often more talented and less "I sold my soul to make a dollar", these things are gifts. Most people can't see past the whole "I have to dress in what obscure, self proclaimed fashionistas tell me to" but when you find the beauty in things that you find enjoyable and embrace freedom of thought, action, belief and expression, you don't feel the need to define yourself in a word. So in a word, no. I am not a hippie. I am a human. thanks.

Facebook is evil.

What was facebook made for? was there honestly a new, original purpose for the "social networking site" other than maybe to steal myspace's clientele and shine? Surely the creator didn't sit his nerdy ass in his room surrounded by web page design manuals typing design codes away feverishly just so we could one day stalk our significant other's page or keep up with the monotonous lives of people who won't matter in ten years. Im sure his master plan wasn't for a bunch of jailbait teeny boppers to get half naked and take pictures standing in front of the mirror idiotically while people are out living real lives... but that's what it's used for. Facebook is evil, and it will take over your free time and strangle the  life out of your relationships if you let it. 

BassAckwards.

“A wise girl kisses but doesn’t love, listens but doesn’t believe, and leaves before she is left.”
- Marilyn Monroe

What happens when girls force themselves to be "wise" for so long that they forget how to feel love when kissing a man? or believing a word that comes out of his mouth? and what happens when she leaves so damn often that when she finally finds the one worth staying for, she has no idea how to keep herself from running away?
As far as girls go, I may be the "wise"-est. But "wise" doesn't greet me at the door or promise me a future better than my past. Maybe superficial relations with men prove to be fun, but they don't fullfill. I deserve love, honesty, and continuous happiness. It may be the opposite of Monroe's definition, but I feel all the wiser for realizing it.