Life In Progress

Under Construction

2006-01-03T21:23:00.000-07:00

Eleven months.

I've never had a blog that lasted this long. Maybe it has to do with maturity or maybe I just had more to say at this time in my life. Regardless, all things come to an end. And it's time for this particular blog to end. And what better time . . . it's the beginning of a new year. I have many changes to look forward to and if all goes as expected my life will take a dramatic turn come autumn.

We'll see.

It's time to be much more honest with myself and I find that knowing in the back of my head that any and everyone can see what I'm thinking here is a bit scary and crippling to the point where I can't voice myself the way I want to as I can with my old handwritten journals.

It's time to find those again. Time to let it all hang out so to speak.

So, until further notice this blog has seen it's last post.

:P

2005-12-28T11:32:00.000-07:00

You are completely clueless sometimes, you know that?

A different kind of Christmas

2005-12-25T19:39:00.000-07:00

My usual Christmas consists of sleeping in as late as possible (which is usually about 7:00 a.m., before the phone starts ringing with well wishers), eating a late breakfast and vegging out in front of the television all day.

This year was different though. A few days ago I thought I'd be alone again on Christmas (as the past 4-5 years have been). And that really bugs me because even though I'm not big on Christmas to begin with I would still like my family to be around.

I thought my mom would end up at her on again, off again boyfriend's place, and my brother would be God knows where, but they both proved me wrong. Not only were they both home but we all actually ate breakfast, opened presents and watched t.v. together. And of course Christmas dinner in the evening.

Funny thing about the presents this year. Everyone who gave me anything must have been paying extra special attention.

Why do I say that?

Well . . . let me start off by saying I'm always appreciative about what I receive. Seriously, I'm not just saying that. I know there's a lot more people in the world who don't even have half of what I have so I'm grateful for everything I have (most of which I don't need, but that's another story). Anyway, so as I was saying, the givers were incredibly thoughtful with what they picked out.

For instance, my oldest brother gave me two cds. One was the newest Green Day album: American Idiot. I LOVE Green Day. I'm already on the second playing of the album.

He also gave me the latest Coldplay cd. Now this is interesting because I'm going to see Coldplay in a couple months when they come to Houston. He didn't know I bought tickets to the concert. In fact I don't think he knows much about my favorite bands and artists unless he just happened to walk in my room and look at my extensive cd collection, but then he could have gotten anything from Frank Sinatra to Norah Jones to Audioslave and I would have been happy. But he buys me an album of a band I'm going to see soon. Cool!

Here's another funny story. Well it is to me anyway . . . my friend Anna at work gave me a book. Two actually, but we'll talk about this one for right now. It's a Calvin & Hobbes collection: Homicidal Psycho Jungle Cat.

No one else in the entire WORLD would have thought to have given me that book. It's crazy that she even gave it to me! Let me tell you the coincidence in the story: a few weeks ago the parental figure and I were in a book store looking for something for my niece and we came across this stand which held a book similar to the one I got, also Calvin & Hobbes. I was slowly flipping through it and reading the strips when my mom called my name and I go to turn a page and accidentally rip the bottom of a page. Mind you it was a very small rip, not even a half inch long, but still. I immediately look around to see if I had been caught. After realizing no one was looking I slowly walk away, whistling to myself.

So needless to say, when I tore open what Anna gave me my first reaction was to laugh. I'll have to tell her the story tomorrow. She'll get a kick out of it.

And my mom of course. Lately her trend has been to get me jewelry.

I'll let you know one thing about me: I'm finicky when it comes to jewelry. I don't do gold. I only wear real jewelry and only very simple rings and necklaces. I don't like watches (though I wear one only when at work), bracelets, anklets or toe rings.

And my mom has obviously caught on. For the past two years she's given me sterling silver necklaces. Both have been simple rope chains with a beautiful religious pendant.

Last year it was an old fashioned cross that I swear was nearly stolen right off my neck! I used to wear it to work and I'd have people reaching up to my neck and grasping the cross in their hands to 'get a better look at it.' It was mostly short Hispanic women who would often ask me (in Spanish), "Where did you get this?" And after I'd tell them it was a gift they'd want to know where my mom got it from.

Which is another thing about my mom, she never gets these things from jewelry stores. I don't know where she gets them, but they're truly unique. The one she gave me this year is a circular pendant with praying hands on the front and the Serenity Prayer on the back:

God give me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change,

the courage to change

the things I can,

and the wisdom

to know the difference.

Heh . . . she doesn't know how many times these past two weeks I've gone into work muttering the first half of that prayer under my breath.

Overall today was a nice day, and not because of the presents. The fact that each little gift was incredibly thoughtful and said something about the presenter is what made me happy. That and the comfort of knowing my family, for the most part, is in one peace helped to cease my frazzled nerves. God only knows how the holidays can zap my sense of inner peace faster than lightning can.

Hopefully the remainder of the year will finish out the way this week started and I can start looking forward to all the crazy changes that are sure to take place next year. I know I'll need the courage.

Random thought of the day: I love hair cuts! They always make me want to shake my head like dogs do and lick myself.

Family Matters

2005-12-19T21:00:00.000-07:00

I used to dread the holidays because they always reminded me of the family members we lost and the lack of family I have locally, with two brothers on each coast, my uncle up north and my good friends scattered across the country.

This year though, looked like it was going to be different. My mom is here, my oldest and youngest brother are here and my other younger brother was home (Virginia) to celebrate his daughter's first Christmas instead of being out on the ship in the middle of the Atlantic.

However the youngest brother isn't even here a month (he came down for the Thanksgiving holidays and was going to stay a while with us before going back to Virginia) before he finds his old group of friends. The same ones who were a bad influence on him and got him caught up in stupid petty crimes before winding up in jail. Now he's in some kind of trouble AGAIN.

We got the call from the police two days ago. He hasn't been home since. He called maybe once to let us know where he was at.

*Sigh*

My goddamn family.

I don't know what to do. I gave up on the kid once. But then he turned himself in, did his time, got out, took his GED test, passed with flying colors and then moved to VA with his older brother and got himself clean, a job, and even started looking into colleges. I honestly don't know what made him turn back to his old ways. As far as I could tell he was doing okay here the past couple weeks. Everyone was on good terms and looking forward to the holidays. He and I were talking about what we wanted to get the parental figure for Christmas and we even went shopping for our niece together about a week ago.

He and I also took pictures together, the kind where you sit in that cheesy little booth and make stupid faces and a strip of four pictures spits out the slot after two minutes. I gave him the top two photos and I stuck the bottom two in my wallet because I have no recent photos of him and I together. On the last one we were imitating the three stooges. We had fun.

I'd give anything to talk to him. If I just . . .

If I just knew where he was at, figuratively speaking.

God, I need to escape for a while.

Random thought of the day: Ugh, hurry up 2005, hurry up and be done with.

Sandman where you at?

2005-12-18T10:29:00.000-07:00

I'm bothered.

{Then again when am I not?}

I'm not one for writing down my dreams. For one I can almost never remember them. And two it's always seemed like a lame way for me to fill up a journal. When I can remember them I'll tell a friend or two, but lately, for some strange reason I've been having nightmares. And they aren't your usual 'boogey man' type nightmares either. All of them have me in a real life, everyday situation.

Of the ones I've had I can vaguely remember four over the course of the last month and a half. The first one is actually a repeat of another dream I've had before, months and months ago. In it I can see myself laying down in the grass of a median in the street. I'm just lying on my side watching all the cars whiz by when this one car stops. A guy leans out of the driver's side window and asks me a question. I ignore him (he asked me something crude). And before I know it he's out of his car and on top of me.

This is where I woke up the first time I had the dream.

However a week ago, when the repeat continued it got as far as me trying to fight him off. I remember him smiling at me and him telling me, "Baby I don't wanna hurt you. But I will if I have to."

I was angry. And I was fighting as hard as I could. Not a single sound escaped my lips.

I didn't scream for help.

I didn't cry.

I didn't beg for him to stop.

Nothing.

Finally, I had the opportunity to stop him and I started to go for it.

But then I woke up, my right leg lifted, bent at the knee, prepared to kick the shit out of the man between his legs. Though I couldn't see my hands as it was nearly 2 a.m. I'm sure they were white; they were gripping the sides of my hammock so tight. Hair was damp, as was my shirt and my heart was beating so fast. When I woke up again later that morning I saw half the stuff I usually keep on my nightstand on the floor: my alarm clock, a small picture frame, a small wooden instrument a friend at work gave me.

Apparently I put up one hell of a fight.

I don't remember my second dream in as much detail. I do remember watching the dream through my own eyes, and at the same time being a participant, unlike the first dream. I remember picking up the phone and some man talking to me like he knew me and then asking for my buddy Anna (her debut in any of my dreams) from work. She talked with him a bit, really friendly like before hanging up. I asked her something and she went on about some 'big' project as she began to cut up paper bags.

She lined them up, one next to the other and wrote, in black marker, a letter on each bag: J-O-H-A-N-N-E-S . . . I'm not sure if it contained the 'burg' at the end. I woke up before she finished.

I know this dream was hardly a nightmare, but it still bothered me for some reason. I've never been to this town in South Africa, nor do I know anyone from there.

A couple days ago there was a rat in my dream. Like the first dream I was watching myself interact with people and things. I don't remember where I was or who I was with. I might have been alone.

There was a rat on the ground, squashed, sort of like when you see roadkill in the street and it looks like it's been run over a few dozen times. Anyway so I'm talking to someone in the dream when the legs of the creature start wiggling around and I freak out. It moves over to a white sheet of paper. Apparently the paper was of importance to me, homework maybe.

I go to pick it up by the edge of the paper and the rat crawls on my hand.

And this is when I wake up. Hand held about my head, ready to fling the imaginary rat off my hand.

Despite the situations though, the one that's bothered me the most was the dream I had last night. Again I was an active participant in the dream, seeing everything through my own eyes while talking to everyone else.

It started on a street in some dark alley, near one of those metal trash cans. The first thing that happens is someone gets shot.

Mind you I'm talking to this girl, not even two feet away from me, when she gets shot. And at the time she was VERY pregnant!

I catch her before she falls, her hands around her belly, my hands there as well, trying to keep the blood from coming out of the hole in the left side of her stomach. I can remember holding my hands up to my face, seeing all the blood. I nearly freaked.

But then, just like a movie the scene changes and she and I are on a beach, in our one pieces. And for some reason the girl is blind now. But I say to her, "Come on, let's run along the beach."

And off we go, sprinting before we turn a little and dive into the warm water.

And that was all. The only other thing I can remember was the first half of that dream took place in black and white while the latter was in color.

I rarely dream in black and white. I know that's supposed to mean something but I don't recall it right now.

And the fact that she got shot in the stomach and (I'm assuming) lost the baby is what's really bothering me. Because . . . well, I can't explain it. All I know is if it's pertaining to me in a way I think it is that's going to cause me to question my beliefs (not that I have a strong hold on those anyway) and ah, I dunno.

Random thought of the day: Stay awake!

No hablo Espanol . . .

2005-12-11T21:07:00.000-07:00

I can't help the way I look.

And I look Hispanic.

I AM Hispanic.

But I do not speak spanish.

Don't hold that against me. If you wish you can speak with my parents. I was never taught spanish growing up. In fact my brothers and I were sort of pushed into being as Americanized as possible.

Not that that's necessarily a bad thing. I mean, we do live in America and learning english, being able to speak and read it well is practically a necessity. However I'm not the type of person that believes one should return back to their country if they don't speak the language of the natives. I bet my ancestors ran into many people like that. And you want to know the funny thing? The opposite is happening to me now. In my line of work I run across so many people who believe I should be able to speak my 'native' tongue.

Nevermind the fact that I was born in the United States, as my parents and grandparents were. Speaking spanish was never something my parents felt I needed to know. This thought having stemmed from the fact that when they were kids they were forced to learn english in school. Their teachers, like a lot of teachers here in the southwest would ask students to tell their parents to speak English in their homes during their time. In fact I'm sure this request still goes on to this day in some schools.

Spanish was a first language for each of my parents. However because they used so little of it growing up they felt the same would be asked of us as were grew up so they figured, "Why bother teaching them?"

And now in our 20s and 30s we're faced with rude comments from others of our race, mostly first generation Americans (I'm a third), or the illegals.

Everyday I repeat the phrase, "I don't speak Spanish," at least a half dozen times. This usually brings the person to peer at my name, whisper, "Christina," with an emphasis on the 'r' and give me a look as if to say, "C'mon, I know you speak the language, quit lying." And usually they'll make light of the situation and ask me, "How can you not speak spanish? Your name is Christina."

To piss them off I say something like, "Yeah, but it's spelled the american way, with a 'Ch.'"

{In the spanish language 'Ch' is the fourth letter so if you were to say my name, as spelled, in spanish it would really sound like 'Tristina.'}

Either that or I'll point to the black chick with the same name and say, "She doesn't speak spanish either."

It's not that I don't want to learn. In fact I took two courses in highschool and aced them. But that was basic stuff and I've retained a lot of what I learned. I know how to ask for the time, tell someone it's hot or cold, I can count in spanish and I know most of the days and months, but I can't hold a decent conversation in spanish to save my life.

Although I've been accused of holding out. I've had several people tell me I know spanish I just don't want to speak it.

*Mutters*

If that isn't the biggest load of . . .

I've been in many arguments with people who don't believe me. Two years ago, on Thanksgiving, I was called an 'English speaking bitch.'

The man was thrown out.

And just the other day I had a buddy of mine, a white guy, speak up for me when I was having it out with this Hispanic man because he believed I was lying. And on top of that a black man listening to the whole conversation spoke up and said he knew plenty of people like me, people who were never taught spanish.

I can come across rude at times, I know that. And trust me, I try not to jump the gun before I hear something out of someone's mouth, but when you were born in my generation with parents and grandparents born in the States and you have no accent whatsoever and you have to deal with stupid people all day you'd have a small chip on your shoulder too. I can communicate with deaf people and a very lovely couple who only speaks Russian so if you find it difficult to get your points across to me then that's your problem. Don't give me your lecture because it's only falling on deaf ears. I'm not asking you to learn the English language, so don't tell me I need to learn spanish.

Random thought of the day: I really need to stop scratching my arms so much. I look like a junkie going through withdrawal.

Feed The Ducks

2005-11-28T01:50:00.000-07:00

I. Am. A. Dumbass.

Not only did I spill the beans about a friend's Christmas gift entirely too early, but I put him in a very awkward spot.

Hang on a second while I bang my head against the floor.

I had what I thought to be the greatest and most perfect gift I've ever given anyone and I screwed it up, royally.

You see, I've known this guy going on four years. We met in some chatroom online shortly before I moved away from Houston. And throughout all that time he's one of the very few people I've maintained contact with strictly through phone calls and emails.

Until next February.

My plan for his Christmas gift was to fly him over, along with a pair of tickets to see one of his favorite artists (Fiona Apple) open for Coldplay here in Houston. Naturally my plan was to meet him face to face for the very first time. You know, put a three dimensional body to the voice.

It never occurred to me that he may not be ready for that step.

So, when his first reaction was to be nervous, and a bit hesitant, it was like a slap in the face. I must have been so overly excited at the thought of hearing his reaction to what I was giving him that I never thought it'd make him anything less than happy.

Nevermind the fact that I've been in his spot before.

I've met several of my 'internet buddies.' However all but one were talked about in great length before both parties agreed to the meeting. The exception being a dare and involving over a thousand miles, but I've spoken of that one before so I won't repeat myself.

Anyway, after talking it through and him telling me many, many times that he was not nervous I made him promise me to let me know, at any time, if he wasn't comfortable with the whole idea and I would back out without a word. No concert, no meeting, no anything. He could enjoy the whole experience without me, alone, or with whoever he chose to bring.
No questions asked.

I have a tendency to get in way over my head sometimes. My ideas run away with me and I'm so eager to please at times that I don't prepare myself for a person's initial reaction. But I hate for my friends to miss out on opportunities. For instance, this will be the first time he's flown. The first time he's seen Miss Apple perform live. The first time he's been to Houston (and Texas).

It'll be the first time we meet.

Luckily I always get people 'back-up' gifts, things I know can't go wrong.

Random thought of the day: Eh, nothing else.

Future Me

2005-11-24T21:25:00.000-07:00

I know, it's been a while.

Sue me.

I came across the niftiest website when visiting the guestbook of another blogger. This site allows you to write an email to yourself (or someone else) to be delivered in the future. 'Future' meaning a few days, months, up to a couple decades (whether or not the website will be around that long is another story).

I took the liberty of emailing myself, for the message to arrive on my twenty-sixth birthday (July of next year).

I didn't know what to tell myself. I just opened a blank page and started typing, basically jogging my memory of past recent events: my best friend's wedding, my vacation, and good friends.

One thing of note I didn't mention was having grown up and shedding bad habits. I told myself I hope I don't fall into the same circles I've been going in and wanting to kick myself afterwards. I bring some of these bad things upon myself and the worries and burdens are all things I created. I hope by my next birthday I've learned from my mistakes.

On the other hand, I also did tell myself that despite what may be going I'm loved as I am. I'm surrounded by some people who sincerely love me and want to see me happy.

That may sound like an afterschool special, but sometimes when the chips are down and you don't think you're going to make it to the next day you need to hear something like that, especially at times when you're being reflective of your own life, such as when birthdays occur. Funny how times like that can depress a person!

I hope the site spreads like wild fire because personally, I find the idea to be incredibly unique.

Course, if it doesn't last very long and my email doesn't get delivered on my next birthday and I happen to be contemplating the meaning of my life and wondering if it's worth it I'm going to be seriously pissed in my afterlife!

Random thought of the day: Devising plans that work. Keeping secrets. Meetings. Deafening emotions.

Mornings with Anna

2005-10-27T23:47:00.000-06:00

One of my closest friends comes in the form of a middle aged, ex-chainsmoker, free spirited woman from Florida with whom I work with.

Her name is 'Anna.'

I lovingly call her 'Duh.'

Long story. I'll get to it later.

Anna is one of those rare types of people whom everyone loves. She can talk to little kids, old people and everyone in between and have their respect and admiration. She's a socialite and absolutely wonderful. I swear on my life we share the same soul. If there is a such thing as reincarnation the same person got transformed into two different bodies in consecutive generations, mine and hers.

The similarities are amazing: we both started working at nursing homes as teenagers. She has a very distant brother that she doesn't know very well, as do I with a brother in So Cal. She recently became an aunt for the first time. Her beautiful nephew is turning a year old soon. My niece was born almost four months ago. We both prefer the road over the air and so on and so forth.

Anna has no kids of her own, well other than the 3-5 of us twentysomethings at work who she works with on a regular basis. After so long she gradually claimed us as her kids the way a teacher might at school. Not that we mind of course.

She tells me regularly that she loves me. And I say it right back.

I love getting to work early and spending a few minutes chatting to her before having to start my shift. Morning shifts are always harder for me because despite the fact that I don't sleep much I don't consider myself a 'morning person.' I deal with the public. Morning person or not, I still have to talk to people.

Anna makes it a bit easier by cheering me up usually with some short, witty remark about my appearance or some crazy story from her childhood. Like my uncle's stories some of hers seem so farfetched that you almost don't believe them, but your inner child wants to.

Which is another thing about Anna . . . her ability to be so childlike. Don't confuse that with being 'childish,' because childish she's not. She has this . . . innocence about her. At first encounter you almost believe she lives in her own world. She has a tendency to romanticize things like I do, which I love because I've never met another person like that. She makes the simplest things seem like the biggest adventures. And she tells me about the places she's been and the road trips she's taken and all the while I'm mesmerized. By the end of the conversation I'm itching to go there and experience it for myself.

Anna just 'gets' me. She's the only one who ever understood why I had to wrap my mother's Christmas present three times last year (don't ask). She feeds me. How can I not love a person who feeds me? And she does it with healthy food: grapes, crackers, small amounts of cookies. She buys me my choice of drugs: Coke {soda, mind you}.

And on a bigger scale she simply takes the time to listen to me. I probably never told her as I've often as I've told another close friend of mine, but she has an elephant's memory, meaning she remembers everything I tell her. She knows about my family, where I've lived, my views on things at work and everything else.

In general she cares about me. And she doesn't have to. Sure, it makes work a LOT easier but we could have been just 'civil' towards one another like we are with other people, but she's not.

I cherish my mornings with her. She's my cup of coffee.

Random thought of the day: No more favors please!

"Quit? I'm trying to start!"

2005-10-16T20:59:00.000-06:00

I've come to a conclusion.

I'm going to take up smoking.

And before all you anti-smokers/health nuts jump on my case hear me out first. I am not doing it because of 'peer pressure' or a case of postponed teenage angst.

I'm doing it for superficial reasons.

There, I admit it. I'm vain . . . so what.

I mean, I can SO pull off that 'sexy' image:

I can just imagine myself coming out of work with my bag thrown over on one shoulder on a cold dreary day, hair up in a messy bun and I'm tired and my feet are killing me. Then I suddenly let my long hair down, shake it a bit, pull out a box of Marlboro Menthol Lights (because I'm too much of a wimp and a weenie to handle the real shit), watch my last one wiggle out the box, and light it up all the while walking to the nearest bus stop. And everyone I walk pass watches me and thinks to themselves, "Damn, that girl doesn't seem to have a care in the world.'

Course, let's admit how it would REALLY go: First off I can't walk and drink water at the same time, let alone light a cigarette! Plus I've always had problems with lighters so I'd probably end up using matches instead. And my success rate with matches isn't all that great either. I'm always burning myself. I'm liable to spend much more money on matches than on the cigs themselves!

Second, I get sick pretty badly usually twice, sometimes three times a year. I'm talking losing my voice (and forty pounds), fever, hot flashes/chills, walking pneumonia type sick. My lungs can't handle smog, much less cigarette smoke.

I think the only thing I have going for arguing my case is how 'cool' I'd look.

I've never been 'cool.'

I'm not sure what I was in highschool. I wasn't a 'geek,' per se. I mean, I was and still am pretty smart (at least I like to think so), but I never won the science fair or joined the math club or anything that would have caused me to get a 'whirly.'

I wasn't that hippie chick either, nor a feminist,jock or teacher's pet. I was well rounded I suppose. I hung out with everyone from the football players and band members to the braniacs and students who had remedial lunch.

But I wasn't 'cool.'

So now, at twenty-five years of age I have my chance.

And mind you it took a long time for me to decide on smoking as my 'thing.'

I thought about drinking, but c'mon. I drink vodka. And every once in a while a few margaritas, frozen, with salt. I don't touch beer or Jack or Jim or any of the other Walton boys. I'm a lightweight.

I also thought about drugs, but I'm terrified of needles. I used to be an amateur cutter (I never told anyone that), but that's when I was younger and my skin was 'thick' so to speak. Nowadays it embarrasses me to see a simple scratch anywhere on my body.

And I regularly give blood, but that's it. Hell, I don't even like going to the doctor in fear that he'll tell me I have something contagious and I need a shot.

Not to mention with the rising cost of everything these days, and the local crackheads wanting to take a hit of my load (did I say that right?) I can't afford to do drugs.

Not on what they pay me at my job.

Besides, I was the only girl amongst the five kids in my family. I never learned how to share.

Now I just need to figure out how to start. I mean . . . after a particularly stressful day at work I've always said something along the lines of, "God I need a cigarette," usually followed by my friends laughing, but how do I actually get myself to DO it?

It's times like this I wish one of my friends was a kleptomaniac when we were younger. And another a pyromanic. Imagine the fun. Course with my luck the former would have stolen my smokes from me after a few days and the second would have lit him on fire and then we all would have gotten throw in juvie!

Random though of the day: My boys are going to the World Series!

This thing called 'love'

2005-10-07T20:38:00.000-06:00

Love.

Love, how many times have I said that word and the phrase, "I love you?"

Countless times I'm sure.

How many times have I actually meant it?

To this day I'm still not sure.

My parents are, by all means, not perfect. I'm aware of this. And as parental figures they had the responsibility of raising five kids to the age of eighteen. After that it's pretty much whatever we wanted.

But that's not the path I'm trying to take. What I was getting at was how their responsibility for caring for us determined how we perceive love.

Growing up after my parents' divorce we were never really a close family and the word love was a word we never said aloud very much, especially my mom. Quite frankly I began to wonder if she really did love us. And that's not something little kids should be worried about. I knew she didn't hate us or regret having kids. We weren't abused in any kind of way by our parents nor were we deprived of the basic necessities and actually we were a bit spoiled despite the fact we grew up struggling (after the divorce).

But when it came to our parents showing us they loved us they lacked the knowledge of how to do one of the simplest things a human can do.

My father's the type that tends to try and buy us things to make us happy, therefore letting us know he loves us. I can't tell you how many dolls, toys, clothes and money I was given. In fact, of all the childhood things I was given the remaining things I've decided to keep (after donating most of my toys as I got older) are all things my father gave me: a 20 year old caterpillar with eighteen and a half legs, and most recently a very expensive teddy bear he bought me after he saw me admiring it in a store.

My mom's a different story. Like all kids we bugged her for stuff when we were younger. But as we got older and realized our situation we knew not to ask for much. So buying things wasn't her deal. In fact, I'm not sure what her deal was. I mean, we knew she loved us, even though she didn't say it much, but sometimes, usually when an important decision was involved it almost felt like we couldn't get her acceptance on anything.

She lacked the ability to encourage us to try new things, to throw us in the water and say, "Sink or swim kids, sink or swim." When we became interested in sports or the arts she never really pushed us to give it our all. And I'm well aware she was usually so tired from working long hours and supporting us, but I'd have given anything if she would have tried. And after highschool when I started my second year of college in another state or when my brother announced he was joining the Navy she didn't exactly show any enthusiasm in knowing that we were preparing for our futures. Instead, if I remember correctly, her exact words were, "I'll believe it when it happens." Whether she was in denial or because our decisions shocked our entire family I don't know.

(The relationship I had with my father pre-Wyoming was known for being notorious, as was my brother's feelings about NOT joining the military).

Mind you she didn't discourage us (she never has), but these were huge announcements, considering none of us ventured far from home for an extended period of time before.

She almost seems like she doesn't need to say anything until someone is leaving the picture, because when it came time for two of us to leave (a mere five months apart from one departure to the next) she broke down both times. It was hard on all of us, especially after we felt like we would not be missed.

At work, I've been overheard on the phone telling my younger brothers I love them. When I hang up a friend or co-worker will say something along the lines of, "Aww, how sweet for you to tell your boyfriend that."

Upon which I look at them with a bewildered look and say, "Boyfriend? I was talking to my little brother."

And they don't understand this.

And I don't understand how they cannot not say something like that to a sibling (Unless of course they hated one another, which at some point in our lives, don't we all hate our siblings?).

And this isn't the only instance. I can't speak for my older brothers because of the age gap between us older three (five years from one to the other, the oldest being ten years older than me) and they were brought up under different circumstances before me and the younger two came along, but we have a tendency to be starving for this thing called love.

Some would call it a desire to be accepted. But I don't see it that way. For you see, at work I never tried to 'fit in' or gossip along with the majority of women in order to have some sort of 'bond' with them. It was a gradual thing for me and it was mostly my humor which got people to open up and trust and like me.

But that's different. What I'm referring to in my walk down memory lane is the special relationships you have with some people, be it platonic or otherwise; the types of relationships that ultimately change a part of your life because of their significance.

I have this bad habit of hanging on to people who I know I should have left alone a long time ago. Namely because they love me. I know that; it's showed, loud and clear.

Yet the relationship I had with my ex was a mess from the start, and even as we try and salvage some sort of friendship at this point in time we both know we should give up. We'll never be 'just friends.' He'll always be 'my ex.'

A few weeks ago in a moment of what can only be described as complete and utter insanity (spontaneity) he traveled well over 500 miles, from Oklahoma, down I-45 into Texas to Houston to see me.

He decided this at 2:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning. On weekends he's not supposed to travel more than 150 miles from base (at the time he was in the military). And he had to be at work bright and early 8:00 a.m. that Monday.

We saw one another for about four hours. The trip took longer than that one way!

It's sad really, what's left of 'us,' and how we used to show one another we loved the other. With this particular person I would have done anything to have kept him, to have him love me. It's almost pathetic on my part because I was so desperate for this guy to love me and what's even sadder is he didn't exactly want me to do or change anything about myself to make him love me. He already did, as I was, simple as that.

I was just trying to keep that love. And as much as I hate to admit this a small part of me is still fighting to keep it.

I fight myself to keep a few individuals' love. Namely friends.

I am the extreme opposite of my mom. I'm everyone's cheerleader. When my friends decide to change career paths or majors in college I'm right there, pushing them.

And at the same time I'm a little like my father in that I'll give things to people to express my love because half the time I'm never sure how to say it aloud. I don't always know how to say, "Hey, I love you.' Or, 'I appreciate you.'

I'm also a touchy feely type person when it comes to people I trust. I always want a hug or to give one. I tell everyone I love them, often and yet I'm still afraid no one understands how much they mean to me.

I'm paranoid I know. Or perhaps I need them to reciprocate to make up for the lack of hearing it when I was younger.

It's funny how as you grow older your friends suddenly become your family and you depend on them likewise. I'm not sure at what age that starts but I know I spend more time with co-workers and friends than I do any single member of my family, and I live with two immediate family members.

This thing called love.

I wonder if I'll ever know what it really means.

Random thought of the day: They're closing down a landmark!

Who has gas?

2005-09-26T20:39:00.000-06:00

Yeah . . . I know.

Sue me already.

Want to know what my past week has been like? First, last week around this time I was basically being told by all the local newscasters that my apartment, which is on the first floor mind you, is going to flood and the entire city will flood and I'll have to live off Spam and water for weeks at a time while I waste away in the 100 degree weather with no AC because we have no power because a 'monster' named Rita will bitch slap us like we owe her child support.

By Wednesday the 4+ million people that live in Houston started panicking for gas and by Thursday nary a gas station could be found that sold regular gas. By that evening everyone and their grandmother was on the road trying to head either to Dallas, San Antonio or Austin in order to get the hell out of Rita's way because we didn't want a repeat of Katrina.

My family only wanted to travel a mere sixty miles. We knew getting any further than that would be next to impossible. You know how long it took us to reach half that distance?

Five hours.

Thirty miles in five hours.

For those of you mathematically challenged that's six miles per hour. One mile every ten minutes. We WALK faster than that. But of course in 100+ degree weather no one's going to try and walk.

So we ended up coming back to town, but just a bit further than where we lived, to my uncle's house where my grandmother was staying for the time being (she was in town getting some tests run on her heart) and his son and another uncle of mine who came in with his wife, daughter and her two kids. So there was eleven of us in a three bedroom house.

No complaints though. I've certainly heard of worser conditions. I think at last count one woman at my job had twenty-two other people at her house.

I certainly ate well. We barbecued and the parental figure and her brother made breakfast for everyone every morning we were there (Thursday afternoon until Saturday afternoon). We also had more liquor than water at the house.

Every family that showed up took their own kind. My uncle and his son already had several cases of beer there. My brother brought a bottle of Jack, I with my vodka and my other uncle also brought a different kind of beer.

Goes to show what Hispanics take when they evacuate. We may being going through a tragedy but dammit if we aren't going to try and numb the pain!

However numbing wasn't necessary, seeing as to how by the time the storm hit it had moved far enough east and weakened so much that we hardly saw any rain and wind at all. I was actually a bit pissed because I took so much time to secure my things in my room and go through so much trouble to try and contact all my friends out of state and let them know where I'd be staying and etc and so on and NOTHING happens!

Sure the wind blew and the rain fell, but hell, as far as I know that could have just been God passing gas and spitting on us!

{Save your anti-blasphemous remarks for someone who hasn't heard them already}

Eh, but I'm young and the country is big. I'm bound to run into some more forces of nature another time.

The extent of my injuries over the past few days: 1) The trunk hood my my brother's car crashed down on my head as we we packing our things back into the cars. 2) I managed to stab myself in the toe with a toothpick that was lying around on the floor when I came back home and I was walking around (barefoot) unpacking what I had stored in my closet.

On top of all this I am sick at the moment. It's merely a cold right now. I'm waiting for that really cool gurgly sound in my lungs to start. That's when I know it's bronchitis. My voice is already beginning to crack and strain so it's only a matter of days before I won't be able to talk. Which is good for me at work because I'm stuck answering phones half the time and getting asked dumb questions and dealing with retarded people in general. So I get to shove that off on someone else.

I've been home two days and I still haven't contacted half the people I called before I left to let them know I'm still alive.

Heh, I'm tempted to let them sweat it out a little more.

Hmm . . . mass email time.

Random thought of the day: How old do you have to be before you STOP breaking out?

Road Trips

2005-09-05T23:28:00.000-06:00

My impulsiveness is going to get me into some SERIOUS trouble one day.

And until that day comes I'll continue tempting fate.

Heh.

Random thought of the day: Not so much as random 'thoughts' as a slideshow of random scenes from the movie 9 Songs. (Don't ask me why I'm smiling.)

Bridge over troubled waters

2005-08-31T20:52:00.000-06:00

I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when the 9-11 tragedy happened. I remember hearing the news on my favorite radio station as I got dressed for my first class the morning. I remember running to my living room and flipping through the news stations with my younger brother and watching in horror as people ran, screaming for their lives.

Then I remembered a friend of mine who lived just miles from downtown NYC.

I spent the next three hours, frantically calling him, only to get a busy signal or the operator.

Finally, after so long I was able to hear his voice and know that he was alive, upset and shaken, but alive. He had slept through it all.

Right now I find myself in somewhat of a similar situation. However this time it isn't planes crashing into buildings.

It's floodwaters rising in 'The Big Easy' and surrounding areas. I have friends in Louisiana. I have friends here in Houston who have families back in Louisiana. I can't tell you how many hours we've spent trying to call them. I know a couple of them have managed to make it out and to safety but who knows in what condition their homes may be in. And I know that's probably something we shouldn't worry about at the moment and the fact that they're alive should be priority, but I'd hate for them to lose their homes.

I can't even begin to imagine what that must feel like. To be hundreds of miles away from the place you've called home your entire life and not know if you even have a home to go back to. And these people aren't even sure when they can go back home. I've heard reports that some of these people won't be able to go back for weeks, maybe even months!

They're opening the Astrodome to the LA residents who seeked refuge in the Superdome during the storm. As I type buses of people are headed this way to get these people to safer land and hopefully have food, water and a place to sleep ready.

I forgot to ask one friend of mine about his dog. I'm sure he either took his pet with him or dropped him off at a local kennel, but even animals are being evacuated out of the state. Houston is now home to hundreds of LA pets and our city is starting to ship the poor things even further, to San Antonio and Brownsville. My friend may not even know where his dog is!

It's heartbreaking to watch these stories. I have people coming into my job from LA and we feel nothing but sympathy for them. I can't tell you how many times I've cried just looking at their faces. I've never been through anything like this. Sure Houston has had it's share of tornadoes and hurricanes and everyone who was around here in the summer of 2001 has their own Tropical Storm Allison story (my aunt lost her house), but it's NOTHING like what's going on now.

And it's going to take a long time before things are back to normal for these people. Or rather before they can start over.

*Sigh*

I really want to hear my friends' voices.

Random though of the day: Let the phone ring and let it be you.

My Best Friend's Wedding (The event, not the Julia Robert's flick)

2005-08-24T12:42:00.000-06:00

My best friend got married this past Saturday.

I was her maid of honor.

I've known this girl since I was a junior in highschool and she was a mere sophomore (I still love to tease her about the fact that she's younger than me yet everyone thinks it's the opposite) We met through a mutual friend of ours because I had something she wanted: several photographs of another friend of mine, a guy she had a huge crush on.

I used to find Andrea to be a bit much. She was always talking and laughing and saying the most inane things. But she gradually began to grow on me. I didn't see much of her in highschool, with her being a grade under me and I having early release so I was usually done with school before it was time for lunch (the only time we really mingled with classes under ours). In fact in wasn't until about several months after my friend and I finished highschool that all three of us started hanging out together.

We did the typical things teenage girls did: went to the movies, clubs, had a couple drunken episodes, etc and so on.

We were fine until I got ready to leave for Wyoming three years ago. I remember asking my friends to meet me at a particular place in the galleria area so I could talk to them. So we met, went to grab some food real fast and then came back to our spot. After eating and walking it off a bit I told them what had been on my mind.

Actually now that I think about it, I remember telling our friend on the phone first before telling Andrea about it face to face the following day.

She took it bad.

Real bad.

But we managed to stay friends throughout it all. It was our mutual pal who fell away from us. And to this day we aren't exactly sure why. We still wonder about her and her whereabouts. Last we heard she was still with the guy she was seeing at the time and she had a baby girl who's probably about a year or so by now.

But about this weekend . . . it was lovely.

Everything that could possibly go wrong did and tempers were flaring and panic attacks were of no short supply, but dammit we managed to pull it off.

And while I was so happy for my best friend for finally finding a man she loved and respected and having him love and respect her just as much I couldn't help but feel a slight bit jealous.

I was supposed to have been married by now. Not because I'm younger than her and she "beat me," but because I had found the love of my life and he had been trying to get me to marry him for nearly two years now and when I finally agree to it and go through all these measures to see that we do get married something happens and we now have to put it on hold.

I couldn't help feeling a bit detached at times while at my friend's wedding. A few times at the reception I snuck out and took a walk around. We were near a shallow wooded area and I remember walking on a worn path through the trees, dress hiked up to my ankles so as not to get it dirty and my pink flip flops (I had taken my heels off after the ceremony) leading the way. The wind was blowing ever so slightly, gently rustling the leaves and the night was warm. It's one of those moments straight out of a chick flick. We've all had them.

Only, my Prince Charming didn't come rushing in to rescue me away from myself while I was out there and wisk me away to the party and announce our re-engagement.

Instead, I walked back in, put on my happy face, grabbed my best friend's father and danced the night away.

I might have been sad.

I might have been tired.

I might have been depressed, but it was my girl's night and I was going to do whatever it took to cheer me up and honor a big step in her life.

(My favorite photo taken of the newlyweds.)

Random thought of the day: Sleep.

I HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU

2005-08-12T02:03:00.000-06:00

I HATE MY JOB.

I HATE THE STUPID PEOPLE THAT ARE SOMETIMES LEFT IN CHARGE AND DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO JACK SHIT.

I HATE THE FACT THAT I KNOW A SHITLOAD LOAD MORE ABOUT THEIR JOB THAN THEY DO AND HAVE TO DO IT YET GET PAID SIGNIFICANTLY LESS.

I HATE STUPID PEOPLE WHO CAN'T FOLLOW SIMPLE INSTRUCTIONS.

I HATE IMPATIENT PEOPLE.

I HATE PEOPLE WHO THINK THEY CAN HONESTLY CALL MY JOB'S CORPORATE OFFICE AND MAKE THEM DO SOMETHING ABOUT LIL' OLE ME JUST BECAUSE I AM SOFT SPOKEN AND HAVE TO RAISE MY VOICE THEREFORE LEADING THEM TO BELIEVE I AM YELLING AT THEM.

I HATE THE NEW CO-WORKERS WHO DON'T SHOW UP.

I HATE THE CO-WORKERS WHO ARE LAZY.

I HATE IT WHEN I GET SO MAD I WANT TO CRY (OR DO CRY, LIKE I AM NOW).

I HATE THE SOUND MY CAT MAKES WHEN HE MUNCHES ON HIS BUTT.

Wait a minute . . . {Laughs}.

Fuck.

Random thought of the day: {_}

Soundtrack of My Life

2005-08-10T00:37:00.000-06:00

I've been wanting to create a soundtrack for my life, well . . . my life thus far.

I always associate important events and people in my life with songs. My memory is horrible; however when I hear a certain song the memories start flooding back. And I've always wanted to take some time and jot down the songs in my life that bring back these memories.

And then I thought of another idea.

Why not make a cd with my "soundtrack?" It would be like any other cd I own, including the mixed cd's friends have given me over the years, because they are the short stories of my life. They're chapters. Moments in life I'll never forget. Memories of people I love and lost, look up to and can't live without.

So here they are, in no particular order:

1. Every life has to have a theme song. Mine is: My Way {Frank Sinatra}. Quite frankly, there is no other way.

2. My entire childhood can be wrapped up with the lyrics from: I Will Survive {Gloria Gaynor}. A bit of a cliche I know, but eh . . . no other song says it better for that period of time.

3. For me Nobody Knows {Tony Rich Project} will always be about harboring adolescent secrets.

4. On the night I got news of my grandfather's death One Sweet Day {Mariah Carey & Boyz II Men} was playing on the radio. I don't know if it was God's way of consoling me or what. Years later I've come to rely on that song when dealing with other family members' deaths.

5. Oh teenage angst! I think every girl my age has the same anthem: Survivor {Destiny's Child}. There were numerous bad break-ups, late night phone calls made, friends who ditched us for guys, tears shed and so many problems we had as young ladies, but we were always able to laugh it all off over a fudge sundae in our favorite diner at 2:00 in the morning.

6. After the news of 9/11 begin to subside and the music aired once again on the radios one of the songs playing was Only Time {Enya}, sprinkled with haunting news commentary. It will forever remain a song that will remind me of when our lives changed forever.

7. My inspiration, my muse, someone who took the time to help me discover myself. This song is dedicated to you: The Sweetest Gift {Sade}.

8. Somewhere Out There {Our Lady Peace} is my 'coming out of my shell' song. It inspired me to be brave, do something bold, like fall in love. If I remember correctly I was whispering the lyrics as I was dangling a few hundred feet in the air, waiting to be dropped in a net, hanging below.

9. I'm still not sure why I chose You're Still You {Josh Groban} for my soundtrack, other than to say that the first time I heard it was when the singer appeared on the very last episode of All McBeal. And it moved me so much I wept.

10. I remember riding through the canyons in Utah, hearing Wide Open Spaces {Dixie Chicks} on the radio. Any other moment could not have been more perfect. In the back of my mind I play this song on every single road trip I've ever taken, be it in the back seat of a car going to Kemah or in a greyhound bus going to Michigan.

11. The song I had with my ex: Velveteen {Sponge}. The love we had for one another was so intense at times that it felt like we couldn't breathe without the other, which was hard because we were constantly fighting. The relationship was brief, but the ride . . . incredible.

12. Yet another song of which I'm not sure of why I find on my soundtrack, other than to say It Never Entered My Mind {Miles Davis} always makes me think of those days in college when I'm sitting on my desk, peering out the huge window in my dorm on the fourth floor, looking out at the sun rising over the mountains and not having a single care in the world.

13. Stay {Lisa Loeb} isn't exactly about a particular time in my life or a particular person. It just makes me think of how self-centered and selfish I can be and completely oblivious to other people and their needs and best interest. I don't realize some of the most important people in my life are gone or I've missed opportunities until it's too late.

14. Heh. I can wrap up the early years of my current relationship up in one word: Complicated {Avril Lavigne}. I don't necessarily mean that in a bad way. It's just that this song seemed to be a prelude from the beginning. My fiance and I heard it one night as we were driving down I-80 at 120 mph in the snow. We were stilll 'just friends' at that time. I didn't realize things would turn out the way they did. Throw in the distance factor, some problems with the law, our parents not knowing we initially met over the Internet and you've got a lot of problems. All worth fighting for though.

15. The video for Show Me How To Live {Audioslave} began my obsession with the band and another struggle with self discovery, mainly fighting off the negativity I was receiving from my parents concerning my relationship and trying to decipher my wants from theirs. I 'rebelled' late in life and tried my damnedest to get away from that 'prodigal daughter' image.

16. If there was ever a break-up song, it would have to be: That Particular Time {Alanis Morissette}. Why, you ask? Listen to it. It's so perfect. A girl would have done anything to have kept her man. But then she realizes in doing that she was deserting herself, her wants, her needs and her desires. So she does the hardest thing she can do. She leaves him, for good.

17. There are times when I want to forego this period of time I have to wait to be with the one I love and instead secretly whisper Come Away With Me {Norah Jones} to a friend of mine, whom I love just as much, because sometimes it hurts too much and sometimes it's lonely and sometimes I wish I knew him years and years ago.

18. My fiance's and my 'song:' Unchained Melody {Righteous Brothers}. The words are pretty clear.

19. I used to find myself playing the role of 'therapist' when it came to my circle of friends. The late night phone calls and crying sessions seemed endless, but as I grew older and my very close friends grew fewer I found the roles being reversed. In the song, Breathe {Anna Nalick} I can hear someone else's voice consoling me and letting ME know I'll be alright.

20. Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life) {Green Day} is the song I want played at my funeral. Hopefully upon hearing this song everyone in attendance will be able to say, "Yeah, she made good of the time she had."

* Bonus Track: Again {Lenny Kravitz}, because Lenny is just cool.

* Hidden Track: Bad Day {Fuel}, because dammit I LOVE that song!

I realize the list is long, but the way I see it . . . it'll just have to be a dual disc soundtrack. It'll be available when I die, which, hopefully, won't be for a very long time. {By then all but two songs probably will have changed. Either that or I'll have added a hundred more songs, making my 'soundtrack' into a boxed set.}

Random thought of the day: I am blown away by the generosity of strangers.

Under Construction

2005-08-08T10:53:00.000-06:00

I hate Mondays.

Hmm . . . maybe 'hate' is not a strong enough word.

I LOATHE Mondays.

There, that's better.

Have you ever been woken up at 7:30 in the morning on a Monday after getting next to no sleep the night before?

And not just woken up by an alarm clock or your pet cat who insists you feed him that very second, but have you ever been woken up by such a horrible rumbling sound that you forget you're in a state where most of the population doesn't use the word "earthquake" in their vocabulary, yet you fail to remember that and fall out of your hammock onto the floor?

*Mutters*

I hate construction men, with their saws and hammers and pounding nails in walls and pants that sag below their waist and put on display their butts which have more crack than Harlem.

They're doing a lot of remodeling to the apartment units I currently live in: replacing damaged exterior parts (I'm not technical, so don't ask) and repainting and things of that nature. Every weekday they're at it.

And today they chose to start my unit, hence the morning wake-up call.

On top of that, I only slept about five hours last night after being so wired on caffeine last night and then being kept up by my ex, who I found out called my place from his base out of state while I was on vacation and talked to the parental figure and asked her for my whereabouts so he could stop my marriage to my fiance.

I'm hoping he was drunk when he called. That way I can use his drunkenness as an excuse for his behavior when my mom asks. Which, by the way, she did not bring up until yesterday, before I left for work, two weeks AFTER I get back home.

Not that I really mind because in the state of mind I was in when I got back home (unmarried, long story) two weeks ago I was so depressed and sad that I doubt I could have handled the news.

He still didn't tell me if he was drunk or not.

But he's on his way OUT of the military due to an injury and is insisting on seeing me on his way home. He's driving through Houston on his way to Florida.

I need a valid excuse not to be around that day(s).

And I was a complete asshole to a really good friend of mine last night, making him feel guilty simply for being the cool person that he is.

Add on top of that . . . there's the fact that I keep smelling paint, which the ex told me was probably just the bacteria I'm smelling because I have chronic bronchitis and when the bacteria gets in my sinuses it causes the air to smell differently to me, hence the highness from paint I'm always on.

It's kind of fun actually. My nasal passages are open wider and the smell makes me giggle a lot, but that could also be because of . . . ah yeah, well, nevermind.

And, I just ate a whole package of those sizzler type breakfast sausages with pancake syrup for breakfast!

I'm trying to lose weight!

Mind you, I'm not one of those sickly anorexic type girls who's a 12 in kids' sizes and drinks nothing but water all the time and freaks out when she eats a cracker. I'm about average size with hips, an ass and a mere handful of breasts, but my boyfriend thinks I'm the sexiest person alive and quite honestly I feel pretty.

I can eat a medium pepperoni pizza from Pizza Hut by myself when I'm hungry and chug down a few bottles of Smirnoff Ice with the best of them, but right now, I want to look damn good in my dress for my best friend's wedding (Which I won't have until the 15th, five days before her wedding. God I hope it won't need any alterations) and that means shedding a few pounds, or at least toning the tummy a little.

But I like foooooooooooooood.

And vodka.

I'll just have to start my running ritual again. I've got two weeks. I can do it.

Unless, of course, I die from heat exhaustion. In that case I'll have an excuse not to march down the aisle with that creepy, boring blind date I was forced on a few years back.

Woohoo!

Things are beginning to look up after all.

Random thought of the day: Seering pain near my left temple.

Pedestals

2005-07-29T22:42:00.000-06:00

I find myself forming relationships with my friends' moms as of lately.

It's a bit odd for me in that I always thought if a young person had an extremely close relationship with someone older than them who wasn't a parent then something must be missing from the relationship they had with their parent, be it mother or father.

I've always had relationships with older men, mind you platonic, fatherly type relationships. Of course that stems from a lack of communication with my father and craving that closeness.

However with women it was a different story. I never could get close to another woman, be it a girl my age or an older woman. Sure there were those who looked out for me and wanted to take me under their wing, but I never strayed far from my mom.

And now, it seems like I'm suddenly someone my friends' moms try and keep in touch with and I find myself doing the same. You want to know the funny thing though?

These "moms" are moms of guys I've come across the Internet.

Beyond scanned photographs, they've never laid eyes on me.

And they know this (of how me and their sons met). In fact, one mom tried for months to get me and her son to "hook up {laughs}."

But that's beyond the point.

I remember exactly where I was when the image I had of my perfect mother was shattered, therefore causing me to venture for the first time, in search of a saint.

We were at her job. She, one of her friends and I were sitting around talking. I don't remember what it was, but I know it was something personal and the conversation between my mom and I got heated very fast. I was mad at her for something stupid, but then my true frustrations came out, namely about her and the few men she was dating at the time (one of which said some very inappropriate things to me {I was 16 at the time}).

I never wanted her and my father to get back together, yet at the same time I also wasn't prepared for her selfishness and "needs" in the relationships she had. It threw me for a loop when she implied that she was simply using the men she dated.

Secretly, I never forgave her for that comment. I thought she was a better, stronger person than that. And I know it happens all the time and you can see this display of selfish behavior plastered on any daytime talk show, but this is real life. This is my own mom.

After that I unknowingly closed myself up to her for awhile. No personal thoughts escaped. No dreams or wishes. I barely spoke to her.

Pedestals are a very dangerous thing.

Placing people on them when they aren't asked to be put there can cause quite a bit of heartache when the stand is swept from underneath their butt. Your world is turned upside down and the person you thought you knew and loved is now a traitor in your eyes and you both have to work twice as hard to try and rebuild what you once had.

Not to mention it isn't very fair, to either of you, but especially to them. They know they aren't perfect.

As I know I'm not. And being told by someone I love that I am 'perfect' is frightening because one day I'm going to mess up. I'm going to hurt them in such a way that they won't ever look at me the same. And that scares me more than anything.

I'm trying to climb down the pedestal while he's grabbing my ass and pushing me up.

I want to scream: Look at me; I bite my nails. I hate make-up and dressing up. I'm NOT rail thin. I DON'T have a flat stomach. I forget important things. I drink too much caffeine and eat too much junk food and not enough "real" food. I'm lazy about exercising sometimes. I don't sleep enough. I'm not as smart as you think I am.

I'm human.

Random thought of the day: cocoa butter

History Lesson

2005-07-27T04:45:00.000-06:00

I've made lists of events that happened on a particular day for my friend's birthdays and included them in their birthday cards.

Most have found the lists interesting and even a bit "cool," so I figured, Eh, why not do it for myself?

So here we are, a list of events in history on this, my (25th) birthday:

*1996: Bomb explodes at Atlanta Olympic Park, 1 killed, 110 injured

*1993: Mafia bombs historical buildings in Rome/Milan/Vatican City, 5 killed

*1990: Zsa Zsa Gabor begins a 3 day jail sentence for slapping a cop

*1988: Boston's worst traffic jam in 30 years (Pfft . . . come to Houston!)

*1979: France performs nuclear test

*1977: John Lennon is granted a green card for permanent residence in U.S.

*1969: Pioneer 10 launched

*1965: President Johnson signs a bill requiring cigarette makers to print health warnings on all cigarette packages about the effects of smoking

*1959: William Shea announces he plans to have a baseball team in New York City in 1961

*1954: Armistice divides Vietnam into two countries

*1949: 1st jet-propelled airline, De Havilland Comet, flies

*1947: Yogi Berri starts record 148 game errorless streak

*1945: U.S. Communist Party forms

*1940: Bugs Bunny debuts in "Wild Hare"

*1919: Chicago race riot, 15 whites and 23 blacks killed, 500 injured

*1909: Orville Wright tests 1st U.S. Army airplane, flying 1h12m40s

*1888: Philip Pratt unveils 1st electric automobile

*1862: Hurricane hits Canton; about 40,000 die

*1844: Fire destroys U.S. mint at Charlotte, North Carolina

*1837: U.S. Mint opens in Charlotte, North Carolina

*1789: Congress establishes Department of Foreign Affairs, State Department

*1694: Bank of England granted 12 year charter by Act of Parliament

*1586: Sir Walter Raleigh brings 1st tobacco to England from Virginia

*1365: Isabella of England marries Enguerrand of Coucy at Windsor

*1298: Albert I, son of Rudolf of Habsburg, crowned Holy Roman Emperor

*432: St. Celestine I ends his reign as Catholic Pope

Random thought of the day: What? Are you kidding me? It's 4:44 a.m.! It's too damn early in the morning to be thinking of anything! And it's my birthday! As it is most of this post was cut and paste!

Heh

i am sad

2005-07-22T09:26:00.000-06:00

I find myself using my thumb to gently caress the edge of a book, a water bottle, my other hand . . . my cheek.

He told me his buddies have to literally drag him away from the part of the yard that overlooks the front of the building.

We're over 1600 miles apart and yet, we can't stop hoping that maybe one of these moments we'll look up and see the other's face.

Random thought of the day: The past nine days.

Runaway

2005-07-12T14:49:00.000-06:00

I'll be on hiatus for the next week and a half.

Here are some things I've found myself saying over and over again as of lately:

"It's MY decision."

"You don't know what I know."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't know if I can go through with this."

And just as of yesterday: "Thank-you."

Random thought of the day: 1 more week!!!

Vacation

2005-07-09T23:56:00.000-06:00

As of three hours ago I am officially on VACATION for the next two weeks.

That is all.

Random thought of the day: 9.5 more days!!!

Survivor: The Mall

2005-07-07T15:24:00.000-06:00

I despise malls.

Seriously.

They aren't what they used to be. And being the summer and all it's filled with tanned college students with too many credit cards and not enough to do; so if you're over the age of twenty-two with a job you look out of place.

It almost feels like an episode of Survivor with different challenges in order to obtain the immunity stick.

My goal was to buy a dress {mutters}. So after trying several department stores in the area I was forced to make the trip to the dreaded mall.

(I swear every time I even SAY that word I hear the song from Jaws going off.)

So I walk into . . . THE MALL . . . in the middle of the day and immediately I feel like I've walked into Hollywood. Not that I've ever been to Hollywood or California in general but I'd imagine it to be filled with beautiful people*. The guys have sun bleached hair and walk around in knee length khaki shorts with sandals and polo shirts with little alligators or crocodiles on their shirts and the girls wear calf length ruffled skirts and fitted tank tops, also adorning sandals on their feet, usually pink or silver and they MUST be sparkly. Their hair is usually up in a messy ponytail, pulled away from their face. And EVERYONE is wearing those plastic bracelets with the phrases on them that Lance Armstrong made famous.

Whoever says eugenics is no longer practiced has obviously never been to . . . THE MALL.

Hitler would have fun there.

Moving on, so as I'm walking through the major stores I have to go through the small colony of make-up counters in order to get to the clothes. And us girls who actually PREFER to be natural know what it's like walking through the make-up counters at department stores.

{Cue the Jaws song.}

The whole thing is in slow motion.

It might take thirty seconds to walk through the area, but it FEELS like thirty minutes.

And you're naked.

And everyone is whispering and judging you.

"God, if she'd just let me get my hands on her I KNOW I can do wonders for her face."

That was one of the thoughts I overheard yesterday as I was walking through the coyotes (make-up 'artists' they call themselves).

I kept telling myself: Do not make eye contact. Once you do, they'll see that as an opportunity to wrap their tentacles around you and suck you into their world.

And I was doing fine until I thought I heard a familiar voice and I looked up and, "Oh Fuck!"

I caught the eye of this Fabio look-alike, only thinner, with black hair and a gay accent.

He was talking to his female counterpart and when he laid his eyes on me she turned and caught me too. I had that whole deer in the headlights look going on.

Luckily I was nearing the clothes and as soon as they opened their mouth I RAN for it.

Literally, ran!

It's great exercise at . . . THE MALL.

And they have music too.

Speaking of which, what's up the club music in . . . THE MALL? I know they're trying to create an 'atmosphere' and such, but seriously, who wants to dance while they're shopping? If they want us to dance and have a good time they should have an open bar!

However, in . . . THE MALL at least you don't have to worry about some salivating guy with his limp dick in his hand making goo-goo eyes at you while he drones on about his gout problems as I seem to encounter in some clubs.

Moving on to the next challenge: the guys in all courtyards of ALL malls who try and get you to switch your cell phone service providers.

Again, as with the make-up people, the key is to avoid eye contact.

I was given six different pitches yesterday, two times were from THE SAME guy.

When I told him he had already asked me to switch he replied with, "Oh, you just look different."

"I let my hair down."

Idiots.

So anyway, after six hours of mall walking and trying my damnedest to find a decent dress and managing to find a skirt and blouse that worked together I hightailed it out of there.

Only to get rained on.

Four shopping bags filled with three pairs of shoes, a skirt and blouse and a smoothie in one hand and I got rained on.

*Shakes head*

{If you want to read more about the luck I have try looking at this.}

However rain's never really bothered me, nor getting wet ('scuse the innuendo) so I shrugged it off and went about my merry way. Besides, I made it out of . . . THE MALL and without the need of an immunity stick!

* By "beautiful people" I mean by Barbie Doll standards.

Random thought of the day {Okay, so maybe it's isn't SO random any more}: 12 more days!!!

New Beginnings

2005-06-28T23:44:00.000-06:00

Miss Tyler Gabriele (Yes, one 'L') made her world debut this afternoon at approximately 3:30 Central time (My brother and his wife live in Virginia).

She weighed in at 6 lbs 9 oz.

According to the parental figure, who called to give me the news while I was at work, there were a few complications during my sister-in-law's labor (she had to have a cesarean) and the baby's vital signs dropped a bit low and she had to fight a bit, but after a short time everyone was okay and doing well.

I, on the other hand, am one big sobbing mess.

You see, this little girl doesn't realize it yet, but her birth and life will forever be very important to both of her families.

My brother is 23 at the moment; his wife, 20. Up until now he could have had two other children. He had a different girlfriend when he was 17 and she ended up having a miscarriage at five months.

It nearly killed him.

She (my brother's wife) could have had two as well. She was pregnant with another man's child before and had an abortion.

This last time, about three years ago my brother's wife (then girlfriend) got pregnant. She was only 17 and still staying with her parents and going to highschool. My brother was already in the Navy and at the time was home on leave before he left for basic training.

Her parents, step-father especially, were pissed that she got pregnant and basically gave her an ultimatum. One of three things were going to happen: either a) she have an abortion, b) they press charges against my brother for statutory rape or c) she moves out. Being a 17-year old expectant mother and student with only a part time job wasn't going to cut it so that choice was pretty much out.

My brother wanted this child more than anything in the world, yet at the same time (and understandably) didn't want to risk calling her old man's bluff and getting thrown in jail so he did what he thought best. He left the choice up to her.

And after so many days and what I assume to be long, heartfelt conversations with my brother she made what was probably one of the toughest decisions of her life.

She had the abortion.

And this time it nearly killed both him and her. How they managed to remain together after all they went through I honestly don't know. But they did. And now they have a daughter who will forever be somewhat of a miracle for them. After so much heartache and regrets and "what ifs" they finally have something to share that will stand for all the love and work they put into their relationship.

My niece.

She is the first grandchild for either of the four parents involved.

I am her only blood related aunt.

She has five blood related uncles (my three other brothers and two more on her mom's side).

She is a fighter. As are we. We all fought for this little girl.

She is bi-racial.

She has black hair.

From what my brother tells me she looks like her mother.

She is tiny.

She is perfect . . .

. . . and she is ours.

Random thought of the day: 21 days!!!

Show and Tell

2005-06-24T22:45:00.000-06:00

Someone told me yesterday that I look a lot like my father.

So anyway, I was off yesterday and today, however by the lack of sleep and food and the sudden attack of midday naps you wouldn't know that. I swear I'm more exhausted after two off days than I am after working two weeks straight.

Go figure.

But as I was saying, I find myself surrounded by wedding craziness the past couple days. My best friend, Andrea, is getting married in August. I am her maid of honor.

Heh.

It's my first time being a maid of honor.

Actually it's my first time even being IN a wedding.

And I'm nervous. Not only is she counting on me to make sure all hell doesn't break loose, but I know I have a speech to make at the reception and I have the GREAT (note the sarcasm here) honor of walking down the aisle with her groom's little brother, Chad.

Chad and I have a . . . history.

We went on ONE {(forced) blind} date, on my birthday, two years ago. Apparently Andrea and her boyfriend thought he and I would make a 'good' couple.

Ha. I still haven't forgiven her for that date.

Don't get me wrong, the date wasn't all THAT bad. We all went to Kemah the day after my birthday and ate dinner and went on what could have been a very romantic boat ride at sunset had Chad and I known one another a little longer. On the way home we sat in the backseat and talked in whispers and started falling asleep on one another's shoulders (Something about the water does that to me).

As we're dropping him off the other two leave us alone in the backseat and yeah, I'll admit, there was a few kisses, but that was it. No groping or heavy breathing or gum swapping of any kind.

The End. Right?

WRONG.

The phone calls started the day after. At first I thought it was kind of sweet, but then the guy just started showing stalker tendencies, wanting to know where I was when I wasn't answering his calls at all hours of the day and overanalyzing what I perceived to be a very innocent goodnight kiss.

According to him, however, my lips were telling him, "Marry me, now."

Alright, I know body language can say a lot, especially a kiss, but when you start talking about how your mama said you two would "make some pretty kids," it might start to scare a girl.

And I thought it was the woman who was supposed to confuse sex with commitment.

So anyway, yeah, I'm forced to walk down the aisle with this guy. I'll be wearing my Nike's instead of heels and practically running down the aisle. Unless of course I can get Andrea to switch the best man (Chad) and the next guy in line and then I'll get a chance to walk with Andrea's brother Marcus, which is just fine by me seeing as to how we're already buddies, and he's married so there won't be any tomfoolery of any kind. We'll get wasted together but I doubt we'll be making out, especially since his wife is standing in the wedding as well.

But I have to remember this is her wedding and not mine.

I'm selfish. I can't help it.

Random thought of the day: 25 days!!!

Father's Day

2005-06-19T21:34:00.000-06:00

Two people, friends of mine and my brother's, called to wish my mother a Happy Father's day.

*Smiles*

Random thought of the day: 30 days!!!

FF

2005-06-10T23:06:00.000-06:00

A recent letter to my fiance:

"Dear {Nickname withheld},

Working with the public I am constantly asked, "How are you doing?" Whether or not the question is being asked because the person is being polite or because they genuinely care about my well being they recieve the same answer, "Spiffy."

Now, you don't hear the word 'Spiffy' very often. Rarely as a matter of fact. The word has all but become extinct, just like 'tresses' and 'lad' and 'yonder.' But I like it. I can't remember where I picked it up or even when I started using it in my daily conversation, but I use it constantly, either getting a strange look or a small laugh from whomever is asking the question.

I think it has a lot to do with the fact that it contains a double 'f.'

I have a 'thing' about that. I like the word "waffles," too (plural). I don't eat very many waffles because I can't use syrup because syrup makes me gag, and yeah, long story, but it's another word I like.

So you could imagine my excitement if you ever developed a stutter and we were in bed one night and you reached over, grabbed me passionately and whispered in my ear, "F-f-f-f-f-f-f-uck me!"

{Laughs} Yeah . . . I know."

And this is a "normal" letter for me (between him and I anyway).

Random thought of the day: 39 days!!!

Pain: How would you handle it?

2005-06-07T23:37:00.000-06:00

I spent an hour in a chat room talking to some girl I barely know. Naturally we were talking about (what else) sex.

And before you guys go and get all hot and bothered let me stop you in your tracks and say, it wasn't what you think.

She told me about a time she got raped, the babies she miscarried and lost and things of that nature. She didn't come off as the type that was trying to gain sympathy nor did she try and belittle my experiences when I told her what happened to me when I was younger. She listened, asked a few questions, as I did with her and she laughed.

She was self-conscious about her looks and weight and complained of being "fat," but not to the point where one would yell, "Would you shut the hell up already." No, she said she was in the process of losing weight, but wouldn't let the numbers on the scale rule her life. She appeared optimistic about the whole thing. And throughout our entire conversation something my co-worker said kept replaying itself in my head.

He mentioned that he'd never feel bad for anyone. He would and is capable (we worry about him sometimes) of sympathizing with someone, but would never feel sorry for them because he wouldn't want anyone feeling sorry for him.

{Yes there is a difference, but I'm too tired to explain.}

And you know, I'm almost certain said girl would have stopped chatting long before we got into the rapes and miscarriage had I kept saying, "I'm sorry," for everything that had happened before she mentioned that. I don't think she was necessarily looking for a shoulder to cry on, maybe someone to listen to her, but she didn't seem like she wanted to cry. So why feel bad for her?

What happened didn't kill her. She seems to have a good grip on reality and her life and what she wants, add to the fact that I personally know a bit about what she went through and I know what it's like to have to live through it everyday of your life. She's well adjusted as far as I know. She kept her humor about her.

And it's people like her who are able to laugh at life's stupid, petty problems that make me realize that society tends to feel sorry for the wrong kind of people. Just because someone is handed a bad hand in the game of life doesn't mean it's time to fold.

It's the people who've never felt pain in the way that makes them question their own life. You know those kind of people who get everything handed to them and their parents live to be like ninety after dying of old age and marry their highschool sweetheart and have five kids and live "happily ever after?"

Yeah, imagine if one day tragedy struck them. How would THEY handle it when they've had no practice?

Random thought of the day: Six weeks to the day!

Pit Stops

2005-06-02T21:04:00.000-06:00

There's a map of the United States hanging above my lamp on my wall. On it are thumb tacks holding small scraps of paper with my friends' names on them, placed within the state they currently live in. Since I started this almost three years ago I've moved them several times. At first it looked like a giant, lopsided circle, now, with more thumb tacks and more names it looks like the inside of my head: chaotic.

I love my friends.

The wanderers, the movers and shakers, the hitchhikers and the ones who go to extremes in search of a dream, a school, a job, or a girl.

The thumbtack in New Jersey is Robert (originally from Korea). He seriously contemplated marrying a girl so she could get her green card. He's the guy I came across one night last year in a dominoes chat room and then we met face to face in Miami four weeks after that.

John's (originally from Kansas) scrap of paper, currently in Altoona, Florida, is the most recent one even though I've known him the longest. It's been going on four years since we started corresponding. His mom recently got back in touch with me and I found out he and some friends will be taking a road trip next week and he may drop by for a visit. This guy is notorious for dropping everything and just taking off.

My fiance (originally from Michigan) is in his home state at the moment. {Laughs} In his travels he's covered all but three states: California, Oregon and Hawaii. We're determined to buy an RV one day and travel the country for months at a time.

T.J. (originally from Georgia) is John's cousin and currently resides in Salina, Kansas. He wants to pull a Forest Gump and buy a shrimp boat and become rich that way. Hey if he can pull it off (and knowing him he will) it'd be awesome.

My ex (originally from Miami) is in the Army and is based in Lawton, Oklahoma. I'm actually surprised he joined the Army seeing as to how he's incredibly close to his family. I doubt he'll stray very far once he gets out but even still, the experience must have been one of a kind for him.

Now, I would have mentioned that Lacy (originally from Utah) & Willy (not sure where he was born, but it was either WY, NV or UT) were in Rock Springs, Wyoming, but I just found out (literally an hour ago) that they moved to Olympia, Washington!!! They don't know how stoked I am for them. These guys, heh, they're determined to find a school they "fit into." They've traveled to Florida last year to check out colleges, but quickly dismissed the idea because they weren't well accepted by the locals. So they went back to Wyoming and tried applying elsewhere and a few weeks ago they found out WA wants them! They're looking into grad schools In Texas or Utah as we speak (after they finish in Olympia). And I'm looking into plane tickets to the West Coast so I can see them.

From WA state come all the way down south, head east, swing by my hometown of Houston, Texas and you'll end up in southern Louisiana where this guy lives. I swear he's been everywhere with me because I document everything and have tons of crap from all these places, everything from dream catchers to keychains and postcards to T-shirts and photographs. He's seen parts of the country through my eyes. It's been one hell of a ride.

And my mom wonders why I have a thing for strays.

Heh.

Their stories!

Read this book: On The Road. After reading it I DARE you not to tell me you aren't itching to find out what life has to offer outside the little box you live in!

Random thought of the day: My vacation next month!

Ode To Rain

2005-05-30T22:21:00.000-06:00

I love the rain.

If it played a role in the modern family Rain would be the abusive, drunken step-father. He would drive up in his old, beat up '89 Chevy pick-up truck, get out, reach over for his twelve pack of Budweiser in the passenger seat and walk into the house. He'd look over at us kids playing in the driveway with our toys and ask, "Where's your mama?"

"She inside," we'd say in unison, with a slow southern drawl.

He'd go in, popping open a can of beer, yelling her name and slamming the door behind him. Us kids knew better than to follow him in. This was his and mama's time. It never changed from day to day. And as the sun would start to set and the wind begin to pick up we'd slowly find our way inside to see beer cans strewn about and dinner on the table for us kids, but no parents in sight. So we'd eat in peace before retiring to our rooms to do our homework and say our prayers before bedtime.

In the middle of the night we'd be awoken with a start. Our sweet dreams if sugar plums and fairies and childish nonsense would fade quickly as we hear mama and daddy arguing. Daddy would threaten to kill mama and mama would threaten to leave him if he ever tried.

Then we'd hear the slap. Thunder. That first slap always shook our bones in our skins. We knew we were in for one hell of a storm after that. It might be loud and fast or it could linger on for hours, but it was going to do some damage.

Sometimes we'd hear the winds howl during a storm and we'd know it was mama crying. Through all of his slaps and punches and kicks she'd do nothing but cry and cry and cry until she could cry no more. After which it was silent. Daddy would crack open another beer and start drinking. Mama might whisper something to enrage him, or maybe she'd start to move, whatever it was Daddy wouldn't like it and he'd start in again on the beating.

By now Mama would be too exhausted to cry and she'd just sit there and take it. Slap after slap.

Mmm . . . thunder. You never fail to let us know you are there. You're so boorish and loud at first and slowly fade into a quiet "thump" sound. However you still leave your imprint on her face, as you do in our ears when not another sound is being made in the entire house.

It's just another night. We've heard your destructiveness for years so much so we're becoming desensitized.

"Go back to sleep," I tell brother. They're just arguing again.

He looks frightened, so I go over and crawl in next to him, whisper, "It'll be okay. You'll see the sun shining in the morning and everything will be okay." I place my hands over his ears and we fall asleep like that. We try and remain hopeful, as kids do, that tomorrow will bring blue skies.

*Sigh*

How I love rain.

Random thought of the day: Not enough Coke makes me deliciously sleepy.

Don't Watch Don't Move

2005-05-24T00:34:00.000-06:00

Do you know what got me about this Italian flick {Don't Move} I saw yesterday?

Whoever made the movie I'm sure, wanted you to feel something for the main characters, Timoteo & Italia. The problem: I can't feel sorry for the brute of the man who first RAPED the woman and then started taking advantage of her every time after that even making her feel like a whore by paying her at the end of the "deed." I can't feel sorry for the "tainted soul" who lets this asshole do this to her. I can't even feel sorry for the spoiled bitch of a wife the guy is married to who probably drove him to having an affair.

While everything in the movie IS believable (I'm sure it happens all the time. Turn on Oprah or Ricki Lake and you'll see it) the fact that they're so supposedly in love with one another is a crock. At one point in the movie they show Timoteo holding up the jar Italia uses to put all the money he gives her. Initially I thought he was going to steal it. But then they move on with the movie and it seems to me that shortly before that point he probably stopped paying her for sex, but then resumed because he knew she was saving. After all she was a hotel maid and by looking at her living conditions you knew she wasn't making much.

Later on Italia tells Timo about a time when she was a kid and was raped when trying on a dress in a van.

Even later than that she tells him it was her own father who had raped her.

Okay . . . I get it. She's been made to feel like an object her entire life. Point taken. But why does she let herself? She gave me the impression that she's been taken advantage of several times and not all while she was a child either. And what pisses me off more than anything is the scene in the movie where she and Timo are laying on the ground, wrapped in an embrace and she says something along the lines, "Come once a week, one a month, once a year. Just come back."

WHAT THE FUCK?

I suppose being a strong-minded female, more importantly, a strong-minded AMERICAN female it's been drilled into my head to fight off someone who is hurting me physically, to report them to the police, tell a friend, tell my mom, tell a priest for fuck's sake, something, not fall in love with the asshole! We mock people like this who appear on day time talk shoes, snot faced and claim, "But when he beats me he's doing it out of love. I wouldn't know what to do if he ever left me."

And yes, I also get that she's weak and has no close family nearby and all that jazz, but come on. Their relationship is purely based on sex. Not 'love making,' but good ole, down and dirty fucking. At the beginning she's half heartedly trying to beat him off but then slowly succumbs to everything he does.

She ends up pregnant. Big surprise eh? Those crazy Italians don't seem to believe in contraceptives.

It's about this time that Timo tells Italia he's going to leave his wife.

Oops . . . did I not mention that he was married while this other "passionate" affair was going on? Yeah well, he's married (and doesn't bother hiding the ring either).

Anyway, he promises her the proverbial 'fairy tale' ending. Five minutes later he finds out his wife is also pregnant. {In our time it was five minutes.}

Can you say dilemma?

Long story short: He stays with his wife who is seemingly oblivious to the entire thing. Italia finds out. She has an abortion. He finds her nine months later. He fucks her in an alley when he finds her. She tells him about the abortion. He's pissed because he wanted the child. Here's where I get madder. She tells him she's leaving town. They spend one last night together. She misses her train in the morning because she's yelling at her dog. He offers to drive her. On the way there they stop for dinner and "sleep." She starts getting sick. He takes her to the hospital and finds out her stomach is full of blood due to the botched abortion. She dies a short time after he operates on her.

Boo fucking hoo.

This entire affair is a backdrop to the present. Timo is having these flashbacks as he's pacing the floors of the hospital he works at (he's a surgeon), waiting of word of his daughter's condition (she had a motorbike accident at the very beginning of the movie). Honestly, the only part that tugged at the heart strings even the slightest bit was when Elsa (Timo's wife) was stroking her daughter's bald head as she lay unconscious and told her that she'd cut her hair also so they could wear sunglasses and look like dorks together.

Other than that the movie did nothing for me. I've seen characters like these in movies before. Usually though they grow a conscious. And while I wasn't expecting your typical "happy ending" (that's what's so boring about most American movies) I had also hoped SOMEONE would redeem themselves in the end.

More than anything I wanted Italia to stand up to Timo. Slap him, call the affair off, bite his right testicle off like this woman did and leave him screaming her name (as I'm sure most would-be rapists know the names of their victims, pfftt), ANYTHING!

But alas, that didn't happen. Italia died a slut. Timo was selfish the entire movie up until the last moment when he practically beat his daughter back to life (You can argue that he was trying to resuscitate her, but seriously, to me he looked like he was beating her). And Elsa, as far as I'm concerned was still a bitch; however a little bit more warm-hearted. Even the doctor friend of Timo's was a piece of shit; he also paid women for sex. It's actually a surprise to me when he tells his friend that his wife left him (woohoo, someone has some common sense in this movie).

The only character I'd hope to feel anything for was the good (ha) doctor's teenage daughter, Angela, who appeared to have been his entire happiness after losing Italia, but her character is underdeveloped and the audience doesn't have the chance to find out just what type of relationship she had with her father (though it's implied they were close).

Moral of the story: Girls, if you want an active sex life marry an Italian.

God, I need a cigarette.

Random thought of the day: Dehydration is a bitch.

*'Scuse my use of four letter words, but it's kind of obvious I was upset that I wasted $6.00 and two hours of my day off on something that will be out on DVD this summer.

A Second New Year's Day

2005-05-19T14:41:00.000-06:00

Which Family Guy character are you?

Okay, I have been pondering something all day. I was listening to my favorite people on the radio this morning when one of the disc jockey's mentioned that yesterday (May 18) was supposed to be the best day for resolutions, being that it was the 'most positive' day of the year.

Why yesterday you ask? Well after much time and calculations by some doctor who apparently had too much time on his hands he came up with his answer using a simple equation: M x O + Bh (H+R) x S.

You can look for yourself to find out what the variables stand for.

This is the same guy who came up with the date January 24, 2005 as being the 'most depressing' day of the year.

Apparently the good doctor doesn't pay much in taxes come April 15th.

Anyway, so this got me to thinking about resolutions and promises we make to ourselves throughout the year and just certain types of phenomena happening around the same time every year.

For instance, did you know criminal acts are a peak during the summer months? Especially violent and property crimes?

Is this merely a coincidence?

Or is it possible criminals knew about the whole 'Resolution Day' before the doctor did? Do you think they sit around on this 'positive' of all days and make promises to themselves about all the people they're going to murder or the houses they will burglarize in order to keep their quota?

Personally, I think they have the right attitude {I mean, not about KILLING someone or stealing their stuff . . . Gawd, that's just crazy.} about keeping their promises and being good at what they do, or at least doing a lot of it. God only knows I can't stick to an exercise regime for an extended period of time to save my life!

Then again, today is supposed to be the second best day to proclaim a new hold on life. So what's say we all make a list of resolutions and see how well we can keep them. Meet me here next year?*

Great, good luck with it!

Random thought of the day: I just don't get it.

* I've attempted online blogs twice before. If I don't meet you next year you'll know this was a failed third attempt.

Home

2005-05-09T22:04:00.000-06:00

I want to travel the world.

And I mean, REALLY travel the world. Not in a business like sense where I have some six figure income and a job that takes me all over the place for business meetings or to meet clients or some weird thing like that.

No, I want to find the little nooks and crannies on this crazy dirt rock we call 'earth' that few people have yet to see. Of course, I'd love to see Rome, Paris, Rio de Janeiro, but I also want to visit places in between all the big cities.

I remember a drive my father and I took from Green River (which in itself is a very, very small town) to Yellowstone National Park, and seeing a town nestled in between the hills. The grass was so green and luscious and you would swear you've seen the sight on a million postcards but it still looks nothing like the actual thing. Picture the shire from the Lord of the Ring movies.

Now imagine it was ten times as pretty. Yeah, that's the town we saw on the drive up north.

You're probably wondering why I want to see places such as these. Well, to be honest it isn't necessarily for myself. Honestly, I want to be able to tell my kids, nieces and nephews and just a younger generation in general about where I've been and what I've done. I don't want to be famous and be rich, not in a monetary sense anyway. However I'd love for them to know that I have an almost fearless sense of adventure. I want them to be able to feel like they have the world at their fingertips. They don't always have to stay in their comfort zone.

You see, that's how my parents are. And my mom more so than my father. And of course, being brought up by a single mother most my life I never was presented with the idea that there was so much more out there for me. I mean, she's always told me I could do whatever I wanted and made me believe that. I've always known I was bright and capable of anything, but no one really pushed me forward. It wasn't until I moved away from the home I've known my entire life that I've felt like I had wings. Seeing huge parts of the country at a time made me think about "home" and the notion that's it's all just a feeling.

Home isn't where you were born. Sometimes it isn't even where you live at the current time. You may be married and have three or four kids and have been living in the same house since you were 10 years old and you still may not feel like you were really home.

I know the times I crashed at my uncle's apartment on the weekends I always felt home. It was safe. I felt liberated there. I could say and do anything and not be judged. It was always warm and long conversations were never at a shortage.

I feel at home in my room when no one else is in the apartment.

I feel at home at the MFAH. All the other people there are just neighbors. It's one little community. I see the same museum guides every time I go in and am greeted with the same cordial nod and smile.

Home is my best friend's car, the track I used to run along in the neighborhood I grew up in and even the third seat from the front of the bus I usually fall asleep in when I'm on my way to work.

I know it's kind of strange for me to be talking about home when I started off posting about how I wanted to travel the continent. I suppose maybe I just want to make as many places I can feel like home.

Random thought of the day: "Christians" are the biggest hypocrites, especially when they seem to be minding everyone else's business but their own.

Talking To Strangers

2005-05-01T15:50:00.000-06:00

The other day, through the parental figure, my father tried to talk me out of getting married.

In the seventeen years that they've been divorced this is the only thing they've agreed on.

Heh. That's me for ya. I'm all about bringing people together. Peace, love and harmony man.

On another note, my younger brother left town last week. I hadn't seen him since New Years 2003. So what . . . two years, four months? Want to know how much time I spent with him? Oh . . . about an accumulated 10 hours. He spent the night at our place for one night of the entire week.

Before he showed up he told our mom that the wife wanted him to stay the majority of the nights with her at her parents' house.

(Anyone else hear that whip cracking?)

Umm, what the hell did she think was going to happen? None of our other three brothers live here in town. So, what? Did she think I was going to drag him out to some club and try and hook him up with some hot chick and then invite a few people over for a wild orgy that I was going to videotape and promote on the Internet?

*Sigh*

My brother's wife has some serious issues. If my fiance acts like that when we get married I'm inviting anyone to slap him. Then slap ME for listening to him.

I know this is going to sound so much worse than I intended it for, but I think my life would be so much more pleasant if I only knew strangers.

You see, you get to choose when you leave a situation involving a stranger. You don't have to talk to them if you want to, or tell them what you're thinking. You can lie and they'll never know, although I've often found myself being very open and honest with most people I meet and know I'll never see again. They have no preconceived thoughts about you. It's a clean slate with every stranger you meet. You decide what you want to take away from that experience.

And this now makes me think of David. I wrote about him in an email to a friend of mine:

I met a man on the bus today.

His name was David.

David {is} a 'Negro,' as he called himself. He was gracefully graying. His eyes seemed almost troubled, like they had seen a lot. They weren't sad as a person's might be if they had just lost a loved one. No, his seemed to open right up to his soul (as the saying goes) and from the looks of it his soul had taken a beating.

As well as David, literally.

He had a large discolored bump just above his left eye. And on it was a purple bruise; it appeared to have been fading because it wasn't as prominent as some bruises are at first contact. He was missing a few teeth and listening to him speak was like experiencing a carnival for the first time.

There's so much going on and so many lights that you don't even know where to begin and what to grasp and you keep trying to remember all the names of the rides as you pass them by so you can come back and ride them.

That's why I'm emailing you this just minutes after getting home, for fear that I'll forget everything he said.

He was married four times. His first wife, who he called 'The joy of my life,' ate a lot of meat and drove fast. She called people bad names and flipped them off. He was blessed with twins from his second wife. His youngest daughter is named LaCreshia, although she complains that her names sounds like 'The Creature.' {Ha} He never did mention his oldest daughter, though I'm sure he would have had he been on the bus longer.

He got on at the same stop I did downtown. He was crossing the street as the bus pulled up and sat down directly in front of me. My seat faced the front of the bus. His lined the side of the bus and faced the aisle. Another man, middle aged, got on with us and paid his bus fare after David started asking everyone for 50 cents (bus fare being $1). Shortly after the bus started moving again the man told David, "I get off at Washington Ave. I'll give you $5 if you don't say a word from now until then (which was only a five minute ride)."

At that point I began wondering how many other people paid David off to stay quiet, or maybe even threatening him. I felt bad for him and was seriously going to be pissed had the man not kept his word. Luckily he did. Had he not I was prepared to do it myself, running the scene through my head in case I needed it. I would have stopped David from getting off the bus by grabbing his arm, handing him $5 and would have said, "Next time someone offers you money to keep quiet you keep talking."

You see, David was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder (so he says, though I doubt he's lying) and was constantly talking. In fact I never got a word is besides "9:30" when he pointed to his wrist to indicate he wanted to know the time during his brief period of silence.

He was probably the only person I made eye contact with the entire night.

It was a strange experience.

I wish I knew more people like David.

Random thought of the day: Sleep while you can. Sleep while you can.

Enter-View With a Blogger

2005-04-29T11:04:00.000-06:00

Welcome ladies and gentlemen to my first installment of interviews. Today's Enter-Views is with a dear old friend of mine whom I've come across this wacky little thing we call . . . The World Wide Web. Like everyone he has a story to tell and today he will enlighten us with a closer look at the man behind the blog.

Me: So Johnny, we've known each other what? Three years now. We've gone through quite a bit together: family losses, moves, new jobs, school, etc. Is there anything I don't know about you?

Johnny: {I was} once {a} dominant pop star who now likes to hang out (and more) with the kiddies.

Me: Wow! I never would have guessed that about you. Such a confession here. Are you sure you want to say these things here? Where everyone can see them?

Johnny: Not sure what to say about this one. Not enough space here.

Me: Okay then. So we'll change the subject. Tell me, how do you feel about being gay?

Johnny: Great for human development and treatment of diseases.

Me: Wait . . . what? {Scratches head} No, dude, I said BEING GAY, not BenGay. Gawd, anyway, as you know, everyone seems to be against that whole situation of gays and lesbians wanting to be legally married. Some gays and lesbians have gone as far as trying to create their own private island in order to make their own laws.

Johnny: So take me away. I don't mind. But you better promise me . . . I'll be back in time. Gotta get back in time.

Me: In time for what?

Johnny: Capturing a sliver of life, history, time. These things help me remember.

Me: Help you remember what? {Pause} No never mind. Forget it. Tell me, what's with that really cool scar on your forehead? Did you get that while filming a movie?

Johnny: Eh, what do I know about this?

Me: Umm . . . that's why I asked you.

Johnny: The world with all its hi tech communications is still forgetting how to communicate.

Me: Ye-e-a-a-h. So tell me, how do you feel about being in the tabloids? I mean, you're all over the place, picture splattered on every front page of every major magazine. Are any of the stories true? Are you and Macaulay Caulkin long lost brothers? Were you secretly married to Joan Rivers?

Johnny: Secrets can be weapons and they can represent trust. Be careful who knows your secrets.

Me: {Sigh} Look, if you're still mad because I told that guy about that surgery you had I swear . . . I didn't know he was a reporter for {tabloid name removed}. Nor did I tell him that when your last book flopped that you were living on the ferris wheel in Dollyworld.

Johnny: As the saying goes, there's no place like home. You have everything you need there. Though you may want to venture off, you can always go back home.

Me: Wow, I didn't realize you were so deep. {Wipes a tear from her eye} Even after the roller coaster of events, no pun intended, you still remain rather optimistic. How do you do it? How do you remain such an inspiration to so many people?

Johnny: I find this word is thrown around too often and with no regard these days. I, of course dream about heroic acts now and then but will I ever get to act them out? Will I ever have to act them out?

Me: There you have it ladies and gentlemen. Big questions from a big presence. My friend Johnny Angel, allowing us an intimate peek at the life behind the man. Err . . . that's a whole other story. Regardless, an incredible in-depth interview. I want to say thanks to my friend for his time and patience. I only hope that this interview has cleared up a few misconceptions anyone may have had. Stay tuned to my next installment of Enter-Views where my guest will be my neighbor Patty who joys down secret love letters to herself and tells everyone they're from the mail man. Until them, keep blogging and be fabulous!

Random thought of the day: Heh. Yeah, I know.

* My friend never was or is gay. He does not do ill deeds with little children nor did he ever have a sex operation (that I know of anyway). Enter-Views is all done in fun and the above statements were given permission to be publicized.

2005-04-25T16:00:00.000-06:00

Heh. I've been cartooned.

Tyler Gabrielle

2005-04-22T22:43:00.000-06:00

My brother and his wife came into town a few days ago. I haven't seen him in almost two and a half years. His wife's mother is throwing them a baby shower tomorrow. I won't be able to attend because of work, but here's something I wrote in the card for the baby:

"Tyler Gabrielle,

You have a long life ahead of you Sweetie. One day you'll grow up and realize that you have everything you've ever wanted. In the meantime, do know that it takes a bit of work and patience to get to that point. Whether you want to be famous, cure a life threatening disease or perhaps live your life differently than what others wanted for you, do know it is your life. No one can live it for you. However that doesn't mean your friends and family won't be there to support you. We love you; now and always. Make us proud, have fun and more importantly . . . be happy."

And I got her this. Hopefully it's something she'll hang onto for quite awhile.

Random thought of the day: "We are not defined but what we do. What defines us is how well we rise after we fall."

Numb3rs

2005-04-17T00:40:00.000-06:00

Half the numbers on my keyboard don't work.

I go to press them and . . . nothing.

It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't use most of the numbers in an assorted number of passwords I use when logging on to my email/messenger/blog account.

I spent hours trying to fix the problem, going so far as to taking apart my keyboard, cleaning the keys and running all kinds of scans and shit. My last resort was to call a friend of mine who has helped me several times when I have computer problems.

He wasn't home.

So I spend my day doing other things.

Then it dawned on me . . . keyboards have two sets of number keys: 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,0.

Heh.

I am the type of person computer technicians hate. The kind that look for the "Any" key when asked to "Press any key."

*Blank stare*

I'm still waiting for Microsoft to hire me.

Random thought of the day: I am NOT too old to play on the moonwalk!

'To Do Soon' List

2005-04-08T11:23:00.000-06:00

1. Get my tubes tied.

2. Locate a Bible and find what page it says that self check-out machines in local grocery stores are evil and should be banned.

3. Buy socks.

4. Cut feet off said socks.

6. Umm . . . learn to count.

7. Learn Avril Lavigne songs by heart and sing them proudly at random.

8. Buy paper and ink cartridges.

9. Neuter my cat.

10. Fly a plane.

11. Go skydiving.

12.Tell my younger brother's wife what I REALLY think about her.

13. Get drunk before I attempt # 12.

14. Stop making lists.

Random thought of the day: Learn to keep my mouth shut. And when that doesn't work, piss people off!

* Originally posted @ 2:11 a.m. but due to something beyond my control this post had to be recovered at the current time.

Automatic Police Service

2005-04-07T15:11:00.000-06:00

We had a slight situation at work yesterday afternoon. I won't go into too many details other than to say it involved a somewhat disturbed man who, after a few minutes ripped off his shirt, a few female co-workers not wanting to go outside and a scam.

Our boss walked out our place of business to try and deal with the man, but quickly walked back in and told one of my co-workers to call the police. I'm standing with him as he dials and after what seemed like an eternity someone picked up, put him on hold and we stood there waiting.

Which got me to wondering what it would be like if the cops had their phones set up the way so many businesses do. Imagine having to go through an automatic service before finally reaching a "real" person on the other end. Imagine calling in to report someone trying to invade your neighbor's home:

"Hello, you have reached the Branch County Police Department. Please press '1' for English. Apriete el número '2' para español."

*Beep*

"Please insert your home phone number, area code first, then press #."

"8-0-0-5-5-5-7-8-2-7-#"

"If you know the crime that is being committed please press the corresponding number:

Press '1' for aggravated assault.

Press '2' for arson.

Press '3' for auto theft.

Press '4' for burglary.

Press '5' for homicide.

Press '6' for kidnapping.

Press '7' for larceny.

Press '8' for robbery.

Press '9' for sexual assault.

Press 0 for murder.

Or press '*' for a list of other options."

*Beep*

"You have chosen 'burglary.' By definition burglary is the unlawful entry of a structure to commit a felony or a theft.

A 'structure' is considered to include but not be limited to the following: apartment, barn, cabin, church, condominium, dwelling house, factory, garage, house trailer or houseboat (used as permanent welling), mill, office, other building, outbuilding, public building, railroad car, room, school, stable, vessel or warehouse.

'Unlawful entry' is defined as forcible entry, no force, attempted force.

The act of 'forcible entry' is defined as gaining entry by the use of tools; breaking windows; forcing windows, doors, transoms, or ventilators; cutting screens, walls, or roofs; and the use of master keys, picks, unauthorized keys, celluloid, or other devise which leave no outward mark but are used to force a lock.

'Non-forcible entry' is achieved by use of an unlocked door or window. The element of trespass to the structure to commit a theft is essential to classify the act as a burglary.

Attempted forcible entry occurs when a perpetrator is frightened off while entering an unlocked door or climbing though an open window to commit a theft.

If the crime you are calling about can be defined as burglary please press '#.' If not please press '*' and you will be redirected to a list of crimes."

*Beep*

"You have pressed '#,' please hold while we direct your call to one of our operators."

Then before you know it you hear the first verse of a Melissa Etheridge song on the phone: Come to my window/ Crawl inside/ Wait by the light of the moon/ Come to my window/ I'll be home soon.

As you're holding you peer outside the window to check up on your neighbor. You see him running out of his home in his boxer shorts, farmer's tan showing, shot-gun in hand and his rottweiler right behind him. He runs up behind the guy trying to climb in his window and shoots him in the ass. The guy falls, screaming at the top of his lungs as your neighbor orders his dog on him.

"Hello, this is 'Sharon' with the Branch County Police Department, please give me the address of the home being invaded."

"Well Sharon, I was calling to report my neighbor's place being burglarized, but it looks like he found out and has now shot the guy in the butt and pushed his dog on him."

"Oh, well it looks like you need another department since your neighbor's home is no longer being invaded."

"Wait, but I was holdi . . . "

"Please hold."

Then comes the elevator music again and you're rerouted to square one.

"If you know the crime that is being committed please press the corresponding number:

Press '1' for aggravated assault.

Press '2' for arson."

Quite simply . . . it's a lot easier to just settle things ourselves.

It could be worse.

We could abuse the police or emergency numbers like some people.

Random thought of the day: Turtles make good beds.

"Hi. You've reached Chris . . . I'm screening your calls."

2005-04-06T00:53:00.000-06:00

My mom has four different approaches in handling a missed call by each of my four brothers. Keep in mind three are out of state (two on the east coast, one on the west) and the other lives 75 miles south of Houston.

The oldest: We come in from running errands late in the morning and I check the messages and tell her {oldest brother} called. I hand her the phone and ask if she's going to call him back. She kind of walks away and mutters something about him probably being at work.

"But in his message he said he was off all day. This is the second time he's called this week and you missed both calls."

She goes on to say how she's uncomfortable calling the apartment because she doesn't want to talk to his girlfriend. Said girlfriend is MUCH older than he is.

"You don't have to. Just say 'Hello' then ask for {oldest brother}."

"I'm busy cooking dinner now."

Interpreted as: "Quit prompting me to call your brother!"

Second oldest: (West coast) "Mom, {brother} called." She proceeds to call him back, no matter what time of day it is. When she reaches him he tells her he'll call her back because he's with a client or out eating. He calls back shortly. They have a short chat before it's interrupted by one of his friends coming over. He tells her he'll call her back again. A week later he calls and the cycle is repeated until they get into an argument about something stupid and he doesn't call again for another couple months.

Younger: (east coast) Now, with him she practically knows when he's going to call. Thursdays during 'Smackdown,' and on the weekends, when he knows she's not there, but he calls anyway because of a guilty conscious, usually caused by Thursday evening's chat. He's a lot like I am in that we do what we want to do, to hell with anyone else who disagrees with us, including our parents. With this said our mom tries to butt in with her views and opinions, never mind what may be working for him. Of course, I don't agree with everything he does, especially when it comes to that wife of his, but I know he's old enough to make his own decisions. Besides, he's the one that has to live with them, not me. Anyway, so they usually get into their own little 'Smackdown' via the phone and she starts to get to him, quick Italian temper we have, and he ends the conversation with, "I'll call you later." BAMM.

Course, as I said, he'll call back on the weekends, when he knows she's not around and we'll shoot the breeze awhile before he has to go to work and when the parental figure gets back I tell her he called and try and get her to call him back. It usually works and they're fine by the end of the weekend.

The youngest: (east coast) He's a bit of a sporadic caller. If our mom misses his call she'll call him back right away. He usually gets to hear the brunt of everyone else's phone calls from our mom. Poor kid hardly gets a word. He usually ends up emailing me and telling me to tell her 'Hi' for him. Not that he doesn't get along with her or anything but he's able to say more via email. Our mom always asks for him when she speaks to his older brother but he's always at work or out or something.

When I was away from home I always made it a point to call when I knew my mom wasn't home or when she was on her way to work. Trust me this is hard to do when there's a time difference. I love my mom, I really do, but sometimes the conversations are a bit awkward when you're being asked if you're eating right, is your father taking care of you (Mom, I'm 22, not 7), and if you've made any new friends (read: boyfriends).

This is why I love voicemail. God bless the man who invented it. And you know it was a man because as a woman I know how long winded we can be and I don't blame men for wanting to tune us out half the time. So when I reached my mom's voicemail when I knew she wasn't there I'd tell her all she needed to know in a nice little, neat message:

"Hey Lady it's me. Just calling to say hey and whatcha' doin'? I'm about to go to my Photo class. I had dinner a while ago and I'm stuffed. Some friends of mine invited me to Salt Lake City for the weekend so if you call I won't be here. We're splitting a couple rooms. And yes I have money. Anyway, I need to go. Love you, miss you, bye."

Heh. There you go . . . She knows I'm eating, I met people, I'm attending class, and I'm not completely broke, yet.

It's funny how some of us crave conversations with one another and at times we can stand not to talk to others for months and months at a time. I'm the same way with each of my brothers as I know they are with me. Which is why I love the idea of leaving messages. I don't have to talk directly to them if I don't want to, yet I don't have to feel guilty if I don't call at all. Missed phone call? Pfft . . . Their fault, not mine, I attempted. My part is done.

Heh.

Oh come on . . . You know you're the same way.

Random thought of the day: (Because I can never say it enough to those around me) Happiness is a lot like peeing your pants. Everyone can see it, but only you can feel the warmth.

"Yes Daddy"

2005-03-29T02:42:00.000-07:00

I just got lectured for an hour for seemingly "giving up" on my passion (photography). This coming from someone who's not a part of my everyday life and does not know that I have boxes of film in the fridge, a camera that's constantly loaded, probably a few rolls of film at the 1-Hour place and am constantly seeking out new places to go to for inspiration. Places my friends wouldn't be caught dead at for fear of it not being considered "cool."

Did I also mention he knows nothing of photography?

Heh. It was the weirdest thing. Funny even. And he seems to think that while I have a job that doesn't suit me I plan on being there forever.

Pfftt . . . not going to happen. What he doesn't know is that my life will drastically change in the course of the next year or so. I'm simply trying to enjoy what little time I have left in the city I call home and not trying to make long-term commitments to this place.

I absolutely love it here, but I'm itching to get up and move again.

It's going to break his heart when he finds out why I seem to not be moving forward with my calling at the moment.

But hey . . . shit happens.

Random thought of the day: You say one thing one day and another thing the next. How do I know you'll stand true to your word? More importantly . . . which one is truly your word?

Cleanliness Is Next To ADHD

2005-03-26T07:23:00.000-07:00

My house is going to be in immaculate shape when I get older.

I have a tendency to direct my energy into cleaning when I have a lot of things on my mind. And this is one of those times. After working an eight hour shift at work and getting home close to 2 a.m. I let my eyes roam around my apartment and decided then and there that it looked like a dump (compared to my usual mess of piles of clean clothes in the corner on the floor and photo supplies in another corner).

So I changed out of my work clothes, threw on some sweats, piled my hair into a ponytail and went at it.

I must say, I feel better. There's something about a clean habitat that makes you feel loads better.

I even gave my Ali and Sonny a bath. Course they hate me now because I already disturbed their sleeping habits by staying away all night. Usually when I'm home at night they sleep with me and because I was constantly moving around and threatening to envelope them with the vacuum cleaner they were pissed. I could practically hear Sonny cursing me under his breath as I bathed him.

*Mutters* "Dammit. Yo, why you do this every week? You know it's not doin' any good. Me and the broad just get dirty all over again."

That's right, my kittens have East Coast mobster accents.

Ugh. I'm going to get off this high soon and it's going to suck! I have about an hour before the lids fall and I'm out for a while. It's been days since I've actually slept and I can feel a short hibernation coming on. Luckily I have tomorrow (today?) off.

I need to go load up on food for the winter. I wonder if the cashier at the store will think it strange if I buy liquor this early in the morning.

Random thought of the day: I miss my family.

Road Not Taken

2005-03-22T08:24:00.000-07:00

I pictured more champagne and laughter when telling my friends I was getting married.

However that's not what happened last night.

How do you tell your best friend you're getting married when you love him just as much as you love your fiance?

The question had been on my mind for weeks on end. How do I tell him? I'd whisper it every time I spoke with him. Every time I picked up the phone to call him I'd tell myself, "Okay, I'm going to tell him tonight." But then halfway through the conversation I'd catch myself mouthing the words, "I'm getting married," yet he could never hear me.

I was more scared than anything of the fact that I might lose him. He may very well have decided I had hurt him more than enough and he no longer wanted to stick around. After all, I knew in the back of his mind he had kind of hoped maybe we had a chance. I put that thought in his mind because at some point in our friendship I wanted the same thing.

I know it's not a very fashionable thing, to genuinely love two people at the same time, but you can't tell your heart that. You can try and tell your brain, but you'll only be fooling yourself. Not to mention you'd only be setting yourself up for what might as well be a tsunami when the waves of emotions (pain) hit you at the time of the confession.

Of course I didn't let myself be fooled and acknowledged the love I had for my best friend. We've only known one another three years and maybe I haven't seen his sweet face inches away from mine. Maybe I haven't been able to hug or kiss him or cry on his shoulder when I'm having a bad day. Maybe we've never gone to IHOP in the middle of the night after some lame movie and sat there, talking for hours on end about absolutely nothing, yet feeling like we were having the greatest conversation in the world.

But you know what? I don't need any of that to know I love him and that I care more about him than he'll ever know.

I don't know what would have happened had you "acted" sooner. Would I be with you instead of him? Would we have managed some sort of relationship? Would we last?

Part of me wants to speculate, but another part doesn't because I think we both know we could have very well maintained a courtship for years and have it turn to something wonderful.

I've been incredibly selfish when it comes to you. I know that. Having someone you love 1,700 miles away and not being able to speak with them as often as you want is a hard fact to face. And with you, simply a hop, skip and a jump away . . . it's so easy to just show up and say, "Well, I'm here." I can't tell you how many times I had to suppress the urge to do that.

People have accused me of using them before. Maybe you're thinking the same thing. Maybe not. I'm not scared of what you think of me right now because in all honesty I don't blame you one bit. I have a boyfriend over a thousand miles away and I can't talk/see him as much as I want as I can with you.

Some people would question my love for him because they can't fathom the thought of loving two people at the same time in their lives. However my love for my fiance is genuine and incredibly powerful. It's changed the way I think and act. For the first time in my life I actually look forward to my future and not because I'm getting married but because I want to do so many things. I'm living like I'm dying right now. I've gotten more accomplished in the short amount of time I've known my fiance than I had done in all the previous years. In one way or another he was part of some of the biggest decisions I've had to make.

As was my best friend. You know who you are. At the time I was learning to open up and trust someone you were standing right there, willing and able to hear anything I had to say. And boy did I say a lot! Yet with all my demons and all my quirks you still loved me and never judged or assumed I was something I wasn't. I'm eternally grateful for that. And I love you so, so very much.

But that's impossible right? You can't truthfully love two different people at the exact same time. Can you?

Heh. Trust me folks, it's possible. It's one of the hardest things you can do and what may be one of the toughest decision you may have to make, but it's very possible.

Life is full of forks in the road and paths not taken. When you get to them you sort of linger around, taking a peek down each path before having to venture down one of them. They look exactly the same, they just lead to different places. Or perhaps they lead to the same place and only the journey is different. Who knows? All you know is one day you have to walk down one of those paths and hope for the best. It may not be an easy journey and sometimes you may wonder, "What would have happened had I taken that other path?" You don't necessarily regret your decision and the path you took, but you wish with all your heart you could have experienced them both.

Thought of the day: You.

3:12 A.M.

2005-03-20T04:12:00.000-07:00

I've spent many nights watching bad made-for-television movies and infomercials with overly eager hosts because I can't fall asleep at night.

This is one of those nights.

And I just realized how selfish I am.

I won the lottery? Here's half my winnings.

You need me to drop everything I'm doing for the next two days so I can babysit your diabetic cat and give him a shot in his ass once a day and water your geraniums while you're on a cruise with some chick you met just last week? Sure.

It's 3 a.m. I'm wide awake and it's raining so I can't even take a walk and I am absolutely wired. Hey . . . where is everyone? Oh, that's right. They're sleeping.

*Mutters*

Two people crashed on me tonight. They didn't know it, but it made me a little upset when they said they were tired and wanted to sleep (Bunch of whiners). Course, being the person I am I didn't let on that I wanted them to keep me company. I simply said goodnight and hung up.

It bothers me that I'm like that. It also bothers me that I have periods where I turn into an insomniac. I'm left alone with my thoughts at night, when they are particularly most verbal and I have nothing to do but go over them in my head, constantly. I can tear myself to pieces for hours on end this way and make myself feel lower than dirt, although I try not to. But in the back of my mind I know I'm playing with so many people's feelings and yet I hesitate to say anything. I guess I'm realizing that whole 'Out of sight, out of mind" concept isn't working.

And I was going somewhere with this but I looked over at the TV and they're advertising some weird gadget that I'm interested in. Hmm . . .

Random thought of the day: Never, ever mention again that I have extra film in the fridge.

Spared

2005-03-15T05:10:00.000-07:00

You ever walk through life thinking you've been spared sometimes?

I mean, don't get me wrong. My use of the word 'spared' doesn't include emotional pain or anything, but perhaps you've had more than your share of close encounters?

I fell Sunday evening. And I don't mean I tripped over a dog or fell off a two story house "fell."

NO, my dumbass slipped on a puddle of water in a grocery store while I was walking up to the self check out lines. These kinds of things never happen to me. I may be a total klutz sometimes, but for the most part I'm pretty observant and would normally notice things like puddles of water, glass or other things on the floor. Having two rambunctious kittens does that to you. You wake up on mornings and thing, "Gee, what did the little monsters leave on the floor last night that will stab me in my bare foot today?"

Anyway, it wasn't even a pretty fall. I was walking and before I knew it I could hear myself exclaiming, "Yeeeeeoooow!" and then opening my eyes and finding myself lying on my right side with my limbs spread out everywhere. I immediately felt the pain in my right hip. As I sat up I felt more in my elbow and saw my skin turning red. I have a fair complexion so I'm prone to redness and bruises. I've got them everywhere. I can't even account for them all.

Afterwards, as I slowly stood up and examined the area I noticed about 15 people staring at me. Four of whom worked there. Not a single one of them asked me if I was okay, which pissed me off more than anything. In fact only one person helped me at all, a guy about my age put my groceries back in my hand basket as I was getting up. Regardless, they were probably a bit nervous that I was going to ask to speak to someone and file an accident report. I mean c'mon, this was no little puddle as if someone spilled ice. Try more like someone took to using the U-Scan as a hydrant!

I wasn't up to talking to anyone so I just checked my things out and left, still very upset.

It wasn't until this morning that I started feeling all the pain, mainly in my head. I examined it with my fingertips and found a lump.

Fuck!

Probably wasn't a smart thing to go to sleep that night, but I didn't know I hit my head. It must've bounced or something when I hit the floor. The parental figure always told me I was hard headed!

At least I didn't hit the bottle like I wanted to. Last time I did that I woke up in a hotel room wondering where the hell I was (See # 77 here)!

Regardless, I got lucky. I know most people would shrug incidents like this off, but it's so unlike me to fall. And while I know I probably won't die if I fell like that again it just got me to thinking about all the other times I could have.

There's been a lot. Every time I get in the passenger seat with my mom I'm risking my life. Seriously, she is your typical 'woman' driver. She will talk on her cell phone (Did I mention her car is a STANDARD?), race trains, speed through school zones, change lanes like she's playing a game of tag and is just an all around bad driver.

But she does make good use of her turning signals. When a cop stopped her one day for speeding he did say, "At least you were using your turn signals as you changed lanes." He had been tailing her for a couple miles.

But as I was saying . . . I've been in my share of questionable situations. My friend and I nearly got raped when we were 13 from an older classmate and his brother. We were at the middle school one night with our parents and were goofing off outside waiting for them when these boys approached us. Luckily though people started coming out a few minutes after they came up to us. We managed to get awake with only bruises around our necks.

I nearly drowned at the beach.

I've gotten food poisoning.

I get scared every time I have bronchitis because I go days without eating and lose obscene amounts of weight (and I'm not big to begin with). However the hacking and coughing does wonders for the abs!

As a pre-teen I was at the stage in life where I was seriously contemplating if I should end it. Got to the point where I had a handful of pills in my left hand and the empty bottle in my right. Never could do it though.

I've been hit on the head, had sprained ankles, knees, have the back of an old man and I'm just an all around very uncareful person.

Yet . . . I'm alive!

Makes me wonder what it is I'm supposed to do with my life. And before you go thinking I'm being egotistical let me start by saying odds are no one will no my name until I'm dead anyway. Andy Warhol, Babe, does the 15 minutes of fame thing apply to the afterlife?

You ever just feel it in your bones? I'm supposed to do something. I don't know what it is yet, but I need to better the world somehow. It may be a baby step, but it will hopefully be a catalyst for greater things to come.

I don't think I'll find the cure for cancer, but maybe I'll save the person who will.

You never know.

Little things people. It's the little things that add up in life.

Random thought of the day: Oh the things I do with potatoes when I'm bored!

Million Dollar Film

2005-03-07T17:55:00.000-07:00

I saw Million Dollar Baby today.

Don't worry I won't spoil the movie for you.

In fact, I won't talk much about it rather than to use it to catapult my thoughts. I never had much intention to see this particular movie. I'm not a huge movie goer and rarely do previews of movies catch my attention so much that my first thought is, "I have to see this." However after so much buzz about the film and one of my bosses telling me he saw it twice and then Hilary Swank calling Clint Eastwood 'Mo Cuisle' at the Academy Awards last weekend I was more than curious about the film.

Early on in the film you can tell the whole boxing thing is a metaphor for something bigger. Eastwood's character, Frankie, has only one rule: Always protect yourself.

Problem is he applies that rule to life and in doing so doesn't really allow himself to get close to anyone, be it his friend 'Scraps' (Morgan Freeman's character), the boxers at his gym and at first Maggie (Hilary Swank's character).

As people we are so scared of getting hurt. We're constantly 'protecting' ourselves. We make mistakes in the past which cause us a great deal of pain and we drag those wounds around with us later in life like luggage. And it's that 'luggage' that stops us from taking chances on anything: friends, career path, love.

It's only human to get hurt. Show me a man who has never felt pain and I'll show you a man who's never really lived a day in his life.

Frankie was so concerned with protecting his boxers that they never could truly succeed until they left him.

Enter Maggie.

Not only has she not been taught to box properly, but she's too old and she's a girl. Frankie doesn't train girls. However after showing such dedication and simply having nothing else left to live for Frankie takes her on and puts his heart on the line.

It only takes one person to really turn your life around. They're the ones that strip down those walls you used to 'protect' yourself, take your hand and gradually get you to take baby steps out of your comfort zone.

For me that 'one person' was my uncle.

He is my father's older brother and before the summer of 2002 I had never met or spoken to him.

It was my second day in Wyoming and my father, his wife and I went and had breakfast with my grandmother and uncle. By the end of the meal I was captivated by the man. The relationship was instantaneous. However, be it as it may I still didn't allow myself to open up right away. He was after all, my father's brother. My father was the one who was responsible for three of my four pieces of luggage! So I wasn't about to just throw my arms open and say, "Come on in."

My first five months in Wyoming I spent at my father's house. I saw my uncle and grandmother on the weekends when we all went out to breakfast or lunch together. On Sundays during the summer and a few times during the fall I went and played bingo with them at the senior citizen center. I never really spent much time alone with either one of them. It wasn't that I didn't want to, but I had classes throughout the week and when my father wasn't dragging me across Wyoming and Utah I had design/photography projects to work on during the weekends.

That all changed my spring semester. I moved into a dorm in the town where the main campus was located (20 miles from where the family lived) and on weekends I went back because I had a religion class at the college there. My father's {new, 3rd} wife wanted nothing to do with me so I crashed at my uncle's.

In those five short months so many events took place that could have easily caused me to shut doors to everyone I knew. In fact I was so close to doing that. I wanted to. More than anything I wanted to just sit and wallow in my own misery and enjoy it. Some days it took everything I had to simply get out of bed and get to my morning classes. The only one I truly enjoyed for a while was my Self Defense class, because at least then I was able to take some of my frustration and anger out physically.

However that didn't last long. It was still killing me not to talk to someone. And even though I met some great people while in school I was still scared of what they thought of me.

Soon though the weekends were the only thing I looked forward to. They meant a decent home cooked meal, TV and conversation with my uncle. I didn't know it at the time but he was responsible for my relationship with the few friends I met and kept. I gradually opened up to him and began to trust another person. And it's funny because even though we're family, blood, we had to start with a clean slate. Sure, we were probably both told things about one another from other members of our family and who we were in the past, but we had to find out for ourselves what the other person was all about. We had demons we were dealing with. Things we weren't exactly proud of or didn't want to put on display, but we got past that and accepted the other for who they were in that moment of time.

I'll never forget him opening up his home and life to me. I felt more at home in his tiny apartment than at my father's place. And it was there, in his living room that we would sit and talk for hours before going to sleep for the night. I'd tell him about my mom, brothers and school and my silly friends. In fact before long I started telling him about a guy I was seeing at the time and other personal thoughts I had. And when my life started taking a downfall he was the one holding me up.

Early that May my mom called to tell me her brother had died from a heart attack. The shock was too much. I sat on my bed and couldn't even cry right away. I simply got dressed in my sweats, T-shirt and sneakers, went to the computer lab to finish a journal entry for my religion course and then went to my Step Aerobics class. I told the teacher what had happened and she sympathized with me and told me that if I felt like leaving any time during the class I could. I managed to stick it out though.

A few hours later my uncle picked me up at my dorm and took me to his place. I knew he knew something was wrong but he didn't ask. When we got to his place I did what I always did and sorted my laundry (was cheaper to do it in the laundry area of his apartment complex than at my dorm's) and went to wash.

Five minutes later I'm on the floor, crying my eyes out. My uncle walks in on me like this, sits down next to me, gives me a hug and allows me to cry.

He didn't even ask me what was wrong at first. For all he knew I could have slammed my finger in the door of the washer. He didn't care. I was crying so he comforted me.

That's the kind of man he is.

And that's the man who stripped down my walls and made me take a chance on a person. I opened up once again and risked the chance of getting hurt, and not just with him. I met new friends, new loves and with each and every one of them I gave my all.

By that time I was so sick of being an introvert and 'protecting' myself that I was more than willing to risk getting hurt than not living a day in my life. What I didn't realize at the time was throughout the year I spent in Wyoming and in the presence of my uncle I was already slowly revealing myself.

And in Million Dollar Baby that's what Frankie did. He gradually started taking chances he normally wouldn't. He unknowingly broke his own rule, but I don't think he regretted it. In the end, he was probably able to say, "I did okay."

And isn't that what everyone wants? Not just professional boxers, but every other person. To have their last thought be I did okay.

I know that's what I want. To be able to openly love another person, faults, quirkiness and all. To be able to risk everything for love and life and doing what I want to do despite what others may think.

I left my luggage in Wyoming. It's my intentions to never claim it again.

Oh To Be A Girl

2005-03-03T15:52:00.000-07:00

I am the first person to scream: I LOVE being a girl!

Except at "that time."

Yeah, you girls know what I'm talking about. It sneaks up on you when you least want it to. And then you go through a hundred billion emotions all at the same time and it always feels like no one understands and you're all alone in the world. And we have Eve to thank for this.

Thanks Eve.

*Mutters* "Apple eating bitch."

Anyway, so yeah . . . it's "that time." And while I've managed to cut mine down to four days maximum (exercise and tons of water) it still sucks. Besides nature taking its course there's also what I like to call 'the bitch factor.'

You can be the sweetest person on God's green earth, but even YOU are susceptible to mood swings, arguments and having the capability of biting someone's head off if they even look at you crooked during this monthly occasion.

Take me for example. I'm not a very serious person. The world is my stage and I take it upon myself to entertain people and make them laugh as much as possible. I go to extreme lengths to get a laugh, everything from bending myself into a shopping cart and having the parental figure push me at top speed down grocery aisles to speaking in my Abe Simpson voice and talking about the benefits of having adult diapers.

I'm 24.

I look 18.

And I act all of about the age of 12.

Moving on . . . so when it's "that time" I'm a different person. I want the world suffering with me and happy people make me want to scream. I have to give up Coke for a few days because drinking it pains me which means I start having withdrawal symptoms. I don't care what anyone says. It IS possible to have withdrawal symptoms from soda!

During "this time" you also start craving weird shit you normally don't eat. For most girls it's chocolate. But for me it's salt. I eat the hell out of Paydays and Lay's potato chips during this time. And chocolate milk. I normally don't do chocolate or milk because it makes me gag, but during this time I'm chugging down four or five bottles a day. You can imagine how often I'm running to the bathroom.

Add the uncomfortableness of your clothes not feeling quite right and having to wear (sorry guys) the "granny panties" which bunch all up in the rear area and make your ass look like you had a mishap. So you can't wear your tight jeans and have to settle for your sweats or any other baggy garment (pajamas, housedress, muumuu).

AND you're constantly grazing your backside with your hand to make sure you didn't have an 'accident.' Girls will understand what I'm talking about when I say you can't sit still for very long and then suddenly stand up without having that weird sensation (eww).

Not to mention you think you constantly smell fish.

Then there's the feeling of being incredibly horny during that time. Although at first it's usually not wanting to be touched. This happens before the actual event. This is the PMS part ('P' standing for 'Pre'). However during those few days you're as hot as ever and you're willing to jump anything that has the right body part and moves.

Hell, who am I kidding; it doesn't even have to move!

And I don't care what anyone says this shit IS contagious because I HAVE started early when I'm around friends who are going through this. I ask for a few dollars and instead they give me a few days of Hell. You see why I don't have many girl friends.

On the other hand . . . to bring up something Connie's mom said in the cartoon King Of The Hill, watching a movie like Titanic is ten times better when it's "that time."

And on behalf of all girls who go through this torture every month and take it out on our best friends, brothers, husbands, friends, or any other important guy in our life: stay the fuck away from us!

Random thought of the day: Everyone should be forced to have a job where they have to deal with the public. Maybe then they'll understand the importance of having common sense.

My mommy thinks I'm nice

2005-02-26T23:10:00.000-07:00

Well I managed to royally piss off another person (see the last post). I'm really cleaning house this month aren't I?

*Sigh*

But hey, if him calling me a liar, a bitch and every name in the book and making me out to be the scum on the scum of his shoe while making me cry makes him feel like a big man then so be it.

There's been only one other person in my life that I told to stay the hell out of my life, twice as a matter of fact. So this is an important day in history ladies and gentlemen because it's not everyday I do that.

(I really need to stop giving people second chances.)

I'll be sure to contact my congressman and ask him to make it a federal holiday. You can thank me later when we have this day off next year.

In other news I tossed my nice, comfortable, been-with-me-since-I-was-a-kid bed. Well, I haven't actually tossed it yet, but I've disassembled it and put up a hammock.

Okay, I know what you're thinking: who the hell trades in a bed for a hammock? Well . . . quite a few people actually. And if you have back problems like I do, no mattress, no matter how comfortable it may be, beats a hammock. Not to mention I toss and turn less and I don't even need as many pillows as when I had my bed. I don't have to keep a pillow between my legs when I sleep on my side or under my back when I sleep on it or under my chest when I sleep on my stomach.

Alright, I'll stop trying to sell you the idea. Just don't knock it till you've tried it.

And one last piece of news before I leave for the evening: I'M GOING TO HAVE A NIECE!!!

Random thought of the day: When my kitten's dry cat food ends up in their water bowl the pieces look like dead, bloated Teddy Grahams.

And In This Corner . . .

2005-02-24T00:47:00.000-07:00

Is it possible to have a healthy relationship with someone when all you do is argue?

Yeah, I didn't think so.

In regards to that . . . my ex is an asshole. Seriously, there's no one else on the face of the planet that I argue so much with. And about the stupidest shit. I mean, when we first started seeing one another we'd argue about whether or not we'd let our kids date someone of the opposite race. Mind you this was BEFORE we had sex and only a couple months into our relationship. We argued about Sunny D (don't ask!), guns, whether or not we approved of underaged drinking, blah blah blah.

Stupid. All of it.

And we still. Do. It.

Arg, honestly, we broke up a couple years ago, you'd think we'd finally shake hands and call a truce, but do we? NO.

Mind you the guy isn't a bad person. He's very intelligent and mature beyond his years (almost 24), but he's stubborn, pig headed, and when he drinks . . . watch the fuck out! That is one of the main reasons I broke it off with him, the drinking. I can't handle it. I know I can't change him and I won't bother so I called it quits. I saw my mother trying to change my father and I know from experience it doesn't work unless they want to change themselves. He's a completely different person when he drinks and I know he's got a lot riding in his shoulders with him having just been made Corporal {Army} and having to look out for several men and all that jazz but that's how he loses his focus.

He thinks he can treat people like shit and they'll take it. Friends! Family!

I'll admit I took it for a while before I gave him my letter of resignation. I know he didn't see that one coming. And after one really bad argument we stopped speaking altogether for nearly four months before he emails me out of the blue and asks how I'm doing, as if nothing happened.

This was ten months ago. And right now we're having another bad argument.

He was supposed to come see me this past weekend. Mind you, we've been trying to remain friends despite the horrible way we split up, but it's been a struggle to stay friends. We never were before we hooked up. From the beginning there was this attraction. I wanted him and he wanted me and we moved fast on our feelings. We never had the chance to get to know one another in that close intimate way you do with a 'best friend.' Therefore we argued constantly and it usually resorted into break ups and then make ups.

Rinse.

Lather.

Repeat.

I got an email from him this evening. He basically told me I had some nerve to accuse him of lying to me when he said he couldn't make it this past weekend because of some car trouble.

Ha, see, this is what I meant when I said we don't know one another as friends do. Because had he known me very well he'd know I was mad at his being in a pissy mood when he told me he couldn't make it and telling me to "Beat it," and NOT at the fact that he had car trouble because I completely understood that. Regardless, I responded and basically told him he didn't know what the hell he was talking about and to just stay where he was and live his life.

He's a good person and all, someone I don't mind having my back, but if trying to remain friends with him is going to cause me to want to kill him most of the times then fuck it.

You aren't supposed to WORK at a friendship. They sort of just naturally happen, no matter the time that's gone by, the distance, nor any other obstacle that may get in the way.

I did love him at one point and actually a small part of my heart still belongs to him because he snuck in and snagged it in a deliriously dizzy manner. He's the one that taught me to dream when so much of my life had been lived in the ever so depressing reality that is life. He was also there when no one else was and at very important times (my cousin dying) and he knows I'll never be able to say thanks enough, but I can live without him.

While he can be the sweetest person you know he can also do a lot of damage to your soul. And for a person who's spent half her life trying to build up her self-esteem and confidence my soul is the last thing I want him to get his hands on. I am NOTHING if I don't have a strong sense of who I am. And he's manipulative enough so that he knows what buttons to push and what exactly to say to have me beating myself up.

I can't do that. Not again. I'm not going back there. So if that means saying goodbye to him then so be it.

I refuse to make my television debut on the Dr. Phil show.

Random though of the day: {While wiping my brow} February . . . 80° . . . February . . . friggin' 80°! *Curses*

Hi my name is 'Bitch.' Come here so I can hurt you.

2005-02-22T00:18:00.000-07:00

I've warned people about me several times at first introduction. If they tell me I'm nice or sweet I always laugh and say, "Wait a while."

Of course I'm not a horribly mean person. On the contrary, I think I can be incredibly sweet to people, even some that don't deserve it. But by all means, I am human and even I get mad at times.

Last year I started working with a guy at work. Well, he was in a completely different department, but we did see each other throughout the day and after a few weeks of polite nodding in one another's direction he finally spoke to me and we started chatting every now and then. The chatting grew to longer conversations and to the point where we'd stop when we saw one another and make it a point to say hello and exchange jokes or silly little comments. Gradually a friendship began and then the horseplay that naturally occurs at a job like mine. And then the "presents."

We'd buy each other cans of Coke throughout the day. We never walked around with only one if we knew the other was there. And we never had to ask. We're caffeine freaks and maybe it was just in our heads but the Coke seemed to keep us going.

Anyway, about five months after he started working there he asked me out. I told him yes, initially thinking he just wanted some company, a friend to "hang out" with. I'm blind at times. My friends make fun of me for being naive. It never occured to me that he wanted to date me. I didn't see him for a few days after the invitation (our schedules didn't overlap during those days) so I had some time to think about what he asked me. And yes, it took me all the time to realize, Oh, he's asking me OUT!

{Here's where you say: DUH!}

So I come back to him a few days later, telling him that I didn't mean to jump to conclusions (if in fact that's what I was doing), but that I was seeing someone. I could tell in his face that he was disappointed, but he shrugged it off and left it alone.

About a week later little notes start popping up in my locker. Where were these notes when I was in high school? I answer them back, knowing it was him. We play locker tag for a few days and he asks me (through the notes) out again, this time only as friends. So I accept. No biggie. I have a few close guy friends I go out with.

The first few times we "went out" were actually to his family's house (either a sister or brother). It was fun. His siblings were great and they fed me and I had a chance to dance with them and meet my boss' sister (she's married to my friend's brother). Her kids loved me and I overheard her son call me 'cool.'

Heh, an 8-year old thinks I'm cool!

Anyway, all those nights we always wound back up at his place and usually started watching a movie before we finally crashed on his bed. Nothing happened mind you. Course I wouldn't tell the boyfriend any of that no matter how innocent it may seem, but it's nothing that's ever stopped me from sleeping at night.

The last time I saw him was about a month ago when we went to a Freestyle Motorcross event downtown. We had a blast! Afterwards we stopped for pizza, came back to my place and watched Shrek 2 before falling asleep. He left before dawn.

We talked throughout the week a couple times (by now he had quit working and found another job elsewhere), but it wasn't until that weekend when he stopped speaking to me altogether.

You see I was busy with my ex, trying to comfort him with his loss (the girl he was seeing back home {he's in the Army} had a miscarriage a few days prior). The phone rang. I checked the Caller ID. I saw that it was him and decided I'd call him the next day.

An hour later he called again. I let the machine get it.

Thirty minutes later the phone rang again. I checked the ID once again. Geez, him again. By now I was getting annoyed because not only was it starting to get really late (nearing 2 a.m.) but he wasn't even leaving any messages. So when the phone rang twenty minutes later (I was still IM'ing the ex) I answered the phone and got upset with him and asked him to please stop calling every few minutes. For God's sake my message on the voicemail purposely states, "If I don't pick up the phone I'm either not at home or I'm screening your calls."

I told him I was busy with a friend and hung up on him. Probably not one of my best moments but I was frustrated and mad (with the news).

I ended up finally calling him back two days later, leaving a message on his voicemail explaing what had happened and apologizing for my behavior. He never called back.

In a small way I see it as blessing in disguise because I know had we continued our friendship any longer he eventually would have started getting a little too close and I never could reciprocate those feelings for him (In so many words before he told me he loved me}. Besides already being committed he's just not my type. He's the kind of person you go bar hopping with or to movies or something. I much prefer someone I can take long walks with and talk for hours and hours on end about absolutely nothing.

I flirt too much I know.

Words of wisdom to guys: If we don't pick up the phone the first two times . . . leave a message. Don't call back because then you start displaying stalker tendencies.

Random thought of the day: God I hope I didn't leave my vibrator laying around on the bathroom sink.

Missed Conversation

2005-02-20T21:37:00.000-07:00

I thought of you today.

I was taking the trash out and listening to the sounds of the night. Little girls were sitting on the stairs, giggling and probably telling one another secrets. Boys were yelling at the top of their lungs, "Gung ho!" There was different genres of music playing from different apartment complexes. And a train was just passing by and the crossing was beginning to ring and rise as I stepped out the door. It all reminded me of home.

When I came back inside I immediately opened the window and turned up the volume of the radio that was playing a Josh Groban CD. I started dinner: fried chicken and a salad. You would have made mashed potatoes, but I wasn't up for it tonight so I had some buttered bread instead. I immediately started with the salad. Mmm . . . you would have settled for just lettuce and tomatoes, like you normally do, but I would have insisted you added the avocados, cucumbers, Spanish olives, and cheese. In the past when you would give in and allow me to make the salad I think it was because you secretly wanted me to go through all the trouble.

After the salad I start the chicken, wisking the eggs in a bowl and placing each piece of chicken into the batter and then into the flour before hearing it sizzle in the pan as I lowered it over the oil. I burned myself the second time around when I lowered one piece too low. In the past you probably would have taken my hand and walk me over to the sink and turned the cold water on to take away some of the pain. However today I ignored it and continued frying.

All the while I was cooking I sang and twirled in the kitchen, careful not to step on ' the kids.' They reached and tried to tip the trashcan over as I periodically threw things into it and when they weren't looking up, eyes wide open and curious they attacked one another playfully.

The nostalgia was incredible. If I hadn't known any better I'd almost swear time took me back. I almost expected you to walk out of the bathroom, having just finished taking a shower as I wrapped up the last few details of our dinner.

But you didn't. There was no one else here tonight. When I finished the food I turned Mr. Groban's voice off and flipped on the television. I lit a few candles like you would do for us in the past, giving us that feeling of being in some expensive restaurant. We never watched anything of importance in the past when we ate dinner did we? {Laughs} In fact I watched The Simpsons today as I ate. It was always something funny we watched, something that made us take our minds off of our everyday worries. For those brief moments we had dinner together we didn't want to worry about bills or school or where we were moving. We only wanted to talk and eat and laugh.

And I missed you today. It's so rare that we actually have a chance to sit down and have a meal together like we used to. The entire time I made dinner I could think of no one else but you. It almost seems strange that you would be on my mind considering that with today's technology I could reach you any moment of the day. I even see you for a few minutes every week.

That never bothered me until tonight when I realized how much I missed you. I realized how I hurt you the other evening and because I worked the next three days after that the incident wasn't allowed to linger in my brain until yesterday afternoon, when you began to walk out the door, but stopped for a second and told me to give you a hug. I obeyed and you whispered, "I love you."

I wanted to cry. In that instant I knew I was forgiven. I hadn't deserved it, but then again you always were a very forgiving person. How you do that I'll never know. It just bothers me so much because I remembered the pain in your eyes earlier in the week. God what I wouldn't give to have told you the news months before. And you didn't even seem phased by it. You were more upset at the fact that you found out through a stranger.

"Well I guess we aren't as close as I once thought," I remember you saying.

And you're right. We aren't. I always knew that. At least coming from my end I never fully allowed myself to open up to you, but you always confided in me. I saw parts of you I never wanted to see, the weaker parts. They were the parts that let me know you were human. I thank you for that because I know not a lot of people know you like I do.

I don't expect you to understand why I don't talk to you as much as I should. Maybe it's my own fault. Sometimes I portray myself as the person you want me to be. It's an act at times.

However I hope you know I want us to get to the point where I no longer have to play a game of make believe. Maybe with a little more time and confidence I'll be willing to let you in completely in my world. Until then please be patient with me. I may come off as very strong and very open, but deep down I am terrified of being misunderstood, especially by you.

Introduction

2005-02-20T01:10:00.000-07:00

Christina 101

1. I hate coffee. So much so that my mom (now forth known as 'the parental figure') used to tell me that when she was pregnant with me she had to stop drinking it completely because I'd start abusing her from inside the womb by kicking her every time she had any (She swore to people I would become the next Pele). To this day she doesn't drink it as much and she always takes it black.

2. Make-up feels like war paint. This may explain why so many people knock years off my age upon first meeting.

3. My kittens are named after boxers: 'Sonny' {Liston} and {Layla} 'Ali.' The last one's a girl. It was completely unintentional.

4. When I was staying in a dorm my last semester of college (in Wyoming) a pair of friends and I created a new game: Jamaican mattress stair sledding. I lived on the fourth floor and had no roommate so when they asked to borrow the second empty bed in my room (they had friends coming over from Phoenix the next day) I allowed them. Only problem was I had no elevator key, which meant we had to carry the frame and mattress down two flights of stairs. David carried the frame while Jackie and I carried the mattress. After struggling to go down half a flight I dropped my end and sat down on it. Jackie did the same and said it would be much faster if we slid down the stairs on the mattress. So without any notice David pushed us and down we went. It was about 3 a.m. and I'm sure we woke up half the student body, but we didn't care. In fact we went down the entire three flights despite the fact their room was on the second floor. We managed to walk away unscathed.

5. I have never turned down a dare.

6. Therefore when I was dared into going to Miami to meet a guy (from New Jersey) I had met over the Internet only four weeks prior to the invitation I accepted. Wednesday night he propositioned me. Thursday morning I had the "okay" from the job to take a few days off and by that night I was on my way. I had a blast. We met tons of people, all Asian (my friend was Korean himself) and partied at The Clevelander the first night in town. The second night I got sick and stayed in the hotel watching the basketball playoffs. My friend called me every ten minutes for the score.

7. I've met several online friends in person. All guys. And as of right now of the few I still chat/talk to and haven't met there's only one I really want to meet.

8. I have a thing with maps and globes. I can't explain it. I have two hanging on my walls in my room, one of the USA and the other of the world. I have a globe in my closet.

9. I've had ten different addresses in my lifetime.

10. I'm 24 now.

11. I don't drink enough water and I openly admit to being addicted to Coke.

12. I've never done drugs, smoked a cigarette or gotten high in any form.

13. I have, however, been drunk, once when I was seven, though that was partially my father's fault. I kept bothering him while he was on the phone. He had just cracked open a Budweiser and I walked into the kitchen wiping the sleep crust from my eye, saw the beer and immediately decided I was thirsty. After begging with him to let me have a sip he handed me the can and told me to keep quiet. I took a sip. And then another. And another. I walked around, my small hand barely able to grasp the can as I stared out the window and at him. I finished the entire can before going back to sleep. Needless to say the next morning I was sick as a dog. When the parental figure found out she screamed at both my father and myself. She held my hair as I sat, crouched over the porcelain god.

14. To this day I don't drink beer. I do like vodka and frozen margaritas (preferably with tequila).

15. I'm a pillow freak.

16. But I hate to sleep for fear of missing out on something important. During my college years I usually got by on 3-4 hours of sleep a night (if at all) and prided myself on the fact that I could think and perform clearly when needed to.

17. The longest amount of time I've ever slept was months ago, when, after not sleeping for two nights straight and getting three hours every night for four nights before that, was fourteen hours, uninterrupted.

18. I got my belly button pierced because my boyfriend thought it would be 'hot.' I've grown to love it and the stone matches my watch. I'm a girl, what do you expect: I have to accessorize.

19. When I was 11 my friend's mom pierced my ear with a needle and ice. I thought the feeling of having numb earlobes was way cooler than having my ears pierced. I allowed them to close up weeks after the piercing.

20. I have no tattoos, though I frequently write on my hands and other body parts as a way to remember things. I jokingly tell my boss that the movie Memento was loosely based on me.

21. I was sexually molested as a kid. When I tell my friends that they get weird on me, which is usually why I wait to say anything, if I say anything at all.

22. I lost my virginity shortly after my 20th birthday. It was to a man twice my age. I didn't really love him and all we had going on was the sex. It wasn't such a big deal when I broke it off less than a year later. I haven't spoken or seen him since.

23. The man wasn't a bad guy. He did do me one great big favor: He convinced me to quit my job and go to college (which I had been putting off). I owe him so much for that. I now have my AA and while I am taking some more time off from school at the moment I know for certain I will go back to get the BA and more. I'm no longer afraid and I know what to expect. In fact I'm toying with the idea of taking up an advanced photography class during the fall semester offered at the Glassell school near the MFAH downtown.

24. I've only truly loved (romantically speaking) three men in my life: my second ex, my current, and a very good friend of mine. All are still very much in my life now (with the exception of the second ex) and oddly enough all of their names begin with the letter 'J.' Even the guy I lost my virginity to had a name that began with the letter 'J.' Hmm . . .

25. Last year, about this time, my best friend told me she had 'feelings' for me. She had been avoiding me for weeks after one particular night. She had gotten into an argument with her boyfriend (now fiance) and came over my apartment to talk. We did little more than talk and play chess and poker. I didn't notice anything different about her. However after weeks of not speaking to me after that night she goes and tells me that she wanted to explore her feelings and nearly did that night. After being completely dumbfounded and not knowing what to say I cried. Probably not a normal person's first reaction, but at that moment I knew our friendship had changed forever.

26. I've never been a bride's maid/maid of honor, though I'll get my chance in August.

27. I nearly killed a deer with a noodle.

28. The youngest person in my family ever to die was my cousin Daniel (Danny Boy). He was seventeen and four months shy of his high school graduation. He was killed in a car accident two years ago. They pulled the plug the night before Valentine's Day. I was in Wyoming at the time and couldn't make the funeral. I still haven't gotten over it.

29. I am the only girl in my immediate family. I was the first one born after the parental figure had a tube pregnancy and one tube removed. The baby was five months at the time. It was a girl. After finding this information out at the age of 13 I started jokingly referring to myself as 'The Replacement.' I'm almost certain that despite the fact that my mom was a tomboy as a kid she wanted a 'girly girl.' Unfortunately she got stuck with me.

30. My father tried to convince the parental figure to have an abortion each time she got pregnant after me (twice).

31. I bite my nails. I've only had one manicure in my life and the pain was more intense than having my teeth cleaned at the dentists.

32. I have the smallest hands I know of anyone. Even the parental figure's hands are bigger than mine and she's a mere 5'2". And hers are much cooler with the wrinkles and all. So much character.

33. Did I mention I was a hand freak as well. In fact I took a photo of my (paternal) grandmother's hands lackadaisically holding a tea cup and managed to get it published in a college annual.

34. I never paint my toenails any other color than pink.

35. I grew up listening to Oldies and can belt out verses of songs from The Jackson 5, The Temptations, Otis Redding, Frank Sinatra, Aretha Franklin, and Frankie Valli with the best of them.

36. The scariest movie I've ever seen was Stephen King's Cujo. It's the only movie that gave me nightmares and made me wet the bed. I still love dogs though.

37. I'm really bad at writing handwritten letters. Cards/postcards I can do, but letters? Fuhgetaboutit! I even sent the ex a TYPED 'Dear John.' Hell I thought I might as well say something before he does. He makes it a point to tell everyone he knows anyway.

38. He'll never learn about this site.

39. I like trains. After the first move every other house/apartment/dorm I've ever lived in had a train running near it. I dream of hopping aboard it one day and just riding it until I wind up in another part of the country.

40. I fantasize a lot, though I'm vey much grounded.

41. I had to be taught how to dream. And that didn't happen until my I reached my 20s.

42. I once saw a kid get killed. He was my friend's younger brother and riding along on a bike in our neighborhood when a car sped by hit him, throwing him and his bike a few dozen feet. The car took off. Cops were called. Life Flight came but the boy was pronounced dead at the scene. I was 10 at the time and while I have forgotten many things from my childhood the memory of his mom crying and screaming as the helicopter took her son away has managed to say etched in my mind forever.

43. I prefer sunflowers (tulips too) over roses anyday.

44. A guy wrote a poem about me entitled 'Sun Maiden.'

45. I once watched a meteor shower in late August with a guy from Louisiana. I was in Wyoming at the time and we were on the phone. He laughed at me because I couldn't get out of the house in the dark quietly.

46. A print of Van Gogh's 'Starry Night' dons my wall.

47. I'm used to getting what I want and I can usually charm my way through any situation. Don't confuse that with being 'spoiled.'

48. One of the greatest conversations I've ever had took place a few weeks when 'the ex (the 2nd one)' told me that there was a possibility a girl he had slept with had a miscarriage and it was his (she had the symptoms: pain, bleeding, etc etc). She was perhaps only a month or so along and never knew for certain if she was pregnant or not before that incident took place. She had an appointment scheduled. Unfortunately though this happened two days before she was to see her doctor. When he told me (through the IM) we talked for hours about life and death and our theories on what happens after we die. It was one of the few times we didn't get into an argument.

49. My favorite book is Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita. It had me laughing and actually rooting for the protagonist (from Humbert Humbert's point of view) despite the subject matter.

50. My parents were divorced by the time I was 8. Since then my father had been trying to get me to live with him for a short period of time off and on for years (The parental figure got custody of all five of us; not that my father would have fought for custody anyway). Finally, when I was 21 I promised him a year out of my life. I gave him five months before I moved out and into a dorm. He had divorced and married in less than three months (September - November). His third wife didn't like me so I took it as a sign and left. After that I didn't see/talk to him again until we met at the airport the day I left Wyoming. At my grandmother's urging I walked up to him, shook his hand, told him thanks and moved on to his brother, my favorite uncle, whom I had met only the previous summer. I cried hysterically on his shoulder. He was the only 'father figure' I've ever known.

51. I don't know my father's family well. I've only met his oldest brother and sister a handful of times. I've never known my grandfather (he died when I was 15) nor any of my cousins. I tell people that they're all very secretive (which they are) and that because they're Italian they lead double lives. It sounds more interesting my way.

52. Besides being part Italian I'm also Mexican & Native American (Cherokee) which derives from my mom's side and my last name means 'mountain.' Some ancestors of my father's family came from the Basque region in Spain, mountain regions.

53. When I was about 10 years old my younger brother and I were asleep on the fold out sofa after watching some Hitchcock flick on television. I remember waking up and overhearing my oldest brother telling my father that he had tried to commit suicide. To my dismay the younger brother was awake and trying to stifle his cries with his hand. I covered his ears and told him that the oldest one didn't mean what he said and was just having a bad day. Ten years later I found myself in the same position, this time the same younger one telling me he had suicidal thoughts and I was the one trying to cover my own ears.

54. The parental figure suffered from agoraphobia when she was younger. I found this out from my father when I was living with him. It now explains a lot.

55. I myself prefer to be alone, although the thought of having to be in crowds and public places doesn't paralyze me. I've always loved the city I call home because of the anonymity.

56. I got made fun of for the way I talked when I left home. And when I saw a black person for the first time in that small town (three weeks after I got there) I practically yelled and pointed, "Look, a black person." My father was mortified. But I wasn't doing it to embarrass him. It was at that point that it dawned on me that the town was predominantly white. And to be honest the 'black' person I saw was mixed (my father knew him). I was so used to growing up around so many different people of colors and beliefs that it never occurred to me that any other town would be the complete opposite.

57. I have ten yet to be lit candles in my room.

58. I'm a big fan of sandals. I have two pairs of shoes, one pair of sneakers, some clunky black boots that I wear to work and about five pair of sandals.

59. I once had to buy two pairs of shoelaces for the sneakers in less than a week because Sonny chewed the first pair after I refused to feed him at 5 a.m. and again two days later when he couldn't find his toys and I left my shoes out instead of throwing them in the closet after coming home from a jog.

60. I hate being called 'perfect.'

61. The parental figure will call me a 'bitch' once in a while. You'd have to really understand our relationship to find out why we do that and why we crack up every time.

62. I absolutely hated her when I was a kid. But then again I hated most authority figures. It wasn't until I was entering my highschool years that I let go of some of the anger I had towards her and allowed her to be my friend. It's sort of a joke that I nicknamed her 'the parental figure' because while we do live with one another we share responsibilities as far as rent, bills and groceries go. There hasn't been a time when I've had a job that I hadn't helped her out. It's just understood that one helps out around the place when they can. And as far as parenting goes . . . she's stopped being 'my mom' and became 'my friend' years ago. So when she's mad at me it hurts even worse.

63. There are times when I'll go days, sometimes weeks, only eating one type of food: crunchy peanut butter sandwiches, lime sherbet and Sprite, Orville Redenbaucher's Microwaveable Movie Theater popcorn, Jello, just to name a few.

64. After years and years of avoiding computers I've decided that there's no way around them and it'd be best to learn what I could. So after being given my very first computer four years ago I taught myself what I could. I've taken two basic computer classes in college since then and I never really learned to 'type' properly, but I can type faster than most of the friends who were taught.

65. I'm a smart ass by nature and truly believe a different set of rules applies to me. Therefore I come off as a hypocrite at times. However my audacity to break many of them have gotten me further than most my peers at work, some much older than I am. My bosses love me and see to it that they accommodate little things I ask for (days off at the last minute {such as was the Miami trip - 36 hrs notice}, certain hours, etc).

66. I've gotten respiratory bronchitis several times in the past few years (the first time being when I was 15). During spring break two years ago, I came down with it and it would take me close to thirty minutes to climb the three flights of stairs, periodically holding my jacket sleeve over my mouth and breathing deep. Because I couldn't hold much food down my diet consisted of creamy peanut butter (I much prefer extra crunchy) eaten with a spoon and Jello. When I started feeling better I ate soup. Though the first time I tried to open the can I didn't have a can opener. I was on the phone with my younger brother at the time. He asked me if I had a pair of scissors lying around. Being an art major I had two pairs, an X-acto knife, a box cutter and several blades (good thing security never knocked down my door). He told me to poke two holes through the top on opposite ends and cut across. It worked!

67. I love my brother.

68. I have plastic glow in the dark stars on my ceiling.

69. My very first sexual encounter hurt like hell.

70. I'm not a big fan of religion. I find it a bit ridiculous to live my life according to some rules some old dudes wrote up several thousand years ago. Times have changed, things have progressed and people are different. I try to have good morals and be a good person, but I don't think I'm going to be condemned to hell if I were a lesbian or disobeyed the parental figure or didn't knock on God's door every Sunday.

71. Course that won't get me any brownie points either, but I sort of love the idea of coming back to earth again and living another life. In fact I'm sure I've done that many times. I don't make a lot of the same 'mistakes' so many people my age do. I'm sure I made them a long time ago and I don't think myself any better than anyone else, just that I may have an 'older soul.'

72. I've only had one song dedicated to me. UB40's 'Red Red Wine.'

73. I love taking pictures of myself.

74. I'm brutally honest to a fault. I don't even cheat on my taxes (gasp!).

75. With that said I find pot bellies sexy (kidding).

76. Joe Bowden (a former Tennessee Titan and now Dallas Cowboy) signed by birthday card a few years ago.

77. I gave myself a concussion when I was at a casino in Nevada for my 22nd birthday. I had dropped a quarter and bent down to pick it up when my father's (2nd - this is confusing I know) wife called my name. When I pulled my head back up the arm on one of the slot machines hit me from behind and I fell down again. Shortly afterwards I met my father at a blackjack table and ordered a round of margaritas. I had a few before going to bed for the night. The next morning I couldn't figure out where I was.

78. I spent my 21st birthday in a hospital. My best friend got into a car accident the night before. Three weeks later we were partying and celebrating her birthday at a strip joint.

79. I spent the 23rd birthday in a cave in San Antonio, Texas. The following day in Kemah, on a boat. My last one I spent at work.

80. I find people who accuse someone of acting 'white' or 'black' ignorant. It really amuses me when it's another black person who accuses someone of the same race as acting 'white.' Usually by this they mean 'educated.' I know this because my best friend, Andrea is black and people accuse her of this all the time. What they don't realize is that they're putting themselves down, not her, because by calling her 'white' they're making it seem like she should not be as smart or as well spoken as she is; ie: she should talk like them.

81. When it comes to racial comments it's usually other Hispanics that give me a hard time. I've gotten mean comments about how I'm supposed to be able to speak Spanish. One Thanksgiving Day at work I was given a hard time by an older, drunk man. After forcing his friend to translate I found out he was calling me an 'English speaking white bitch.'

82. Needless to say I don't get along with many older Hispanic people.

83. Nor girls my age.

84. I do however get along with women around my parents' age (40s-50s). Most are nurturing and motherly and they feed homemade food. They feel a need to watch out for me.

85. I'd much rather the company of guys my age though simply because I tend to express the same interests as many of the ones I find interesting: books, cars, life, art, and things beyond our comprehension, such as sporks.

86. One person in my entire life calls me 'Nuh (the third syllable of my name).' And she's the only person who has ever understood why I had to wrap the parental figure's Christmas gift three times this past year. Her name is Anna and she's in her late 40's. I absolutely adore her. She's also the only other person at my job who got psyched up about an art exhibit that featured some work from MoMA here in Houston. This piece was my favorite. Of course you have to view it in its vastness and research the artist's history in order to understand it. I had two very different reactions each time I saw the exhibit. My feelings for it changed after learning about the man behind the piece.

87. The last movie I saw was the Dutch original 'Spoorloos.' They showed it last night at the MFAH. I went and watched it by myself. It was awesome. I've vowed never to watch the {presumed} trashy Hollywood remake (The Vanishing).

88. My bedroom is comfortably messy and for one reason or another people compliment it.

89. I'm really anal about people staring at my ass (Ha-pun intended).

90. I don't miss being a kid. My imagination is a lot better now than it was when I was younger. I can eat without dropping food down my shirt and while I know the world isn't as innocent as I foolishly thought before, knowing this has also allowed me to forgive people and their mistakes instead of putting them on pedestals and watching them fall and burn.

91. So far I've only lied about # 73.

92. I hate taking pills. For any reason.

93. I must be one of the handful of Neanderthals that does not have a cell phone. Sheesh, even the parental figure has one and actually knows how to use it (this coming from a woman who would call me up, long distance mind you, while I was in Wyoming and ask me to tell her how to set her alarm clock)! And I prefer it that way.

94. I can't drive. I commute to work by bus, which I find romantic, in an Ernest Hemingway sort of way (though he'd probably prefer an ambulance). I was once asked if it was scary riding a bus. I told the girl, "No, the strangest thing that ever happened to me was when a guy sitting two seats behind me gave me a rose made from a napkin."

95. For some reason or other I think I've been spared many times this lifetime. If you've ever been in a car with my mom you'd understand. I'm also not very cautious and the boyfriend hates that because he worries non-stop about me. So to drive him crazy I walk in the dark, alone and think completely naive thoughts such as, Oh he's only going to work on his garden, when being approached by a man in a trenchcoat with a knife and a bag in the rain in a dark alley.

96. I've been wearing glasses since I was 8. My last optometrist told me don't bother getting contacts because they'd only worsen my eye sight.

97. It's been over a year since the last time I've been in a church (not counting the time I attended my aunt's funeral last year).

98. I actually have people on my side who would go to extreme lengths to see me happy and for some reason that never ceases to amaze me.

99. I can't sleep in complete darkness or without some kind of 'noise.' This is the reason for the four clocks in my room, none digital.

100. At least twice a week my dinner consists of Subway sandwiches.

101. I don't watch much television and I've stopped watching the news altogether.

Feel free to judge me now.