Little Voices in My Head

Weird weird comments

As my family and friends will bemoaningly tell you, (should you care to ask) I have some…quirks, in my personality that make life with me…interesting. *yeah, we’ll go with interesting…yeah…* One of those little quirks is a strong propensity to telling the brutal truth. About everything. All the time. I just can’t help myself. Those little white lies people tell to make you feel better about yourself? Nope, can’t do it.
This has, at times, gotten me in some VERY hot water, but it has also saved my ass on occasion. Some friends and family think this quirk is awesome, and some think it’s my worst fault. Those that love it, love it because I can help them out. Want to know how your ass REALLY looks in those jeans? Ask Carissa. Got a ‘delicate’ problem, but need to know the honest solution? Ask Carissa. Absolutely need to know wither or not you’re just being a whiny git and need to get over it? OH for the love of all things HOLY, ASK CARISSA! Because I will tell you. I won’t be mean about it, I won’t condescend to you, and I will NEVER tell another living soul about it if you don’t want me to, but I will also, never never lie to you.
This also extends to myself. I refuse to ever lie to myself, about anything.
So when I tell you what I’m about to relate next, please understand that I am not being modest, self-depreciating, fishing for compliments, or even setting myself up for a joke. *for once, I’m NOT going for a gag* I’m just being as honest with myself as I would be with any of you. So here goes.

I’m not physically beautiful. I know this. I accepted it years ago, and actually, I’m really glad I’m not. It takes a load of pressure off of me, and has allowed me to develop my personality and character rather than my hair flipping technique. Honestly, pick 20 random women my age off the street, put them in a room with me, and have 100 random men rank us in order of appearance. NO way in hell I’m going to be in the top 5 on any of those men’s lists. Now, ask those same women to list their character traits, personality quirks, hobbies, interests, intelligence, etc. on a piece of paper, and have those same men pick who they want to date? OH, I am SOOO in the top five of that list. Every time. Maybe even the top ONE on several of them. I’m just that damn cool to date. Just ask my boyfriend.
That is why I’m so comfortable meeting men online, or through other friends.Because in those forums, my personality matters most. My brain power. Not the power of my boobs. *which are awesome as well, but hey, it’s not like I had any control over that*
A 6 year old called me pretty. Out of the frigging blue. It really got me thinking. It wasn’t just the 6yr old, because he was just one of many anomalous comments and events about my looks lately. Not one, but TWO men asked me out IRL. Then, just today at work, I got a phone call from an old friend, who just HAD to tell me about another friend of his who happened to see pictures of me online and wanted to know if I would be available for a date. And why I didn’t divorce “El Douche-bag” sooner and marry HIM! *I’m thinking that last bit was an exaggerated joke, but still, this is me with the shock* I’m busy looking around for the Candid Camera crew. This is SO not my life.
Granted, I’ve lost over 70 pounds in the last 9 months, but I’ve been much skinnier than this before, and have not had this kind of response from men. So I’m really confused. My mom posed the theory that maybe men, and the random 6 year old, are just picking up on how happy I am. I think this could be true. I mean, if Confidence is sexy, maybe Happy is pretty? Whatever is causing it, I like it, and I think I’m going to just roll with it. But if you see me look like a monkey doing a math problem after talking to a guy, just do me a favor, and slap me upside the head and tell me it’s going to be ok, there are no cameras. Breathe Carissa, BREATHE.
I don’t know for sure, but I’m willing to take the word of a 6year old any day, because they are the most honest people on the planet. I’m pretty dammit, and I’m rocking it!

This monologue was written and performed by yours truly in my senior year of High School. Yes, you read that correctly. Hence the title. Everyone squeeze in the “Way-Back” machine, and no pinching your sister, or so help me god, I’ll turn this bus RIGHT back around!

The assignment was to write an updated take on one of Chaucer’s tales. I chose the viewpoint of a heroin addict, as it was something I had a…unique perspective on at the time. (Breathe, Mom. BREATHE!) I dressed in some ratty jeans, combat boots, an old jacket of my dad’s that I rolled in the mud, rubbed lard in my shoulder-length hair, and applied some really nasty track marks to my arms with some very improvised make-up. I went all out on the make-up on my face too. Sunken cheeks and eyes, pale skin, the WORKS. I scared the bejesus out of my first three teachers. (Did I mention I wore this costume all day, and that this class wasn’t until my last period of the day? *evil evil grin*)

My friends from that class have since asked what happened to that piece of work, and I was rummaging in my theatre trunk the other day, and whaddya know, I kept it. Thank god one of my little voices is a tad bit obsessive compulsive. 

Addiction 

I’m not the kind of person you’d expect
to have arms filled with tracks.
My hair, once full and envied
now flat and dirty
My body aches, my head pounds
I see the pretty, pretty sounds!

My parents? Gone when I was 10.
Me a baby chickie, no mother hen.
Pain in my heart, pain in my head,
I’d do anything to keep the pain dead.

DON’T MESS WITH MY STASH!
Man…I need some cash…
Sell you a shiny trinket for some cash!
I just need enough cash, make my flow last.

Cuz you gotta keep that high going
keep it going strong.
That high always fades before too long.
Gotta get more gotta get more gotta get more
Don’t touch me! I ain’t your whore!

So what man, if my eyes are dull?
So what if they’ve sunken into my skull?
Who cares that I’m pale?

Maybe, maybe I’ll find an apple core in that garbage over there.
Yeah, the sugar keeps the Dragon in longer.
And the Dragon, he keeps away the hunger.

See, kids like me, we were “custody of the state”
Ya ask me, they were too little, too late.
See, the Dragon Keeper had done seen my Momma, and me.
He said, “I’ll ease your pain, for a fee. Give me your locket. That shiny bobble.
And I’ll show you love only my Dragon can give you.”
After that, using was nothing but that same old thing.

I started buying. Then mixing. Then selling on my own.
I sell to everyone. Don’t know who I’ll sell to next.
Pimps, whores, teachers, cabbies, preachers, doctors.
Hell, one day, a man who works for the MAYOR of our town,
says the Mayor have a great big frown.
So I sold him a big fat Dragon,
Keep him company.

Look at me, got the Mayor’s money.
Where will I go next?
Shit, who knows?
But for sure, you can find me and my Dragon,

Ridin’ the flow.

Good morning! Well, I don’t know what time of day it is where you are, but to me, it is quite literally, the wee hours of the A.M. I am wide awake, fueled as always, by my cheery *scoffing in my head with my little voices offering a chorus of “yeah, right”s* disposition, and many many cups of pumpkin flavored coffee. I surmised that since I am awake, and so is the Gang, I might as well post a few more pages. You can now find The Girl Card as well as the wonderful world of Dating Carissa. Oh yes, there are actually men on this planet JUST crazy enough to attempt it. And yes, some that even come back for seconds. (and thirds, and fourths, and…well, we won’t divulge ALL the sorted details, you pervs.) Hope your day is going smoothly, and if it’s not, well, make up something funny, and pretend it is! Remember, reality is what you make of it. And I don’t suffer from insanity I  enjoy every minute of it!

Carissa and the Gang