Saturday 31 March 2018

Surprise (actually not at all)

My Dad's surprised Birthday party was today. It went well at first, it had remained a secret for almost a year and my dad didn't suspect a thing. Apparently, more confused than anything. We're late, as we almost always are. It's who we are.

The DJ wasn't very good. It played nothing but bland popular junk from a year ago for sixtyth Birthday party. He played the music too loud. I don't get this obsession with baring music where it's too loud to think. I'm bias though because too loud music it sets off my autism. They must be a specific name for that trait but I'm not sure what it is. I know other disorder have that trait as well. I hate badly sound level music. He had the dance crazed songs, which are fun for kids but none of the adults were drunk enough to join in at this point. He then played a game that upset half the kids. He played the chicken dance, which from googling was a first proper dance craze in the 80s so many different options. Near the end of the party, he played more decent stuff suited to 60th Birthday party.

My criticize of the DJ doesn't really matter, especially as I do have an open hate of most popular music the past few years and dances crazes are mostly just stupid in reflection. The Ketchup dance maybe most of all.

The party basically proves that my family can't all be in the same room for longer than two hours. Several meltdowns and people who should know better. Someone would have a field day psychoanalyzing my family. Most everyone needs therapy. I know I do.

I had managed to keep my mouth shut, though I heard dumb shit that night (more so after). Basically, one of my sister shouted at my little brother for a full minute because he hit with a inflatable hammer. He ran off and hide, had meltdown. He’s having a lot of life issues right now. He’s not completely in right, but he’s also a bag of hormones that has been raised wrapped in bubble wrap by my father who feels so much guilt, which isn’t healthfully. Like I said we all have issues we should work through. I’m annoyed at both of them really. They both need better ways of dealing with things.

My dad then went said stuff he shouldn’t have said, because my dad has anger issues. This all happens when I’m in the car talking with my little brother and asking why that upset him so much. I get out the car and have conversation with my mum, who goes to see my little brother whose still in the car because I told him to stay there till he calms down.

My sister storms out, just as I’m about to go back into the hall, says she never see me again. I have done nothing or said nothing at this point. We’re meant to be going to see Wicked in May. So awkward.

My brother ran off again which I’ve told him already he has to find better coping methods than that, because people. Like go to the bathroom, not into a dark street that you don’t know. I call my brother to come back, whole much of stuff happened during this. I’m stressed out and trying not to cry because all emotions are connected my eyes.

I then told that sister that she should have known better and that I think its terrible the way she talks (or treats) her autistic kids. I was in a half meltdown, so I fucked my voice saying that, lost with two sentences. I do feel that way, but I shouldn’t have shouted that at her in parking lot (I’ve been told I shouted, but to me probably just angryish, I don’t know it wasn’t conscious choice to shout). Apparently, someone walked by and saw “two lassies shouting at each other.”

I know I did it because I was stressed the fuck out. Then my disabled dad, had the brilliant idea to walk off after my little brother was caught. So I went and got my keys so I could drive after him. Worried sick, I’m going to find him collapsed some way. I’m just glad I don’t drink. I drive around for half an hour, go to where we meant to be staying and he’s not there. But my dog is still happy to see me. Though, I have no key to say hello to her properly. Just happy wagging tail through frosted glass.

I go back to the party because I’m terrible with directions and stressed out so probably not the safelist state to be driving.

Though, tons out most of my make-up choices are waterproof, though still think I haven’t found the perfect foundation for me. Now, the gone for all make-up users. I never got to go in the photobooth so didn’t get my memorian photo. Parties ain’t my thing anyway, so I didn’t expect to have a good time, but I was hoping there wasn’t a incident that will be forever be a bloody thing.
Now I’m off to get a job in soap so I can least make bank off of my family drama.

Hey, Cunt if you're reading, which you might because you are a weird fucking stalker that lies about it, the reason we don't think you understands siblings or people in general, is you think family loyalty isn't a thing people typically have. I know my brother is a complete freak, because I would have dumped you the moment you called my mother a bitch. Yeah, I remember that. I remember a lot thing you did, like that letter you sent me which is why I will never speak to you again. I have a ligit reason never to speak to you again. You're angry at me, because I'm rightfully angry at my brother and I was 16-year-old who failed my exams who didn't want to be in a wedding for relationship I was against and for a brother who didn't speak to me unless I told him he was arsehole which he was being. Then he tells my mother without having a conversation with me about it, like I was four and I hit him with a block. He never asked why I was calling an Arsehole. At that point, my hair meant a hell lot more to me than either of you did. Even if it didn't, what was the point of being Bridesmaid if I wasn't allowed to be myself? Obviously, it didn’t mean anything to either of you.

Sometimes I wonder what sort of relationship you think we had, because I would never have said we were close. The whole being like sister thing was weird to me, even then. I never said anything that personal to you. I did use you a little, which is something I regret doing. You wouldn’t let be angry at my brother, you often force you way into that. I was never that close to you so you were easier to blame for his behaviour, I know you enabled some of it. Between you and him, you got me pointless surface gifts that my brother should have know were useless to me, which is major insult to you for some reason.

The reason I started this note, because you said something about Autism and that thing you to said to my sibling. You said you would never speak to me again. As if you were the deciding factor, I mean maybe you are, considering I'm Selectively Mute and you'll never be worth the energy. You fell out with me, because I said my brother was an arsehole which he was, and I had meltdown. I read the letter again, out of curiosity, you're were always so deluded. The stuff about my mum really tickles me. I started crying and went back into the changing room. You ran away to the breach to cry. I wasn't going to call you that night because the lies you spread about me. There were lies. I said Alan was arsehole and that dress was ugly. I was in very fragile emotional state that year. I thought about killing myself constantly. I was surrounded by unhealthy people. The fun of being Autism and undiagnosed. I didn't have space for you and arsehole to be piling on to that, especially with everything leading up to that making it clear that Arsehole didn’t care that much about me. He might deny it, but that what his actions at the time and have continued to be prove it to be true. Towards other my sibling as well. Since then I've called you cunt, which was true. Mainly because you still had me blocked. you still have my mother blocked and she has did everything to try and mend shit. You’re are definitely in the wrong there. Is because you think I'm sad enough to spy on you? I know you do that through A sometimes. How else did you know I called you a cunt? I also called my oldest sister a bitch and Arsehole an asshole. But it had to be about you. Someone that wasn't part of that conversation, because you didn't want to be. I didn't want to be, that's why I left that chat ten times. Your name begins with a C, it’s as basic as that. It not personal insult. If someone I knew dislike me call me that, I wouldn’t care. I mean I didn’t really have the energy to deal with any of one at the point. I because I angry and annoyed at the people that came adding me. You were only mention because you couldn’t see me and I couldn’t see your chat, I also thought it was fucking stupid to have a chat with someone who blocked someone else in it, I still do. You want have phone calls. I don't do phone calls. I will never say anything of substance on the phone.

Partly generation, mostly Autism and Selective Mutism. Anyway, I'm Autistic and you're don't get to say shit about that disorder, because your action to me and my little brother make clear you don't understand shit. What the hell did you even mean by that? Obviously, I wasn't there, because I was dealing with someone else meltdown. You’ve got me blocked, so not like I can ask you directly what you meant?

I mean still kinda dislike you as person. If you want to have a frank conversation, fine, you’re probably don’t but I would have that with you. The main reason our direct relationship was dead, is that butt into things that ain’t about you. You have no siblings, so never leant that have to let people talk it though and Arsehole still thinks I’m four somehow. Maybe I’m 8 now. That autistic thing is especially mess up considering what you said earlier. Who tells one nephews that they’re favourite, especially when the other ones are standing behind them? The same autistic kid you locked in his room and took his DS off him.

Hey, Arsehole, you’re still dead to me. Congrats, you’re isolated yourself. I can tell you regret somewhat but won’t do shit to fix it. Mum cares and that what continues to be so sad about this whole situation.

Wednesday 28 March 2018

Book Review: The Exact Opposite of Okay by Laura Steven

In British YA book we use "A, B, C, D. All of Aboves" for everything.

Izzy O'Neill here! Impoverished orphan, aspiring comedian and Slut Extraordinaire, if the gossip sites are anything to go by . . .

Izzy never expected to be eighteen and internationally reviled. But when explicit photos involving her, a politician's son and a garden bench are published online, the trolls set out to take her apart. Armed with best friend Ajita and a metric ton of nachos, she tries to laugh it off - but as the daily slut-shaming intensifies, she soon learns the way the world treats teenage girls is not okay. It's the Exact Opposite of Okay.

This reminded me of another debut, in that a rumour in that book is actually true. The main character Izzy has actually done the deed of sex and is eighteen so it her legal choice to make. Lot of books that have slut shaming in it, dance around the act of sex as though it is something to be shamed off, which is not. Its normal and everyone wants to get down (unless you're asexual and just enjoy a fine friendship).

This is meant to be a memoir of sorts in the world of this novel. I don't buy that it would be published in that state due to legal issues mainly. I buy it as a first draft, before an editor steps in, to say we do not want to get sued. It was originally blog posts (a diary basically) with notes from a future Izzy. It's works okay, I buy it mostly as a diary.

Friendships play a lot in this book, basically it the actual plot of the book, so I'm hesitant to discuss in detail and spoil the book. Izzy has good; complicated and bad relationships through the books. I  think it done well and none of the characterisation feels for the sake of the plot.

An issue with the book is that Izzy's best friend, Ajita while being well rounded, is often referred to be being "Three Feet tall" and "a midget". The thing is I'm snot sure if this is true or not. It just that Lizzy and another character specifically said that she was three feet, whilst it never address in non-comic way and the way that Ajita is typically treated I think it's not true as if she was three feet tall then she would have to have a medical condition and her parents expectation would be different. This is a very normal way to mock ones friends and I often call my sister a "midget" with her medical condition that effected her height. Ajita's height is just brought up a lot for some reason. There was also a girl in wheelchair that's portrayed as the only nice one and feels very token. She just doesn't appear enough for her to be anything else and feels like the misfit with the heart of golden typical to teen media.

This is set in America and written by a British person. I get the choice to set in America as in Britain this was less likely take off as a scandal.(The website along could definitely been taken as a form of Cyberbullying and British School like to act as though they care because they feel like they're being publicly shamed). Slut shaming while being a thing in Britain, is less felt and more focus at sex workers, though nude pictures leaked is big thing everywhere for some reason for woman. Basically, unless she had did it with an actual MP, then this story would not be picked up the British Press. There is British-isms sprinkled throughout the novel. Like headteacher and prefects which is something I thought only private American school tend to have. Obviously, I'm not American and Americans do take from British culture, just every once and a while Lizzy went very British and besides Harry Potter doesn't have any interest in British Culture.

Lizzy is also a poor and the discussion about whether she can/should go to college is discussed a lot. She likes writing and making films. It fine background plot but it makes a good one. Though, I do feel like her YouTube (or whatever) channel should have blow up with everything that was happening at the time. Her Instagram does, so maybe she just has that thing hidden well.

Overall, I give this book 4/5 stars for "The Feels". I liked the attempt mostly to discuss slut shaming and shine a light at the weird double standards that girls and woman have to live through while having jabs at unsavoury Journalist (which Britain publicly has. Why does Piers Morgan still get work?). It tries to do lot but is good attempt at debut. It just good to have a book like aimed at teens discussing this bull and I think it adds to that conversation well. Something could be improved, but as whole its a light and interesting read. (my version of light, what are other people's?)
 I got this book off NetGalley for Review.

Saturday 24 March 2018

Dance Hall: Chapter 7, Brownstones to Death

Hey, sticking with this odd terrible novel thing I'm doing here. Is the chapter clickbaiting? Yes. In terms of other stuff. I went to see Wrinkle in Time with much of famale film students. We agree it could have been better. Too close cameras and bad editing choices. What was the point of Calvin, other than to fuck shit up? To be the love interest. I want us to move past this as society. Some ideas were good.We ended up bitching about our bad teacher experinces due to it so we went something.

So here's the my novel where I've decided to skip school.

Chapter 7, Brownstones to Death

I’m in luck and have gotten out of an education till after summer, despite they still being three weeks left of school. Exam results will decide my classes anyway. Though, that just meant by the time summer came I would already be a bored phrase in a town where I knew no one.

Well, I half knew people. But someone who moved the summer before high school is not really a friend. I had been at the same Primary school three times once. I had probably been to every Primary that was in the high school catchment area. I had bumped into people, but I didn’t even remember names, so it would be more awkward than anything if they remember me.

My mother had been changed the locks and was now organising the workmen necessary to fix her hotel dreams. She was hiring a project manager to get it done as fast as possible to a liveable state and to get away from the freaky neighbours. The woman who had “greeted” us, likes to stand at her window looking at us. I haven’t seen her son again.
I was alone in the house, so I was having a staring contest. I had no books, WIFI or TV. I was already at the bored phrase. I was going to find the library which could provide me with all three as I owned a DVD player. I took my crappy phone with me; haunted smart phones were not something you found, and I could not convince mum to get me a new one. It was slow, but worked I guess.

The library was in the centre of town and was an hour walk away. Well, I had nothing to do anyway. We live in a housing scheme that boarded onto fields at one side and the town on the other. The houses were all the same till they were a completely different decade and did not blend at all together, which was better than councils choosing to build houses with attic roofs. Attic roofs were stupid and should not be a thing in new buildings.

I wasn’t wearing the best shoes or clothes for this. Skinny jeans with no bend and tennis shoes that had no padding. I could lie in bed for a week starting tomorrow anyway. An IPod that I had to keep deleting stuff to get the latest hits on to it. It ended up taking me an album and half to get to the library. The town was still the town.

Not much had changed since I was last there. The fences were more run down but that was it. The library was an old brownstone like so many other libraries. I currently had access to eight online library services. Most libraries don’t bother to make sure you’re still a member.

In this case, I wasn’t sure if my library card was still good as it didn’t have an online system when I was a member and I hadn’t thought to check before losing access to reliable internet. My phone was junk. I walked up it woven down steps into the grand hall and now had automatically opening door. In front of me was a closed off stairs that held a sign that sign staff only. The non-fiction to the left and the fiction to the right. I held for the fiction. I didn’t feel like using my brain.

The teen section was now titled YA to be cool like those Americans and was on the other side of the massive room. I scanned the shelves for something new. The books were different. Weeding had taken place. Some were still the exact same copies. I pick up the ex-popular supernatural romance to see it hadn’t been checked out from before I moved. I put it back on the shelve to never be read again.

I picked up few other books that promised the undead. There was even one with necromancer as the villain. I took it out because as reading terrible depictions of Death Contractors. was my guilty pleasure. I watched the shows and read the cheesy books. My mother did not approve of this. Especially the paranormal romances. Falling in love with a dead person was something my mother did not approve of.

Some were actually written pretty well as works of fiction and some of got stuff eerily accurate. Perhaps another death contractor writing from her own experience or they just got luckily. The ones I picked up, I did not expect to be good. I wander to the adult side of the library which I found harder to navigate. Despite, the handy genre sorting of Fiction, Crime, Romance and Western. Western was section I had never read from despite multiple libraries having this as a section. Maybe if they had ghost cowboys.
I grabbed randoms with interesting titles. I kind of wish they sorted by title instead of author. Perhaps by buzzwords like “Amazing” and “Best Book of the Year”. I go the desk.

“I would like these out,” I say handing the 8-year-old library card to her. She scans it and hands it back without much ado. Well, that was anti-climactic. No, this card is too old, or you have 6 years of library fines that now total a ridiculous price to ask of someone not entitled to minimal wage.

I shove the books in my backpack and leave. I’m not that interested in the internet and it would probably best to be out of town before the schools got out. I did not want to wait for the lollypop lady.

I wandered away from the library in the opposite direction. What is a two hour walk really?  I fancied a look at my favourite building in this old town. The Dance hall was a street back from the library. Both had been built during this big expansion of the town. I had gone through a phase of researching the building, to not learning much at all. No recorded deaths to the building.

A ghost didn’t need to die in a building to haunt it. Sometimes an emotional link is enough to drag someone back there. I’ve never had that with a building. More of the windows had been boarded up on the ground level since the last time I stood next to it. The For Sale sign is still there, now discoloured. I wonder if still up for Sale.  I glance in the direction of the antiques and junk shops that my mother like to peruse. No signs of her ridiculous car.

I had only gain a slight obsession with this building due to my mother habit of taking hours to actually buy what she came for in any shop she goes in. I had noticed a ghost once and follow them up into the building. I had never seen it again. My mother doesn’t like this building, due to my mild obsession.

The door is slightly open once again. I guess it’s never locked. I pushed it open it more. It’s dark, with sunbeams lighting the wood panelling. Going into a derelict building at any age is stupid. I slowly edge into the building. The wooden floor looks study, though probably isn’t with unheated winters and water seeping in through broken windows.

I hear a creek. It was from above me. It could be ghosts, homeless or the ferial cats. Ferial cats can be deadly. You can lose limbs and I watch too much daytime TV.

“What are you doing?” I jump and turn around to see Junior Creep in the High School uniform.

“Why ain’t you in school?” I ask right back.

“Free Period,” she enters the building. Scanning around. Probably wondering if the roof will fall on her.

 “So not stalking me?”

“Only on the weekends,” she settles her eyes on me. “I wouldn’t hang around here. People go missing.”

There was literally not a single record of that happening. Even when it was still a functioning Dance Hall.

“That’s never been in the papers.”

“A lot of things have never been in the papers.” True that. Mortals by accident or chance, magic on purpose. Even dark magic must be hidden because it could bring us all down.  I probably would have been safe now, but we brunt with everyone else.

“Well, I guess I should be going now.” I say and shove past her back into the street. I start in the direction of my house. I still might be able to avoid the kids.

I hear Aytia walking behind me. I turn around to go away, when I catch a figure in the upper window. I stare at the ghost I saw when I was eight years old and never age in all these years.

“What are you looking at?” I look at Aytia for a second and jump back to the window. Gone. Typical ghost. I want to know the story, but probably best not to. That place is a death trap, probably.

“Nothing,” I start walking again. I don’t want to get into it with Aytia. She continues to walk with me.

“I thought you weren’t stalking me.”

“I’m not, my house is this way.”

We walk in silence before bumping into her first lollypop man. Damn it. I quicken my pace after crossing the road.

“What’s your hurry?”

“I’m being followed.”

I slow down once we’re on the outskirts of the main of town, houses instead of business. Aytia is still there.

“Where is your house anyway?”

“We’re almost there. Where’s yours?”

Going off last time, I still have an hour to go. My feet were starting to hurt.
Aytia’s house was obvious on the approach. It was obviously a witch’s house if you knew the signs. The front Gardens was full of plants that could be used in potions and some doubled as protection. There was also a Barbie doll, with a badly protection symbol craved into naked stomach, lying on one of the bushes. The garden was well cared for, but the paint was chipped.  Also, their minivan was in the drive.

“Wanna come in?” Aytia doesn’t wait for and is already though the door. Witches are interesting creatures and my feet really hurt so I follow her up the stairs. Maybe I can steal some herbs.

Chapter 8, Witches and Witches