About Ambiguity

    Since I'm no longer living with my mom in Colorado, I asked her to shut my cell phone service off. I didn't want to be a burden on her any longer. She had been supporting me and paying endless bills for me for 20 years. It was time to give her a break.
    With that said, the only way I can contact people now is via e-mail, Twitter, or Voxer. Since R.G. only uses Twitter to follow political accounts, Jon Stewart, and Bo Burnham, and probably doesn't even know what Voxer is, I resorted to e-mailing him about my woes. Not being in touch with him is not an option. So I says to him, I says:
"RG,
I'm living with my conservative uncle and when we watch the news together, he's so crass. He knows I'm liberal but will say offensive things about Mr. Obama and the legalization of marijuana in Colorado. Strangely enough, I just bite my tongue so things don't get heated.

My point was to ask you if you still think the ACA is still a good idea. Only 7 million Americans have signed up and my uncle arrogantly points out there are 317 million people living in the United States. I'm getting worried because I know this is a good thing for our poor but with the elections in November, there's a possibility of the Democrats losing the House & just AHHHH!

Also, don't certain news channels kind of lean towards certain sides?

Like CNN and MSNBC and the like? Who goes for who?

aaand I'm out."

Response:

"Msnbc is liberal. Fox News is conservative. The huffington post an the Washington post are liberal. The New York Times is fairly conservative. The Aca as I understand it is for poor people. Wouldn't you want the number of people who have to rely on it to be fairly small? 

Anyway the number will increase more. Twenty million more people and it'll be ten percent of the entire population. Helping others is never a bad thing I think. Keeping them from abusing the system and havin a way for them to repay the assistance they get are good things too. 
I think the house is going to go republican. Then we'll finally get some justice!"

    I've been worrying about the Affordable Care Act, considering everything Mr. Obama does is under the most severe scrutiny I have ever witnessed. Worse than 2007 Britney Spears or a 2013 Lindsay Lohan. My uncle says that businesses have resorted to only hiring people for part-time positions or reducing current employees' hours drastically in order to prevent being accountable for supplying them with healthcare insurance. So when I was hired at Ross: Dress For Less this past month for a part-time position, I was so worried that my uncle's hypothesis was, unfortunately, correct.

   A couple days ago I walked into the break-room at work to relax for my whopping 15-minute break. One of my co-workers was sitting at the only table situated in the center of the room. I sat down in a chair directly in front of her. She's a 32-year-old Puerto Rican and happens to be someone I vibe with. Maybe it's my own Spanish roots, but since the first time we met, I have felt the utmost respect for her.

    I watched her as she stroked her cheek. She began, "Hey, if you want some of this chicken, you can have some. The boss bought it for stock people, but since there's only two of us, you can have some. We're not gonna eat alla dat." I laughed and thanked her for her generosity. Here's this woman who could be happy with her abundance of food, which she deserved, but instead chose to share it with the rest of the crew. I don't know; I feel genuine gratitude for stuff like that.

    "There was supposed to be four of us, but we had so many call-outs today," she continued as she shook her head. "People call-out to work all the time and wonder why they lose hours. I mean, shoot... I can either sit at home and pick my nose for no money, or I can come to work and pick my nose and get paid, you know? I've worked here three years and have 0 call-outs."

   "Dang...." I said in awe. "That's so great." She rubbed her cheek again.

   "Man, I got my wisdom teeth pulled out yesterday. I took some aspirin but it's still tender."

   "Oh yeah, that's the worst," I replied.

   "Yeah, well now I can afford it," she disclosed. "I didn't have any insurance at all but they moved me to full-time and I applied for it in December. It didn't go through until January, though."

   "How long did you go without? If you don't mind me asking..." I pried.

   "Six years," she answered. "I mean I had to pay $50 for a deductible but it's whatever."
    "Do you think that it's worth it?" I asked.
   "Psshhh... yeah!" she exclaimed and then glanced up at the clock. "Well, I gotta get back to WORK." I watched her as she picked up her plate splattered with only remnants of barbecue sauce and threw it in the trash can. She pushed her chair in and slipped out the door.

    I felt something. Something wonderful. Something serendipitous. I went on my break expecting to get off my feet for a few minutes and what I found was a renewed sense of confidence. I was so proud on November 5, 2013, when 18-year-old Ness walked into that voting booth for the first time ever and put a big, fat check mark next to Barack Obama. Now, four months later, there is no decision I could be more satisfied with. 

Growing up, I was a walking statistic:

Single-mother household? Check.

Low-income household? Check.

Of African-American descent? Check.

Prominent alcoholism & addiction on maternal and paternal sides? Check.

    On November 4, 2008, Mr. Obama "won the presidency with 365 electoral votes to 173 received by McCain" (Wikipedia.org). It was a fantastic day, to say the least. What an amazing feat. I remember sitting on the floor of my 6x7 room in my mom's trailer. I was 14 years old and I couldn't take my eyes off my tv (the kind with the VCR attached to it). There was a man out there with the same background as me, overcoming obstacles I would never dare to even approach, let alone conquer.

    It's hard to explain. I see people making racist comments about him, as though he didn't accomplish something they will never even come close to. It's hard for me to watch his every word, his every gesture, his every action considered to be full of false pretension. They don't understand what it's like to be poor and have this beacon of hope that advocates for you; that tries to make policies that pave a way for you to be successful. Because when I look into those brown eyes and see that graying head of his, I am only inspired. Inspired to be a better me. Inspired to reach for the stars. Because day-in and day-out, I watch this man conquer adversity and strive for a more equal America.

About My Atheism

"Suppose that every memory, written word, and piece of technology on earth was destroyed all at once,
leaving humanity to start completely from scratch.

Everything we have come to know about science would eventually be discovered again.

Given a few thousand years, people would figure out chemistry and rediscover all of the same elements we know about now.

People would once again understand biology, including its evolutionary origins.

People would eventually see the motions of other galaxies in the sky and work out the details of the Big Bang.

This is the glorious part about science; it can and would all be replicated.

I can assure you, however, that your story about a talking snake would be gone forever."

The Arboreous Adventure

“It was a sort of ferocious, quiet beauty,

the sort that wouldn't let you admire it.

The sort of beauty that always hurt.” 

― Maggie Stiefvater

“Beauty doesn't have to be about anything.

What's a vase about?

What's a sunset or a flower about?

What, for that matter, is Mozart's Twenty-third Piano Concerto about?” 

― Douglas Adams

The Beginning of a Start

    I was going through a list of words that I feel have adequately described me over the past few years when I decided that hostile would suffice. Dictionary.com says it means "not friendly, warm, or generous". What about defiant, which means "boldly challenging"? I had myself convinced that I was actually a good person there for a minute, but, man, was I a raging lunatic for a good three-years. And then I still questioned why I wasn't invited to parties or gatherings anymore. Do you know the word for "making claims to superior importance"? Arrogance. And no one really likes an arrogant person; unless it's Kanye West, of course.
    I used to consider myself open-minded, but I wasn't. I judged people relentlessly and was constantly throwing insignificant faux paus in their face with hands covered in mud. Like the time I posted a picture on Facebook of a girl who accidentally messed herself when she was drunk. Little did anyone know about a year later I, myself, would get black-out drunk at a party with 40 people in attendance, start a fist fight with a guy, get my cousin jumped, get the cops called, and fall into a barb-wire fence to slash deep gashes into all four of my limbs. Not exactly the definition of classy. When I snapped into an interval of consciousness at one point, my 106-pound friend had my arm around her shoulder and was directing me away from the scene of the crime. It was dark and I could only see the blur of rushing minors everywhere, but what I heard has been ringing in my ears for three months now.
    I overheard this handsome guy who's a year older than me say, "Ya, man, she pulled the same thing at my party" (which can be found here). I actually lost a good friend that night because she deliberately told me: do. not. start. shit. That's all. Out of all the infinite conditions, she gave me a simple one. Yet in my drunken stupor, I did the exact opposite. That's when I discovered I was that person: the obnoxious, sloppy, belligerent drunk. That's not fun. No one wants to be around that person. That's exactly how my dad acts when he gets wasted. It's ironic that sometimes we become exactly what we try so hard to escape.
    When I was a junior in high school, my English teacher started class with: Janessa, come grab this. She was Italian, if that explains anything. You do what you're told. I got off the medicine ball and walked to her desk. When I was a foot in front of her, I caught a whiff of vanilla. She held out a tube of tooth paste and said, "Put a glob on the board." I did what I was told. I made a white, creamy, horizontal line on the white board. I turned to her. She held a popsicle stick out to me.
    "Now put it back in the tube." I looked at the tiny opening and then at the thick streak on the board. I managed to get some of it in, but there was still a visible outline of white residue.
     "You see..." she started in that New York accent of hers. "Sometimes you say impulsive, offensive things to people. And you can say 'sorry' until... until your eyes bleed, and, and even though you say you're sorry, there's always going to be the residual hurt that it was even said. There's no going back from it. Ever."
     Yet here I am, three years later and that has barely sank in. Rapper Drake has a line that goes, "Better late than never, but never late is better."
    I had a best friend once. She was my completely other half. We were the same height, had the same hair color, eye color, and body type. One of us would make a comment and the other would stare in bewilderment because she said the exact fucking thought the other was thinking. It happened all the time. But one unfortunate Saturday night, this party we were at got ratted on. Three cops entered the only door in a garage full of drunk, stoned, wild 17 through 21-year-olds. My best friend dipped and hid behind a dresser in a dark corner. I jumped into the back seat of the SUV parked inside and pretended to be asleep. I didn't fool the po-pos though. They dragged my ass out and slapped a good ol' m.i.p. on me when I blew a zero point nine. Fuck my life. They never found my friend. Some people ran. About eight of us got hemmed up. And I was mad at everyone. Every single one of them— the guilty as well as the innocent. I sent my best friend a Facebook message that said, "If you want to party, that's fine, but I just don't want to associate with you anymore." I was blaming literally everyone except the biggest damn culprit: ME.
    I didn't speak to her for three months. When we reconciled, I ended up living with her over Christmas break, which was a solid three weeks or so. She was a sophomore in high school and I was a freshman in college. Not even two months after that, I wigged again and stopped talking to her because she wouldn't go to a party with me just because her boyfriend didn't want her to go. I even went as far as calling her an "obedient dog". If that's not the lowest of low, I don't know what is.
      After spending 19 years in Coloraska, I decided to fly south to sunny Florida to start a new chapter in this thing we call life. With that said, I turned 20 in January and decided that I don't want to be the intimidating, confrontational Janessa I've been for so long. I texted my ex-bestie and explained how sorry I am for being the world's biggest douche bag. Her boyfriend had her phone at the time but said he would relay my message when she got off work. Shit, I started pouring my heart out to him and apologizing like crazy. He told me what his problem with me was and we both agreed to bury the hatchet. I was ecstatic! I was going to have this balance in my life again. The boyfriend drove to her work and showed her my messages. I looked down at my phone as I received a call from her 15 minutes later.
    "Hey!" I said. There a pause of silence and then I heard an unimpressed, "....hi...."
    More silence
    "So... what's with this? I mean... why now?" she asked in an accusing tone.
    "Oh, uhh, well," I sputtered. "Did you not read the texts? I'm moving in a few weeks and I just didn't want to have, like, bad air back here and stuff, you know?"
    "It's just... last time you stopped talking to me, it took you a few weeks to apologize. This took a year," she pointed out.
  "And, I was thinking about your tweets... And you know I just realized I was being a total psycho and I am just a huge dick," I laughed. Silence.
    "Oh, well, I'm at work. I get off around 9:30ish so maybe we'll talk then," she offered and hung up. An hour later I ended up hanging out with her boyfriend and another mutual friend. He slid into my car and I started, "Uhh, she doesn't really seem interested in making up..."
   "Yaaaaa," he replied. "I don't know. She's weird. I'll try to talk to her for you." I was seriously heart-broken. I'm Janessa. Like, THEE Janessa. I'm funny and outgoing. Why wouldn't someone forgive me??? The girl from the Facebook picture did.
And the guy from the story link? We went on a movie date with our best friends to go see "Catching Fire".
And the girl who I lost over the guy from the story link? We kicked it at that party where I blacked out.
    In the big scheme of life, those are petty offenses. But hurting someone (twice) who you called your sister and who looked up to you? That would be where the tooth paste reference comes into play. Sometimes we say and do shit we just can't take back.
    "So I asked Dustin a couple months ago why no one ever starts shit with him," I announced to three of my guy friends. "It's not fair! I never start shit with people! Well... sometimes I do, but like last June I apologized to Penny—"
   "No, it's because—" my friend Austin started over me.
   "No, last June I apologized to Penny—" I continued in a louder voice.
   "No, no, no. It's because—" Austin yelled.
   "You literally just apologized to me and my girlfriend for starting shit," Grabs laughed.
   "I said sometimes I do. No, but last June I apologized—" I started again.
   "No, Janessa. What you don't understand is: Dustin literally does not start shit with N E ONE," Austin laughed. I was dead quiet. I was so fucking pissed. No but sometimes people I hardly know end up saying stuff about me behind my back, I thought. Deep down in my heart, I knew what he said was the truth, and that's probably why it hit a sore spot. Karma came after me for being a bully to people who didn't deserve it. Dustin literally doesn't start problems so the Universe literally doesn't throw problems back at him.
    So I remain to be in some people's bad graces. Ironically enough, it's the last place I like to be. Because although I radiate confidence, I secretly care about what so many people think about me. I want to be a better person— one that people aren't embarrassed to be associated with. Human beings change one thousand percent from day to day. I hope people believe that I'm not that person I was a yesterday, let alone one year ago.

"There is no sense in punishing your future for the mistakes of your past.

Forgive yourself, grow from it, and then let it go."

Melanie Koulouris

Going Green for Autism

Meiko Perez began feeling desperate when her 10-year-old son Joey didn’t respond well to any of the thirteen different medications doctors prescribed him for his severe autism. Joey had a poor appetite, insomnia, and a bad temper. After Meiko’s friends joked around about the possible use of medical marijuana, she decided to look online for answers. She found the Autism Research Institute’s web site, which promoted and described the benefits of using marijuana as a remedy for her son’s autism. Meiko, among thousands of other parents, began using marijuana as a consistent medicine for autism (Buglione). Even though it goes against the status quo, using medical marijuana to help treat autism has been scientifically proven to work and is better than alternative medications.

Not only is marijuana beneficial in theory, but there is also scientific evidence to verify it. Joey’s challenges included his lack of appetite, sleeplessness, and moodiness. Once his mother began feeding him a marijuana brownie every three days, she immediately saw improvement. He ate regularly, slept soundly, and behaved less aggressively. Daniele Piomelli from the University of California and her collaborator Olivier Manzoni, Inserm, a French research agency, concluded from their work that the marijuana cannabinoids in THC are closely related to the endocannabinoid transmitters found in the brain (Huff). These facilitate the transport of electrical signals between neurons. They also control factors such as pain, mood, and appetite. Children with autism suffer from synaptic failure and consequently have trouble developing basic motor skills, like walking, talking, and interacting socially. Piomeli and Manzoni are only two of many scientists that have published their findings establishing a link between marijuana and autism.

On the other hand, many professionals refuse to accept marijuana as a medicine; referring to it as a “street drug” equivalent to alcohol. Mark L. Kraus, a physician who represents the American Society of Addiction Medicine, voiced his strong opposition by stating, “These proposals to use smoked marijuana as a medicine convey a mixed and ambiguous message to children, adolescents, and adults. These messages undermine the many years invested by public health to prevent pre- and adolescent onset of the use of tobacco, marijuana, and other drugs” (45).

Kraus believes the legalization of medical marijuana is similar to promoting the “drug”. How can society suddenly change their stance on a topic that’s been opposed since its rise in the 60’s? Although marijuana is considered a drug, it’s less harmful than the legal “drug” alcohol. Ruth Weissenborn from the British “Journal of Psychopharmacology” explains, “A recent expert-led comparison of the health and social harms to the user and to others caused by the most commonly used drugs showed alcohol to be more than twice as harmful as cannabis to users, and five times as harmful as cannabis to others.” Instead of being coined as a “generation of potheads”, this should be an era of scientific rejuvenation and exploration using natural resources.

At the present time, the FDA-approved prescription called Ritalin is frequently given to patients with autism. The side effects of Ritalin are facial ticks, seizures, and liver damage. The side effects for marijuana are the disruption of attention, memory, and concentration (Lance). However, for someone who suffers from autism, these are already the issues at hand. The founder and late director of the Autism Research Institute, Dr. Bernard Rimland, once deemed marijuana “safer than the drugs that doctors routinely prescribe” and had evidence for validation.
D’Ette Spurgeon, the mother of an autistic boy from Topeka, Kansas, claims medical marijuana improved her son’s awareness and understanding. He read at the third grade level when he was 16. After he began smoking marijuana recreationally with his friends, his mother noticed an improvement in his behavior. Time and time again, marijuana has put autistic patients at ease. Marijuana is a safer drug than alcohol, and even healthier than conventional prescriptions, like Ritalin. In the future, marijuana will be a huge contribution to the development for an autistic cure.

Works Cited 

• Buglione, Nick. "Marijuana Madness." Autism Support Network . Autism Support Network, 17 Sept. 2008. Web. 12 Nov. 2012. 
• Huff, Ethan A. "Marijuana Cannabinoids Found to Help Combat Autism." Marijuana Cannabinoids Found to Help Combat Autism. The NaturalNews Network, 6 Oct. 2012. Web. 12 Nov. 2012. 
• Lance, Jennifer. "Move Over Ritalin: Medical Marijuana in the Classroom." Eco Childs Play RSS. N.p., 26 Jan. 2010. Web. 05 Dec. 2012. 
• Merino, Noel. Mark L. Kraus. “Possible Risks of Medical Marijuana”. Medical Marijuana. Farmington, MI: Greenhaven, 2011. Print. 
• Miles, Kathleen. "Marijuana-Like Chemical May Help Autism And Fragile X Syndrome Symptoms." The Huffington Post. TheHuffingtonPost.com, 27 Sept. 2012. Web. 12 Nov. 2012. 
• Weissenborn, Ruth. “Popular intoxicants: what lessons can be learned from the last 40 years of alcohol and cannabis regulation?” British Association for Psychopharmacology. British Association for Psychopharmacology, 27 Jan. 2012. Web. 4 Dec. 2012.