Thursday, March 10, 2011

Well, you and I, it's somethin' different... & I'm enjoying it cautiously

I live in a glass house & am talented in not throwing stones.  I am a big fish in a little pond.  I practice but I am not perfect.  I know that anything is possible if you believe.  And I am certain where there is a will there is a way. My skin is slowly getting thicker and I am learning to take things not so seriously.  I am really starting to wonder if everything does happen for a reason. 
It’s starting to get really annoying; everyone asking if we are dating. I guess we ARE together a lot.  So technically I can’t blame them.  They see the hurt in my eyes fading.  I laugh often when he’s around. It scares me.  But nonetheless, it’s becoming increasingly more obvious perception is everything.  Are they noticing something I’m not?  
It can’t be.  He’s everything I’m not.  He’s nothing that I want.  He’s my friend and that is all.
I made myself address it last night.  I forced myself to swallow the “what ifs?” without a chaser; those thoughts that creep in the back of my mind when he hugs me.  I breathe it in.  I need to be held.  I like it when he teases me and sometimes I catch him looking at me and it makes me smile inside.  I love spending time with him and lately have been noticeably happy when he’s around.  He doesn’t judge me but he doesn’t take my bullshit either.  He tells me when I’m being a pain in the ass and I like that.  I can call him out and tease him right back.  He thinks I don’t eat enough even though many of our meals have been together recently.  (Apparently he’s blind also)  He listens when I speak even when I don’t think he does and more importantly he HEARS what I say.
  I can’t help but wonder.
 But then I hear a song or smell a smell and I choke on my emotions and I decide it’s too soon.  It’s too soon to wonder.  It’s not fair.  I am broken and I am battle scared.  And it’s too soon and it’s not fair.  Shamus; he’s still there controlling me. 
Then I laugh.  Then he calls me out for calling someone the wrong name. “WOW” he says, and laughs at his own jokes.   Then he flares his nostrils on purpose just to make me laugh.  And I laugh.  I remember what it feels like to be alive.  And I shoot a bull’s-eye on the dart board and we high-five. & I laugh.  I vaguely recall what it feels like to smile.  And for just a few moments, I forget.  I forget that place deep down that hurt so bad I thought I’d never forget.  It fades, even if only for a moment.  & I take a deep breath.  And I exhale.  I close my eyes for a minute and imagine his embrace, and I don’t shake it away immediately, because I need it.  I need to feel alive.  I brush the guilt under the carpet and this time I shake Shamus away.  I force him out and for once I disregard his feelings, if he even has any at all. 
Then I remember how crazy he is, Shamus.  I remember that I passed him twice yesterday and I remember wondering how that is even possible.  What will he do? & How will he react?  What sort of hell will he put him through? & I remember it’s too soon and it’s not fair.  He shouldn’t have to succumb to Shamus.  He shouldn’t have to be afraid of parking tickets and traffic violations just for being my friend.  Just for being everything Shamus was not.  It’s not fair. 
Then I decide not to decide.  I decide I need to take a step back.  I decide I won’t call or text him for a few days.  I need a few days off.  I decide to walk away and I decide it doesn’t matter if it’s too soon or not.  I have to let him text me first. I tell myself I need a few days off.  It can’t be.  He’s everything I’m not.  He’s nothing that I want.  He’s my friend and that is all.

I have to take some time to figure out if I am attached to him or attracted to him.  I guess I should start with figuring out what the difference is.  There is something there, but I don’t know what so I decide not to decide for now.
 I only know is that I am better where he is. 

This explains it perfectly...


Friday, March 4, 2011

And there is no one there to dry your tears...

When does the “goods” outweigh the “bads”?  When is “enough” enough?  At what point do you cross that line that you have been staring at in the distance for months?
 (I know it's long... but let's be honest.... what else are you doing??!!..) 
Saturday afternoon I threw a wedding shower for a friend of mine at my parent’s house.  Naturally.   Their house is way cooler than mine and significantly larger.  My piss poor attitude towards never-ending happiness and marital bliss mixed wonderfully with the colors & snack sized sandwiches.   I tried my best to put my signature fake smile on.  I used extra concealer to cover the remnants of the night before’s nightmares. 
 He was there. 
He’s always there.
 Taunting me. 
The second I close my eyes, and I fight it so fucking hard, he’s there.  Offering that glint of hope.  “Dreams are a wish your heart makes”.   The “what if’s” and “somedays” creep in and manage to poison the following lucid hours, haunting my thoughts.  
Sharon was there, his sister in law, and his brother too.  Sometimes looking at him, that quick glance or his slightest gesture sends a flood of emotion over me.  Sometimes it hits too close to home and for that one tiny fraction of a second, I think it’s him, and I shake my head to jumble the thoughts and make them go away.  Eventually they settle and rearrange themselves.  The vicious cycle begins again. 
Saturday was hard.  I was mad.  I was angry at myself for allowing myself to feel this way.  I was mad at my subconscious for letting him in.  Pissed at weddings and marriage and quite frankly irate with mini sandwiches.  I could barely look at Sharon and found it almost impossible to make eye contact with his brother.  “How am I ever going to get through this?” crept in again.  And I let it.  “How do I separate them from him?”   They were among the few that didn’t walk away.  How can I push them away when they have done nothing wrong?

I spent the day in the kitchen with his brother.  I spent the day in my thoughts.  Holding my breath to hold the tears.  Faking excitement over towels and that “really good” knife set. 
My phone rings and it’s one of my sisters.  She is enroute to the mall with my mother and there is panic in her voice. 
Her:  Can you go to dad’s place IMMEDIATELY? Mom and I are 20 minutes away and someone broke in.  The police are there waiting. 
Me: Holy shit.  Ok.  On my way. 

My father has a business in the center of the city, which is less than a mile from their house.  I can’t help but wonder if this is my fault.  If the “letter writer” has struck again? If this break in has something to do with the one at my office? 
I speed there, recklessly at best.  I am expecting numerous cop cars and flashing lights.  They pull out all the stops for us around here.  My father takes excellent care of them.  Much to my surprise there is not one cop car in sight.  Not. One.
That’s weird, I think.  Maybe they are at the front of the building? So I drive around the block.  Nothin.
Confused and beginning to get slightly angrier I sit in my car and wait.  You never walk into a building alone.  You never walk into a building alone.  Fool- STAY IN YOUR CAR DAMNIT!! 
I can feel my blood pressure rising as my mother & sister pull up.
We enter together.  Everything seems to be ok.  Just then, one of the officers pulls up that is a good friend of mine. 
He’s overly  happy in a nervous laughter way.  “Heyyyyy Fool!”.
“Hey, Where the hell were you guys? My dad said you were waiting here for us.”
He lowers his head and raises his hands in surrender.  “I was told by my supervisor to CLEAR.”
(CLEAR is when they are told to leave. I bet you’ll never guess who is the only one who has the authority to CLEAR?)
“Is Captain Cocksucker (Shamus) working tonight by any chance? I ask bluntly.
“Fool, I was told by my SUPERVISOR to CLEAR” he emphasizes. 
“Ok, buddy.  That’s all I need to know. “
 “Don’t you get me in the middle of anything!” he yells as he gets back into his patrol car. 
“NEVER!” I respond as I slam my car door shit. 

I begin to shake.  I get back to my parents and I can hardly catch my breath.  His brother & sister-in-law are there to pick up the pieces again. I scream and rant.  So angry I can't even cry.  I will never push them away.   
He has been following me- Shamus -for weeks.  To the point that I considered switching cars with my friend for a few days just to prove a point. I write down when I see him but somehow I wonder if that would do anything anyway.  I see him parked down the street from my house.  I know he knows what I am doing at ALL times and with whom.  We’ve played this game before.   It almost used to flatter me.  Who am I kidding?  It did.  Because in some sick twisted way it meant he cared.  I put up with it.  I have and I continue to for years and years and he suffers no consequences.  He never has. 
He can play his little games with me all he wants.  I am used to it and I have come to expect it from him.  It’s about power and it’s about control.  However, I WILL NOT tolerate putting my family in jeopardy.  My father literally saved his life… and this is how they treat him? Not acceptable.   
I have been trying to nail down my father all week to tell him what happened as he was out of town and I am pretty sure will flip out when he finds out the truth.  I want him to call the Chief and play dumb and just ask “Hey what happened at my place? & why did no one stay?” ( It is procedure to wait for a key holder, FYI.) If the complaint comes from my father, I have a feeling it will be taken a little more seriously. 
I attempted to talk to my mother about this.
ME: “I need dad to call the Chief about that incident.”
Mom: “NO! We are not playing into the “Shamus Show”. Just ignore him! He’ll get the hint! I want him OUT OF YOUR LIFE Fool” she almost yelled.
ME: “Mom, he’s not stopping.  He won’t stop. I can assure you. And in “ignoring” him, all you are doing is making it progressively worse for me.”
She starts talking to my neice. 
ME: “Ok. I gotta go.”
CLICK.

I don’t know what else to do, friends.  But I seriously don’t know how much more I can take.  I am the protector and I can’t protect them.   I am the fixer and I can’t fix this.  How far is he going to push me.
 I am not proud of what I have done but I am thankful for it.  I have made so many mistakes.  And I have no one to blame but myself. I have no problem taking that blame; however I know in my heart of hearts, I do not deserve this.  I know I did the right thing in telling the truth, regardless of my flaws, I know I did what was right. 

 So at what point does the good outweigh the bad?  When is “enough” enough?  At what point do you cross that line that you have been staring at in the distance for months?




Tuesday, March 1, 2011

I'd "Stewart his Rod" anyday....

Who doesn't love a little eighties music in the afternoon?! I know I do.  Nothing like a gut wrenching ballad to end my work day.  Fuck you Pandora. 



(Just in case you speak spanish, I didn't want you to miss this...)


My thoughts are all over the place today.  So here goes nothin.

Sceet, my guy friend that I told you about, won like $500 on a sign in today at the one bar I work at.  I plan on forcing him to buy me a drink and some fried food with endless dipping sauces, because, well I love dipping sauces and I love drinks, especially when they are free.  Free is my favorite flavor. 

I am semi feeling like myself today- smart ass, witty, sarcastic bitch instread of morbid, depressed, sucidal, manic bitch.  I guess there is something to be said for the sun being out.  I'm sure in less than 20 minutes of writing this something will fuck it up. 

I really need to pimp my blog out.  Or at least keep up on it, finish the 30 days, and add the other entries to the 30 days page.  That seems like so much work.  Far too much for today.  Yawn. 


My friend Barb is going through a REALLY rough time and could loose her house. She is one of the sweetest bloggers and her kind words have really helped me out through my drama.  I was thinking today that people have so little faith in each other, most are convinced that "bloggers" are creepers who live in their parents basements and watch kiddue porn all day, however I can assure I am not.  & I don't think Barb is. ;) I was then thinking, if every one of us just donated a dollar to her, in blind faith, she could save her house.  Now, let's think about this logically, it's a fuckin dollar.  I probably dropped a dollar out of my purse in change just walking from my car into my office.  So in the off chance that Barb is some raging homocidal maniac, all you really gave her was a dollar.   No. Big. Deal. Right?  I know you are thinking, well if we all give her dollars she will have more than just one dollar! It's a scam Fool! Think of it this way, we shell out money for killer whales and charites that we can barely spell let alone understand their financials.  I think I'll start giving out more dollars. To the people that really need it.  & Dogs, cause you know how I feel about abandon animals lately. 



Wow that was really random.  Told you. 
I hope Rod made you as excited as he made me. (in my pants naturally)




It's ok. You don't have to explain.  Believe me I know how you feel.  People like us will never experience this sexiness though.  Just let it go, girl!

Monday, February 28, 2011

"A Christmas Story"...kind of...

Sorry no leg lamps or BB guns.  Well, actually, I can’t guarantee that. 


It was cold and snowing- naturally.  I remember the snow being that picturesque kind. 


It’s always the first weekend in December.  Perfect timing if you ask me.  Every year when this day came around the excitement and tension was almost tangible.  I swear she is a descendent of Betty Crocker.  Or maybe Martha Stewart- without the jail time of course.  The way she displays fresh grapes around the baked brie would make even lactose intolerants just “take a nibble”. Cookies mock you in their perfect rows with their perfect edible d├ęcor. 

Black olives make penguins. 

Cherries make curious Christmas mice. 

She can make taco dip look like something out of The Louvre.  I don’t know how that woman does it but I hope some of that was passed on to me. Every inch of their Victorian home is decorated impeccably. Did I mention that we have 4 Christmas trees?  Two meticulously decorated mantles? Two sets of hand-made stockings? And enough candles to light the whole Eastern Sea Board.

It was part of the Underground Railroad, their house. The history and character gives me chills. At this point,  I lived at home and my room was the old “Maid’s Quarters”(coincidence? I think not) - which was located off of the kitchen.   I wish I could show you.  Maybe someday I can.  Maybe someday I won’t have to hide. 

 My mother is the party queen.  My parents throw the best parties and everyone here knows it.  They have bartenders and multiple bars to match.  She makes enough food to feed a small country.  The police are told to ignore the double parking and are welcomed in for a to-go plate.   People drive by and gawk at the packed street like a 6th grader who didn’t get invited to the bowling party.  My parent’s parties are the best. 



Another futile attempt to get the fuck over Shamus, I invited a guy.  Not just any guy, this guy was hot.  Male perfection in human form.  Which I would later find out, he was much more aware of that than I was.  Ahemm.  I was friends with his brothers, and he caught my eye more than a few times. 

I decided to give it a shot.  I was confident that what was waiting for me under those jeans was enough to forget Shamus, even if for the night. 


In preparation for this magical day that I had detailed out in my head, I did what any semi sane girl would do.  I went and bought a new dress that I concluded hid the uglies and accentuated the goodies.  I bought my second favorite party accessory….. the “sucker-inner”.  You know what I am talking about.  Don’t deny it.  Those magical little numbers that are made out of alien material that I am pretty sure was developed by NASA.  Those babies could squeeze a MAC Truck into a Neon.  Yea that. 
It's so weird, because I look EXACTLY like her when I put it on...

Got my hair did -actually by one of the bartenders of the night.   She is a stylist also so she had me looking pretty fly for a white chick.  We sat up in my room, as she twisted and curled my fro, she also whipped me up a COSMO. 

We chatted and I told her Hottie McHotAss was coming and mixed me up some more liquid courage in the beauty that is the COSMO.  This continued down stairs as we anxiously awaited his arrival. 

COSMO.

COSMO.

COSMO.

….into my belly….yum yum yum….



At some point I guess I needed to use the restroom, and since there is one located in my bedroom, which remember is the old “maid’s quarters”, I ran upstairs. 

That’s it.

That’s all I remember.

 Apparently, so I am told, I was on the toilet for quite some time.  Either I am an excellent drunk, or my friends really suck because they tell me they came up and chatted with me numerous times, while my big white naked ass was sitting on the toilet.  This, naturally, did not alarm them.  I am assuming they thought I was just taking a massive shit?

(But seriously you guys? You leave me there?   I had plans.  I was gonna bang HotAss.  I was gonna get over Shamus.  No, Really. It’s cool that you left me on the toilet and allowed me to have random conversations with myself.  That’s awesome.  NBD, assholes.  NO.  BIG.  DEAL. )


Moving on. 

Hours later I wake up.  I am spread eagle on top of my blankets. BUCK NAKED.  Wearing nothing but some bobby pins, in my now extremely mangled hair-do.
“Fuck!”   I attempt to lift my throbbing head off my pillow.  It seems my head has grown excessively  in the past few hours and I am unable to muster the strength required to lift it.
Hmmmm? Where the hell are my clothes? Who Cares!
 Holy shit, Where’s HotAss? DAMN IT!  I missed my opportunity to woo him with my slurred speech and Cosmo breath.  “Maybe next year”, I think to myself.

PANIC. STRIKES.

Oh My God!  I begin to pray.
“Dear God,
                I am well aware that I was/am intoxicated, probably to the point of near death.  But Lord, I am gonna open my cell phone and shine the light towards my chair.  PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GOD, let everyone at this lovely Christmas Celebration of the birth of your ONLY son who lived and died for our sins, please tell me that they have ALL forgotten their coats!”
Amen.


Here goes nothing.
 FUCK !!
FUCK!!
FUCKKKKKKKKKK!!
Not. One.  Single. coat!  AHHHHHHHHHHH!  My whole family, every friend/enemy, priests, nuns, Doctors, Lawyers, randies, and of course my Hottie McHotAss  had their coats in my room. 
The sweats begin.  Mortified, I try to fall back asleep.  I can’t. Call me crazy, but I can’t seem to get over the fact that everyone I know, literally everyone I know, has just had a lovely surprise when attempting to retrieve their jacket:
my ponani.
my sweater kittens. 
 my goodies.
my milkshake that does not bring all the boys to the yard.
MY NAKED ASS!!

My room was the coatroom that year.  That was the last year anyone brought coats. 



** I decided to tell you a funny story today.  I am trying to get myself back on the 30 day thing.  I'll do it.  I promise.  Don't hate me.  But I need some time off from soul searching so I tried to think of one of the dumbest thing I have ever done, besides bang a married dude for 10 years and allow him to mind fuck me and destroy my life, ahem. I'm better.  Deep breaths. 


In with Jesus....Out with Satan.  (That one's for you Fe! xoxoxo)


Keep breathing. 



Friday, February 25, 2011

With you I knew God's face was handsome...

I just can't today.  I can't make feelings into thoughts and then into words.  That makes them too real and I can't today.  I can't stomach all of that. 

Today is worse than yesterday.  But maybe tomorrow will be better.  Or maybe the next day. 





But I was sadly mistaken.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Someday you're going to get hungry & eat all of the words you just said.

He was shivering when I got here; coiled up in a ball like a curly fry.  Mixtures of white and brown and maybe a little black decorated his body.  He was covered in snow and I wondered why he was there.  He didn't seem mean or anything, just sad.  

I settled into my desk chair and into the warmth inside and he crossed my mind again.  I wondered if he was still here.  I opened the back door and he lifted his head and caught me checking.  Embarrassed, I shut the door quickly and returned to the computer.  Only minutes later, he consumed my thoughts again.  Why is he alone out there? In the cold.  I wonder if he's hungry.  Curiosity consumed me, and I went to check again.  This time he met my stare with animosity and aggression. 

“Shit” I thought.  He is not happy.  I wonder if he’ll come after me?  Yet he didn’t move.  Just snarled at me from the gazebo. 

It's not uncommon to see dogs here.  But typically not alone, sleeping in the gazebo.  It's more likely to find a homeless man named Tommy in there- Tommy who smells of stale beer and kindness. 


But today, there was a dog & he was scared. 

The officer arrived, mace in hand, and slowly approached the gazebo; insisting that I stand back.  The dog barked and growled and snared but he would not leave that gazebo.  It baffled me, until I saw the faint worn red leash that was attached to the bench. 

Sickened, I ran back inside.

 Someone tied this dog to our gazebo and left it here all night long in subzero temps.  Irate, I rummaged through my desk looking for snacks or anything even remotely edible. Minutes felt like seconds, as I was sure he would lunch at the Officer and get maced.  I did not want that to happen. 

Chip Nuts! I have Chip nuts! I remembered.  I grabbed a bag as fast as I could.  From about 3 feet away he growled as I tossed a handful in his direction.  Most of them scattering on the frozen ground, he inhaled them.  He hadn’t eaten in a while.  Probably a long while. 

I took a step closer as I tossed another handful and repeated this until I was in arms length.  The Officer insisted I not put my hand out. 

“You just hold your mace.  I got this”. 

I put a few in the palm of my hand, half wondering if that was the last time I’d see it unharmed, and half not caring either way.  We made eye contact.  I saw pain and rejection in his eyes. He saw the same in mine.  He began to eat from my hand as he lowered his head in silent understanding. 

Slowly, I made my way for his collar and untied the leash.  His tail perked up and he began to wag and drool and play like a puppy.  This once ferocious beast became my friend instantly. 


A part of my heart ached as I lead him to the cop car.  I knew the dog warden would be picking him up soon.  I wondered his name and who brought him there and left him.  I decided if I ever find out I will tie said person to the gazebo for at least 24 hours.  And throw Chip Nuts- just out of his/her reach.  I am angry with people and humanity today. 

Should I take him? I considered.  I have cats. What if he hates cats? Shit.  I don’t know enough about him and I saw firsthand what he can be like when he’s agitated. 

I can’t take him. 

A part of my heart broke when he pulled away in the red truck.  I wondered what would happen to him.  I blocked out the reality of what would happen.  I choked back tears.


He was abandon and alone, stuck in a gazebo, people passing him by, and not even stopping to see if he was ok.  He was like me. 


I decided I want to rescue a dog.  I want to rescue something alone and abandoned.  I want he or she to know someone does care and someone does understand. 

I think I’ll rescue a dog. 



Of course you can....



Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Day Thirteen -What kind of heart doesn't look back?


I think today I might be ok.  I think today I won't be so sad.  And today, I think there is a faint light at the end of this tunnel.  I woke up early, which rarely happens.  And I think I might be ok. 

Today is family fun day-which usually turns into family fight night.  There are so many of us.  I am the oldest of 5 children who have now become adults with a variety of personalities and ticks.  We are very close, but you know how that is, each of our own needs, wants, desires- add my hilarity, my Sister1's beauty, my Brother's sarcasm, my Sister 2's anger, and Sister 3's airheaded-ness- typically makes for a very interesting evening.  Here's to hoping my brother doesn't call me a lesbian tonight for never bringing a date and my mother doesn’t get mad at me for wanting to go to the farthest snack stand at the hockey arena. 

The past few weeks it has been very hard for me to not only verbalize what I am feeling but to rationalize it as well.  I have these waves of emotion and most of the time I am almost embarrassed by them and refuse to reach out to everyone.  Being the oldest child, I have spent most of my life "having it together".  I am the goal setter.  The accomplisher.  I am the smart one and the nurturing one.  The second mom & the trusted confidant.  This role makes it hard for me to ask for help or admit defeat.  My mind goes a hundred miles a minute and I can't seem to lasso all of these thoughts into sentences.  I kept thinking- I'll write tomorrow.  I'll fill them in. I have so much to tell you, but so little energy to do so.

I started countless posts in my head over the past sleepless nights.  I keep thinking that today will be the day that I can come up with something to say.  The truth is I don’t know what to say.  This is almost worse than when everything was “going” on.  It’s the aftermath, where glances speak volumes, and whispers are heard loud. It’s when you are supposed to be fine, but you’re not.  When you’re friends don’t know what to say anymore and are quite frankly sick of hearing about it.  The real struggle is now.  The true test is trying to get to know myself.  Again- or maybe for the first time in my life. 


I listen to music.  A lot. But I really listen to lyrics.  Lyrics say things that I can't.  They felt what I feel but seem to be far more talented in describing exactly what I am thinking.  I find peace in music.

I honestly don't think I can chose just one artist.  Lately Sara Bareilles has consumed my vehicle.  Fiona Apple &  Ani DiFranco are for my "Angry Days".  "What Do You Want?" by  Jerrod Niemann has been on repeat.  Jason Mraz visits my ear drums while I'm cleaning and remembering better days.  Each one of them, from my Ganagster Rap friends like Biggie to my instrumental Jim Brickman moments, they all represent a mood, a feeling, a time in my life where I needed them.  I thank them all.  & I thank all of you.



I think today I might be ok.  I think today I won't be so sad.  And today, I think there is a faint light at the end of this tunnel.  I woke up early, which rarely happens.  And I think I might be ok.

Out of breath I am left..hoping someday...I'll breath again.