I discovered American rock bands when I started hanging out with Americans. Music in France wasn’t quite as raw and badass… I was into rap between the age of twelve and fifteen, then I fell in love with the Spice Girls and the Backstreet Boys, and listened to all pop songs after that.
But rock/metal/hardcore punk didn’t do anything to me until my early twenties.
All my teenage friends were into Nirvana. “Smells like Teen Spirit” became the anthem of a generation while I hummed “We’ve got it going on” and “Wannabe”.
Oh well… I just needed more time, that was all.
Summer 2004. The iPod had just come out. I scrolled through playlists and landed on a name that left me guessing: Nine Inch Nails. What the heck was this?
I listened to one song. Then another one. And the Nine Inch Nails bug crawled through my brain like an adorable and mystifying disease I never cured.
Now I listen to music when I write. There’s nothing better than Nine Inch Nails to get my muse going.
My favorite NIN song is “My Violent Heart”. Read the lyrics and you’ll understand why.
Yep. NIN turns my inner fire on every single time.
Where do I begin?? I shall say I never hang out with married couples, and even less with married couples who have kids. I never did great around children, and these little beings scared the heck out of me… Yes, until recently, I was children-phobiac.
So here we are. Memorial Day weekend. I have no plans. My lovely publisher Lisa Gus at Curiosity Quills invites me to spend the holiday at her home, with her hubby and her four year old son. Yes. I know what you’re thinking. Did I run in the opposite direction? I actually booked a round trip ticket to Washington-Dulles for $120. I have no idea why, but I thought, heck, it’s a three day weekend, what could go wrong? I’ll handle the hubby and the kid. I can handle anything.
My confidence ready to implode my huge ego-fantastic scale, I count the days until departure. Yes, yes, the day finally comes where I’ll have to face my biggest fears. How will I survive?
I just don’t think about it.
And then, two days before leaving, Lisa announces she’s sick with pneumonia. Oh no! One side of me feels terribly disappointed, while the other side thinks it’s maybe a sign I am not to be surrounded by children because I’m just not a children person, and I should spend the rest of my life hanging out with my single childless friends in New York while crying over the Rangers’ loss against the Devils during the playoffs of the Stanley Cup.
But I digress.
While talking with my pen friend Krystal Wade, and mentioning Lisa’s health, Krystal offers me to stay with her so I can still come to Virginia to celebrate Memorial Day. I hesitate. I know Krystal has a hubby and not one, but THREE kids. Oh Lord. I don’t know what to say. I keep telling her I don’t want to impose, but she insists on having me around. The weekend will be busy, she says, as the whole family will celebrate the 12th birthday of Krystal’s kid #1, Ethan. Oh Lord. I think I developed cold sweats as I kept talking with her and tried to persuade her it’d be better if I went to Virginia another time. But no. Krystal is excited. She wants me around.
Alright. I surrendered.
So here I am, packing my bag on Friday morning, ready to take a 45 min flight to Dulles and I have no idea what I got myself into. Babies, toddlers, teenagers… My fears have all been presented to me on a silver platter, and I start to panic. But deep inside, I know I will be fine. Because I know Krystal, and she’s awesome. So her kids must be awesome too.
When I finally arrive at Dulles around 10:30 pm, Krystal picks me up. It’s the first time we meet in person, after months of chatting online. You would think we were both as nervous and as excited to finally see each other. And yes, we actually interacted the same way we did online. We goofed, we exchanged book ideas, we talked business and pleasure – the main topic of conversation being this new guy I’ve been dating for a few weeks. The ride goes smoothly, and we make it home safely.
I don’t see the hubby or the kids. It’s too late. Thank God. Krystal tells me I’m sleeping in Kid #2 room. Abby’s bed is surrounded by flower and ladybug lights. It’s pink, it’s girly, I lie down in polar bear sheets and cover myself with a Pirates of the Caribbean blanket. It’s official, I’m five again.
One of the three cats jumps on the bed and starts purring in my ear, meowing to pet her. I do the best I can with what I know about cats. And it actually works pretty well. If I can score with the kitties, I can score with the kids.
Hopefully.
The night passes. I sleep until 10 am, the exact moment where I hear a loud knock on the door and the voices of two little girls. I open my eyes and see the silhouettes of Krystal’s daughters by the bedroom door. I blink, then smile.
“Hey guys!” I say with with my nicest tone of voice.
I hate when adults do weird goo goo ga ga sounds around children, so I keep it simple. I wave and wait for a response.
Kid #3 stares at me like I’m an alien, while Kid #2 smiles back. Ok, I didn’t do so bad. Then Krystal tells me to get ready so we can all go to Krystal’s MIL’s house and pull the weeds off the swimming pool area.
This weekend is all about my domestication.
I meet Kid #1 and I know my torment has just begun. How am I going to deal with a two, a five and a twelve year old at the same time?
I think I silently prayed for a bit.
And then, well, I don’t know what happened. I started goofing around, and Kid #2 fell in love with me at the Post Office. Then Kid #3 got seduced by my awesome baby holding technique while we were at Wawa – but I have to admit, for one second when Krystal asked me to hold Rissa, panic could be read all over my innocent face. Finally, Kid #1 warmed up to me when we talked about cell phones and video games.
Hubby even liked my sense of humor after I let Kids #2 and #3 mess with the living room pillows because I had the genius idea to play elevator and staircase.
So yes, I made a raft out of Popsicle sticks, twigs and blades of grass. I played I Spy. I told poop jokes. I watched Nascar and the Nationals and I fell in love with their pitcher Steven Strasburg. I won one thousand coupons at Dave and Buster’s. I ate a banana wrapped in bacon and I drove Kid #2’s cardboard box made up tchoo-tchoo train from Krystal’s front porch all the way to California! I raced Abby in grocery store aisles. I used a 4,000 Dave and Buster’s coupon Banana as a slide…
And guess what? I loved being surrounded by kids.
Who would have imagined I could be so great with children? If someone had told me I’d be such a great baby sitter, I’d have laughed right in their face.
And now? I couldn’t be such a smartass even if I wanted to.
So my thanks go to Krystal for having faith I’d be awesome around her babies, and to Ethan, Abby and Rissa for putting up with my lack of children skills.
At the end of the stay, their hugs meant more to me than a million dollars in gold.
You know when you look at the sky and nothing makes sense, and you just want to run away to a place where you’ll feel safe and happy again? But do you really know where this place is? Or do you hope to find it during your escape from the routine you despise so much? The journey is worth the try. So try it.
You could challenge yourself to fit in a mold that doesn’t do you any good. You could lie to yourself and pretend everything’s fine. But in the end, when you stare at your reflection you know what to do.
You have to jump. You have to take risks.
I remember what it felt like to doubt. But now, I don’t feel that anymore. I’ve made a choice. I’ve taken a pledge. No matter what happens, I won’t look back.
There’s no need to dwell on the past. Just learn from your mistakes and move on.
Life is good. No, life is great. Even when you’re convinced it’s not.
I was looking for inspiration. I started brainstorming. What could I blog about this week? Angels? No. Demons? No. Love? Death? Anti-heroes? Nope. I started typing “fairies” in a Google search, and I landed on “Fairies and Vampires” and the first link took me to a “Vampire Fairy Twilight Goth Emo Punk Sk8er Roleplay Gaming Social Network”. Too much? I’d say not enough!
“go ahead, dress yourself up, paint yourself superior. does it make you feel better about who you are in the careening depths of your soul? go ahead, drink yourself blind, smoke until the thick cloud shadows you for good, does it make you feel like you belong? does it really make you forget? go ahead, kiss the wrong one, open up and let him tear you further. does it really make you feel safer, more loved? or does it send you spiraling further and further down into the crevasses of the truth? only to be hidden temporarily and frivolously with the shallowness of the day? with the suns decent and the destitute of only yourself do you examine yourself clearly? disintegrated by the demons that haunt the hushed minded.”
***
“Love is like a parasite that takes the life out of you. It slowly dries you out and leaves you a bitter shadow of your former self.”
***
“I just want someone in my life
who’s gonna say, put down the knife
you don’t need to bleed for me
I care and understand
the way you think and who you are
I’ll make you forget your broken past
I’ll ease the pain
let’s fix this broken heart
and what I’ll say is
let me do the same for you
and let me love you”
When I read the words posted on these walls, I felt the pain of a bleeding soul in search for spiritual healing. I sensed the everlasting void created by a maturing mind stuck in a child’s body. I remembered what it used to be like. The impatience to grow up mixed with the resistance to real adulthood. The rebellious attitude stalled by too much conformity. The overwhelming desire to express oneself. So yes, I dyed my hair purple, and then I bleached it. I wore weird clothes. Did I do much more than that? Not really.
When I was thirteen, I found truth in words and books. I read and I wrote. Poems, plays, novels that were as dark and as tormented as me. No make up. No piercings. No drinking and smoking, or partying until dawn. No, actually, these things happened much later for me.
My days in the darkness were solitary. I didn’t spend my time on social networks because they didn’t exist at the time. I didn’t share my angst with anyone. I didn’t write my morbid poetry on a wall and people left comments and pressed the “like” button. I lived my youth like an outcast. Today, all outcasts can find each other online and they’re not really outcasts anymore.
I wonder what it’d be like to be a teenager in 2012. Maybe I’d rule the internet by having over one hundred thousand followers on Twitter. But maybe endless online possibilities could lead me to an even darker path since I’d be sharing my angst with thousands of other kids also full of angst out there.
I’d be like all of them. Simply looking for a way out. Simply looking for love. The fantasy worlds of my youth wouldn’t mean anything unless my heart felt whole. And naturally, stories like Twilight and The Lord of the Rings would resonate with me with such intensity, I’d be all over sparkling vampires and magical evil rings for the rest of my days!
But has anything really changed since I became an adult? I find myself wanting more and more to go back to the feelings of my youth by reading and writing fantasy stories. It’s not reverting to a bad time of my life. It feels more like introspection in order to improve my understanding of everything in life.
I love words. I love stories. Reading poems written by angst ridden teens on a punk platform just brings me back to who I really am. A wild spirit. A creative mind. An untamed artist.
So just like Alice said: “If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn’t. And contrary-wise; what it is it wouldn’t be, and what it wouldn’t be, it would. You see?”
Break the rules. Think outside the box. Be yourself. Share your thoughts. Someone out there will want to read them. Vampires, fairies, none of them really matter. They only allow us to be whoever we want to be.
I guess I have to be a jerk sometimes, even if I don’t like to be mean. Every rose has its thorns… And I’m no different than anyone else out there.
I’ve made a lot of concessions and sacrifices in the past, and now I feel every time someone wants to lock me down in a role I don’t like, I react very harshly. I don’t take the time to explain why things can’t work out. I just back down and leave with very little explanation.
Possessive and controlling personalities are the worst. Whether it’s a friend or a date, I hate when people decide they can rule my world the way they want. I grew up with controlling parents, and even as an adult, they still try to tell me what to do. But I learned how to deflect their orders and commands, so their directives don’t affect me anymore.
Yet when it comes to new friends and flings, I can’t bring myself to follow their rules. I like to feel I have a say in the relationship. I like to feel we make decisions together. I like team work. I don’t do submissive and obedient. And the more someone is going to force me to obey, the more I’m going to move away.
I guess I’m like a cat. I can’t be tamed. I decide of the perfect moment to cuddle, and I stay in my corner when I want to rest. I like the attention, but only on my terms. And I don’t do rough unless I feel like a wild animal every once in a while.
So yes, just like a cat, I’m going to be a jerk to anyone who doesn’t understand my true nature. Don’t tell me what to do. Just be patient and show the right amount of love, and you’ll get rewarded.
I’ve been looking for an escape route, a way out, somewhere to run and hide until everything was finally over. All the tears I shed, the words I screamed, nothing meant much in the end. It was just a feeling of loneliness, a cry for help, my fear of losing the only love I thought I had.
I got so much more after I left. Someone entered my head and polluted my dreams. It was just a feeling of bliss, of intense satisfaction. I could do it, I could be happy again.
No bitterness. No angst. Just the feeling of being whole after an exhausting battle. Nothing lost. Nothing earned. Just a deep down feeling I succeeded. I found myself. I found others.
Today I went to court. First hearing for my divorce proceedings. I hadn’t seen my ex in months. I sensed his presence in the hallway and I ignored him. I didn’t once look at him. I kept writing my story on my phone and I waited for a decision to be made. What would await me after this? How long until I’d finally be free?
It went smoothly. It felt painless. I nodded a lot, didn’t speak much, and mostly agreed to everything the judge said. I’m not after anything here. Maybe I only want my ex to finally comply with an order for once in his life. He played nice, but I knew he was a wolf. It didn’t matter in the end. I did everything I was asked to do. He didn’t. And he has to now.
You know, three years of marriage is nothing. It was a tryout. I got to experience the married life with someone I wasn’t meant to spend the rest of the journey with. I learned my lesson, and I mostly learned who I was as a person. Everything I am, everything I believe in. I got rid of all the sorrow. I got rid of all the pain.
I can say today marked the end of a chapter in my life. Soon I won’t be a wife anymore. I’ll just be me. And I’ll certainly be more cautious until I get married again.
The love of one country made me forget how great it was to live there. I got used to it all. The air, the people, the freedom… I left because I had enough, and needed a break. Now I long to return and smell the City again, because I simply miss it too much.
It’s like blood in my veins, I can’t stop wanting to come back. I don’t belong to the place where I was born anymore. I feel like a stranger in the streets of my youth. I can’t speak my mother tongue because I feel disgusted when I do. The only thing I truly love is the sea, so blue and so still, perfect mirror of a past I know is long gone. I chose to start a new life on a new continent. I chose to adopt a new identity and a new citizenship. I chose to make necessary sacrifices to reach the level of success I deserve. Everything I’ve given, I’ve received a million times back. There’s nothing I regret. Nothing I want to change. I embrace my new home with the passion of a young lover. I worship the colors, the songs and the traditions with the dedication of a young private. I intend to persevere in my search for happiness and as I do so, I become a better person.
In a few days, I’ll fly back to New York City. I already look forward to crossing the threshold of my apartment, playing with my cats and turning on my television. I want to hear the sound of a baseball game in the background of a bar. I want to watch a hockey game live and scream with a thousand other fans. I want to feel one with a nation of souls who believes in an ever changing world and never stalls or gives up because we’re all in this together.
I’ve been a follower of Greg Sisco’s work for a lil while now. I knew right away when I clicked on his website url I’d find something interesting, but when I actually started reading his work, I realized he was a true gem. I’m not someone who gives compliments for the sake of being nice. I hate being nice actually. It’s way too much work. But hey, this guy deserves recognition because he’s gifted. He’s funny, smart and crazy. His stories belong to another world, a malicious, witty, hilarious and addictive world. His words are better than alcohol, drugs and great sex combined. I loved Thicker than Water, and I loved One Night Stan’s.
What would you do if you got a hold of $250,000 by accident after spending all your paycheck money at a cheap strip joint because you’re too lame to get yourself a real girlfriend? I’m not a guy, but I imagine I’d keep it. If it no one claims it’s their dough, why bother looking for a legitimate owner – possibly mobster or serial killer – fate decided of my future and I’ll end up on a sunny beach sipping a cool fresh fruit margarita with my toes in the whitest sand you’ve ever found… Does it sound too good to be true? After too many drinks, no, it doesn’t.
One Night Stan’s takes you on a ride, and what a ride. It’s bloody, it’s gruesome, it’s gross, and mostly, it’s funny. Greg Sisco achieved once again a story meant to be read and re-read. I’d love to see the One Night Stan’s movie. I’m pretty convinced it’d become a cult-classic.
So what are you waiting for? Move your a** and buy this book.
I like the blue of your eyes
The Manicheans 