A week ago, my mother, grandmother, sister and I went on a weekend trip to Washington D.C., Arlington, and Alexandria, Virginia. I didn’t want to go, initially, but I thought that it would be a nice change to get out of the house and go do something. My boyfriend was away in Titusville visiting his grandmother before her death, and ultimately, her funeral. The day we left was Saturday, September 28, 2013.

Strange things of a deep gravity have happened since our departure from the nation’s capitol. A man brought a can of gasoline and lit himself on fire in the middle of a park where joggers had their paths, in broad daylight. A woman drove her car into… What are they called…? Those large cylinders in the front of stores like Wal*Mart or Target that prevent people from crashing into the actual store… Whatever they’re called, a woman crashed into one of them, harm intended, and was killed by the secret service. There was a baby in the backseat that could have also been easily killed.

World War II veterans came from all over, using a good amount of money (we’re talking five digits; I think my mom said it was $80,000), stormed through the gates of a monument park…? Something along those lines. But imagine that, old men in their 80s or so, barging through metal fences? Crazy.

I’m scared.

Did I mention the government got shut down? I’m glad my mom isn’t a prison guard anymore or else she’d be ten times more pissed than what she already is. But why is my dear old mother, whom doesn’t even work or keep up with the world, pissed? I’ll be blunt: her son, my brother, went missing.

My brother made Lance Corporal. He’s a PFC in the United States Marine Corpse. Put in the brigs. Why? I am honestly not even sure because we still haven’t been able to get ahold of him. From what my mom’s been telling me, a lot of them in there for… A bad attitude? Hmm. Sounds suspicious, especially at a suspicious time. The only way we know anything is from a fellow Marine friend of my brother who got out of the brigs already. At first, all I knew was that my brother was in the brigs for punching an officer in the face because he tried to stop hazing.

More questions = more confusion.

The message I’m trying to get across is: I’m scared about the hell that our country is coming to. Anyone else? Thoughts? Opinions?


P.S.- I did NO RESEARCH. This is just information I was learning about from my mother and was discussing with her. I may be wrong about some things but please don’t hold it against me. I needed to get this out of my system. Thank you.


Happy Halloween!

Just getting into the eerie mood for Halloween and changed my blog’s theme for the month of October. Have a good autumn, everyone 🙂

Also, I was wondering if a short story every once in a while would be nice? Yay or nay?

The Code for Life: DNA

When people look at me, they see my tanned skin. They see my arched brows, the width of my hips, my dark eyes, and my dark hair. What people think about when they first see me is how short I am. They wonder what race I come from.

When people look at me, they see mystery. They wonder what secrets lie behind my red-brown eyes that turn black when I’m mad. I tell them the truth and I don’t hold back. They ask me how I say my name how do I spell it? I say,

Just call me Juli. It’s much easier that way.

Because of my DNA, I’ve been called a spik, a nigger, a border jumper, etc. It was two in the morning when Jackie came out of her room, threatening to beat me to death and then beat my mother and pull all her hair out because I was a nigger and a spik. My mom isn’t Mexican like me, instead she’s black Irish, German, and Scottish. I guess Jackie just wanted to beat her for giving birth to a mixed breed like me.

Instead of being what my mother said my entire family was like, violent, I was passive and walked all the way home on my own. I refuse to be the stereotypical Mexican. Doing drugs, drinking, “packing,” and jumping borders are not in a human’s DNA. I don’t do any of those things, so there’s your proof that we’re not all bad. I may not be that smart, but I do manage to work hard enough to get all As and Bs. I eat and cook German food most of the time instead of something spicy. I might have been born in a ghetto, but I left that place for PA a long time ago.

I’m a senior in high school and I still can’t fit in because of my skin. I don’t have a pointed nose like everyone else. My hair is full of large curls and waves; everyone else’s hair is straight. Exciting news, though, I met a kid named Raymond whose like me. He’s got darker skin, curlier hair, and he’s short like me. Oh, wait, Ray-Ray is a Puerto Rican, not a Mexican. Around here, Puerto Ricans are more popular than Mexicans because there’s more of them than there is of us.

Them and us? What am I saying? We’re all the same underneath. Guanine, thymine, cytosine, and adenine? We’ve all got those inside of us. We’ve all got a double helix. We’re made of the same materials. So why does it matter that the pigment granules in my hair are darker than all the Germans, Irishmen, and various other people of European descent that I’m surrounded by?

I worked hard to show people that we’re not all the same.

Bad people are bad because they’re bad.

Good people are good because they’re good.

It’s as simple as that.

I’m an honest, clean-cut kid that’s been through hell and back because of my ethnicity. Every time someone tries to bring out the worst in me, I bring out my best. I’ve made a lot of choices in my 17 years. Some choices were bad but most were good.

When people look at me, they see my smile. They can sense my strength, the wisdom I’ve learned, the beauty I am, and the tender heart that lies inside. What people think when they first see me now is still that I’m unusually short, but now, I just laugh along with them.

Hope you liked my first attempt at a weekly challenge, here’s a link to try it for yourself:

Thank you!

Bluer Than Blue


Writing letters to my mystery Blue about you.

I tell him all about your coldness

And how your hostile words make me bluer than Blue.

I shouldn’t have to, but I do miss “us.”

When we look at life,

We see that nothing is ever as it seems.

Behind all the stubborn struggles and fights,

I silently try to flee and see

All the world in its real colors.

Blue isn’t blue because he is truly an Indigo.

My guardian since what feels like forever.

So when I’m with you, we’re never alone.

You have your friends friends to ensure that.

I have my Blue.

While you play video games and I’m just sad,

Blue’s got my back.

Boyfriend Venting Session O:<

Here's my "fiancé."

Here’s my “fiancé.”


Okay, so, I could really use some help from some older ladies here… My mom has never really been here for me, especially when it came to girly things. For instance, she never taught me how to shave, use a tampon (or anything, really), and I’ve never even had “the talk.” Just talking to her about my boyfriend makes me uncomfortable.

Anyway, I’m having a lot of problems with him lately. He’s got some really tough issues going on lately, but all my lady friends I vent to tell me it’s no excuse to be treating me so coldly. Guess what else. I made Boo read some of his replies to some of my texts, discombobulated from my tear-blurred vision, the other night and he said he didn’t sound cold, but hostile. He didn’t try to sound cold or hostile but you would think that he would change after that. Nope! Yeah, he has a reason to be crying his eyes out nonstop for the next month, but that doesn’t mean he can treat me like shit.

We’ve been together for 8 1/2 months now and we have never been alone with each other. I don’t mind hanging out with his friends because they’re my friends, too, but it’s like, really? Sure, you’ve had a bad relationship for two years. 1.) it’s been over a year since that breakup. 2.) I am not your ex. 3.) I’ve been hurt before, you’re not the only one.

It took me a little over 6 months to get him to to start holding my hand in public.

You know what he got me for my birthday? Nothing (all he’s ever gotten me was a pink teddy that he won for $1 at a carnival game). You know what I asked for? Him to pay attention to me and only me for a whole day. I don’t see that gift coming in anytime soon. At my birthday party, which was just a small cookout in the Bald Eagle State Park, he took off with his friend in the woods while I was stuck with my mom and little sister because I was too sick to go hiking. When I tried to call him back to tell him the food was done, he just waved me off. Seriously?

He knows that all I’ve wanted from him was to know that he cares. To show it somehow because he can be more fake than a real life Barbie and doesn’t mean what he says. Also, he always plays the victim. I’ve literally begged him just last night to care about me. I took all his stuff that I had in my room and shoved behind all my hoodies. Even the empty picture frames that he said he would take pictures with me just so I could fill them in.

I’m far too aggravated and impatient right now to keep blogging… I just want to sleep. But stay tuned ’cause I’m pretty sure there’ll be more boyfriend vents.


Goodbye my almost lover?