Something Doesn't Seem Right.

I feel like I need to smack more people.

Give me a couple days to get my Carpal Tunnel issues settled, and it's GOING DOWN. Elevator.

Day Eight: Letter to Your Favorite Internet Friend

Dear Rhianna,

I find it weird that this letter is supposed to be for your favorite internet friend. I know we first met on the internet, writing fan fiction on the B2K board, but I don’t see you as my “internet friend.” I see you as one of my dearest and closest friends.

I honestly don’t know where I would be if you hadn’t come into my life. I wonder what my writing would look like. Would I even still be writing? I wonder how I would view dating and relationships, or would I still be going back and forth about it as I did for about, what, five years? Maybe a bit longer? Who would I be doing the TTOTD with!?

On a more serious note, I love what we have. You’re like the little sister I never had and never wanted. Ha ha! What’s even more bizarre is how close we are despite never having met face to face. You, Tikez, and I have just an amazing friendship that crosses time zones, state lines, and country borders, and despite school and all that good stuff, we’ve managed to stay close. I’m closer to you than anyone I graduated high school with, and we knew each other in high school.

I worry about you a lot. I worry about the people you’ve met and what you do with them. I know I might come across as an uptight prude. That might be true. However, I just worry about you, and I don’t trust the all the people you trust, all of them being from the male persuasion. I give you the right to be your own person and make your own adult decisions, but I reserve the right to dislike them. I trust, though, that you know what you’re doing. I believe that you’re a lot smarter than I give you credit for, simply because I’m hesitant and safe.

I also think that you’re a phenomenal writer. I joke about missing Kyle, and I do, but I miss what you do with the written word. I believe you have so much to contribute to literature, and you’re so much better than many of the books I see in the bookstore. I know school has you bogged down and busy, but I hope that one day you’ll have the time to get back on the writing saddle. I’d love to read anything you’ve written. As a matter of fact, I need to see where I have FP stored and read it!!!

I know you believe you’re not “capable of love.” I would like to call bullshit. I think you’re very capable of love, and as you already know, I’m looking forward to the day you get married and have three kids, and give me five dollars. That day will be beautiful and glorious. I can’t wait.

I love you, and I wish you well. I wish you a wonderful career, and I hope that you get everything you’ve ever wanted out of life, except for the no marriage and kids thing. I hope you have those things because it’d be great, and I’d love it. Honestly, though, I pray for your safety, your success, and for your happiness. You deserve it all. You have been a wonderful friend, and I look forward to the adventures we’ll have separately that we’ll share and the adventures we’ll have together, especially when we finally meet!

Love always,

Kimberly

Day Seven: Letter to Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush

I'm way behind, but I want to catch up. I'll post the letters I want to share but put them on the date they were supposed to be up.

While writing this letter, I was surprisingly emotional. I even had to take a break because I started tearing up, and I'm too much of a #hardassthugtasticgangsta to cry and whatnot. But this letter was very therapeutic in a way. After writing "Hope You Die" and "Aggression" and other works that were very angry and accusatory, it was cool to let it all go, be open and honest about how I truly felt, to forgive and wish well.

I'm not going to put the person's name on it because I'm a punk, but I'm sure that anyone who knows me knows who this letter is for. Exhale.

Dear [YOU],

I haven’t talked to you in over four years at this point. I’ve seen your technological footprint on Twitter and Myspace, but I’ve never spoken, written, texted, messaged, or typed a word to you in over four years. If you told me this would be our relationship, or lack thereof, in 2005, I never would have believed it. We were close, very close.

But this is where we are. I don’t know who you are anymore; I don’t know the man who you grew into. I don’t know what you’re doing, how you are, or if you’re well. I don’t even know where you are. And it’s not because I don’t care. Shit like this just happens right?

I just never thought it’d be like this. I must admit that I’d been angry at you for years. I was angry that you told Nicole things like you were going to kiss me before we graduated, feeding into my already fantastic delusions of what things could be like between us. I was angry that you had sex with that girl in Andover; actually, I was devastated. The person I was at that time could not handle that kind of rejection. I tried to hold on to you in any way I could. I figured if I couldn’t be with you that we could still be friends. And I was angry that although you said that you felt Nicole and I were among those whom you felt you could be yourself with, you separated yourself from us, refused to be around us.

After realizing nothing would happen between us romantically, I was crushed by the end of our friendship. [YOU], I talked to you everyday. I remember you helping me through so many situations, including one instance of my brother telling me off. I remember you encouraging me as a writer, as a person. In such a fucked up time in my life, I remember you as a constant. I couldn’t understand your change during senior year that helped to create friction between us. I despised you for years for it.

As I grew older, though, I realized that I had taken none of the blame that I assigned to you. I was green in those days, so naïve, so desperate to be loved, and you didn’t owe that to me. You didn’t owe me anything. I was holding on to fantasies and dreams, trying to mold our relationship into them without realizing that it wasn’t what you or I needed.

We were kids, plain and simple.

You had your own issues, and I had mine. You sequestered yourself away from others and refused to let us in during your darkest moments. Ha. I guess we had, have more in common than I thought.

But I couldn’t continue to blame you for what I did. I loved you; I wanted you; I needed whatever I thought you could provide me. That wasn’t your obligation. I wanted reciprocation; I wanted love, and it wasn’t your duty to give it back to me. I can’t be angry with you for not loving me.

I still remember, though, that day freshman year. I had just come from the vending machine to get some Peanut M&Ms and a bottle of Dasani water. I needed to talk to Mrs. Douglass about what I missed in class the day before since I was on a field trip. As I rounded the corner to take the steps back to the old building, I ran right into you, dropping my water bottle. You picked it up for me, handed it back to me. And I had no idea that this moment was the start of a wonderful friendship.

It was wonderful while it lasted, before anger and aberrations. And to this day, it still seems awkward. I watch Living Single and remember watching it together and talking about it over IM. I see things that remind me of you; I stumble over IM conversations between us that I saved on my mom’s computer. I see your twitter page pop up in my suggested friends, or I see you comment on a mutual friend’s picture—I see all this and I can only feel regret and remorse at how things imploded between us, and I can only think about how things would have been had we stayed friends, just friends.

At times, I miss you. I miss your friendship; I miss how we vibed on music. I miss the conversations we had. I miss…you.

Sometimes, I get the urge to friend you on Facebook or send a follow request on Twitter or ask someone where you are or how you’re doing. I don’t because I don’t want to acknowledge that maybe the way I handled things with you was wrong, that I regret cutting you out of my life completely. I want to leave it up to you to reconnect when it was me who formally disconnected from you. And though at times I get the desire to reconnect, I don’t think I will simply because I’m honestly too much of a punk to do it. I can’t stand flatfootedly and do it after all that I’ve done.

At the heart of it all, I’ve said all of this to say that I forgive you; I hold no grudges. You have taught me so much about life, love, and myself, whether you know it or not. Most of all, I do not regret loving you. I’d never take back the intense emotions I felt for you. It produced great writing, but most of all it’s nice to care wholeheartedly about someone else. I know the person I’ll give it to will not be you, but I know I’m capable of it. I’ve grown as a woman, as a person because of what has and has not happened between us. I wouldn’t take it back. I don’t regret you. I honestly don’t regret you.

I sincerely hope that you, too, can one day forgive me for the dumb shit I’ve done. I hope that you are well, that you are prospering. I hope you find love, success, and happiness. That peace that you never seemed to have when we were teenagers, I hope you own it, that you wear it proudly, that you hold on to it. I wish that everything you’ve never had but always wanted is finally in your grasp. I wish you well; I wish you the best; I wish you a fruitful future and life.

Sincerely,

Kimberly

Day Six: Letter to a Stranger

Dear Stranger,

I often wonder as I drive why the person in front of me, behind me, going in the other direction, or parked of the side of the road at the exact same time as I am. I wonder, if I’m out late, what brings other people out so late. I wonder as I do the speed limit why someone would ride my tail, switch lanes, and speed off into the blackness of night, never to be seen by my eyes again.

I was driving a bit slowly as I came from my friend Jennifer’s house. I was trying to read my printed directions in the darkness while looking for the street I was supposed to turn on and maintain the correct speed limit, all without killing someone or myself. It was raining too, and the sides of my lane were a bit flooded. Taking all of this into consideration, I thought it best to slow down and play it safe.

But I noticed you driving very closely behind me, symbolically urging me to speed up. Clearly, you needed to get somewhere soon, now, and I was a hindrance to that. My refusal to increase my speed ultimately annoyed you, and you finally decided to go to the left-hand lane and go around me. Admittedly, I called you both a “crazy person” and a “dick.” That was wrong.

But what did you have to go to? Were you late for your night shift at work? Were you rushing to get home to see Hawaii 5-0? Were you racing to tuck your children to bed at night? I’d like to think there was a legitimate reason that you had to be so rude in the midst of my mini-turmoil.

Wherever you were going, I hope you got there safely. I hope, though, that you remember that sometimes it’s fine, even best, to drive slowly and that tailgating does not convince me to go any faster.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Kimberly

Day Five: Letter to Your Dreams

Dear dreams,

This shit is getting way out of hand.

Remember when I dreamt I was pregnant in high school, the elation I felt that seemed to be a metaphor for wanting to birth something gorgeous and amazing? That was cool. And a couple months ago, I had a dream that I was a zombie-killing ninja. That was sweet. What about the one a couple years ago where I was a cop chasing a murderer through a mall with John McBain? Man, so hot!

But, now, these cool dreams have led into dreams of dismay and torment. It didn’t help that when I was applying for Teach for America, I had constant torturous dreams of not getting the position. And now, a couple days ago, I had a dream where I was being held hostage and raped. And if that wasn’t bad enough, it was all done by Craig. CRAIG.

Look, it doesn’t have to be all honky-dory. I don’t need to have fairy tale type dreams. What I would appreciate is not going to sleep and being chased by the BTK Killer. That would be magnificent.

I hope we have a good understanding now. Hopefully tonight, I’ll have a nice dream or not dream at all. Yay!

Sincerely,

Kimberly

Day Two: Letter to Your Crush

I currently don't have a crush. Going to Calvin and being unemployed will do that to you. With this letter, though, I'll make it general.

Also, I'm not posting tomorrow's letter because it's the one for your parents. That letter's not going to be pretty, and you don't want to see that. Nope. You just don't.

Anywho...

Dear Crush,

Admittedly, I am damaged goods. Honestly, you could do better. Maybe someone more demure, more feminine, more ladylike, less loud, less volatile, less troublesome. It'd probably be better for you to do like Isaac Hayes and walk on by.

But you'd be missing out.

Admittedly, I am damaged goods, but I'm also the best thing you could ever have and have wholly. I'm full of undeniable, unselfish love, and I'm willing to give it to you.

You deserve more than the best. I can imagine that your kind eyes only behold that which is priceless, that your smile is genuine and comes from truth, that your spirit can only be tied to a like and fine soul. I may not be this, but I'm willing to give as much as I can.

That's all I can promise---commitment, devotion, the dedication to amelioration, the desire to be what you need.

And I might fail, but I'm willing to try.

Sincerely,

Kimberly

You Might As Well Say "Fuck Yo Fat Ass"--The Sequel

I'm back to being my #hardassthugtasticgangsta self.

It has been brought to my attention that sizism and fatphobic tendencies are more hegemonic than ever before.

It was bad enough that I could turn on my television and no matter what I was watching and no matter the network, I would see a commercial about some food claiming to help me lose weight, some exercise equipment that would help me lose weight, some new fad diet that would help me lose weight, some new program that would help me lose weight, some diet pill to help me lose weight...you see the picture.

What's even worse is that now, we have a group of shows telling us about how our fat asses aint worth literal shit!

We already had The Biggest Loser and all it's so-called "inspiration" and melodrama. Now, other networks are taking it on to show us that we all can be beautiful and love ourselves if we'd get our fat asses out the refrigerator and worked out just like these self-loathing individuals. A&E has Heavy and MTV has I Used To Be Fat. They think that by watching these stories, we'd aspire to put down the ice cream and seven-course meals to be on our way to slimmed-down beauty and society's acceptance.

In addition, Jennifer Hudson won't shut up. Every time my television is on, I get to hear her sing and talk every commercial break about her weight loss and how we can do it too!

This pervasive bullshit is sickening, and it contributes to number of women with eating disorders and body issues.

Everywhere we turn, someone is telling us to lose weight, lose the love handles, lose the arm fat, but no one is telling us to love ourselves.

Even worse, what's being inculcated into viewers is that we will love ourselves ONLY when we lose weight. We'll stop bullying and teasing ONLY when we lose weight. That all plus-sized, fat, big, what-have-you, people are sitting around stuffing and hating themselves because they're fat. It's wrong, and it's ridiculous.

There are lies being told. Losing 90 pounds in 90 days like one girl from I Used To Be Fat who was on The View yesterday is not healthy. And she claims she'll keep it off once in college, but she's not going to be working out the 3-7 hours a day like she was doing as a home-schooled seventeen-year-old. She clearly has issues that need to be addressed through counseling. And more, what's going to happen when she gains weight, oh and she will gain weight? She'll only have love and self-acceptance tied with being smaller. She'll go back to binge eating. Those psychological scars will not have healed. The problems will still be there. She's simply on a road to inevitable disappointment.

This society, this world has a sick obsession with being skinny, disguised as being "health-conscious." There are too many people, some of whom I know, who have troubling views about themselves, their bodies, and other people. I'm worried about the things they say about themselves and the value they associate with having a smaller body, as well as the idea that one will finally love oneself when smaller. You won't. Until you work through those issues, you'll just find something else to hate and obsess over. Until we deal with our insecurities, no matter our size, we'll never find happiness. Losing weight for others doesn't work. When you realize you're fabulous no matter size and you love yourself unconditionally, the weight doesn't matter.

This is a burden undeservingly and unnecessarily owned by women. We own our insecurity. We dress it up, deify it. We put it on a pedestal. We obsess over it. And we refuse to discard it. But how can we when everywhere we turn, we're told we're not good enough? That no one will ever love us if we don't fix our fat asses? That we'll always be alone and worthless?

This bothers me so much. And until we as women collectively decide that this is not right and we don't need to accept this, it will stay the same. And we all will be forever barraged by Jennifer Hudson's damn vocals.

30 Day Letter Writing Challenge: Day One

What in God's name have I gotten myself into?!

One of my favorite poets Bassey Ikpi urged her followers on the Twitter to join her in a 30 Day Letter Writing Challenge. Since I haven't been writing like I should be doing, I thought this would be something good for me to do, something that would ameliorate and stretch me as a writer.

Can I say that this sucks!?

It sucks because as a person who tries her damnedest to shun all emotion, this shit is messing up my entire life. MY ENTIRE LIFE. I couldn't get through this first letter without crying bleeding corrosive acid from my eyes. Cuz I'm a hard-ass thugtastic gangsta like that.

I'm not sure if I'll post all the days on here, though it'd be a great incentive to write to the blog every day. Plus, I'm afraid it'd get too deep and honest. And we all know some people can't handle the truth. Mmhmm.

Anywho, Day One is a letter that's supposed to be written to your best friend. My BFF is my homes Mariana. Here's the letter I wrote.

Ugh. I'm feeling all vulnerable. I'ma make sure I balance this all out with my thugtastic gangsta. Like posts of me kicking babies and slapping crossing guards. Because I'm hard like that. WHAT!

Dear Mariana,

Hi. 8]

I’m so happy that you finally got that job! You worked hard throughout college, and you worked diligently after graduation to get to this place. I hope you had a great first day, and you have a great first week.

I know you probably feel like this has been a one-sided friendship lately, that you’re always the one reaching out to me, picking me up, driving places, planning things. I hope you know that it’s not because I’m not interested in being your friend, confidant, what have you. Things the past couple months have been difficult mentally, emotionally, and psychologically. I’ve pulled back from a lot of people in the attempt to stay sane, and unfortunately, others, especially you, have had to witness and deal with it. I’m getting better now, and I’m working through it. Thank you for your patience.

I don’t think you know how much I admire you. I was inspired by your organization and perseverance with applying for a position every week. I’m inspired by how all of your hard work has paid off. I’m in awe of the great person you’ve come to be. I could have never imagined that when we met during Passport briefly and reconnected during the Jeremiah retreat that you’d be my closest, most reliable friend.

You are tactful, understanding, fun, and you command respect. You have an amazing aura around you, and you are beautiful inside and out. In your most vulnerable of moments, I hope that you realize that, that you own that, that you exude that.

I hope you know that I love you dearly. You’ve kept me on track; you’ve kept me sane; and you’ve been my partner in crime for four years, whether it was dancing like maniacs while Lori was on the phone because we didn’t want to do our homework, watergun fights and being chased by crazy men wielding frosting-covered knives, prank-calling the boys in Delta, or sneaking out in the late-night hours to paint slander on the Rock outside TE. Oh, what wonderful times we have had!

As we move forward with our lives, I hope we have way more adventures together, especially when we finally strike out on our own. Watch out, world!

I wish you much more happiness, much more success, and everything else you want in this world. You deserve it all. And I love you more than you could ever know, and more than I know I show.

Sincerely,

Kimberly

Jobs I Can't Have: Resident Director (RD)

As I work on applications for jobs and programs, I thought about potential Plans B, C, D, E, F, and G.

One thing I thought about was working at Calvin, something I absolutely don't want to do. I don't want Calvin to be a crutch and then get stuck there for the rest of my life. Besides, I'd only want to teach at Calvin which would be awesome. Oh, how awesome that'd be...for me, not the students. Ha ha!

However, I thought, "Hmm...what if I became an RD until I got on my feet?"

Then I came to my senses.

People, of course, will say that I'd be a great RD. I'd be fair, refuse to put up with crap, and do what I can for students. And that's true. The problem is that those students would drive me fucking crazy.

I have patience for high school students. I don't have the patience for pseudo-adults who'd rather be the "pseudo-" instead of the "adult." I'd have to inform them not to have sex, or do drugs, or just act like a reckless son/daughter-of-a-bitch in the dorms, a directive they'd fucking ignore which will piss me off. Then I have to look your defiant ass in the face with your privilege and lack of regard for other people day after day after day. Sure, this won't be the majority of people, but this 1% would be enough to make me walk away after lining everyone up and slapping them down.

And it won't just be students, oh no! I'd have to deal with Calvin because I won't be forced into bullshit. I know that pseudo-adults are stupid, and I'd tell them not to have sex at all since that's what they agreed to by attending this institution. But I'd also tell them to have safe sex, which would undoubtedly get me in trouble since those people in Grand Rapids are so freaking uptight.

Then, I don't think I could deal with the pervasive ignorance in the student body. In the classroom, no one ever speaks, so I could deal with that, but being amongst the crazy 18-22 year old men and insecure 18-22 year old females with their privileges and racism and sexism and superiority complexes and republicanism and heterosexism on a daily basis in such close quarters...no thanks.

Not to mention the people who dishonor open house and the fools who come in through the back doors after 12 and make the alarms go off. I would complain that it'd wake me up, but...it wouldn't at all.

Basically, I don't need to have what sanity I have destroyed by Calvinites and Calvin. They already tried that for four years, and I don't think working with students in that particular capacity serves me or students well.

I'd rather teach. That shit's fun.

Come Cry With Me

You know, I was feeling really positive about the New Year. I've been feeling a bit ambitious, excited, driven. Then, I come across this hot garbage bullshit, and my day has been totally ruined!!



Get your Auntie. Get her right now, and take her webcam!!!

Courtesy of Your Mom Is At The Club.