It’s been a week since I moved out of my boyfriend’s place and back to my parents.
I hate it. I hate everything right now.
The only thing keeping me sane is his love for me, our relationship still held together even though we live apart now, after a little more than half a year.
I got my Halloween, my Christmas time and New Year’s with him. I still get Valentine’s Day, but I wish I was back in his arms every night.
Sure, plenty of people don’t live together. I know. I know I sound like a whiny little baby. I’m obsessive, I’m crazy, I’m paranoid, I’m a lot of awful things. And I’m in love.
It’s so hard falling asleep without crying now, knowing I’m going to sleep alone in a twin size bed, with nobody there to hold me through the night - nobody to be there when I wake up.
I miss his smell. I miss how his brown eyes look orange or gold by the light of his bedside lamp. I miss my Saw poster over my half of the bed, his Tank Girl one over his.
I miss getting off at the Addison blue line stop on my way from school. I absolutely hate passing it by to get to Jefferson Park.
Driving home from work. A considerably shorter drive now - but it was worth it, knowing who was there waiting for me.
I miss the meals he’d cook for me and we’d eat together in bed.
I miss cuddling every night, his arm around me while we watched Netflix.
I miss him making fun of how bad I can be at Super Smash Bros. Brawl.
I miss the noises he would make in his sleep, and how he’d unconsciously mumble and shy away if I moved around too much at night.
I miss our cat, Oliver, who I’m allergic to, but I love like a child.
I miss going to the movies every week together, or getting KFC.
Every song I hear, everything I see on TV/Netflix, everything I look at. I think of you.
And I want to come home…
I used to think I was Jeff, because I like to think of myself as a leader (though I feel I’m a better leader than a follower [read: director]), and I like to think that I’m attractive and cool and stuff.
Then I thought, like you had said after, that maybe I was Abed. I felt like I wasn’t really attached to people - society - as much as I could be. And that I often felt like a camera than a cast member, no matter how hard I tried to insert myself into situations.
I mean, I cast myself in everything I write. Why? So I’m not just a fly on the wall, I’m a real person. But would I be a “real” person if I wrote myself parts and never played myself?
At the same time, I felt like I was raised by TV sometimes too. My favorite when I was little being game shows. Nobody played a character. They were playing themselves, but they were on TV.
Then I thought through a few, not wanting yet to be Annie.
Britta is out, and so is Shirley. I hoped to God I wasn’t a Pierce, and I still don’t think I am.
But what about Troy?
I’m overly emotional about little things, and I’m insecure as to how people view me - wanting to be an adult while still so young, and at the same time… never really wanting to get old. Butt stuff and LeVar Burton aside, it still didn’t fit quite as well.
Then my boyfriend (Eddie) said I was Annie, I didn’t know what he meant. I thought at first he was attributing it to my scoffs and behavior when he upset me. But come on, I’m so into this show, of course I started to see it as I rewatched everything.
In S2E10, “Mixology Certification”, Annie starts deconstructing her life and career path, she gets really self-deprecating. She only wants to go so far because that’s what people expect of her. Why did I really go to film school? When the easier option would have BEEN community college, and saving my money. Don’t I already think I have the talent?
And apart from education, take my real life. Annie most likely keeps stacks of planners in her closet, scheduling and figuring out every minute of her life so it can be “perfect”, and all she often accomplishes is screwing it up or disappointing herself. We’re both fragile and tightly wound, eager to please everyone for our own emotional benefit, because deep down - we’re not really happy with the people we are. My constant trying at organization drives Eddie crazy, and all I want to do is to have a perfect relationship, and I try to MAKE it that way.
But I can’t.
I can’t MAKE it be perfect by trying to figure everything out! Everything has to happen on its own.
And if I believe it can be perfect… who knows? Maybe it will be.
We’re both driven, yet highly insecure. But we hide it when we can.
And finally… socially…it was increasingly apparent watching S4E1, “History 101”.
Annie trying to be “loosey-goosey…not sayin’ my G’s”…
I know that’s how I REALLY look when I try to act cool. It was sad watching that and really coming to terms with it.
But I’m happy I did.
I’m happy to be Annie, I guess.
Chapter I: “You All Everybody”
A silver Volvo slowly rolled to a stop parallel with the front entrance of Our Lady Francesco Di Zanobi Academy of the Arts. Harlene Delilah Easton, otherwise known as Harley, stepped delicately from the vehicle. Her mint stilettos touched down on the warm asphalt ever so lightly, and she lifted herself from the leather seat with ease, slinging her oversize purse over her shoulder. Her olive-toned skin was complimented by a faint trace of golden glitter across her shoulders and cleavage, and her wide brown eyes reflected the sun beautifully, creating a light chocolaty hue. She took a deep breath and replaced her classic annoyed teenager grimace with a polite smile, showing her straight and pearly teeth.
Turning on one foot, she spun around in a half-circle and waved a cheery goodbye to her mother. As soon as the vanity plates that red “E4ST0N5” left her field of vision, Harley’s smile crashed to the floor and shattered like glass. With another turn of the heel, she spun around to face the school and gave it the middle finger, bending ever so slightly at the waist for emphasis.
With the arrogant flair that made her the hot commodity within her class, she walked along the side of the building, finally making it all the way to a large set of metal doors that could fit a packing truck through them. She pulled a bobby pin from her black hair (with a streak of purple over her shoulder) and picked the lock. A few clicks of the tumbler later, she slipped through and disappeared into the shadows.
Now backstage of the school’s vast auditorium, she flipped a small switch upwards that was labeled “Catwalk Stage”. As she strode across the black wooden stage, only her lean silhouette was visible as the old catwalk maintenance lights crackled and flickered to life a good hundred feet above her. She pressed down on the metal push bar of the side stage door and entered the hallway, then the green room. Since the actors and stage managers had broken the lock on the door after years of abuse, Harley was able to barge in without much difficulty. Once settled into the green room, she pulled a canvas partition between herself and the façade of windows that made up the entire back wall. She kicked off her stilettos and pulled her thick cotton azure-colored sweater over her head, followed by her blanched almond slacks. Now only clad in her Batman bra and panties – after stuffing her stripped wardrobe into a clean garbage bag she fished out of her purse – she clambered on top of the waist-level makeup counter and pushed one of the drop-ceiling tiles away, pulling out a large, clear plastic bag, exchanging it with the black one. Carefully replacing the tile and hopping back down to the floor, Harley emptied the contents of the bag onto the counter and held up a slim-fitting black sequined dress. She shimmied into the number and strapped on her fresh gold heels. After checking her hair, breasts, and makeup, applying some more eyeliner, she was finally ready. Slinging her trusty Mary Poppins-sized bag back over her shoulder, she left the school.
Jessica Lynn Porter – known as Jess – had never thought her boyfriend had been so hot. Christopher looked down at her, his hands on her shoulders, carefully gyrating his naked body with hers in a soothing rhythm.
His touch was gentle, warm. Jess let out a soft moan as she felt the connection between her and her boyfriend grew stronger until her back arched, and Chris grabbed tighter when they both finally—
— Jess awoke with a start. A baby crying?
What the fuck was this? She threw the covers off of her and sat up on the edge of her bed.
Her white tank top clung to her body, damp with sweat.
“Goddamn… Whoa. Holy sh–”, but her cursing was interrupted by a wave of bile rushing up her esophageal tube. She made a mad dash for the bathroom, and tossed the toilet seat up as vomit projected out of her mouth. She heaved about five times, and vomited thrice more. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over as her stomach cramped up, feeling like it had been hit with the claw of a hammer. She whimpered against the toilet seat, her brown hair thankfully pulled back into a messy bun behind her head. She leaned against the porcelain tank, still crying silently. Her throat felt sore and swollen.
After cleaning herself off and brushing her teeth, fixing her hair a bit, and pulling on some sweats, she left her house and walked to the convenience store on the corner. Making sure there was nobody in the shop that knew her, she grabbed three pregnancy tests and shoved them into her purse. Just to be safe, she grabbed a cheap pack of gum and two iced teas (it was two for a dollar) from the candy aisle and paid for that.
When she got home, she chugged her tea, pulled her pants down, sat on the toilet, and unwrapped the little plastic sticks. She tucked one between her legs and strained to urinate. Her bladder wasn’t responding right away, so she began singing a Hungry Little Lions song to pass the time.
“I know I can’t have you, at least not yet.
You say you’ll be back, and tell me ‘Don’t fret.’
But I’ll try to hold on, I’ll try to hold tight.
Find me, and fix me, I’m alone in the night.”
At about this point, she began urinating. Not wanting to waste any time, she bundled the other two with the pee-soaked one and wet all of them.
Andrew Joseph Garrett – Andy – strolled down the street in his usual attire. Black skinny jeans, Vans sneakers, a Deer Skull band shirt. His oversized Sony headphones blasted “The Eel Deal” by Toxic Waste, and his head bobbed to the beat. His long, black hair fell in front of his eyes and he mouthed the words, barely whispering the lyrics.
The second he got to the corner, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Fishing out of his pants, he shielded the screen from the sunlight so he could see it better. It was from his dealer, Carlos.
HEY FAGOT WHERS MY $$ ?
Jess stared in shock at the little blue “+” on all three of the sticks. This was impossible.
“This doesn’t make any fucking sense,” she reasoned. She had used birth control when they didn’t use a condom. But the last time her and Chris had unprotected sex was about six weeks ago on their anniversary. There was no way in hell she could’ve gotten pregnant. She was on the fucking pill…
- Grandma: "What is all this stuff?"
- Me: "Shut up, nigga!"
- Grandma: "Nigger?"
- Me: "No, Grandma, you can't say 'nigger', it's racist! 'Nigga', is not."
- Grandma: "I never say nigger anyway, I say 'Melanzana'.
- Me: "What does that mean?"
- Grandma: "Eggplant."
- Me: "..."
- Waited out in the cold for hours
- Met up with some really awesome friends from tumblr
- Made a scene (several, actually) in line, a few of which were themed with fake blood I brought.
- Was one of the first two hundred or so let in.
- Rocked out to MCR, right in the mosh pit.
This’ll get too intense if I don’t just do highlights now.
- Got splashed with beer.
- Got covered in Frank Iero’s water.
- Drank from his bottle
- Held off about 2,000 fans at once the entire night.
- Probably beat up about 2 jagoffs trying to ruin everyone’s fun.
- Got separated from friends as each song passed.
- Fought our way towards the front.
- GOT TO FRONT ROW [b/c i was 1/2 naked & covered in sweat)
- Fought against/for people, and almost fainted several times.
- Got smiled at by Gerard*
*I was starting to pass out then, and he saw me, smiled, and did some weird head nod that seemed to say “Hang in there, you’re doin’ good!”
- Got pulled out by security (I was wearing no shirt) after they played “Helena”.
- Tried to give Frank my shirt [unsuccessful].
- Got a drink and listened to “Cancer”.
- Friends regrouped.