Archive for May, 2009

Turning a line in a song into the end of who I am.

May 31, 2009

I was backing up through a crowd, just barely dodging his grasps at me. The crowd wouldn’t move out of my way, they wanted me to be caught. He was stumbling, leaning on people as he struggled closer. I could see the tears on the face as clearly as I could smell the vodka on his breath.
“Just leave me alone!” I turned to run away.
“I can’t live without you!” He wailed as he dropped to his knees, clinging onto the pants of one of his friends who had come to console him. I could hear him sobbing into the fabric of her clothing, her consoling him called me a wretched bitch who didn’t know what she had. He was probably still downing alcohol, and considering how to fit this moment into song.

I had left him. We had only “dated” for two weeks. We went out to a football game tonight, and before the sun had even set he was taking shots of alcohol from an nondescript bottle. “Why do you have to do that?” “It numbs the pain.” I didn’t need this. I had told him I was leaving, and I could see him put it through his “emo” filter, the pain and agony were heightened. He overreacted. He could live without me.

I walked around, looking for a familiar face. I zipped up my jacket to cover myself more, and noticed the boy who sat next to me in my english class. I walked over, “Hi, it’s Sean right?”
“Yea, hi. Are you okay?” I had been crying.
“I know we just met but could you do me a favor? There’s this guy chasing me and I don’t really want to wander around alone.”
“Sure, hang out with us.”

I don’t remember much of what we talked about that night. I remember a boy coming over and staring at my breasts. “34 B, right?” “Um, yea?” I replied trying to cover myself. “Justin is coming over here.” Sean held me close to him. I could smell his cologne on his black t-shirt. He had dark hair, very light skin with light freckles. He had steel grey eyes. I would fall in love with those eyes, and it was those eyes…
“Come back to me Tobyn, I need you, I can’t live without you. You are a part of my soul. Please come back to me.” Tears were streaming down his face, he was hunched over while he was pleading.
“Leave me alone Justin, just go away. I don’t want to be with you, you’ll be fine.”
“Please, Tobyn!–” He began to plead again and reached out to me. Sean turned me to his side, clutching me closer and cut him off. “She doesn’t want to be with you. Go away,” Justin looked to me, then to Sean, and back. He walked away, digging into his jacket for his drink.
I looked up at Sean, smiling. “Thank you”
“Not a problem.” I tried to take a small step away but he still held me close. Wrapping his other hand around me, I could feel him lean his cheek against my hair. I hadn’t meant for this to happen. He smelled so good. Why do boys keep wanting me? They never paid any attention before. His clothes were so soft, his hold stronger than Justin.
I found myself pressing him up against a wall, my tongue touching his, his arms still held tight around me, we were part of the few who were last to leave.
“Would you like to see a movie tomorrow with me?” He ran his fingers through my hair.
“Sure, call me with a time” We walked up to the parking lot interlocking fingers, sure to let go before coming into eye sight of our parents. I looked back as I got into the car but he was gone.
“You have fun?”
“Yea, I guess so.”

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Trying to fill the hole in me.

May 30, 2009

I’m fifteen, sitting at a lunch table, the smell of bleach and cleaning chemicals permeates the air, covered over with the smell of various drinks from Dunkin’ Donuts. I have my nose in a book, sitting in close proximity to people I only know because I need someone to sit near to feel less alone. Most of my life has been spent searching for ways to find companionship, superficial or otherwise. Ever since I found out what it was like to have someone else to care for besides yourself, I felt like I couldn’t be alone. I had no one.
These girls dressed in hot topic clothes, with dark dyed black hair, jelly bracelets, spikes, dark lipstick, etc. I remember they were talking about how cute they thought the lead singer of HIM was with his “beautiful eyes, that could stare straight into your soul”. I tuned them out, went back to my book.
“Oh my god, look who’s coming over here.”
“Why wont he just leave us alone?”
“Cuz, he thinks he’s cool shit, you know?”
“Shh, don’t let him hear you.”
The boy invited himself into their circle, and joined their conversation, talking about bands he’s seen and inviting them to one of his shows. They humored him, “Oh, you like Taking Back Sunday? I love them!”,”Did you hear track number 14? It makes me cry everytime.”,”Oh fuck yea! I’d love to see you play a show! Maybe we can hang out after.” I kept reading my book.
“Hey there.”
I looked up, a bit startled by the voice directed at me. “Hello?”
“Hi, I’m Justin.” He sat down on the bench directly to my left. He was smiling, dark hair hung in front of face. I remember that I couldn’t decide if I thought he was cute. He had clear skin, nice eyes, but something about his face was weird. Perhaps I instinctively judging his facial symmetry. I read somewhere that people symmetric features are subconsciously found more attractive than people with asymmetrical features.
“Hi. I’m Tobyn” I looked back at my book.
“Do you like emo music?”
“Emo music?”
“Yea, my band plays emo, do you like that kind of music?”
“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never heard it.”
“Well I’ll bring in a mix tomorrow.”
“Okay?”
“See you.”
I kept looking at my book.
“You shouldn’t see him. He’s weird.”
“Okay” I had read the same sentence five times. The bell rang for A period to start.
By C period the next day I was listening to an 18 track mix “first half is alternative-emo and the last half is real emo” and having the same indecision that I felt about his face. Half of me loved listening to the distraught pining of a boy who had loved and not received it in return, listening to the verbalization of someone having their heart ripped out. I had a weakness for their words, the longing in myself had subsided temporarily but every once in awhile I could feel it pulling back up, climbing up my heartstrings and jutting out through my throat. I missed him. The other half of me wondered how anyone could listen to this crap. I guessed it was like beer. You had to build up a tolerance before you could really appreciate it. “It’s an acquired taste.” I came to find out that usually signifies crap that other people know is crap but try to get you to like it anyways. They’ve already tortured themselves to the point of tolerance so that they think they’re cool. Now they need to convince someone else to do it so they’re not alone.

“You’re a touch overrated,you’re a lush and I hate it but these grass stains on my knees they won’t mean a thing”

A week later Justin and I were out on a picnic table. He was flicking his tongue in and out of my mouth, his lips open limply, like a hyperactive snake inside of the mouth of a death fish. At least his breath was minty. I let him slip a hand up my shirt. After an hour we were walking hand in hand through a park, he was talking about a show, some song he had written and brooding. I noticed, the “emo” didn’t stop with the music, it flowed into his life. He was an over reactive boy wrought with emotion, his body decaying with despair, his heart wrenched in a vice, unable to feel, yet struggling, desperate to give me his love, becoming too attached too quick like love was just a line in the song he was living and he only had three minutes to love and be left and sing the sorrows of his soul. I looked at the trees and wondered why I still felt empty.

“And all I need to know is that I’m something you’ll be missing”

On another day I was sitting in that same park alone, with my headphones on and a fleece to protect myself from the chilly late September air. I thought about my past lover. Why did I still feel empty? Why was it not enough to feel his hands on me, his warmth against me, to listen to him talk? His hands are not as rough as yours, never having needed to really work. His voice is not as soothing as yours, self centered and incoherent. And his warmth is irrelevant because his soul never touches mine, we may be close physically but I feel as though we’re in different worlds.

“The truth is you could slit my throat and with my one last gasping breath I’d apologize for bleeding on your shirt.”

I’m still trying to fill this hole you left in me.

May 23, 2009

May 23, 2009

“Honey, what’s a lobster bake?”
“Well, first you make a pit in the ground and start a fire. Then you put a pot of water on it and let it boil, then you begin interrogating the lobsters. They’re not gonna talk though, because they’re lobsters and lobsters can’t speak. So then you just throw them in the pot and cook em up. Then when they’re all done you grill them up to make them nice and crispy and tasty and then you eat them.”
“Ew.”

May 21, 2009

May 23, 2009

This situation should accurately demonstrate why I hate the RMV:

The lady at the counter pauses and gives a glance over to her friend who is now playing “Macho Man” rather loudly on her radio. They exchange some jokes and commentary before the lady returns to the business at hand. She issues me a request denial form because I cannot produce adequate proof of residency. At this point in time she is holding four pieces of paper with my full name on it as well as a computer screen right in front of her. And then she spells my name wrong. Not kind of wrong, like switching a vowel but really wrong as in dropping two letters and exchanging one for an ‘a’.

The RMV is just someone’s joke right? No one could have really thought that this whole process was a good idea. No one is that stupid or mean. I really hope all the employees are in on it too, because that’s just sad.

May 20, 2009

May 23, 2009

How do you fix the drain to your tub? Well it’s a simple task that can be done in 20 minutes with a few parts from the Home Depot. All you need is a plumber’s wrench, some sealant, and a few feet of pipe that are the same shape, size and width as the pipe you are replacing. Now shut off the water, remove the old pipe, put in the new pipe, seal, tighten and tadaaa! You now have a fully functional tub drain once more.

Of course it is never that easy. Here’s how our tub got fixed. Step one, visit favorite diner next door to the house you used to live in. Chat up the owner (who is an adorable mid-twenties Portuguese woman, very nice, love her to death) and get her to find you a cheap plumber. She calls up her very Portuguese mother and you can try to eavesdrop on their very loud and very funny mother-daughter conversation that is entirely in Portuguese. I do not know Portuguese but I could tell you exactly what the conversation was about, since most mother-daughter conversations go this way. She asks for number to the plumber she knows, mother says “Oh no, use this guy he’s great,” “No, mom, I just want to call so-and-so” and after all that you get the number for Vanür, a Brazilian plumber who only speaks Brazilian Portuguese and that no one you know can vouch for. Great! End of step one.

Step two, drive 40 minutes to pick up plumber, drive back 40 minutes to house (with plumbing) and let the guy stare at the bottom of your tub for a bit. Now take him to Home Depot so he can get the appropriate parts. Drive back to house. Drive back to Home depot to get parts he forgot. Drive back to house. Wait 4 hours for him to finish work. Then drive 40 minutes back to drop off plumber while your tub is still leaking and he is telling you in very broken English that “es un CLOG, use el Drano, si, es muy bueno, etc. etc.” Oh, and by the way my husband does indeed speak Portuguese, but he wont tell me what they are talking about, only that he doesn’t know the word for pipe and that the language from Portugal and Brazil is different. True, since there is an entire ocean in between them, that would make sense.

Step three, use Drano, wait overnight and voila, tub is fixed. It’s been two days but I’m still crossing my fingers hoping that something doesn’t go horribly wrong.

Now throughout this whole mess, I stayed home cleaned and scrubbed everything in the kitchen, rearranged some furniture, put away all the dishes and food and we now have two fully complete rooms. One to sleep in and one to cook in. That’s all we need right? Only six more areas to complete.

May 19, 2009

May 23, 2009

“It’s a bright summer day outside. It’s beautiful, and you can tell because the homeless are ripening nicely”

May 18, 2009

May 23, 2009

I have made it out alive. And the people within a 50 mile radius have made it out alive as well, and if they didn’t, I swear, it wasn’t my fault. I plead the fifth.

I woke up today, the sun was shining on my husband’s beautiful sleeping face, as the drool so gracefully shifted back and forth with his snoring and as I sat up and touched my feet to the hellishly cold floor, and looked upon the piles of boxes upon boxes upon trash bags and tangled hangers and disassembled furniture, I thought to myself, what the hell have we done?

I walk across my house, my feet telling me its winter even though its most definitely May, and there are blankets and lampshades, a broken patio door, a leak under the sink, and I don’t even know what is in the kitchen. We have a lot of work to do.

So we start our day with a shower, which was fun since we had to find all the shower items in unmarked boxes since my husband decided to wait until yesterday to pack and I couldn’t have stopped the obvious train wreck because I have just finished finals and reviews and I had been out of existence altogether for 3 weeks. But now Im back, swooped in like the superwoman I am and packed the remainder of the apartment, got it in the new house and then died in my bed. That’s where we are now.

The shower. Figuring out how the shower works is always an entertaining experience at the very least and wildly humorous at the best. Because someone came up with the idea of unique shower fixtures and now they are all different, figuring out how to turn the damn thing on is a trial and error experiment with the risk of making yourself, your partner and your entire bathroom very wet, which, after just waking up, is worse than the risk of death. Clockwise or counterclockwise? Pull it up, twist it around, out and turn? Now which is cold and which is hot? To the left or to the right or the very unique to the up? And how to switch from bath to shower? And after all that you have to hope that you still have enough energy to mop the floor and finally shower.

Now we’re going to fast forward past the actual showering, dressing, eating and shopping for home repairs and get right to the flood in the basement. Our good friend decided to come over and help us with some minor home repairs, fix the sprayer in the kitchen, rehang the patio door, replace the toilet seat etc. Suddenly, while he is hooking up the icemaker in our new fridge to the water pipes in the basement, we hear a yell. Not an angry or frightened yell, more a less a loud “Hey guys? Did you know you got a flood down here?” Well of course not! And much to our dismay we had an inch or two of water around the base of the stairs, a puddle extending from the bathroom, around to the stairs and then a bit down the hall. We did it on purpose! Don’t you have small life-bearing ponds in your basement too? We’re just getting ours started! Woo, water in the basement!

It turns out that the most satisfying shower that Ive had in a long time also decided to bypass the drain in the tub and dive directly for our basement. Of course it would. It’s a nice basement. Well now we have a major house repair too as well as minor house repairs, and I decided to leave “the men” alone with their brand new problem/toy. This left me time to completely set up the bedroom (which was conveniently already painted a beautiful eggplant color that my husband didn’t have time to change before we moved, yay!) and to get rid of any previous bedroom fixtures I didn’t quite like before *cough*gigantic-wooden-lamp-monstrosity*coughcough* And now we have a compromise between my modernist tendencies and his huge gaudy furniture.

Let us take a moment to step aside and discuss dust. My husband lived in his apartment for 18 years before I moved in. He fought and lost a war against the dust bunnies. I regained some ground but it was too far gone. Now the dust had traveled upon the furniture to our new house and damn it all if I will let them win this time. I have set up an offensive attack, cleaning anything before it makes its way to its final resting spot. With my pledge, a rag, some paper towels, windex and my handy toothbrush, I set out to vanquish the dust. I will not lose this time.

At the end of the night, the minor fixes were complete, there is a bucket in my basement, the living room is mostly done, and my bedroom is complete. I now have a place to hide when the rest of unpacking seems totally hopeless and if my house continues on this path of falling down around me. But I can’t be totally upset. I’m in my first year of marriage to the most wonderful man and we are now officially homeowners.

Introduction

May 23, 2009

Hello,

My name is Tobyn Rouge, and this is going to be a backup version of my blog flourish. The semipermanent location is yet to be determined, however I will put that link up as soon as it becomes available. The website is currently under construction so I’ve decided to make posts available here. Also, because I have just moved my access to the internet is limited until this Wednesday and posts will be coming in bulk until then. Hopefully you all can bear with me during this transitional process.

Thanks!

Tobyn