Everything I ask for

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Bienvenue

This is a blog for life events, reviews of entertainment items (movies, games, music), and debates as well as opinions and finally- written works.

Warning
♥Strong language used in posts, reference to sex, drugs, alcohol, rock stars and obscure indie movies and music.
♥I support gay rights.
♥I'm a practicing Catholic but not a bible-thumper.
More will be added when necessary...Other than that.. WELCOME!

Disclaimers

I'm not responsible for your butt-hurt or your narrow-mindedness. I'll take on your disagreements- but when the CAPSLOCKS!>!~ come into play. Go away. All the writings here on this website is copywrite Vere Marie Khan, 2009.

9-5 JUST ISN'T WORKING OUT FOR A GYPSY

So I sit here thinking to myself as the clock strikes in at 3:39 PM, "Nine to five fucking sucks."

This is exactly the kind of monotonous working that drives girls to stripping and pole dancing as an alternative. I get fit AND be paid for it- take that Anna Nicole! DON'T NEED NO TRIMSPA BITCH! Plus I think I'm putting on weight but not in the, "BOO HOO, I'M FAT *throws up in toilet*" sort of way but in a, "Hey, STACKING ON THE POUNDS" way. Not very flattering, if I do say so myself.

Hur hur.

Did I mention I believe in leprechauns?

And now its 3:45 PM.

FML
FML
FML
FML
FML

OH! SOMETHING TO TYPE ABOUT! Did I mention I saw Toy Story 3 (FINALLY) the other day. Good god was it an epic! It made me grin like a crazy person (not that I'm normal on a daily basis EHEHEEE) but it also managed to make me feel all sad and depressed inside knowing that its all over. Too many of my childhood things are ending and its FUCKING WITH MY EMOTIONAL FRAME OF MIND!!

Did I mention Andy grew up to be Sauce?

Oh yeah... I'd hit that... In the most pedophilic, grooming way possible too.
God, I'm so fucking going to hell.

Though, Toy Story 3 genuinely surprised me in comparison to the others before it. I never expected that adult themes like abandonment, neglect, commitment to friends, loyalty to love ones, moving on with life and letting go of the past will be presented in an animated film primarily intended for children and the young at heart.

There was one particular scene that I think was most unique to the animated stories I’ve seen. It was when all the toys held hands before they were nearly incarcerated; it showed loyalty and friendship and yes, even the serious issue of facing death with dignity.

Plus Woody and Buzz had a gay ass scene when they stare into each others eyes before they're about to "die". Yeah. Don't think I missed it, DISNEY YOU PERVERTS.

But I recommend anyone to see it; mostly for one amazing feature they put in there.

Four words.

BUZZ. LIGHTYEAR. SPANISH. MODE.

Trust me, you won't regret it. At ALL.

Labels: 3, bored, life, movies, pedophile, story, toy, work

On Wednesday, July 21, 2010 at 3:53 PM

No one Ever Said I was Pretty

No one ever told me I was pretty growing up, every girl needs to be told she’s pretty. Lest she fall prey to the trails of the mass media influencing their mind to believe that they will never be beautiful.

Marketing departments and ad agencies spend millions each year
targeting teenage girls who will spent their money on looking good. Although the message of “girl power” is prevalent in today’s marketing messages, so is the irrefutable idea that “sexy” and “thin” are in! Sexy IS thin.

The dieting industry alone generates 40 billion dollars per year in America. If
you believe diets are just for adults, you will be shocked to learn that a
Harvard study (Fat Talk, Harvard University Press) published in 2000 revealed
that 86% of teenage girls are on a diet or believe they should be on one. Diets
are common among both teens and children. According to the National Eating
Disorders Association, 51% of 9 and 10-year-old girls actually feel better about
themselves when on a diet. As a society, our obsession with thin is relatively
new. Most people (especially teens) are shocked to find that sex icon Marilyn
Monroe actually wore a size 14!

But pick up a fashion magazine today and you’ll find models who are thinner than
98% of all the girls and women in America. Turn on a television and see ‘sexy’
celebrities such as Shania Twain, Britney Spears and Pamela Anderson baring
their flesh. It is these role models who have become the standard of what is in
vogue in the twenty-first century.

Most girls, especially in Trinidad and Tobago, believe that to be beautiful they must be thin, tall, and -shockingly- light-skinned. Girls in this generation do not feel comfortable in their own bodies and start from early as 9 to begin to desire the feeling of being someone else.

Even if it starts with one person, that person being you- you need to let the people in your life know that they’re beautiful. There is no need to think and judge on looks or what the media wants you to seem like. The media will always call you ugly and they will always make you feel like you need to be a slave to their mass production. They want you to be enslaved by the phrase of you’re not worthy anything if you aren’t beautiful.

Make up flies off the wall. No one is ever beautiful until they hide everything original about themselves. Your hair isn’t straight or its too straight, your skin isn’t light enough or its not dark enough, your eyes aren’t exotic or they’re too strange. With all these rules to follow to be beautiful, and with the stigma of being a lame girl if you don’t follow, isn’t not hard to see how the road has gotten so much narrower for the female kind.

We may have moved light years in terms of our ability to vote, have a voice and to achieve- but if we are held back by insignificant things such as appearance and allow it to hold us to the ground, then we will never truly grow intellectually.
I’d much prefer someone telling me, “You’re brilliant,” instead of “You’re beautiful.”

And I can thank my father for that, everyday.

Labels: looks, rants, review, self-esteem

On Saturday, July 17, 2010 at 9:03 AM

Waiting for the Train I

Title: Waiting for the Train
Chapter I
Warnings: Pedophilia, coarse language, alcohol consumption. Among many other things.

--

It wasn’t hard to ignore the neighbors, I realized, when I decided to spent my hour by innocently smoking weed in the backyard when my mother was out. Not like I was breaking the law or anything- I mean, I’m pretty much protecting it since I heard second hand smoke kills and all. With no one around, it’s shouldn’t be a problem to keep anyone from dying from marijuana induced cancer anytime soon. Hopefully the old hag, Mrs. Leake, that lives next door doesn’t come out and spoil my fun with her religious ravings about my attire. So what if I liked to stand outside barefoot on the grass in just a towel and take a drag- it’s a free fucking country.

The wretch would come out here ranting and raving about indecent exposure and it would really ruin the mood and break my high and then I had to hide the shit before my mom comes home- had to keep the air freshener on demand in case she decided to surprise the rather wasted household with one of their astonishingly quiet visits. Oh man, here comes Leake right now through her porch. Look at her old bones trying to come down the stairs, I would have doubled in laughter if I didn’t have the need to hold up my towel. Oh man, she tripped. I stifle a laugh before taking a final drag and bent down to drop it on a hole I dug then covered it up.

“Mornin’, Mrs. Leake!” I holler out to her, using my other hand which wasn’t supporting my towel.

She sends me a glare- oh man, I wonder if she can ever see with those huge ass glasses over her eyes. Oh man, oh man, oh shit, oh shit- this is too funny. I should head back inside before I laugh too hard and expose myself to the world.

“What are you gonna do with your time, Eric? Wastin’ away here?”

Oh man, that question always makes me throw up at the idiocy. I’m a practical Dorian Gray, I admit, for being on the verge of twenty seven I look pretty damn young for my age. Sometimes the police would hold me back and ask if I was skipping school till I whip out that shiny get-out-of-jail-free ID I carry around. They stop and look at me as if I’m lying- I mean, I’d lie sure but only if I had to. I mean, if I had nothing to do that day I’d stand around talking to the officer like a good guy, a good citizen. That’s me. Pretty boy with no problems except my little deals down the road who I probably owe a thing or to but on the bad days when I have to rush home or I’ll miss an episode of ‘House MD’ then I’d be pretty upset not to hear Hugh Laurie’s slaying wit.

God forbid I lose my time with the Brit- it makes living life so much more tolerable.

“You were always such a stupid boy, Eric,” I realize she’s still here and put on my listening face, “Did you even graduate??”

I laugh. Outside it was a pretty, ‘ha ha, oh that’s so funny, Mrs. Leake’ but on the inside it was like an insane asylum left their windows open in the funny department. My god, that woman never ceased to make my day in the morning. But she did call me stupid, which didn’t quite sit well with my obviously ranging vocabulary and intellectual capacity- Excuse me for not walking around with a bible and a strong dedication to curing cancer or changing the world. I’m satisfied sitting right here with my dear friends known as Wilde, Poe and Nabokov.

I like to read but don’t ask me to write you a poem or else you’ll get plagiarism from a Hallmark Card that was probably spelt badly anyway. My forte lands itself in the sciences and the mathematics department and thank you very much, Mrs. Leake, I did graduate with honors in those from my high school and I have a rather appealing golden plaque that feeds my intellectual ego on those topics. But, I don’t bother with her for long before I give her a wave and trudge back inside to thrown on some clothes.

The minute I toss on a jacket over my white shirt I heard the door open which is usually a signal that my mother had come home. It was only nine o clock but she always had this instilled desire to leave at six and sit at the train station to watch them go by. It was a pretty sick hobby but hey, I’m not going to judge. What makes her happy is her business. Leaning over the ledge of the stairs I see her put her large Sunday hat on the table and fiddle with her pearls while humming a song that I always seemed to place as a hymn or the other. Crazy catholic my mother was, always kept crosses in our houses for as long as I could remember- I didn’t like the fact she carried them with her when she moved in with me, but I became used to it once she kept it in her room.

I wasn’t all that religious. Life seemed to be a bitch and fantasies were the only way to go- even if it were for a fleeting moment of happiness. I finally looked in the mirror before sending a sneer at my half made up bed- I always did dislike housework. The maid will get to it anyway so why should I bother do anything about it? Not like I have to clean it up myself. It’ll get done. That’s how I always thought. It’ll get done.

“Eric!”

I cringe as I hear my mother call for me downstairs. As generous and kind as I am to let the old woman do as she pleases, I hate it when she involves me in her gift giving which is either some kind of religious symbol or something of the sort. I reach down and slide on my shoes while hollering back at her that I’ll be reaching in a moment. Pressing down my hair as much as I could, I couldn’t get those brown curls to stay straight, and tied it back before adjusting my square glasses. I never liked contacts, mainly due to the idea they involved sticking a foreign object into your eye- that’s fucked up. Sticking shit in your eye is fucked up.

Rushing down the stairs, I could hear the sound of smooth music flowing through the house. I grin, though I realize it’s a bit crooked that makes me look rather mentally insane so I usually only use it in the house, and am slightly glad that the only woman brings music into this house. I’d be far too lazy to even bother try and put music on to sooth my soul. Was that… Michael Buble? Good thing I had a small attachment to that music artist else I’d have thrown that shit out the window faster than you can say ‘Hannah Montana’. Or whatever the hell kids nowadays are listening to. I don’t keep up with the times really; I guess that could count as a problem when someone asks me about some recent event that happened five years ago- It’d be the first time I’m either hearing about it or caring about it.

“What is it mother?”

I ask politely. Politeness and friendliness is one thing she always instilled in my family and my brothers always listened. It shows since one is in prison for being too friendly with a lady at a bar and thought ‘Go away’ meant ‘Take me to the back room and force me down’ while my sister got knocked up at sixteen for being too polite to say ‘no’ to her boyfriend at the time. Yeah, morals are great. I’m totally going to teach my kid the same morals but warn that if they ever came home with a criminal record or baby in the oven- I’m selling them to science. That’s all humans seem good for. Reproduction and hypocrisy; what a swell existence, sign me the fuck up.

My mother’s grin is as psychotic as mine and I wonder how any man could have impregnated her three times- and the fact it was the same man every time- still shocks me but I digress. She goes into that huge purse of hers, almost as big as a grocery bag if you ask me, and pulls out a necklace. Did she think I was gay? Oh Jesus, I’m going to have to have that talk with my therapist again about constant homosexual implications in the home may lead to my mental breakdown. I look at it carefully and realize it was another one of those rosaries she keeps buying. The silver and blue beads made it look absolutely gaudy but I assume God isn’t one to be a fashion judge.

“I saw this at the train station,” she starts while I hold back a snicker, where ELSE could she have gotten it, “and I remembered you didn’t have one.”

I smile. I mean, she forgets she gets me one of these every weekend but I stay quiet and laugh it off. I realize while looking at the religious symbol that I was late for my interview. I seriously needed this job to keep paying the bills since living by candle light while all the other people have heaters would totally piss me the fuck off. I give her a kiss and shove the ugly thing into my pocket before grabbing my brief case filled with all my paperwork. I wonder why they can’t take my word of mouth. Sure, I’d lie and say I’m the hottest teacher since slice bread and if they don’t hire me then God is going to get pretty upset and cause a flood. Hell, I’d hire me if I heard that.

Running out the door I stopped short of Mrs. Leake’s house, her husband passed out on the porch with a bottle of scotch by his side and a half finished cup near his table. Man, that’s the fucking life. I hope I can do that when I hit his age- which would probably be in the next millennia since I was convinced that Mr. Leake had lived through the ice age with that huge white beard of his and all that fat on his stomach. You could feed kids from Africa and then some left over to power fucking jet packs if you used all his fat.

Thank god I run so that level of obesity won’t get to me yet.

I spit in my hand and try and pull back my hair slightly but the curls won’t stop so I give up as I run down the stairwell full of people into the subway. Standing at the edge, I had some time since it hadn’t reached yet and I look over to see a group of school girls giggling over one of their cell phones- probably snapped a picture of an embarrassing situation or those new ‘cell phone sex tape’ things is passing though.

Damn, now I want that cell phone.

Labels: fic, for, the, train, waiting

On Friday, October 30, 2009 at 12:32 PM

God Rocks

Dear Humanity:

I’m always present.

You guys just mess up too much to keep track.

-God.

Can you blame him? People ,those who claim to be good people, suffer from a heavy problem with feeling better than someone who doesn’t hold the same belief. The old argument of ‘My god is better than your god’ is painfully 1478- The Spanish Inquisition came and left, lets not try and revive it. Its not very fetch, if I do say so myself, butdare I claim that THE WORLD is becoming more and more like a systematic.

Delightful.

God doesn’t ask for much. If you ask me, he doesn’t ask for rules or judgments or hymns or praises or money or the fact that people who love each other can’t get married. If God had so many rules, break one and the camel’s back has already snapped in two and your delivery will never make it to its destination. You quote the bible yet the bible was written by men who ‘proclaim’ the word of God. Can you be certain in such a blinded faith and fury because you were told that this it right, so right is must be?

You don’t sound so confident this time.

Trade your diamonds and pearls for a book about war and maybe, just maybe, you can educated yourself in the way Napolean conquered the world’s memory. You wouldn’t dare- ignorance is bliss is what has been taught. Take the apple from the tree and you will know. Yet, you don’t want to know- knowing is terrifying and so you stay in the dark because the light is so foreign and forbidden because you’ve been burned so many times.

Know what I teach you- learn nothing more. A lesson you take to heart in a more literal sense which comes out in a crude fashion but it’s the basic of what you’re doing. You judge those who doubt and question the idea of religion, you bash and crash but you don’t stop to consider that thinking about it may be better than being a hypocrite.

History repeats, loops a finite number of situations until every choose-your-adventure possibility has been explored. The rules are safe, written for people who give the pretense of playing the game; their fate is always a swift death at page fifty-five, fierce social-climbing tigers on the steps of a Siberian fortress chomping down on morals and loyalty. This is the part where you supposed to insist that it was a mistake, bend God’s fingers into pinky swearing to keep it a secret, and spend the rest of your life making the lie painfully obvious by treating him like a leper.

Keep your faith if you understand yourself- but are you allowed to really look down upon those who don’t hold the same as you do?

God isn’t missing and the Devil isn’t prevenlant. Stop trying to find excuses for your own mistakes in the idea of you’re not responsible for your actions. Take control of yourself, your mind and your actions and make sure you don’t mess up. If everyone took control of themselves, a lot of things would have never happened.

Labels: god, philosphy.

On Saturday, January 10, 2009 at 11:05 PM

About me

Hi! My name is Vere Marie and I'll be your waiter this evening. I'm bitchy, out-spoken and entirely crude. I'm not the kind to kneel over and die after a little bit of criticism nor will I back down in the face of a challenge. I'm strong minded and opinionated which causes alot of trouble from time to time- but to be quite honest I'm just an average girl with a computer and too much free time- I love to write, play video games and watch anime and read classics and manga. But I also love to party. Flip sides of the coin made into one little piggy bank- that turned out to be me. ♥

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