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Explanations and ‘The House of God’


So there I was, living in a party house in St Paul that got more and more popular by the day. I was receiving Facebook messages from friends of friends of friends asking if they could attend one of my parties. Finally, the hopes and dreams of fifteen year-old Telea had been accomplished. I was the host and resident of one of the most popular party houses in the Twin Cities, and I was gaining rapport by hour.

Now, time for an explanation:

When I initially became homeless on June 2nd, I had a cute, short,  train-hopping girlfriend who I had last seen about a week and a half before I was kicked out. As soon as I got kicked out, I asked her if she would come back to the Twin Cities to take me train hopping. Her response was awesome, to say the least. She got so incredibly excited, and promised to be back by the start of July.

So, my stay at Diablo’s house was, indeed, just supposed to be a very short while. We initially settled on three weeks, but when my girlfriend kept getting delayed, it became an open-ended departure from the house. Basically: “Stay as long as you want, don’t break much, and throw good parties.”

I was pretty sure I could handle that. In our first 30 days of solid parties, we threw FOUR big parties, (and 26 parties of varying sizes), once every weekend up to the weekend of July 6th. The first one was a spur-of-the-moment decision that just so happened to work out well. The second was scheduled over Pride Weekend, the third was basically a Pride Afterparty (as in ‘The-Weekend-After-Pride-Party) and the fourth was a party celebrating 30 days of Partying.

On Pride weekend, my friends Alice and Xaundra went with me to the festival before the big party showdown. On our way to Loring Park, we ran into a handsome Dirty Kid sitting shirtless on Nicollet Ave, playing a banjo. We decided to say hello, and found out his name was Joe and that he was working in Wisconsin on an organic farm for the summer. He told us he usually rubber tramped it around the country in a big old van. We parted ways, hoping to see him again at Pride.

The second we walked into the park, it started pouring rain. Just a violent downpour that soaked us to the bone in 0.5 seconds. We took cover under the nearest tree, and so did our dirty friend Joe. He noticed that I had a Ukulele, and I played him a song. After a couple more minutes, Xaundra and Alice decided to go back to the house early instead of braving the rain, and we promptly invited Joe to come to the party, giving him two phone numbers to contact should he decide to make an appearance. Spoiler alert: he did (which is why that story was important at all).

Alice and Xaundra headed home, taking my Ukulele with them, and I continued through the pouring rain of Pride to meet some cute people and hang out. Within fifteen minutes, the rain had subsided, and while the park was soaked (and partially flooded), the sun AND the people came back out to celebrate.

Joe (later renamed James Franco to avoid confusion with the fifty thousand other Joe’s I know – and because he resembled a young, dirty James Franco) was not the only one who got adopted by the house from Pride. With the weather putting a damper on Pride Weekend, our party got bumped to five pm instead of ten pm. At five pm, I was arriving at the house with about five people I knew and thirty people I had found at Pride.

This party was one that went down in the history of the house. Over two hundred people showed up. There was glitter, laughter, and alcohol EVERYWHERE. It was the party where I discovered that my Ukulele had been left at a bus stop in pouring rain confusion. It was the party where everyone came together in a community like one we hadn’t seen before. It was the first party I stayed totally sober for because of the overwhelming number of people showing up, marking the weekend before as the last party I got drunk at – for the rest of the summer. But most importantly of all, this was the party that gave our house its name.

The House of God.

Explanation time:

At previous slightly-rowdy parties, we told party-goers that when they went outside to smoke a cigarette, they should always yell ‘Glory Hallelujah’ or ‘Amen’ so that the neighbors wouldn’t suspect a party. Rather, they would think it was a rowdy religious gathering. This joke, thought up because we lived across the street from a church and a sober house, ended up giving our house its name that night.

Furthermore, the previous weekend, someone had spray-painted ‘House of Gold’ right over our doorway.

The kind people at the church, Kandra and Rob, a beautiful couple who were planning to get married that October, LOVED us. Rob was the pastor of the church, and Kandra was the super-sweet, wonderful Fiance. Diablo and I made a habit of visiting the church for the good company and the good acoustics (and the semi-exclusive ‘Breakfast in the Basement’ every Tuesday morning – House of God and Church only). They walked into the party FEARLESSLY while it was in full swing to bring all of the party-goers bread, hummus, fresh fruits and veggies, and a huge bowl of delicious pasta salad.

A drunken person, hearing about this, exclaimed that it really WAS a house of god, having not seen that extra letter ‘L’ in the tag job. It was perfect. With sharpies in hand, we promptly fixed what we later called ‘the biggest spelling error of the month’ and named our house ‘House of God’, later to be fondly referred to as the ‘HoG’.

What was even more amazing was that Church (previously known as Kandra and Rob) loved the name. They saw us as a form of missionaries. We were giving all we had to the people, letting people crash at our house, and providing a safe spot for people to be any hour of the day, any day of the week. Regardless of the fact that we allowed alcohol, drugs, and sex to happen in the house on a regular basis, we were thought of by Church as true followers of the lord. They claimed Jesus would be proud to walk with us, and promptly started referring to our house as the House of God to anyone who brought us up.

We were a growing fashion statement. Weekdays were filled with people asking to come over, cigarettes and beer being bought for us as tributes, and plenty of memories. Weekends were even crazier, with people streaming into the house by nine pm for festivities, live music being played, and suddenly being hailed as ‘The Party Gods’.  Waiting for my girlfriend to take me on the road was becoming more and more fun, which, later, left me more and more screwed.

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“It’s supposed to be Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!”


Wrong wrong wrong wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong.

You’re wrong.

You’re wrong.

You’re wrong.

Boy, do I have a story to tell you beautiful readers. This story will make you fear for my safety in the town that I live in, and also for the safety of Handbasket, at whom all of this behavior was directed.

Last night, Handbasket was scrolling through old party pictures and came across a very cute and artistic (and adorably chaste) photograph of her and AJ kissing. She, of course, commented on this, which caused it to show up on all of her friends’ news feeds, as Facebook so annoyingly has decided to do. Now, this is the very small town of rural bumfuck nowhere, population <500. I just want you to keep that in mind.

A girl, at my school, in my grade, a racist, a homophobe, and (admittedly) kind of a whore (but I still generally find her to be a decent person and I talk to her) found there to be a problem with this picture and responded (Paraphrasing):

“You’re way too young to be posting disgusting shit like this on Facebook. Delete it or I will report you.”

You just cringed, didn’t you? I just cringed a little. I mean, I cringed a lot when I first read it, and I’m still cringing a little now. It’s that sort of cringe that feels like, instead of a simple motion to show your distaste, your entire body has just frozen and all of your nerves are twanging around in you like you just got set on fire. It’s that kind of cringe.

Of course, I immediatly responded, as the hero I am, protecting my friends against moral wrongs and sexuality-based insensitivities. I should get a hero name. We can call me Madge. Or something. I said something along the lines of…

“I don’t see how this affects you or harms you. I don’t see how this is pornographic in any way, and I don’t see how you feel it is your duty to call the shots in other peoples’ lives. Just my two cents.”

Of course, this is something that is capable of getting a rise out of any smallminded small-towner, and she responded as if I had just told her that her mother was a dirty turtle who don’t get no respect.

“Yes, I do have a problem with it. It’s supposed to be Adam and Eve, NOT Adam and Steve. Oh, and I could report this for child pornography. Just saying what I know. 😉

“So, wait, this has to do with your homophobia? I don’t see how two girls kissing in an innocent game of spin the bottle should affect you. It’s not like these two lovely ladies are in a relationship, they’re just enjoying themselves, and as far as pornography goes, you’re saying that girls can set their profile pictures as them in bikinis that barely cover their nipples but a kiss is taboo?”

This discussion went on and on, and got a lot of input from other people, but the simple fact of the matter is…

I find it very difficult to live in a town where residents find it socially acceptable to hate openly on anyone whose sexuality isn’t straight. I find it wrong that when people make racist jokes here, they make sure to spit fire so we know they’re serious. I find it unacceptable to the entire human race (this includes anyone and everyone that has a body and lives, no exclusions) that people feel they have the right to treat other people the way they do.

Yeah, I’m a hypocrite, because I sometimes hate on things, even on this blog. But do you think that I put wrath behind my words? Do you think I’m serious? No, I’m not, because everyone should be equal. People should be judged on the quality of their character, not on who they love or the color of their skin.

I’m sorry this wasn’t funny today, but there is a serious fucking issue here, and I know that it’s not getting fixed any time soon. Sadly.

Love ya!

I’ve got Skittles in my mouth, wanna get a rainblow?


I’ve gotten a little bit of feedback recently from a few of my readers, and I would like to address this before it’s too late.

A few people have sent me messages saying…

“Don’t you think your blog is a little inappropriate?”

and

“You’re 17 years old, and you’re blogging very sexually. Do you think this is good for your future?”

and

“You’re hott, can I tap that?”

Okay, okay, so that last one I sent to myself, and to respond to all of these questions…

Yes, I do think my blog is a little [bit of a lot of] inappropriate, but come on, I’m a TEENAGER! The thoughts going through my head are as follows.

sex sex sex music sex music school sex sex sex sex fapfapfapfapfapfapfapfapfap sex sex music homework hangout party movies sex sex sex sex sex.

True story. Speaking of sex, we just faked my friend’s death with this Spanking Shakespeare thing, and the results were…ridiculous.

World-renowned Locomotive Engineer Kade Louis Antczak died today in a hospital in Prairie Farm. Doctors are still unsure of what exactly caused the death, but believe it was due to complications after Kade Louis Antczak came too fast and suffered pains in his dick. He was 69 years old.

 Kade Louis Antczak was a shitty person, who enjoyed everything about life. He was known for his passion for Tacos, which he often ate 21 times a day. He loved to share Tacos with everyone, and would even offer Tacos to strangers. Kade Louis Antczak also enjoyed traveling, especially to historical landmarks, and loved meeting people around the world. On his trip to Austin, Texas he even met the president (and yes, he offered him Tacos). After meeting him, Kade Louis Antczak said the President was glorified.

 Kade Louis Antczak is survived by his partner Telea, their 14 children, and their pet Pushmi-pullyou named Kawit.

 

Well, that was awkward. Now you know THAT story. If you would like to generate your own death, the link is…

http://www.randomhouse.com/teens/spankingshakespeare

In response to the other two questions…

The world is a very sexual place, and the thing is, the tolerance for sexual behavior…well, let’s just say everyone is getting stupider, mmmkay?

To the third question: Yes, me, I’d do me anytime. *Winkyface*

Let’s move on to pressing business. Music.

This song. THIS SONG!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8y0w91ehIo

I, admittedly, was watching an episode of Pretty Little Liars when I heard this, but it really doesn’t matter where you heard the song as long as you found it and fell in love with it.

I would just like to say that I am a huge music freak and I pretty much orgasm when I find good music, sooo…awkward.

My list of five today is titled…

“Situations that everyone thinks are awkward, but really aren’t that awkward.”

1. When someone makes a dick joke and it was totally gross. Everyone gets real quiet and goes

‘That was just too far’

But was it, was it really? Well, NO. Lay off your pretentious behavior and just laugh, because you know you wanna.

2. Running into your ex with another person in public. You may be going…

‘Ohh damn, I had really hoped not to see him/her/it and his/hers/it’s FAVORITE restaurant, and now it’s awkward.’

I would just go right up to that Sexy SOB and congratulate him/her/it. It’s all good. We’re just people, ya know? Trying to live our lives.

3. When someone you don’t like starts talking to you on facebook and you are forced to make awkward conversation.

I have three words for you right now.

Block that bitch.

4. When you’re about to kiss someone and you realize they either have bad breath or a terrible kissing habit (such as drooling). You’re freaking out going:

‘I don’t know what to do! I really like him/her/it, but this breath is bad. Should I offer them a breath mint?’

Just full out pull away, drag them to the bathroom, and run scalding water over their face. It’s not awkward because it’s for their own good.

5. You accidentally had sex with your best friend’s boyfriend/girlfriend/itfriend. You’re freaking out, like…

‘Oh my god, they’re gonna kill me, and every time I see their bf/gf/if, it’s gonna be really awkward.’

Nooooo, just stay chill and start laying out the groundwork for a threeway. Done.

Okay, that’s it for today, love ya!

All because of one stupid mistake!


Today I will be linking my stupid vlog that I posted a couple of days ago on this blog. Why?

Because I just got a letter from the School Board, which I will also take the time to type out, just for your pleasure, okay? It’s not very pleasurable at all and it’s also very hard to understand, but here’s the video, and after will be the letter.

Now I fucked up! Repainting the Locker.

Soo, right up there, that’s the link, okay? Now I shall copy down this letter I recieved, mmmkay?

Dear Telea,

I am writing you this letter in regard to your participation in a behavior unbecoming of a “participant”, destruction of school property and dishonesty. Due to the severity of this incident, it will result in a first offense activity referral. This is in violation of the School Board Policy, JFC, Activities Code, Grades 6-12. In Article IV- Eligibility Rules Section I, states: The student is to uphold the ideals, principles, and standards of the WIAA and the school. (WIAA Handbook, Health and Behavior, Article VII, and the School District of Prairie Farm policy. Any athlete/participant who commits a legally punishable criminal act shall be suspended from athlete. Acts/behaviors such as these would be considered “behavior unbecoming of and athlete/participant.” Examples include: acts of vandalism; flagrant violation of game rules; theft; destruction of school property; serious and/or continued violation of school regulations; and serious and/or continued disrespect of teachers, officials, students, or other school or community persons. (Board Policy JFA- Code of Conduct, Student Handbook, Nondiscrimination Policy, Sexual Harrassment Policy, Hazing Policy, Dangerous Weapons Policy, Suspension/Expulsion Policy, Alcohol and/or other Drug Use by Students Policy, etc.)

E)          First Violation

Group A

  1. A first violation results in a suspension from athletic competition for a period of 20% of the contests based on the regular season of the sport. Any remaining percentage of that suspension not served shall be recalculated and applied to the next sport in which that athlete participates in and completes.
  2. If the suspension carries over into the WIAA Tournament series, the athlete will miss the entire series. This clause pertains to team tournament as well as the individual tournament series. Any remaining percentage of that violation will carry over to the next season of participation.
  3. Any student serving a penalty during a sport must remain in that sport in order for the penalty to be valid. If a student quits the sport, any remaining percentage of that violation will carry over to the next season of participation.

Group B

  1. A first violation results in a suspension from ALL activities for a period of FIFTEEN (15) SCHOOL DAYS. Suspension will include all practices, competitions/performances, meetings and travel with the group for the specific number of days. If a student refers him/herself before being reported, the suspension will be 10 school days. (Suspension ends on 1/10/12)

If you disagree with this ruling you have the right to appeal to the School Board of the District of Prairie Farm. The written appeal must be received by the school Administrator within 2 school/week days of this ruling. In this case it must be recieved by December 19th, 2011.

If questions should arise you may call me or the Administration at ***-****

 

Soo, that’s that, I suppose. I was told that if I wrote an essay titled ‘Do the Right Thing’, then suspension would be reconsidered, but apparently the principle found my article less that appealing, as I have received this notice. I’m really sad now because of a few little things.

1. Well, my parents will prolly ground me really hardcore.

2. I spent around an hour writing that goddamn essay.

3. I don’t know what this will mean for my grades.

Yeah, so that’s basically it, and I don’t know that I have anything else to talk about today, but I will think of something entertaining to end this blog post on.

Good notes, right?

I have 184 video views total on Youtube. Please pretty please help me get to 200 by Sunday? That would be really cool, and it’s really not that much work. Of course, overall I would like about ten hundred million views, but let’s start with just getting 16 more views, okay?

I HAVE MY TWITTER LINK!

But it won’t let me post it right now. Sad days.

I guess it’s time to finish up, eh? I mean, I didn’t really write much myself, but I have some other work to do, and I promise you new videos either tonight or tomorrow, and a new blog…tomorrow. I think. Maybe not. It will be short if I do, because it will be posted from my phone.

Okay, should we actually follow tradition today and end with a quote? YESSIR WE SHALL!

“People keep coming up to me and asking, ‘How does it feel to be banned for life?’ Banned for life. I wasn’t banned for life. There was never a word of suspension, probation or ban in that agreement. It was never meant to be part of it.”

– George Steinbrenner

Don’t you sass me, small one. Your diva attitude is just WAY out of line. Yes. I do say these things to my own mother.


Do you have that parental figure that is always always ALWAYS pestering you, even when you did everything that was asked of you? You know, the one who is so frustrated with their own life that they take it out on their kids with harsh words like these:

“Okay, so I asked you to take the trash out, and you didn’t.”

Mom, there’s a tornado mixed with a blizzard going on outside right now.

“Don’t make excuses! I asked you to do something and you didn’t. You are disrespecting my authority!”

But mom, we’re legitly barricaded into our house by walls of fire and acid rain. There’s a chasm in our driveway that I just CANNOT get over.

“This is why we shouldn’t have had kids. Obviously I’m a bad parent. Those blahblahblah kids wake up every morning BEFORE SCHOOL and milk a barn full of cows, and you can’t even take out the fucking trash.”

Mom, I swear I would, but we’re all trapped under a collapsed ceiling. There’s a barrage of zombies and fat people and Al Capone out there, and I am not risking my life for this.

“Uh, none of this ever woulda happened if you had just taken the trash out in the first place.”

BAM! DID YOU FUCKING SEE THAT? My own mother just found a way to blame the end of the world on me.

All the while my dad is sitting by, twiddling his thumbs going:

“Man, I wish I had a computer and a bag of chips. I would eat those chips. I would eat those chips so hard. Lets get some sour cream and onion goodness all up in here! Then I’m gonna discuss politics and my daughter’s deepest secrets with strangers on my facebook account.”

Doesn’t it just get fucking scarier than the apocalypse when not only does your father spend more time on facebook than you, he also has MORE FACEBOOK FRIENDS THAN YOU?

This is the part where I just bail.

I swear, I grab the bag of trash and take off running. Yeh fuck you guys, I’ll take the end of the world!

Now, you may be all like, man, this chick exaggerates so hardcore. To which I reply:

Spend a week in Wisconsin you fucking jackass.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the shit out of my parents, but some days I sit on my bed with a shotgun in my hands, rocking back and forth repeating this mantra:

Don’t do it, Telea. Don’t do it. You know you’re no good at not dropping the soap. Put the gun down.

Then I calculate how much time I have left until I can legally move out, down to the second.

Two hundred and fifty four days, twelve hours, thirty nine minutes, fifty three seconds. Two hundred and fifty four days, twelve hours, thirty nine minutes, twelve seconds. Two hundred and…

I think you get the point.

“Telea! Stop fucking around on your phone and help stuff this turkey!”

Go Team America