Life as a Subconscious Integer

Mood: Urgh.

Oh dear, I'm such a freak.

Yes, yes, ANOTHER NEW BLOG.

....Yeah. I get bored really easily.

There's nothing going on right now. I'm watching commercials for longer-lasting erections.

I better get me somma those.

Mood: Cold

SO. I lucked out. Hell froze over, and I'm NOT GOING TO SACRAMENTO.

Hummmmmm....... I've concluded that I have tremendous luck, whether I say so or not. Well. Crap. Now that THAT'S said, I'm going to die from falling on the ice and sliding all the way to Julia's house.

It's funny because everyone's been IMing me and saying, "I HAD PLANS TODAY AND NOW I CAN'T DO ANYTHING! GOD! I HATE OREGON!"

And you know what?

I'm fond of Oregon now. It loves me, it really does.

So since I've got all day, I have a story!

Like five years ago, my mother, the guy we were living with, and I were playing this game to decide where we were going to move. My mom wrote the names of all fifty states on small sheets of paper and put it in a box, and we took turns drawing out names. Each time it was my turn, I would get Oregon. And we were already IN Oregon, so my mom wanted to move to Georgia.

So yeah.

It's meant to be.







YOU STAY SEXY, OREGON!

Mood: Crappy

Instead of seeing it as a punishment, my parents are trying to get me to view the current situation as "help". They think I'm distracted, so their plan is to take all of my distractions away and force me to do housework and homework. Those distractions are: computer, phone, cell phone, friends, etc.

With all this time on my hands, I've been doing a lot of thinking. But putting it all in words, especially in my blog, is a waste of time. And I'm not really looking for sympathy. Or empathy. (Community day taught us that those have TWO DIFFERENT MEANINGS!!!)

I've already told Julia, and she gave me some good advice. At least it's somewhere to start.

Her words: "Nyssa, you have a life, you're not an underachiever, and your parents are driving you insane. And they have no idea what they're doing to you."

So now you kind of have the jist of it...

My family and I are supposed to go on a trip to Sacramento tomorrow, but according to EVERYONE, storms are cooking and the ice is comin' down. So I guess we'll have to see about THAT.

I really don't want to go anyway. I've been isolated enough this week. Taking me a few thousand miles away probably won't change how I feel. Which is really crappy.






How bout something to cheer me up, guys?!?!?!


I know JUST THE THING....





Chandler: WE NEED TO ASSIGN SIDES.

Joey: Okay. Ducks and clowns, ducks and clowns... Ducks will be heads, because ducks have... heads...

Chandler: [pause] What kind of scary-ass clowns went to YOUR birthday party?

Mood: Cheerful

For those who aren't on the BANDWAGON yet, go check out my previous blogs: http://asialand.blogspot.com AND http://asialand2.tblog.com AND http://greatestjournal.com/users/liarxliar


... I KNOW you haven't gone to them yet and probably never will, so I'm going to paste a few of my most recent posts on here. Just to piss you off.

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--Welcome to Crapland. We have paper napkins.--

Wednesday 12.08.04 [5:01 pm]


School was especially funny today, thanks to Mrs. Inglett (the racist Language arts teacher), miniature food fights during lunch, aaaaaand Natalie. But the only reason it was Natalie was because she handed me sick drawings of farm animals.

In band, there was the usual Ernst lecture about certain people who drag everyone else down. He constantly looked at Lindsey and I during that. But I don't blame him. I SUCK at clarinet because I CAN'T PUSH THE FREAKING MOUTHPIECE IN ANY FLIPPING FURTHER. HOWEVER, no matter how many times I point it out to him, I would get, "Did you push it in all the way?" as an answer. SHEESH.

In language ARTS, Mrs. Inglett spent about fifty minutes discussing this article that she claimed to be too complex for our stupid little eighth grade minds. What she DOESN'T know is that some of us are thirty year old men with a lot of life experience. And cheap women. (hahahahahah..... Ryan....... REMEMBER HISTORY, JULIA?! REMEMBER?!)

Besides. She REALLY didn't NEED to explain the hatred that "white people feel when they see pictures of black people's faces".

During her explaination of how white people are prejudice, I got to thinking about things. Like... erm.... WELL, if everyone is a descendant of Adam and Eve, since they were the first man and woman on earth and everything, why isn't EVERYONE white....? I mean, according to the Inglettatum, life started in AFRICA so everyone's skin was dark because they were very exposed to the sun, but when they started migrating, their skin got lighter. I understand THAT, but WHAT ABOUT THE ASIAN PEOPLE? How did THEY get the chinky eyes?! Is it because of the sun, too? Eh? EH? Or is there some kind of ASIAN form of Adam and Eve that God tossed aside on his mission to create the perfect human.

I bet there's someone out there with a perfectly reasonable explaination for all of that. And when I hear it, I'll be like, "Crap."

And crawl back to the cellar.

"NO FISH HEADS FOR YOU, TONIGHT."


Remember last year when I fantasized about how my first child would be named "Gollum"? And remember when Gail was convinced that he would travel through the pipes of my house and I would feed him fish heads from the vents?

I... miss... seventh grade.


BOUND, BOUND, AND REBOUND!




BOUND...









bound.....

























AND REBOUND!!!!!!!!



So. I think I am bouncing back into the game.

THE game.

The persue-a-boy-until-he-falls-for-you-but-not-really-just-so-he-could-touch-your-privates-and-dump-you game. I can't wait!



I'm in a good mood. But then the parents will check the mail and see my two B's. Or four.



Oh, life is so unfair.









......aw.........



posted by: Asialand2 | 5 comments (view/add) StaticLink eSend
 
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--Oooooh, I'm SNEAKY--
.
Tuesday 12.07.04 [7:28 pm]


My parents are going out to dinner with their friends, which leaves ME here AAAAAALLL alone. With the computer.

Yeah, yeah, I'm not allowed to use it, but hey. What they don't know can't hurt them. It'll probably... hurt... me......

Let's see... What to say about school....

There's never really anything else to describe school--- other than "boring, torturous, sickening, and... funny".

What makes school FUNNY are people like Colin (who currently hates me for skipping school to go to Italy) and Alek (who is just... funny).

OH, so Emiloo and I were reminiscing about "The Emperor's New Groove". Now COME ON. Who DOESN'T love that movie?!

Ezme was my favorite. Even though my cousin called me... Pacha...............

Aaaaw.... Now I'm depressed because I just remembered that Eartha Kit (the woman who plays Ezme) (who is like NINETY years OLD, I might add) is the object of my dear Khleo's affection. He wants to see her in a tight cat suit.

Aaaaaahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

Watch the "Holes" actor commentary.

It'll change your perspective on EVERYTHING.

(Not... really....)


Seventh grade was pretty TIGHT. Dude.



So. As I type this up, Julia is on the phone with me, screaming her head off at Jeopardy.

"Watch me be right, Nyssa, WATCH ME BE RIGHT! .... YES! 'The Price is Right' is ON!!!!"




Heh.

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Oooohhohohoh, I crack myself up.


........... I'm probably not making a very good first impression on some of you, am I?

Well let's start over.


Hello, my name is Nyssa. I am just a little over thirteen and I have an overactive imagination. That MEANS that I get fifty thousand boners just looking at Cedar Crap Middle School's large (not) selection of the opposite sex. Even though.... I don't HAVE a penis........

Aw.....

Okay. Since I'm obviously not very good at this first impression crap, I'll just dive right in with the good stuff.


So. My opinion of my hyperactive and poorly dressed piano teacher has changed as of tonight. After I finished playing a song called "German Dance" for her, the first comment I received was, "Do you think German people have wooden shoes?"

I looked at her puzzledly and said, "Don't Dutch people have clogs?"

And that launched into a five-minute conversation about the difference between the Dutch and the Holland....ish.... In the end, there was a long silence as we both sat there and contemplated about what was just said, and then she said, "I don't think German people have wooden shoes."

Oooooh, dear.

You JUST HAD TO BE THERE.


Heh.



Well, I guess it's about time for a history lesson. We'll start from WAY before the beginning; "The Beginning" meaning "Before Nyssa came along". I'm self-centered, I know.

For those of you who don't know about my past, or those who just don't care enough to ask, I was born in Saigon, Vietnam on December 16, 1991 at 7:25 PM. But, as I mentioned earlier, this lesson will start before the actual beginning.

You don't hear me talk about him much, and when I do, I smile and act happy to tell my friends that he was an alcoholic, a smoker, and an overall bad person. This MAN, ladies and gents, is my biological father. Even when if I seem proud of his accomplishments as a drinker, I actually really dislike the guy. I can't hate him though, because he's sort of my other half. Not in a GOOD way. But you get what I mean.

Anyway, back when they were dating, he told my mom that he wasn't married but he had a kid. Naturally, she believed him. So they went on and got married. Then they had me. When I was about three or four months old, people started coming after my biological father for reasons unknown to my mother, until one of them said that he needed to go to some different city where his son and wife lived and pay child support and get a divorce. My mother was furious because she was married to a man who has another family somewhere else. He constantly told her that it was a fake marriage and there was no paperwork, but eventually, he gave in and went out of town to divorce his other wife. Yeah... I have a stepbrother. But as long as we're counting stepsiblings, I might as well tell you that I have about... four. That I KNOW of, anyway. But they come later on. So as I grew up, my father was constantly out at bars drinking with business associates and people my mother and I don't know. We built an extension to my mother's friend's house and we lived there until I was 6. My father wasn't home more than half of the time and when he was, he would be throwing up everywhere, forcing my mother to clean up after him.

My mom had a good job working for an American company, and she went on a few business trips to the US. She really liked it there, and at that point, when I was like 5, she had become sick of my father's habits. So she used America as an excuse to get away from him. One time, she went on a very long business trip to the US and left me with my father, who left me night after night with his friends and people I didn't know. When my mom came back from that business trip, she told me that she would move to the US and somehow bring me over there once she gets settled down.

One day, when I came home from school, she was gone. She didn't even say good bye, and I later found out that it would have been to hard for her to do so. She went to America with no money and belongings. She stayed with her friends, borrowed money, and depended on other people to bring her food, and still she managed to send two hundred dollars to Vietnam each month to help my father take care of me. For a week or so, he used the money to put me in school, but then I didn't want to go to school, so he said I didn't have to. I went back to preschool, where I was the biggest kid there. I didn't like school. I couldn't make friends and I was afraid of people I didn't know. So instead of spending the money my mother sent on me, my father took it and used it. He always left me at my relatives' houses or at bars. There were always beds in the back so I slept there and he would leave for the night and come back the next day to come get me. One time, he left me at a tennis club for two days straight.

My mother would spend a few hundred dollars a month calling Vietnam just to talk to me. I never really wanted to talk to her. I have always had this habit of not wanting to talk to people who aren't part of my daily life because I always run out of this to talk about and I hate awkward silences. So I would avoid talking to my mother as much as I could, and when I do talk to her, she would always be crying at the other end. She would ask me how I'm doing and where I am; if my dad's treating me okay and if I'm hungry. I later learned that all she did for months was sit in a room and cry.

Eventually, she couldn't take it and wrote a letter to Ron Wyden, who I guess was part of the goverment at the time, and told him about the situation. She had gotten a job at Pain Care Clinic as a secretary by then. It was where she met my stepdad, whom I like to refer as my actual father.

After a week or so, Ron Wyden replied to my mother's letter and said that he would do everything in his power to get her daughter to America.

So he did.

After a few months, I was on the plane to the US with this man who was supposedly my mother's husband. She had to get married to a US citizen in order to bring someone from another country over and she divorced my biological father somewhere along the way. I did not know this man, and my mother did not love him. But we lived with him for a few years. My mom's a beautiful woman; any man would kill to be in his spot. But she didn't love him. And he wanted her to so bad that he became so protective of her-- he wouldn't let her go to weddings, parties, anything by herself. My parents, my mom and my current dad, were writing letters to eachother, secretly meeting outside of work for about three or four years.

Then one day, my mother's supposed husband found the letters. I remember it was the night that my mom picked me up from my friend Amy's house. I had such a good time, and neither of us knew what was coming up ahead of us. We walked in the door and we saw him sitting at the kitchen table violently chugging down two cans of beer in about 3 minutes. There was a pile of envelopes next to him that looked like they had been violently ripped open. There was a lot of yelling, he even called up my current dad and yelled at him, and I wasn't quite sure what he did... I think he pushed my mom into the wall or something, because I remember trying to punch him. I wanted to hurt him so bad, but it felt like a dream, where you want to punch someone as hard as you can, but when you try, it's all in slow motion and has no effect. After watching me attempt to punch him for a long time, he just stormed out the door and left.

That night, each time I looked at my mother, I would burst into tears. Her eyes were red and puffy and when she talked, it came out raspy and sad. The next day, we immediately went out and searched for appartment or places to move. Even though we had barely any money, my mother helped a lot of people out in the past and there were many who were willing to come to our aid. But she didn't want to accept it. She was going to make her own living and pay for her own expences.

When we got home, he appologized and told us that he didn't want us to move. So we stayed. And in 2000, the three of us drove across the US to Georgia and stayed with my mom's friend. We lived in Georgia for six months, and I finished half of third grade there. I didn't like Georgia, because I missed my friends. You've probably noticed this, but I'm not good at making friends. I only had one close friend in Georgia, who was this bitch who really disliked me. My mother noticed that I really didn't like it there, so she brought up the idea of moving back to Oregon. So in August, we left the husband guy and moved back to Oregon to live with my current dad. He flew up to Georgia to see my mom a couple of times, and he and my mother made some plans. He had a condo near downtown Portland, but since I really wanted to go to the same school that I went to before, he rented us an appartment in the same complex we had lived in before we moved. And my mother didn't have to pay a dime. This is why I adore my father as much as I do. He's a great man and he was there for my mother in ways that I could never be. I mean, I was only like 7.

They got married on July 21, 2000 again on August 25, 2000. The second ceremony was for family and friends. The first one was for only five people.

We got several contacts from my biological father in Vietnam. Turns out he's got about three more kids after me and my stepbrother, and diabetes. It's funny, because he asked for it.

It's amazing to look at my parents, see how happy they are, even after everything they've been through. They went from literally NO money to being able to do and buy whatever they really wanted. And I couldn't be more happier for them.

They're the greatest people I know.