Arch-Angel

One. Pepsi is great. I will battle you to the death about it. Two. I hope you didn't spend too much time making that pic.

Dad never seems to show up now. After the last fight between he, my mom, and my sister, its only been come and go for his things. Sometimes he'd stay a night, never sleeping in my mother's bed, only in the guest room, leave for work, come back late. Hours upon hours past the time he got off. Sometimes 11, mostly midnight now. Though it started get later. We knew where he went. A woman a few months ago came into our Church. As a Pastor, my father greeted her and talked with her casually. He invited her to a few parties at home, Church Parties mostly, and she soon became good friends with my mom. My sister trusted her, so did I. Another Brazilian Immigrant, like my dad, mom, and sister (I being born in America). Here, Brazilian Immigrants make friends in a snap. We can tell if another person is Brazilian without them speaking Portuguese. Whether it was the paint on the clothes they wore from just getting off of working maintence or anything blue collar, causal clothing, or facal structure. Any immigrant could tell apart another Latino. Mexicans, Hondurans, all of them. Why? Most likely we were all together crossing the border, in the back of a truck together, on the same raft, sold everything we had back in the old country to get plane tickets to America, or worked together. In short, we are like distant relatives. This woman, we treated her like a distant relative also, along with the rest of the Church. A couple months went by and my dad wasn't getting along with my mom. They had frequent fights, and when it seemed all over by Thanksgivings, the two hugging and kissing, the worst discovery ever made rolls by. The E-Mails. My father got careless, and left his written down password on his desk. My mother wanted to check his e-mails to see if any bills were paid etc. What she found brought her to tears. The woman was talking to my dad. Romantically. Words in Portuguese like "mi amor" meaning "my love" for example. Lovers say that to each other. Within the romantic lettering, was a plan for them to meet. Have dinners, see each other, among other things. That woman stole the man the held this family. That woman stole my father. That Woman Stole My Mother's Husband. No, it did not go well with them. My sister got into fights with my dad, along with my mother, and I tried once, but didn't have the gut to continue. Once he knew we knew, we basically lost everything. The bills were piling high without him now. He went to go live with his girl in an apartment in a different town. A small city, but close. The Church found out. The Pastors themselves were outraged. The Lead Pastor was cheating on his wife. He got the boot, and he lost his a lot of his friends. But he was a bit happy his dream shattered. The Church he worked on so much, the Church he always wanted to be lead by him, gone. He was happy because now he had more free time. No more studying the Bible, making sermons, coming over to a different town three to four times a week. On my Birthday, I decided to cover up the fact my life, money and Family was going down the drain. So I took up a Santa hat, made a list, and gave out presents. Mostly candy. About fifty bucks worth building up the cash since Mid-November and Birthday money. Didn't even hear his voice that day. We decided to take the Holidays without him and go to good ol' New York City. Four days in the Big Rotten Apple gave us some time to relax. Unfortunately, on Christmas Day we decided to take our Happy Little Selves to Ground Zero. What the heck?! After crying every night over the talk of Dad since he left home, why don't we go down to whatever the bloody heck is left of the Terrorist Attack? Because I don't want to cry again, Mom! E-freakin'-specially on Christmas! After breaking my heart to bits there, we continue on our vacation and went back to the Home-State of the Red Sox Kingdom. New Years Eve, it gets interesting. We go to a Famous restaurant called "The Old Country Buffet" for dinner, and head to the theatres to watch Night in the Museum. Good movie, by the way. I watch the Ball Drop in Times Square where we were only days ago, and continue watchng TV. Kept on thinking what to do this year. What I had planned. After an hour of the New Year, a familar Ford E-150 used for working tries to pull into the driveway, but can't. Since the beginning of December, my sister got the habit of started parking her car so it blocks the rest of the driveway purposely. Dad commanded her to stop doing it, but like a rebellious, angry 18-year-old girl, she continued. This night however, not such a good idea. He parked in front of the house, got out, walked through the door in rage and banged on my sister's door. They fueded, my sister called his girlfriend a *beep* and that raised the bar. He grabbed her, pushed her down the corridor, almost down the stairs, and she started running. In panic, my mother called the cops on him. Down stairs, I was using every ounce of self-control to not go up and start fighting. Not like I would've won. He a strong guy, I haven't been in a real fight since the fourth grade, so he would've laid me out quick. My sister thought he was going to hit her, so she got in the car, punched the gas, and he followed. He didn't make it off the street before Graveyard Shift cops showed up. The cops inthis town aren't relible. The take their time. Only reason they were there was because one of them was less than a quarter mile away watching for speeders. My sister has a panic attack, my dad got arrested, Officer Stupid and Stupider came in the house and started asking the worst questions. Once it was all done, it was 2 AM and we wouldn't be rested and calmed down until 4. I missed school the next day. Quite the worst memory in my brain at the moment. The event that changed our lives was when she showed up. And destroyed our Trust, Church, and most of all... Our Family.

I truly feel alone in this world. Like only the friends I had before could understand me, but my new friends that have better luck than I do. They think the idea of a bad day is having a friend mad at you or their mom won't bring them to the mall or another friend's house. My idea of a bad day is listen to my dad being a hypocrite and having massive flashbacks. My father loves me, but he doesn't understand the pain he put my mom and my sister. (More on that when I can take typng it up) Unfortunately, I need money for myself, and he offered me a job as a Handyman. I accept it, and now from Monday-Friday, from morning 'til evening, he picks me up and drops me off at home. I get 8 bucks an hour, work about 8 hours a day(I don't choose hours), and I leave my house around 8 AM. He thinks he had it harder. He doesn't realize the days of my mom crying every night alone in her bed, the times I wanted to destroy everything in my room, or my sister breaking down in tears. He left us for another family. A woman from our old church and her two sons. Her last husband died in a construction accident. Crushed by concrete. He now lives in a small city not far from us in an apartment with her, and the two boys. One is 2 years old, and the other 10 or so. And the amount of sorrow they have faced in the past should never justify what the woman did to us. She brought it all to us. I'd rather have my dad dead than have him reject us in a snap.

You know the Ol' Joe Dirt saying,"Life a Garden, Dig It" and if its truth, my life needs some weed killer at the moment because those flowers are dying. I'll be straight, my life is bad. Those flowers represented what made me happy. The Yellow Tulips are my family. Loving, caring, teaching me the right ways of things, and how to avoid the wrong. They guided me through the garden, and pointed out the weeds to pick out. The White Flowers, they are my friends. I enjoyed every second be with them and they are scattered throughout my garden. They are like my second family. The lessons I learned, and the happiness brought from them. The Violets, oh The Violets. They are my friends and mutual parthers on BZPower. They bring me up when I'm down. They let me speak without my mouth, they bring enjoyment when I'm lonely, and the helped me become a man. But something has become wrong. My father is now a weed and has become entangled in this Vine-Like Weed. It squeezes the life out of each flower in its deadly growing path. My Tulips are bending down by the weight of sorrow. Most of My White Flowers have withered away, and have become weeds tangled in with the Vine. The Violets are disappearing. I don't know what happened to them. Maybe uprooted, but they're gone. The Vine has crawed its way towards me. I feel the real me slipping, and my petals are falling off. The Vine is my bad luck. The Vine is my bad influence. The Vine is a demon. The Vine is destroying this garden. I have yet to feel the wet, cool taste of fresh water help me grow strong and resistance to The Vine of Destruction has brought me to my current standing in the garden. A dying plant. I am a Thief. I am a Liar. I am a Traitor. People think of me as a Saint. But how could they if I'm tangled in The Vine of Destruction?

'Pool Boy' is a great novel for Pre-Teens and Teens alike. I'm sure even an adult would like this book. The story is about a 15-year-old spoiled (very) rich brat named Brett Gerson, whoms life comes crashing down because his stock-broker dad is in jail for insider trading. He loses everything he owns, from the pool, the $5000 stereo, his 42" Plasma Screen, to the very house he lived in. Now on the wrong side of the Tracks, in his Crazy Great Aunt's home, he has to come into realization that the world isn't for him to own anymore. After quitting his job because of what was his fault, he joins an old friend. Alfie, an old kind man that runs a Pool Cleaning Business, had offered him a job as an assistant. Without thinking, he accepts. What the old man teaches him has brought him into becoming a man. Still a little stuck up, but a man none the less. When Life goes from getting whatever you want, to having to earn it, you have to learn quick. 8.2/10

Who's this 'M'?This is the first ever blog I've ever read, and it doesn't suprise me that its yours. We talk through RPG. BTW, the last post you made, beauty.I'll get back to my Rap and hip-hop. Word Life.