Theres More To The Story.

my last blog "Im A Weirdo That Is Trying To Be Black", was dedicated to two certain people. i figured they would read it because even though im so weird, and they cant stand me, they like to check up on my page for some reason. my suspicions were confirmed when i logged on tonight to recieve two messages from one of these people. below is their comment, and then my reply. now everyone can see first hand just what i was talking about. hope yall have a good laugh. by the way. . since this person doesnt appreciate that i tried to protect her, and if youd like to see for yourself, create an account on facebook.com and look up katie cardone. start a conversation with her. . she loves the attention.

Katie wrote
at 7:12pm
Harass?? Protection??? What???
Katie wrote at 7:13pm
What do we need protection for? How did we Harass you? This makes no scense?

JewsBocks wrote at 1:17am ha·rass /h?'ræs, 'hær?s/ [huh-ras, har-uhs] –verb (used with object)
1. to disturb persistently; torment, as with troubles or cares; bother continually; pester; persecute.
2. to trouble by repeated attacks, incursions, etc., as in war or hostilities; harry; raid

pro·tec·tion /pr?'t?k??n/ [pruh-tek-shuhn] –noun
1. the act of protecting or the state of being protected; preservation from injury or harm.

If you still need a lil help, ill break it down even more: harass- to persecute. protection- persevation from harm. I believe your "words" and your "thoughts" describe persecution.

(per·se·cu·tion [pûr'si-kyoo'sh?n] n.
The act or practice of persecuting on the basis of race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, or BELIEFS that differ from those of the persecutor).

I dont understand what i did to you. And furthermore, what makes no "scense" is the fact that you cant even spell sense. . but im the weird one? Im the uneducated one? Try again. .

Jewsbocks wrote at 1:18am by the way, i hope you took the time to read the full blog. make sure you go ahead and click the link "View original post". its pretty good reading for someone like you. that is if you have enough patience to sound out all the words. ;)

Im A Weirdo That Is Trying To Be Black.

ive been thinking for a few days, and to say the least, im very annoyed. it seems that certain people [names left out for their protection] seem to think it fun to harass others with their "opinions" and "thoughts". i normally could give a fuck less. peoples opinions are just that. i figure if im entitled to my opinions- let everyone else have the same. so heres what this is. . my opinions. i think its annoying for people to talk shit when they have no room to talk. i think its ridiculous for people to point out the flaws of others when they know that they, themselves are flawed. i think its intrusive when people speak their mind (e.g. talk shit about me) and i hear about it. i think its outrageous that people i dont even know- and dont ever care to know, try to belittle me and make fun of me. im sure if these certain people knew how to read (cause obviously they dont because theyve found a way to misconstrue everything ive said in my poems, blogs, and otherwise) they would take offense to this little piece of my mind. i hope they do. . thats just my point. i wont stoop to their level and call them weird. i wont call them a cunt or a dumb piece of shit. i wont say that they are sluts or whores. i wont do any of that. it just boggles my mind that im the weird one. i must be weird cause im not a normal piece of shit torrington resident. i havent gotten a girl pregnant and had to live with the consequences. i dont live with rich parents. i dont go around begging people for pills or other drugs because the stress of my [awful] life is too much. i dont go around starting shit or otherwise talking shit about people i have no idea about. i dont try to read into things that i couldnt begin to comprehend or understand. drama does not follow me. so if these are those certain people's standards of normal. . i guess i am weird. my poetry and my writing, my songs and my releases mean that i am "trying to be black" apparently. they make me "weird". well i beg these people to tell me the definition of normal. if they think that they are what society should look up to then i feel bad for them. they are truely more "weird" than i. this blog is my attempt to vent a little. its also my attempt to set shit straight. i will not sit here and listen to people talk shit for no apparent reason. i havent done shit to you so why fuck with me? it is my hopes that two certain people read this. if it is not you who had your "opinions" then breathe easy. . this is not for you. if you know who you are then i hope you read this. i hope you read it twice for that matter. hopefully youll take some new knowledge and understanding away with you. if not then you are truely too far gone and i feel sorry for you.

Story Time.

Writers: I need your help. Down below, is the beginning of a story that I started and went nowhere with. That's where you come in. Bring the story in your own direction. Write as much or as little as you want. If I like where you're going with the story, I'll add it in and give credit by putting your name below. Remember, be imaginative, be descriptive, and be creative. At this point, the story can go anywhere. Just try to keep to the story where the last person left off. Hopefully the result will be a very suspenseful story. Thanks for all the help to those of you that decide to write!

    As she kicked off her high heels, poured a glass of cheap, dry wine, and tried to exhale all the stress from her long, unfulfilling day, her thoughts began to race. Ever since Lauren's divorce just a few months ago, every minute thing in life had lost its zest. While she exhumed the week old chicken that her mother had so carefully and thoughtfully placed in the freezer for her, she thought back on what she had -done so wrong in life. Here she was: a 28 year old woman with no major commitments, no real job potential, no financial security, and on top of all that. . A failed marriage. She was living at home with her mother, and her favorite thing to do in life was to play with her cats. She had to admit- in an odd, almost sickening unnatural way, Lauren felt a certain resentment if not jealousy for her mother. The shrill noise of the microwave snapped her out of the trance she was in. Lauren had always been a dreamer. Her surreal visions seemed to get her into trouble more often than not. The aroma of overcooked chicken wafted into Lauren's nostrils. Suddenly she felt ill. With a shudder she quickly tried to gobble down her makeshift meal before her mind got the best of her. Lauren hadn't been eating well for some time now- a mixture of nerves and shear exhaustion. She quickly rinsed off her dishes from her meal and gingerly placed them into the dishwasher as her mother came home.
    "Hello mother", said Lauren with just enough sarcasm for a mother to pick up on. "How was your day?" "I see you're still upset about last night, dear?" Her mother was one of those pushy, egotistical people. She had a selfish mindset and was very self absorbed and arrogant. Just the night before, her and Lauren had gotten into a heated discussion about Lauren's lifestyle and "choices". "Nope. Not at all." Lauren tried to walk away. Go to another spot in the house where she couldn't be pestered. Her mother could not allow that. "Honey, I said I was sorry, what more do you want me to say? I just think its about time for you to start thinking about your future. You know, you're not getting any younger. The years are going to start catching up with you sooner or later." "Wow Mom, you never cease to amaze me! I'd love to know why you think you can talk to me like that." Her mother had always said hurtful things to Lauren for reasons unbeknown to her. She wasn't sure if it was to intentionally annoy her or if her mother's selfish attitude just got the best of her. Lauren walked away. She had better things to do. Laundry to wash, papers to grade. If she had the time she would clean up her room a little. This was Lauren's third year of teaching She hated it. She thought she would try to give back to others, the same thing her teacher had done for her years before. She thought teaching would be a breeze- was she ever wrong! Her teaching, her students, their conceptual thinking- or lack thereof, all became daily annoyances to Lauren. "I just don't feel like talking about it anymore. Mom." "Fine. Have it your way, Lauren. You always do." She knew if she didn't walk away right then and there it would be another fight. She rushed into her room. She would work on her homework. The laundry could wait.
    Lauren zipped through the papers. She only half-cared if the answers were right or wrong. Why, she wondered, was her life so empty? She did not miss her abusive, controlling husband. She had no real worries in life. Her mother paid most of the bills and did most of the household chores (cooking, cleaning, general upkeep.) Why was Lauren so unsatisfied? She was missing out on something. She never had a "real" family. Her father was a lot like her ex-husband- a deadbeat drunk. Maybe that's the spark she thought she saw in Chris. She was consistent about one thing in life. Being wrong.