What in gay Hell??
I am convinced that I have reached my peak of worst dates. The worst date o'meter has spiked to its highest reading possible and nothing shall ever compare or match up to it ever again for at least three generations, my daughter, her daughter and her daughter's daughter.
So I am not sure why but I still have a myspace account AND about 80 people a week view my blog, apparently my life is entertaining. One of those people, we shall call Shayne (because she looks like Kate Moaning, the actress who plays Shayne in The L Word....I kid you not!) I have always found Shayne curiously hot in the show so was not opposed when her look alike asked me out on a date.
About an hour before I was supposed to pick up Shayne she write me a text message saying that she has no money and was embarrassed. I told her it was no problem and I would pay for dinner after which we would share a bottle of wine at my apartment.
No money...... Shayne is broke..... I can handle that..
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In a distant place in my subconscious a small snowball is formed and placed on the top of a massive hill unbeknown to the rest of my mind also known as the consciousness that lies at the bottom of the hill. My consciousness set up in organized houses and streets, a network of order and laws. Everything in my world that made sense, everything I understood about myself lined the streets of the small town. A utopia.
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I drove to her house to pick her up.... "Where are you?" I asked her through the cell phone.
"I am outside.." she said.
"All I see is a fat man next to a white truck," I said looking around.
"That is me!" She yelled into the phone.
I prayed that the figure of what I thought was a man would walk in the other direction and a hot girl would emerge from the bushes laughing and joking "haha, got you!! You really thought that was me??!! Who do you think I am? I really had you going, that is my brother!"
I was not that lucky, my eyes watered when I realized this wasn't a joke. There was no Kate Moaning, girl of my dreams in the bushes ready to jump out and make fun of my gullibility, that indeed this person was my date.
My date is fat..... Fat Shayne....
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A strong wind blew in my subconscious. The snowball on the top of the hill in that distant place began to budge from its stand still position safely on top of the massive hill of what is unknown to me. The people of the small valley town in my head residing in the known world of my private universe cried out together in unison, "No!!"
"Now you all stop!!" The mayor of the small town yells out over a microphone. "Let's not be shallow!!"
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I will get to know her....Maybe Fat Shayne has a personality that will make her hot..
It happens right??
So we drove to Casa Rio and sat down at a booth. I enjoyed her company and sense of humor. She seemed really cool. She told me that she had gained all the weight after quitting Crystal Meth and was losing weight.
"I work out probably twelve hours a day and lose 22 pounds a weeks," she says trying her best to reassure me that her obesity was merely a phase. "I plan on joining the Navy in March in fact."
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"See she isn't so bad," the mayor of the town in my mind tells the residents over a loud speaker.
The residents exhale in relief and continue in their organized patterns of maintaining and improving the town of my mind now strung with christmas lights and snow men. A perfect little christmas paradise.
Meanwhile, in the gay mecca, a small suburb of my mind's town a group of homosexuals are putting up their christmas lights for they so love christmas, especially since the traditional christmas lights are representing the glorious rainbow colors. An array of fabulous making them a unique part of the town.
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I was satisfied with the excuse and reassured myself that if she was only thin she would be super hot. Her face was still unquestionably gorgeous, there was no doubt about that. I wondered to myself "Does she know how much she looks like my favorite character on the L Word?" I wondered if she got told that a lot.
After dinner Fat Shayne asked me if I would take her to CVC Pharmacy. I did not think this request odd so drove straight there.
I turned the car off and opened the door..
"Wait, there is no reason for us both to go in," Shayne said, "I will be right back."
While I waited in the car I wondered what she was doing, why the pharmacy. I waited only a few seconds and she came out...
With nothing but free samples of men's cologne.
"I like this cologne, and wanted you to have something to remember me by," she said spraying it all over my car.
I did not like the smell of men's cologne.
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The snowball on top of the hill above the town began to roll down the hill and within seconds it was twice as big as before... Velocity was on its side.
In the gay mecca of the town a woman asks her girlfriend, "What is that smell?"
"It smells like men's cologne," the girlfriend replies and holds her nose.
"Is that sexy to wear men's cologne if you are a lesbian?" the woman asks her girlfriend.
"It is suppose to trigger women's pheromones," the girlfriend puts up Holly and Berries on the street lights.
"I don't think its working!" the woman says in disgust, "just smells like a butch woman trying to be a man again."
"Makes me sick," the girlfriend says and plugs her nose tighter. "Make it go away."
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I had expected Fat Shayne to come out with tampons, excedrin, or roses perhaps a romantic gesture for a girl who has nothing besides her gorgeous face going for her.
That would have been better... more acceptable...
So the girl likes cologne.....I guess I will put up with it tonight.....
You have now entered the point of no return Fat Shayne... Friendville. A place where people go who have no chance in hell of ever being in a relationship with me.
I decided a drink was in order and drove to my apartment.
As we were walking from the parking lot something fell from the inside of Fat Shayne's pant leg down to her shoes. She quickly leaned over.
"What was that?" I asked highly suspicious that whatever was tucked in her pants was stolen from CVC Pharmacy, thus the reason why she did not desire my company in the store.
"My cigarettes," she answered and pulled out a white box of Cold and Flu Medicine. She quickly tucked them away into her pocket.
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The snowball was now half way down the hill, big enough to be seen by the townspeople and it was heading straight for the gay mecca of my mind. A massive snowball rolling right toward the organized suburb of my gay mind. They were doomed.
The people in the adjacent suburbs watched the news from the safety of their homes.
"A giant snowball is headed straight for the gay mecca," the news reporter said.
"Meanwhile a woman is about to violate our town's strict 'no smoking' policy." The male newsreporter looks over at the female newsreporter "Sharon has more to follow. Are you there Sharon"
"Yes, Tim. It seems that not only is the woman a smoker but she also does what is far worse, shop lifts," the woman walks toward the CVC Pharmacy, "now here is where it happened ten minutes ago at this pharmacy."
"Do we know what she stole?" Tim asks through the headphones to Sharon.
"We suspect that it may be cold medicine Tim," Sharon says pressing on her earpiece.
"Our on sight witnesses are testifying that yes, it is indeed cold medicine. Tell us what you saw ma'am."
"Well, we haven't had any shoplifting here since the year of our lord 1999," the old woman clutches onto her Bible, "I was shocked when I saw the box of medicine fall out from her pants. I was truly disappointed in such dishonesty."
"Well, there you have it." Tim announces, "more to follow about the avalanche moving toward the gay district."
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At my apartment we shared a bottle of wine and some laughs. Although fat and a shoplifter, the girl was funny. I enjoyed hearing her talk and tell stories. I thought for sure if anything Fat Shayne could become a friend.
Everything was going to be okay despite it all. I have nothing to lose and only a friendship to gain right?
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The people in the gay district of my mind's civilization started packing their bags. They were certain for disaster. They listened to the radio and news waiting for any news regarding the Estimated Time of Arrival of the avalanche.
The lesbians packed their U Hauls up as quickly as possible and the gay men gathered all their precious costumes, makeup and designer clothes.
Armageddon was coming.
Or was it??
"News flash!" said the gayest most flamboyant man in the gay mecca over a large podium over looking the main street, "the avalanche has hit a patch of pine trees and has ceased from moving toward our district!"
Everyone cheered.
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It wasn't till 2 am that she left my apartment. Although it was nothing I expected, I felt pleased with the night. A new friend to hang out with.
I went to bed at peace with my new found friend. Fat Shayne.
In the morning. I woke up not realizing that this date, although seemed okay in the end was actually a ticking time bomb ready to explode. She was gone, what possibly could have made this date the worst date ever you might be thinking.
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The avalanche was no longer a threat to the townspeople, they went along their gay way of life. Organized, everything as it should be.
Little did they know that during the avalanche fiasco an outsider has planted a ticking time bomb within the walls of the city at the Cher Memorial.
Ticking away..... Five minutes left and it would explode destroying all of the brilliant glimmer and streamers of a suburb that is simply too gay.
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I did my usual as I did every morning and grabbed my brush from under my sink...
To my surprise was two empty boxes of cold and flu medicine.
I could hear the ticking of the time bomb in my mind...
My date was trippin on cold medicine the whole time, two boxes worth. I was very angry!
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At this point a bomb squad has discovered the time bomb at Cher's Memorial.
"There is no time Sargent!" One squad member yells to his Sargent.
"Should we cut the red or blue wire?" the Sargent asks the other member clutching onto small wire cutting scissors.
"I don't know!" the squad member cries out while the entire gay community watches anxiously hoping it does not go off.
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"That is fine," I thought to myself, "I just won't see her again."
No harm, no foul, it wasn't like she was a close friend or anything. I thought of how someday this would make a good story to tell. Perhaps I would tell my next girlfriend when we are comparing our bad date experiences.
I laughed to myself finding it almost amusing that I had no idea she was high the entire time. for sure, my next girlfriend would laugh with me about this. Of course I would win the world's worst date story.
Of course right.......
I was fine, unaware that the timb bomb was still ticking. I walked in my living room and began to clean.
I keep a clean apartment, very clean.
'Cleanliness is next to Godliness," I thought to myself and proceeded to wipe off all the surfaces of my apartment with lysol wipes. I sang as I worked to the songs of my ipod, my favorite song by Alejandro Saenz.
'Someday I will have a girlfriend that can appreciate the romantic tunes of this spanish version of Frank Sinatra,' I hoped to myself as I proceeded to clean the surfaces of my end tables.
BLOODY TAMPON!!!!!
There sitting before me, on my favorite magazine no less, was a vile bloody tampon. In my living room!!
I cried out in rage!
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"Cut the green wire!" the Sargent told the squad member.
BAM!!!! The entire gay mecca of my mind was shattered into a million of pieces.
What used to be a well organized thought out peaceful place was in flames.
Women and men were screaming and crying in horror. Especially the gay men. "I told you all pussy was gross and you didn't listen!! Now look what happened!!!"
U Hauls were blown into unrecognizable pieces, cats and dogs ran to freedom with no collars. It was every lesbians nightmare.
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I have heard of people crying when they are happy and angry, but have never experienced angry tears.
I was hysterical. I could not fathomably control myself, I was so angry and overcome with emotion that I cried out. Tears fell to the ground. Angry tears.
I have never been this angry before.....
"It must of happened while I was in the bathroom," I said to myself trying to recall events of the night. I cried harder, my face red with rage.
I couldn't think of any excuses to give her. I tried so hard to come up with some plausible explanation as to why someone would not only pull her tampon out in my living room but think it would be okay to set it down on my end table only to be discovered in the morning, a vile miserable pathetic piece of decaying menstruation.
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"Maybe it fell out," said a teenage girl to her best friend as she walked along the edge of the gay district now up in flames.
"Have you ever had a tampon just fall out?" the girl asked her friend while leaning over to pick up a piece of one of the gay flags blown apart.
"Nope, but it can happen right?" The girl tried to come up with a reasonable doubt as she watched the district destroy before her eyes.
"No it cannot!" A police officer approaches the young girls, "it is clearly an act of terror and will not be tolerated! Now you two off to your homes where it is safe. And stay away from anybody who appears to be fat and gay no matter how nice and funny they are."
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It took me two days to recover from that horrible date. The thought of the tampon haunted my mind.
I was traumatized.... hopefully not forever but indeed traumatized.
I imagined the tampon growing arms and legs and walking around my apartment, contaminating everything it touches. Sitting on my couch, eating my popcorn, smelling up my safe haven.
I felt violated.
As for the gay mecca in my mind... It might recover.
I have heard of people having trauma in their childhood that caused them to be gay, molestations, mistreatment, rape etc. I wondered if this kind of trauma could change me.
Can Someone be scared straight?
I seriously doubt it but you never know, anyone else experiencing this may have.
I am too super gay for that though, get back on the horse.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Addicted To Love
Last night I couldn't sleep...
This isn't entirely abnormal for me, in addition the cramps ripping apart my uterus from within reminding me that it shall be hours before I fall asleep. I am a night person, ever since I started working the graveyard shift in the Emergency Room.
I did what any night person does... Play farmville, chat online with friends and watch late night television.
I watched a clip from Opera first. The episode was about women who were 'addicted to love.'
'Love addiction?' I asked myself and put the remote down. Usually Opera's talk show bored me, it used to be good ten years ago, but lately I haven't been able to sit through ten minutes of one of her shows. No wonder this next season would be her last...
I listened in some more about 'love addiction', there were four women sitting in a semi circle with Oprah at the end.
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"I just remember being so depressed waiting by the phone," one beautiful blond woman told Opera, "he never called, and every minute I was left alone without him felt like torture."
"So, did you ever call him?" Opera asked looking at the blond woman and then at the camera.
"Yes, once or twice," the woman responded, "I tried not to call too much because I didn't want to appear desperate, and besides we had just broken up, I am sure he just needed space."
"And did he answer?" Opera crossed her legs.
"No, I had to leave a message both times," the blond woman answered, "even after calling him, I thought about calling him again, I was obsessed, constantly wondering what he was doing, where he was, who he was with and if he thought about me."
"You say you were obsessed?" Opera points out.
"Yes, I went to see a Psychologist for it," the woman smiles, "and the psychologist said that I had an addiction, a love addiction."
"Here we have a psychologist, Dr. Sandra Collins, with us," Opera introduces the other woman sitting next to the love addicted blond woman. The audience claps.
"Thanks for inviting me Opera," Dr. Collins smiles, the clapping dies down.
"Now, we have all been through heartbreak," Opera says matter-of-factly, "I know I have, the constant thinking and wondering..'what is he up to, does he feel the same way....etc'. Now when is that considered to be a love 'addiction.'"
"Well, Opera. A small degree of heartbreak is natural for anyone," the Dr. in Psychology adjusts her glasses frame, "but when you take it so far that you find no relief in diversionary activities, reading, being with friends and it supersedes your self worth to the point where you lay all the stock you have in yourself on your partner, husband or ex, then it becomes a love addiction. Also might I add, when you constantly obsessing about that one other person, more and for a longer period of time then normal."
"You say normal," Opera points out, "now what is considered normal?"
"Well, it varies from person to person." Dr. Sandra Collins looks at Opera, "it might take days, months and years to get over someone who was significant in your life, someone you love."
"Might I add something," the blond woman interrupted and put one finger up, "when I was going through this grieving process, feeling that sense of loss where I came to realize, 'yes, he did dump me and it is over,' I got to a point where I didn't get out of bed, stopped showering daily, showing up late to work, not being able to sleep at night, he was just constantly on my mind, I was consumed. I literally waited by the phone all day for a phone call from him."
"Now, that is a perfect example of a maladaptive way of dealing with this love addiction," the Dr. in Psychology pointed out, "other ways is going out on several dates, desperately trying to fill that void with another person, some people start kissing and sleeping around with the first available date that comes around."
"So it is kind of like a drug addict looking for a fix?" Opera straightened her shirt and sat up straighter in the chair.
"Exactly!" Dr. Collins says in a loud voice, "these women's self worth is measured by feeling they are loved and wanted by another person, they are addicted in a sense."
"So how does a woman break free from this love addiction?" Opera asks the Dr. in Psychology.
"She needs to learn to love herself, bottom line," Dr. Collins said and lifted up her book, "I wrote this book called 'The Reversal Agent to Love Addiction: A Guide to Loving Yourself'."
"Yes, I have read it myself and find some interesting points," Opera holds up the book, "so I am giving a copy to everyone in the audience today."
Everyone in the Audience cheered.
(it was late at night when i watched this so it may not be exactly the way I saw it)
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So there I was sitting on my couch thinking about 'love addiction.'
I would be lying if I said I have never been there. I have been through some rough breakups. One of the worst was in Puerto Rico where I was living with my girlfriend. She broke up with me and I was left alone. I was shattered and dealt with it in a very maladaptive way for almost a year straight.
I have to admit, I went out with several girls and even dated a guy, which is so unlike me. I needed someone to fill the emptiness that consumed me. On top of that I made every excuse I could to talk to my ex or see her. She was constantly on my mind, I was obsessed with the idea of 'winning her back.'
It never happened. But after a year, I got over it and made friends. Developed self esteem and self confidence. I did not need her or anyone to make me feel whole.
I started to love myself and it has cured me of this love addiction.
I have been through two break ups since then and have felt the same way, love for myself superseding feelings of loss.
I am okay, I am fine, I am lovable, and I am good.
Of course, I still have that desire to find someone to be with and hopefully make a life with, have that fairytale ending I so desire. But I don't put this desire above my self worth.
I believe in order to truly love someone else, you must first love yourself.
If you truly love yourself, you have respect for yourself. You don't allow yourself to become loose, going out with just anybody with a pulse, 98.7 degrees whose heart beats and lungs breath air who will keep you warm at night.
When you love and respect yourself you know what you deserve. You wait for the best and you do not settle for less.
You are not a one night stand when you love and respect yourself.
This isn't entirely abnormal for me, in addition the cramps ripping apart my uterus from within reminding me that it shall be hours before I fall asleep. I am a night person, ever since I started working the graveyard shift in the Emergency Room.
I did what any night person does... Play farmville, chat online with friends and watch late night television.
I watched a clip from Opera first. The episode was about women who were 'addicted to love.'
'Love addiction?' I asked myself and put the remote down. Usually Opera's talk show bored me, it used to be good ten years ago, but lately I haven't been able to sit through ten minutes of one of her shows. No wonder this next season would be her last...
I listened in some more about 'love addiction', there were four women sitting in a semi circle with Oprah at the end.
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"I just remember being so depressed waiting by the phone," one beautiful blond woman told Opera, "he never called, and every minute I was left alone without him felt like torture."
"So, did you ever call him?" Opera asked looking at the blond woman and then at the camera.
"Yes, once or twice," the woman responded, "I tried not to call too much because I didn't want to appear desperate, and besides we had just broken up, I am sure he just needed space."
"And did he answer?" Opera crossed her legs.
"No, I had to leave a message both times," the blond woman answered, "even after calling him, I thought about calling him again, I was obsessed, constantly wondering what he was doing, where he was, who he was with and if he thought about me."
"You say you were obsessed?" Opera points out.
"Yes, I went to see a Psychologist for it," the woman smiles, "and the psychologist said that I had an addiction, a love addiction."
"Here we have a psychologist, Dr. Sandra Collins, with us," Opera introduces the other woman sitting next to the love addicted blond woman. The audience claps.
"Thanks for inviting me Opera," Dr. Collins smiles, the clapping dies down.
"Now, we have all been through heartbreak," Opera says matter-of-factly, "I know I have, the constant thinking and wondering..'what is he up to, does he feel the same way....etc'. Now when is that considered to be a love 'addiction.'"
"Well, Opera. A small degree of heartbreak is natural for anyone," the Dr. in Psychology adjusts her glasses frame, "but when you take it so far that you find no relief in diversionary activities, reading, being with friends and it supersedes your self worth to the point where you lay all the stock you have in yourself on your partner, husband or ex, then it becomes a love addiction. Also might I add, when you constantly obsessing about that one other person, more and for a longer period of time then normal."
"You say normal," Opera points out, "now what is considered normal?"
"Well, it varies from person to person." Dr. Sandra Collins looks at Opera, "it might take days, months and years to get over someone who was significant in your life, someone you love."
"Might I add something," the blond woman interrupted and put one finger up, "when I was going through this grieving process, feeling that sense of loss where I came to realize, 'yes, he did dump me and it is over,' I got to a point where I didn't get out of bed, stopped showering daily, showing up late to work, not being able to sleep at night, he was just constantly on my mind, I was consumed. I literally waited by the phone all day for a phone call from him."
"Now, that is a perfect example of a maladaptive way of dealing with this love addiction," the Dr. in Psychology pointed out, "other ways is going out on several dates, desperately trying to fill that void with another person, some people start kissing and sleeping around with the first available date that comes around."
"So it is kind of like a drug addict looking for a fix?" Opera straightened her shirt and sat up straighter in the chair.
"Exactly!" Dr. Collins says in a loud voice, "these women's self worth is measured by feeling they are loved and wanted by another person, they are addicted in a sense."
"So how does a woman break free from this love addiction?" Opera asks the Dr. in Psychology.
"She needs to learn to love herself, bottom line," Dr. Collins said and lifted up her book, "I wrote this book called 'The Reversal Agent to Love Addiction: A Guide to Loving Yourself'."
"Yes, I have read it myself and find some interesting points," Opera holds up the book, "so I am giving a copy to everyone in the audience today."
Everyone in the Audience cheered.
(it was late at night when i watched this so it may not be exactly the way I saw it)
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So there I was sitting on my couch thinking about 'love addiction.'
I would be lying if I said I have never been there. I have been through some rough breakups. One of the worst was in Puerto Rico where I was living with my girlfriend. She broke up with me and I was left alone. I was shattered and dealt with it in a very maladaptive way for almost a year straight.
I have to admit, I went out with several girls and even dated a guy, which is so unlike me. I needed someone to fill the emptiness that consumed me. On top of that I made every excuse I could to talk to my ex or see her. She was constantly on my mind, I was obsessed with the idea of 'winning her back.'
It never happened. But after a year, I got over it and made friends. Developed self esteem and self confidence. I did not need her or anyone to make me feel whole.
I started to love myself and it has cured me of this love addiction.
I have been through two break ups since then and have felt the same way, love for myself superseding feelings of loss.
I am okay, I am fine, I am lovable, and I am good.
Of course, I still have that desire to find someone to be with and hopefully make a life with, have that fairytale ending I so desire. But I don't put this desire above my self worth.
I believe in order to truly love someone else, you must first love yourself.
If you truly love yourself, you have respect for yourself. You don't allow yourself to become loose, going out with just anybody with a pulse, 98.7 degrees whose heart beats and lungs breath air who will keep you warm at night.
When you love and respect yourself you know what you deserve. You wait for the best and you do not settle for less.
You are not a one night stand when you love and respect yourself.
Go! Halloween Night!
Halloween night and I am in Houston with my friends Princessa, her girlfriend Blondie and Adam Sandler.
I did not have a costume, unless you count the scarf that my sister made me. She sewed on scary green fingers on a scarf and sent it to me a few days prior. It's all I had, Adam and I had planned our Halloween costume for months and months, but time was not my friend. Working got the best of me and I didn't have time to go out looking for the appropriate attire.
We wanted to be the couple in the movie 51st dates. He was going to be the guy (Adam Sandler of course) and I was going to be Drew Barrymore, his girlfriend with a horrible short term memory.
But all I had was a scarf with fingers sewed on them, but it was more than enough for me. I don't really like dressing up anyway. And neither did any of the other lesbians that came out this night. We must of all got together and collectively decided not to go all out dressing up like then men.
Thank goodness for sisters making you stuff to wear on such an occasion...
Time to go out and see what the city has to offer.....
An entire street was closed off near the bars that lined the gay district of Houston. An entire street of drag queens, ghouls and goblins. It was a gay man's paradise. Halloween, a holiday they can dress as slutty or as diva beautiful as they want and get away with it.
Some of the gay men dressed the way they felt on the inside but had to hide from society....
Chocolate, a big black drag queen who is famous in this neck of Houston was once again the Diva of the night announcing costumes and acting as the group's voice on stage in the middle of the street. She is the "Rupaul" of the gay community in Houston.
Chocolate had a sweet tooth for all the masculine men in the city, especially my friend Adam who was straight, extremely so.
I wondered how the rest of the city must look upon this spectacle of gay men in drag or in thongs walking the streets holding hands and being fabulous, as they would say. 'Glitter and lipstick never hurt anybody,' one of the male divas told another male diva in drag.
Adam left to a friend's house that lived nearby to start drinking like a man who is extremely dehydrated and needed water. Party Boy needs some gas to start the cra
I did not have a costume, unless you count the scarf that my sister made me. She sewed on scary green fingers on a scarf and sent it to me a few days prior. It's all I had, Adam and I had planned our Halloween costume for months and months, but time was not my friend. Working got the best of me and I didn't have time to go out looking for the appropriate attire.
We wanted to be the couple in the movie 51st dates. He was going to be the guy (Adam Sandler of course) and I was going to be Drew Barrymore, his girlfriend with a horrible short term memory.
But all I had was a scarf with fingers sewed on them, but it was more than enough for me. I don't really like dressing up anyway. And neither did any of the other lesbians that came out this night. We must of all got together and collectively decided not to go all out dressing up like then men.
Thank goodness for sisters making you stuff to wear on such an occasion...
Time to go out and see what the city has to offer.....
An entire street was closed off near the bars that lined the gay district of Houston. An entire street of drag queens, ghouls and goblins. It was a gay man's paradise. Halloween, a holiday they can dress as slutty or as diva beautiful as they want and get away with it.
Some of the gay men dressed the way they felt on the inside but had to hide from society....
Chocolate, a big black drag queen who is famous in this neck of Houston was once again the Diva of the night announcing costumes and acting as the group's voice on stage in the middle of the street. She is the "Rupaul" of the gay community in Houston.
Chocolate had a sweet tooth for all the masculine men in the city, especially my friend Adam who was straight, extremely so.
I wondered how the rest of the city must look upon this spectacle of gay men in drag or in thongs walking the streets holding hands and being fabulous, as they would say. 'Glitter and lipstick never hurt anybody,' one of the male divas told another male diva in drag.
Adam left to a friend's house that lived nearby to start drinking like a man who is extremely dehydrated and needed water. Party Boy needs some gas to start the cra
Crack Doc
September 10, 2009
My friend Jason, who I also called the "Crack Doc", constantly would call me a player or a jedi player, saying I had the 'force'. He would be on his bar stool at his favorite beach bar on the coast of Puerto Rico drinking medalla, the Puerto Rican beer. I would sit down next to the 'Crack Doc'. Let it be known the reason I called him the Crack Doc, was because, as you can guess he spent all his money on crack. And he did crack in every country, sampling crack rocks of the world. Jason was free to go anywhere he wanted, being 100% disabled with his monthly disability coming into his bank account each and every month for the rest of his life so he could afford his cracked out world travels, this year was San Juan for him. When he first told me he was 100% disabled I was in complete shock, he looked completely fine to me, but his post traumatic stress from the Gulf War said differently. Perhaps this was the reason he was so hooked on crack now. Whatever the case, he had a major crush on the bar tender and came everyday to this beach side bar to enjoy her company.
Seems Precious right? It's not as cute as it sounds. The bartender was co-owner of the small outdoor beach bar. The other owner was her husband, a Vietnam war vet who had his legs blown off in the war leaving him in a wheel chair for the rest of his life. His only reason to live was his beautiful wife and business partner.
"You see Sarah," the Crack Doc whispered over to me while his bartender crush went to the other side of the bar to get him another drink, "her husband has no legs, so that gives me an advantage."
'Only the Crack Doc would be that low to steal a legless man's wife,' I thought to myself and reconsidered ever getting his advice. Which brings me to the other reason I call him 'Crack Doc.' At the time he was my 'go to guy' I would sit with him at his bar, spot on the beach, street side curb, and get advise and counseling from him, similar to what a Doctor in Psychology would provide, Except his advise was free!! But it is true, you do get what you pay for. Especially when I was getting insight from a guy that thinks its okay to take a disabled man's woman.
The Crack Doc observed my behavior and came up with this crazy theory that I was a female player and I had this force to get whatever girl I wanted, gay or straight. He would see me with a girl and smile his mischievous smile congratulating me on yet another girl. Little did he know not all the girls I hung out with wanted me, some just wanted to be friends. But in his crazy warped head I was out terrorizing the town one prospective beauty at a time. He couldn't have been further from the truth. While it was true I did date many women at this time, I was not intimate with most of them. I have always prided myself on being extremely selective. Does that make me a player? I think not. At any rate, he wanted me to teach him my ways.
But what are my ways? I have no ways. I am completely honest and out front with everyone I date. I don't know how to play games, so I don't play them. I don't have a master plan, it doesn't bother me if I don't get kissed on the first date. It doesn't hurt my pride when she stands me up (well except Dr. McDreamy standing me up kinda hurt but I'm over it). I have no expectations for anyone that goes out with me, and really honestly there isn't as many as the Crack Doc thought. The way I see it, you can go out and have a good time with many dates and never get physical or serious with them. Additionally, I have always valued friendship above everything else, I love to be best friends with my prospective girlfriend before I even reach intimacy.
So here I am a few years older. Sometimes I think of the Crack Doc and smile and wonder if others have the same misconception as he did about me. Particularly this week, I have been engaged in two conversations which ended with the said correspondent referring to me as a 'player.' Whenever I hear this word in my direction I cringe because nothing could be further from the truth. And on top of that I am not seeing anyone right now!! Calling me a player is like saying that Barbara Streisand is an African American, its just not true. Perhaps to the outsiders looking in it seems accurate, but to my closest friends nothing could be further from the truth. So just to clear things up with everyone, I am not nor have I ever been a player. I admit I have gone through phases but I remained genuine through every single one of them.
My friend Jason, who I also called the "Crack Doc", constantly would call me a player or a jedi player, saying I had the 'force'. He would be on his bar stool at his favorite beach bar on the coast of Puerto Rico drinking medalla, the Puerto Rican beer. I would sit down next to the 'Crack Doc'. Let it be known the reason I called him the Crack Doc, was because, as you can guess he spent all his money on crack. And he did crack in every country, sampling crack rocks of the world. Jason was free to go anywhere he wanted, being 100% disabled with his monthly disability coming into his bank account each and every month for the rest of his life so he could afford his cracked out world travels, this year was San Juan for him. When he first told me he was 100% disabled I was in complete shock, he looked completely fine to me, but his post traumatic stress from the Gulf War said differently. Perhaps this was the reason he was so hooked on crack now. Whatever the case, he had a major crush on the bar tender and came everyday to this beach side bar to enjoy her company.
Seems Precious right? It's not as cute as it sounds. The bartender was co-owner of the small outdoor beach bar. The other owner was her husband, a Vietnam war vet who had his legs blown off in the war leaving him in a wheel chair for the rest of his life. His only reason to live was his beautiful wife and business partner.
"You see Sarah," the Crack Doc whispered over to me while his bartender crush went to the other side of the bar to get him another drink, "her husband has no legs, so that gives me an advantage."
'Only the Crack Doc would be that low to steal a legless man's wife,' I thought to myself and reconsidered ever getting his advice. Which brings me to the other reason I call him 'Crack Doc.' At the time he was my 'go to guy' I would sit with him at his bar, spot on the beach, street side curb, and get advise and counseling from him, similar to what a Doctor in Psychology would provide, Except his advise was free!! But it is true, you do get what you pay for. Especially when I was getting insight from a guy that thinks its okay to take a disabled man's woman.
The Crack Doc observed my behavior and came up with this crazy theory that I was a female player and I had this force to get whatever girl I wanted, gay or straight. He would see me with a girl and smile his mischievous smile congratulating me on yet another girl. Little did he know not all the girls I hung out with wanted me, some just wanted to be friends. But in his crazy warped head I was out terrorizing the town one prospective beauty at a time. He couldn't have been further from the truth. While it was true I did date many women at this time, I was not intimate with most of them. I have always prided myself on being extremely selective. Does that make me a player? I think not. At any rate, he wanted me to teach him my ways.
But what are my ways? I have no ways. I am completely honest and out front with everyone I date. I don't know how to play games, so I don't play them. I don't have a master plan, it doesn't bother me if I don't get kissed on the first date. It doesn't hurt my pride when she stands me up (well except Dr. McDreamy standing me up kinda hurt but I'm over it). I have no expectations for anyone that goes out with me, and really honestly there isn't as many as the Crack Doc thought. The way I see it, you can go out and have a good time with many dates and never get physical or serious with them. Additionally, I have always valued friendship above everything else, I love to be best friends with my prospective girlfriend before I even reach intimacy.
So here I am a few years older. Sometimes I think of the Crack Doc and smile and wonder if others have the same misconception as he did about me. Particularly this week, I have been engaged in two conversations which ended with the said correspondent referring to me as a 'player.' Whenever I hear this word in my direction I cringe because nothing could be further from the truth. And on top of that I am not seeing anyone right now!! Calling me a player is like saying that Barbara Streisand is an African American, its just not true. Perhaps to the outsiders looking in it seems accurate, but to my closest friends nothing could be further from the truth. So just to clear things up with everyone, I am not nor have I ever been a player. I admit I have gone through phases but I remained genuine through every single one of them.
Escaping.
I ran into my apartment and shut the door as quickly as I could, they were chasing me and the only safe place was within the four walls of the only peaceful place I had in this world. By myself, alone.
"Sarah, what is going on?" A voice came from the shadows, apparently I wasn't alone.
"Who is that?" I inquired.
"It's me Jeremie, your french Canadian friend. Remember me?" He stepped from the shadows.
"But how did you get in here?" I said astonished.
"I am one of the only people you have ever let in," he said with his thick accent and walked over to the kitchen. "Who are you running from?"
"Crazy girls, they are everywhere!" I said catching my breath, "and they all trying to catch me and torture me with their mind games."
"Sarah, sit down and have some water," Jeremie opened the cupboards, knowing exactly where everything was without me even telling him, he took out two crystal glasses.
"I barely got away!" I watched him go into the fridge and grab a water bottle from the fridge, unscrewing its top and filling my glass.
"Perhaps they are not all crazy," he said trying to calm me down.
"If she is a girl she is crazy," I said surprised at how I just labeled all girls as being crazy. "at least all the gay or bi ones are super nuts."
"Trust me, the straight ones are just as crazy," Jeremie reached over to a bottle of Grey Goose Vodka and poured it in his glass. "At least most of them."
"Are we doomed to a life of solidarity?" I said hopeful considering the alternative, but secretly hoping to be proved wrong about all girls being crazy.
"We might be," he poured some orange juice in his glass half way full of vodka, "but it doesn't seem that bad, just don't let them get too close so you can walk away later instead of run away."
"You are truly my best friend," I said and lifted my glass in a toast, "who needs a girlfriend with such great friends around."
"Yes, Sarah...Cheers to that," he clanged his glass against mine and we both took a drink.
"You do know, I am going to go out there to the wild again," I said matter-of-factually.
"Of course, but for now take a break, you look exhausted," he said.
"There has got to be at least one person out there who isn't sadistic, jaded or confused," I said thinking out loud. I could always tell Jeremie everything I was thinking and he never judged me.
"Until then," he looked down at his cell phone which was vibrating, perhaps one of his girls, "just go out there, have fun, and if they are crazy come back here and take a break for a little while."
"Sarah, what is going on?" A voice came from the shadows, apparently I wasn't alone.
"Who is that?" I inquired.
"It's me Jeremie, your french Canadian friend. Remember me?" He stepped from the shadows.
"But how did you get in here?" I said astonished.
"I am one of the only people you have ever let in," he said with his thick accent and walked over to the kitchen. "Who are you running from?"
"Crazy girls, they are everywhere!" I said catching my breath, "and they all trying to catch me and torture me with their mind games."
"Sarah, sit down and have some water," Jeremie opened the cupboards, knowing exactly where everything was without me even telling him, he took out two crystal glasses.
"I barely got away!" I watched him go into the fridge and grab a water bottle from the fridge, unscrewing its top and filling my glass.
"Perhaps they are not all crazy," he said trying to calm me down.
"If she is a girl she is crazy," I said surprised at how I just labeled all girls as being crazy. "at least all the gay or bi ones are super nuts."
"Trust me, the straight ones are just as crazy," Jeremie reached over to a bottle of Grey Goose Vodka and poured it in his glass. "At least most of them."
"Are we doomed to a life of solidarity?" I said hopeful considering the alternative, but secretly hoping to be proved wrong about all girls being crazy.
"We might be," he poured some orange juice in his glass half way full of vodka, "but it doesn't seem that bad, just don't let them get too close so you can walk away later instead of run away."
"You are truly my best friend," I said and lifted my glass in a toast, "who needs a girlfriend with such great friends around."
"Yes, Sarah...Cheers to that," he clanged his glass against mine and we both took a drink.
"You do know, I am going to go out there to the wild again," I said matter-of-factually.
"Of course, but for now take a break, you look exhausted," he said.
"There has got to be at least one person out there who isn't sadistic, jaded or confused," I said thinking out loud. I could always tell Jeremie everything I was thinking and he never judged me.
"Until then," he looked down at his cell phone which was vibrating, perhaps one of his girls, "just go out there, have fun, and if they are crazy come back here and take a break for a little while."
Ny Quil Will Help You Get Your ZZZZZZssss
September 7, 2009
My friend Gilberto asked me to write a blog. A true story from my past, un-fabricated and completely true. Here it goes
Saturday night and I was preparing my apartment for the arrival of my guests. It wasnt uncommon for my ex girlfriend and I to host a party every weekend at our humble comode in the heart of the city of San Juan. I managed to arrange all the cups, ice and glass bottles of various types of alcohol on the counter, our arsenal for a good time.
My cell phone rang and I knew immediately that it was my friend Gilberto calling to tell me he was on his way with my friend Arturo. They were always the first to show up to our apartment, ready to get rip roaring drunk with no regrets and the last to leave.
"Saracita, estoy cerca de tu casa," he said and hung up. I wondered why he always called me when he was within a block of my house. I could hear the squeaking of his wheel axles from a mile away, his Ford Explorer was in desperate need for repair and everyone knew it by the loud creaking of the wheels. It was as if the car was screaming "For the love of God, fix me!!" Apparently Gilberto did not speak the same language as the SUV.
The noise ceased once he parked across the street in front of the nun convent, appropriate since Gilberto was catholic and possessed the catholic guilt that managed to do nothing for him but disrupt his fun for a few minutes every weekend. I always was amused whenever he would get super drunk, abruptly stop everything he was doing and look across the street and outline a cross on his chest while mumbling something in Spanish about Santa Maria or Jesus Cristo. It was a short interlude between drinking unhealthy amounts. Tonight would probably be no different.
"Sarah!!!" Gilberto yelled as he opened his door and stepped out of the car.
"Gilbert!!" I yelled back and fumbled with my keys. It took at least a few minutes to unlock the door, the gate in front of the door and then the gate to the apartment building. Needless to say, when I was inside my apartment, with its barred up windows, not only did I feel safe but I felt like I was in prison, appropriately so since I was living in one of the most dangerous barrios in San Juan.
"Sarah, como estas tu?" Gilberto greeted me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, a common greeting among Hispanic people.
"Estoy bien amigo mio," I replied and gave Arturo a hug and kiss on the cheek.
"Hola Sarah," Arturo adjusted his black Mettalica baseball cap on his head. "I sink its time to drink ya?"
It was time to party like a rock star, which my friends strived to be, minus playing instruments and singing. They probably were the only men in their early twenties in the island that didn't listen to regaeton, wear gay looking chains, wax their eyebrows and shave their entire bodies. In fact, they despised the young men whom embarrassed this new trend. Their rebellion screamed through their clothes, rock band t-shirts and chains hanging from their baggy jeans.
"Yes, let's get started, " I lead them into my apartment and asked them what they wanted. We all decided to have the same thing, rum and coke with a lime wedge, aka cuba libre.
"Sank you," Arturo politely said after I handed him his drink. It was normal for Arturo to not be able to really pronounce the 'th' sound in English. I loved his accent, his struggle to speak English flattered me. I knew him and Gilberto really tried hard to communicate with me, and I tried to return the favor by speaking in Spanish as often as I could, with much difficulty. It was a union of two different cultures linked under the love to chill out together. Which, by chance the word 'chill' was also used in Puerto Rican Spanish to mean the same thing.
For the most part, my ex girlfriend, Frankie stayed within the four walls of our room either writing or reading. Every once in a while she would poke her head out and socialize for a brief moment. Frankie didn't drink hardly ever, having had a bad experience years ago, a worst case scenario moment I wont go into for her sake of privacy.
A few drinks, and four or five games of My Little Pony Memory Game later a few other friends showed up to join in our fun.
Writers interlude: Yes, we did habitually play My Little Pony Memory Game. It must have started months ago after sharing a few gallons of lemoncea, a potent gasoline, I mean alcoholic drink. We enjoyed the challenge of trying to find the matches of the different ponies, their friends and favorite items on pink cardboard cards. Which at this point, have had so many drinks spilled on them they were a little sticky, making it almost undesirable to play for any normal person, BUT NOT US!! Saturday night wouldn't be the same without the pink, purple and white ponies with big smiles and wands. 'What gay little creatures with their rainbow colors,' I always thought whenever I played.
"Cabron, mira," Jimmy said and pointed to one of the tiles for Arturo. "What are you looking for?"
"The Corazon Grande," Arturo said and tried to remember which tile was the other large red heart.
"Try this one," another friend Carlos said and grabbed a tile and flipped it over to reveal a white pony with pink hair.
"Aghhh!! Eso is Pinky Pie!" Arturo frustrated took another giant gulp of his drink. It amazed me that my big brute man friend, who very closely resembled a Hispanic version of Al on Home Improvement had played the game so many times that he knew the names of the ponies. I laughed a little every time they refereed to the magical creatures by their proper names.
"Let's stop playing this game," I suggested seeing the frustration on my friend's bearded face. We quickly cleaned up the game and proceeded to take shots of white tequila, my favorite liquor to drink straight out of the bottle. Did it taste differently then normal yellow tequila? No, but I disliked yellow with a passion and the white tequila had a prettier bottle.
The night was blissfully fun, one joke after another, laughter filling the apartment, and the occasional drinking game. I needed this party, a sort of stress relief helping me forget that my girlfriend, Frankie, had broken up with me merely weeks ago leaving me a massive bleeding heart. Alcohol made the aching stop, and filled my mind with peace. Drunken blissful peace and love (of my friends anyway, although she said she loved me I refused to believe it was merely a platonic love and the real love we shared had gone cold and died.)
The guys were outside drinking so they could smoke their cigarettes, a habit I had given up years ago at the request of my.... I tried not to think about her and took another shot of white tequila straight from the bottle. Apparently, all my friends thought I was so cool being able to drink the same if not more than them at these friendly gatherings. Another thing I had cut down on since becoming her girlfriend, I guessed there was no point now.
The night was unfolding just as expected until 'he' showed up...Chris, the African American Puerto Rican, who used to be the army, is a part of the stone mason secret society, had two kids, was in the process of divorcing his wife, lived with his mom in Bayamon, loved chicken more than anyone else on the planet, wasn't sure who his father was, had a fantasy of sleeping with someone in a broom closet (I later found out that someone was me, the thought made me cringe every time), never carries cash, has been working on getting a degree for 5 years but kept changing his major, believes that showers are an essential part of the day, doesn't like crowded places such as malls or rock concerts, thinks volleyball is a girls sport, and someday wants to move back to the states..... and most importantly forced a kiss on me only a month prior, needless to say I hadn't been to friendly with him since that day.
Besides the kissing part, how did I know this? Unfortunately for me and everyone around, the guy does not stop talking. Thus the disappointment on my face when I saw him pull up to my apartment, uninvited.
"No fucking way," I whispered to myself and took another swig straight from the clear Jose Cuervo bottle as he parked his car in my neighbors parking spot. This scared me because my neighbor, as a punishment to the spot taker, would park behind the perpetrator's car so closely that their was no possible way of maneuvering their way out, thus trapping them between his car and the concrete wall of my apartment. Not only did he do this but he would NOT answer his door afterward, forcing our guest to spend the night. I hoped that tonight would not end like that, especially not with Chris.
I regretted the day that I met him in class at the University I attended. Although, I didn't take the blame on this one, Frankie finally met her match of someone who could talk more then she could, a feat not easily matched. They spent hours talking about..... Honestly I couldn't tell you, I would just tune them out most the time. And thus a friendship was born, one of which I wish I had aborted.
"Q te pasa? What is wrong hunny?" Gilberto asked me and handed me a cuba libre he had just made.
"Chris is here," I handed him the glass back, "better put more rum in that drink."
"Esta bien," He grabbed my cup and proceeded to pour more Bicardi in it, "is this the guy that kissed you?"
"Yes, he has no respect," I wondered how I was going to throw him out without making a scene.
As Chris walked up to the open gate, I visualized myself quickly running over to it and locking it before he could get in, then laughing. The kind of laugh you only hear the villains in Disney movies do. I wondered how my other friends would react to this. It would definitely be awkward, no doubt about that. My good senses told me to tolerate this intruder for the sake of being a good host.
"Hey girl!" Chris said leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek, I stepped back out of his reach and extended my hand out. A handshake, the way the men in Puerto Rico greet each other, unless they are fruitier than Richard Simmons. I extended my hand because I was not going to allow him the chance to 'kiss assault' me again. He seemed a little taken back by the gesture but shook my hand anyway.
"Hi...." I said awkwardly and walked inside.
The awkward silence lingered for several minutes as the men smoked outside. Only a few of them knew the reason for my rudeness, the others were completely shocked. And of course, as expected, Chris broke the ice, an avalanche of words and sentences started and I knew that the end of his pointless chatter was nowhere in sight.
Hours passed like days for me, as I sat at the table and took shot after shot. The one way conversation outside was boring everyone at my party. I hoped that the alcohol would make me dissapear, I had never passed out from it but there was always a first for something, and I prayed that tonight would be my first. Unfortunately, this was not the case for me, not this time. I am not so lucky.
"Sarah!" Gilberto walked inside and started making drinks out of grape juice, "Do you want a drink?"
"No, I am good," I said to him and lifted the bottle of my sanity, "I am covered."
I thought it was curious that out of all the juice in the fridge he had chosen to mix rum with grape juice. I didn't pay much attention to him though as he prepared the liquid intoxication, and looked down at the Memory Game box, outlining the shape of the ponies with my finger.
"So this is why I think that this society is going to be a cashless society someday..." Chris relentlessly went on and on to the group, who were too nice to interrupt, unaware of the situation. Gilberto handed him a dark purple drink, "Thanks man...So as I was saying, in 10-20 years people wont use paper money, we will only have debit card and credit cards........"
I stepped outside, making an appearance to my friends. I didn't want them to think I was a complete bitch, although I could tell by the look of Miguel, Carlos, Jimmy and Arturo, their eyes glazed over, blank expressions, bored to death, that they understood my resentment. They were all zoned out I could tell, I knew that look. Every once in awhile they would slip a complementary laugh, smile, or an "uhuh" "yeah" or "okay" just to make it seem like they were actively listening.
As time passed by Chris would not stop, his voice faded, blurred and became an ongoing buzz to me. I leaned on the aluminum door of my apartment and looked around at my friends' dazed bored faces. I wondered what Arturo was thinking tapping his foot on the concrete ground, I imagined it would have been a song, perhaps Iron Maden, Carlos was probably thinking about his favorite comic book, Miguel is probably wondering how to better cultivate his marijuana plants, and Jimmy is probably so hungry he can't stop thinking about walking over to the empanidilla stand only a few blocks away. I finally looked at Gilberto's smiling face... ??? This threw me off, he was the only person in the entire group that has smiled in nearly 3 hours. What was he thinking about making him smile? He looked like he was holding back laughter, I knew something was up and I wanted in on it.
"So, in my opinion the governor of Puerto Rico is going to have to answer to the federal government," Chris stopped to yawn, "Oye, Tengo sueno! I cant believe how tired I am all of the sudden."
"So as I was saying...The United States Government, also founded by stone masons such as myself, will not allow for the corrupt ways of these Governors..." Chris yawned again and shook his head vigorously trying to wake up, "What was I talking about again?"
Nobody answered....and for the first time we could hear the sound of the coquis singing, not unlike crickets in the mainland. None of us really knew what he had been talking about for the past three hours but was relieved he seemed to be stalling, our first sign of the end of his company.
"Oh well, I will have to tell you all about it later," Chris yawned again and took his keys out of his pocket, "I am so tired."
"You have to leave so soon?" I said almost sarcastically knowing his delusions about how people view him would mask such rudeness on my part (in his mind people loved hearing him speak, such a modern genius).
"Yes, sexy," another delusional belief he held that I had some kind of secret attraction to him. A man who thinks he can have whatever girl he wants gay or straight. "I am sorry I cant stay longer."
"Trust me, it is alright," I said and walked him to the gate leading to the parking spots, "you go home and get some sleep. PLEASE."
Only my friends picked up on the things being communicated between the lines of audible speech.
As soon as the engine started and the headlights dissapeared in the darkness of the neighborhood, the party restarted. Laughter and talk began again, the party had been raised from the dead. We were all relieved to have a few hours to enjoy the rest of the night.
"You know what is funny is that I was thinking the entire time...'leave now' " I said with a smile, "and then he left, granted it took a few hours, but he left!! There must be a power out there controlled by thought, this is proof isn't it?"
"I thought the same thing," Arturo said and took a puff of his camel cigarette, "I sought that I want him to go and he...... go."
"So what you are saying Sarah is that you think our thoughts were interjecting something into the universe making what we thought actually happen?" Carlos asked inquisitively while adjusting his glasses. He was probably the smartest of my friends and loved this deep metaphysical stuff.
"It must have been, we all thought the same thing and he left." I said impressed by my connection, "Didn't you wish him to leave also?"
"Ummm yes, I did," Carlos lit his cigarette, "wow, you might be right. What about you Miguel and Jimmy?"
"It was so sudden!!" Jimmy said enthusiastically, "Cabron just left suddenly! I was thinking 'Hijo de puta! I want him to stop talking' and he just suddenly started yawning."
"I sent brain waves to control him," Miguel said in this strange robot like voice. He was a little odd. I could never tell if he was mocking us or was being genuine. Everyone laughed hardest when Miguel spoke, the comedian of the group, except I never understood the humor. It always felt like an inside joke to me.
"What do you think Gilberto?" I asked and set my drink down on the step of my porch. I was done drinking for the night finally.
Gilberto smiled mischievously and stepped inside my apartment. Everyone looked at each other curiously.
"Where did he go?" Carlos asked, being the inquisitive one of the group.
Before anyone could respond Gilberto came outside with an empty bottle of Nyquil PM. It didn't really register with anyone until Miguel started laughing hysterically like a hyena. Everyone else's laughter soon followed.
"Cabron! How much of that did you put in his drink?" Jimmy asked reaching over to give Gilberto a high five.
"It was half way full," I said and we all started laughing.
"Is that why you had to mix it with grape juice?" Miguel asked. "Because I must say, that was the worst drink I have ever had."
"The grape juice was the only juice that would mask the taste of the Nyquile. I didnt want him to catch on. I told him grape juice was all we had left, so sorry everyone. I had to!" Gilberto laughed and threw the empty plastic Nyquil bottle in the garbage can.
What I learned from this..... Never underestimate the strength and power of Nyquil PM. It works people. Especially half a bottle.
My friend Gilberto asked me to write a blog. A true story from my past, un-fabricated and completely true. Here it goes
Saturday night and I was preparing my apartment for the arrival of my guests. It wasnt uncommon for my ex girlfriend and I to host a party every weekend at our humble comode in the heart of the city of San Juan. I managed to arrange all the cups, ice and glass bottles of various types of alcohol on the counter, our arsenal for a good time.
My cell phone rang and I knew immediately that it was my friend Gilberto calling to tell me he was on his way with my friend Arturo. They were always the first to show up to our apartment, ready to get rip roaring drunk with no regrets and the last to leave.
"Saracita, estoy cerca de tu casa," he said and hung up. I wondered why he always called me when he was within a block of my house. I could hear the squeaking of his wheel axles from a mile away, his Ford Explorer was in desperate need for repair and everyone knew it by the loud creaking of the wheels. It was as if the car was screaming "For the love of God, fix me!!" Apparently Gilberto did not speak the same language as the SUV.
The noise ceased once he parked across the street in front of the nun convent, appropriate since Gilberto was catholic and possessed the catholic guilt that managed to do nothing for him but disrupt his fun for a few minutes every weekend. I always was amused whenever he would get super drunk, abruptly stop everything he was doing and look across the street and outline a cross on his chest while mumbling something in Spanish about Santa Maria or Jesus Cristo. It was a short interlude between drinking unhealthy amounts. Tonight would probably be no different.
"Sarah!!!" Gilberto yelled as he opened his door and stepped out of the car.
"Gilbert!!" I yelled back and fumbled with my keys. It took at least a few minutes to unlock the door, the gate in front of the door and then the gate to the apartment building. Needless to say, when I was inside my apartment, with its barred up windows, not only did I feel safe but I felt like I was in prison, appropriately so since I was living in one of the most dangerous barrios in San Juan.
"Sarah, como estas tu?" Gilberto greeted me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, a common greeting among Hispanic people.
"Estoy bien amigo mio," I replied and gave Arturo a hug and kiss on the cheek.
"Hola Sarah," Arturo adjusted his black Mettalica baseball cap on his head. "I sink its time to drink ya?"
It was time to party like a rock star, which my friends strived to be, minus playing instruments and singing. They probably were the only men in their early twenties in the island that didn't listen to regaeton, wear gay looking chains, wax their eyebrows and shave their entire bodies. In fact, they despised the young men whom embarrassed this new trend. Their rebellion screamed through their clothes, rock band t-shirts and chains hanging from their baggy jeans.
"Yes, let's get started, " I lead them into my apartment and asked them what they wanted. We all decided to have the same thing, rum and coke with a lime wedge, aka cuba libre.
"Sank you," Arturo politely said after I handed him his drink. It was normal for Arturo to not be able to really pronounce the 'th' sound in English. I loved his accent, his struggle to speak English flattered me. I knew him and Gilberto really tried hard to communicate with me, and I tried to return the favor by speaking in Spanish as often as I could, with much difficulty. It was a union of two different cultures linked under the love to chill out together. Which, by chance the word 'chill' was also used in Puerto Rican Spanish to mean the same thing.
For the most part, my ex girlfriend, Frankie stayed within the four walls of our room either writing or reading. Every once in a while she would poke her head out and socialize for a brief moment. Frankie didn't drink hardly ever, having had a bad experience years ago, a worst case scenario moment I wont go into for her sake of privacy.
A few drinks, and four or five games of My Little Pony Memory Game later a few other friends showed up to join in our fun.
Writers interlude: Yes, we did habitually play My Little Pony Memory Game. It must have started months ago after sharing a few gallons of lemoncea, a potent gasoline, I mean alcoholic drink. We enjoyed the challenge of trying to find the matches of the different ponies, their friends and favorite items on pink cardboard cards. Which at this point, have had so many drinks spilled on them they were a little sticky, making it almost undesirable to play for any normal person, BUT NOT US!! Saturday night wouldn't be the same without the pink, purple and white ponies with big smiles and wands. 'What gay little creatures with their rainbow colors,' I always thought whenever I played.
"Cabron, mira," Jimmy said and pointed to one of the tiles for Arturo. "What are you looking for?"
"The Corazon Grande," Arturo said and tried to remember which tile was the other large red heart.
"Try this one," another friend Carlos said and grabbed a tile and flipped it over to reveal a white pony with pink hair.
"Aghhh!! Eso is Pinky Pie!" Arturo frustrated took another giant gulp of his drink. It amazed me that my big brute man friend, who very closely resembled a Hispanic version of Al on Home Improvement had played the game so many times that he knew the names of the ponies. I laughed a little every time they refereed to the magical creatures by their proper names.
"Let's stop playing this game," I suggested seeing the frustration on my friend's bearded face. We quickly cleaned up the game and proceeded to take shots of white tequila, my favorite liquor to drink straight out of the bottle. Did it taste differently then normal yellow tequila? No, but I disliked yellow with a passion and the white tequila had a prettier bottle.
The night was blissfully fun, one joke after another, laughter filling the apartment, and the occasional drinking game. I needed this party, a sort of stress relief helping me forget that my girlfriend, Frankie, had broken up with me merely weeks ago leaving me a massive bleeding heart. Alcohol made the aching stop, and filled my mind with peace. Drunken blissful peace and love (of my friends anyway, although she said she loved me I refused to believe it was merely a platonic love and the real love we shared had gone cold and died.)
The guys were outside drinking so they could smoke their cigarettes, a habit I had given up years ago at the request of my.... I tried not to think about her and took another shot of white tequila straight from the bottle. Apparently, all my friends thought I was so cool being able to drink the same if not more than them at these friendly gatherings. Another thing I had cut down on since becoming her girlfriend, I guessed there was no point now.
The night was unfolding just as expected until 'he' showed up...Chris, the African American Puerto Rican, who used to be the army, is a part of the stone mason secret society, had two kids, was in the process of divorcing his wife, lived with his mom in Bayamon, loved chicken more than anyone else on the planet, wasn't sure who his father was, had a fantasy of sleeping with someone in a broom closet (I later found out that someone was me, the thought made me cringe every time), never carries cash, has been working on getting a degree for 5 years but kept changing his major, believes that showers are an essential part of the day, doesn't like crowded places such as malls or rock concerts, thinks volleyball is a girls sport, and someday wants to move back to the states..... and most importantly forced a kiss on me only a month prior, needless to say I hadn't been to friendly with him since that day.
Besides the kissing part, how did I know this? Unfortunately for me and everyone around, the guy does not stop talking. Thus the disappointment on my face when I saw him pull up to my apartment, uninvited.
"No fucking way," I whispered to myself and took another swig straight from the clear Jose Cuervo bottle as he parked his car in my neighbors parking spot. This scared me because my neighbor, as a punishment to the spot taker, would park behind the perpetrator's car so closely that their was no possible way of maneuvering their way out, thus trapping them between his car and the concrete wall of my apartment. Not only did he do this but he would NOT answer his door afterward, forcing our guest to spend the night. I hoped that tonight would not end like that, especially not with Chris.
I regretted the day that I met him in class at the University I attended. Although, I didn't take the blame on this one, Frankie finally met her match of someone who could talk more then she could, a feat not easily matched. They spent hours talking about..... Honestly I couldn't tell you, I would just tune them out most the time. And thus a friendship was born, one of which I wish I had aborted.
"Q te pasa? What is wrong hunny?" Gilberto asked me and handed me a cuba libre he had just made.
"Chris is here," I handed him the glass back, "better put more rum in that drink."
"Esta bien," He grabbed my cup and proceeded to pour more Bicardi in it, "is this the guy that kissed you?"
"Yes, he has no respect," I wondered how I was going to throw him out without making a scene.
As Chris walked up to the open gate, I visualized myself quickly running over to it and locking it before he could get in, then laughing. The kind of laugh you only hear the villains in Disney movies do. I wondered how my other friends would react to this. It would definitely be awkward, no doubt about that. My good senses told me to tolerate this intruder for the sake of being a good host.
"Hey girl!" Chris said leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek, I stepped back out of his reach and extended my hand out. A handshake, the way the men in Puerto Rico greet each other, unless they are fruitier than Richard Simmons. I extended my hand because I was not going to allow him the chance to 'kiss assault' me again. He seemed a little taken back by the gesture but shook my hand anyway.
"Hi...." I said awkwardly and walked inside.
The awkward silence lingered for several minutes as the men smoked outside. Only a few of them knew the reason for my rudeness, the others were completely shocked. And of course, as expected, Chris broke the ice, an avalanche of words and sentences started and I knew that the end of his pointless chatter was nowhere in sight.
Hours passed like days for me, as I sat at the table and took shot after shot. The one way conversation outside was boring everyone at my party. I hoped that the alcohol would make me dissapear, I had never passed out from it but there was always a first for something, and I prayed that tonight would be my first. Unfortunately, this was not the case for me, not this time. I am not so lucky.
"Sarah!" Gilberto walked inside and started making drinks out of grape juice, "Do you want a drink?"
"No, I am good," I said to him and lifted the bottle of my sanity, "I am covered."
I thought it was curious that out of all the juice in the fridge he had chosen to mix rum with grape juice. I didn't pay much attention to him though as he prepared the liquid intoxication, and looked down at the Memory Game box, outlining the shape of the ponies with my finger.
"So this is why I think that this society is going to be a cashless society someday..." Chris relentlessly went on and on to the group, who were too nice to interrupt, unaware of the situation. Gilberto handed him a dark purple drink, "Thanks man...So as I was saying, in 10-20 years people wont use paper money, we will only have debit card and credit cards........"
I stepped outside, making an appearance to my friends. I didn't want them to think I was a complete bitch, although I could tell by the look of Miguel, Carlos, Jimmy and Arturo, their eyes glazed over, blank expressions, bored to death, that they understood my resentment. They were all zoned out I could tell, I knew that look. Every once in awhile they would slip a complementary laugh, smile, or an "uhuh" "yeah" or "okay" just to make it seem like they were actively listening.
As time passed by Chris would not stop, his voice faded, blurred and became an ongoing buzz to me. I leaned on the aluminum door of my apartment and looked around at my friends' dazed bored faces. I wondered what Arturo was thinking tapping his foot on the concrete ground, I imagined it would have been a song, perhaps Iron Maden, Carlos was probably thinking about his favorite comic book, Miguel is probably wondering how to better cultivate his marijuana plants, and Jimmy is probably so hungry he can't stop thinking about walking over to the empanidilla stand only a few blocks away. I finally looked at Gilberto's smiling face... ??? This threw me off, he was the only person in the entire group that has smiled in nearly 3 hours. What was he thinking about making him smile? He looked like he was holding back laughter, I knew something was up and I wanted in on it.
"So, in my opinion the governor of Puerto Rico is going to have to answer to the federal government," Chris stopped to yawn, "Oye, Tengo sueno! I cant believe how tired I am all of the sudden."
"So as I was saying...The United States Government, also founded by stone masons such as myself, will not allow for the corrupt ways of these Governors..." Chris yawned again and shook his head vigorously trying to wake up, "What was I talking about again?"
Nobody answered....and for the first time we could hear the sound of the coquis singing, not unlike crickets in the mainland. None of us really knew what he had been talking about for the past three hours but was relieved he seemed to be stalling, our first sign of the end of his company.
"Oh well, I will have to tell you all about it later," Chris yawned again and took his keys out of his pocket, "I am so tired."
"You have to leave so soon?" I said almost sarcastically knowing his delusions about how people view him would mask such rudeness on my part (in his mind people loved hearing him speak, such a modern genius).
"Yes, sexy," another delusional belief he held that I had some kind of secret attraction to him. A man who thinks he can have whatever girl he wants gay or straight. "I am sorry I cant stay longer."
"Trust me, it is alright," I said and walked him to the gate leading to the parking spots, "you go home and get some sleep. PLEASE."
Only my friends picked up on the things being communicated between the lines of audible speech.
As soon as the engine started and the headlights dissapeared in the darkness of the neighborhood, the party restarted. Laughter and talk began again, the party had been raised from the dead. We were all relieved to have a few hours to enjoy the rest of the night.
"You know what is funny is that I was thinking the entire time...'leave now' " I said with a smile, "and then he left, granted it took a few hours, but he left!! There must be a power out there controlled by thought, this is proof isn't it?"
"I thought the same thing," Arturo said and took a puff of his camel cigarette, "I sought that I want him to go and he...... go."
"So what you are saying Sarah is that you think our thoughts were interjecting something into the universe making what we thought actually happen?" Carlos asked inquisitively while adjusting his glasses. He was probably the smartest of my friends and loved this deep metaphysical stuff.
"It must have been, we all thought the same thing and he left." I said impressed by my connection, "Didn't you wish him to leave also?"
"Ummm yes, I did," Carlos lit his cigarette, "wow, you might be right. What about you Miguel and Jimmy?"
"It was so sudden!!" Jimmy said enthusiastically, "Cabron just left suddenly! I was thinking 'Hijo de puta! I want him to stop talking' and he just suddenly started yawning."
"I sent brain waves to control him," Miguel said in this strange robot like voice. He was a little odd. I could never tell if he was mocking us or was being genuine. Everyone laughed hardest when Miguel spoke, the comedian of the group, except I never understood the humor. It always felt like an inside joke to me.
"What do you think Gilberto?" I asked and set my drink down on the step of my porch. I was done drinking for the night finally.
Gilberto smiled mischievously and stepped inside my apartment. Everyone looked at each other curiously.
"Where did he go?" Carlos asked, being the inquisitive one of the group.
Before anyone could respond Gilberto came outside with an empty bottle of Nyquil PM. It didn't really register with anyone until Miguel started laughing hysterically like a hyena. Everyone else's laughter soon followed.
"Cabron! How much of that did you put in his drink?" Jimmy asked reaching over to give Gilberto a high five.
"It was half way full," I said and we all started laughing.
"Is that why you had to mix it with grape juice?" Miguel asked. "Because I must say, that was the worst drink I have ever had."
"The grape juice was the only juice that would mask the taste of the Nyquile. I didnt want him to catch on. I told him grape juice was all we had left, so sorry everyone. I had to!" Gilberto laughed and threw the empty plastic Nyquil bottle in the garbage can.
What I learned from this..... Never underestimate the strength and power of Nyquil PM. It works people. Especially half a bottle.
We Sure Did Dodge a Bullet Didn't We?
July 26, 2009
"We sure did dodge a bullet!" Sharon says to her friend as she takes a puff of her cigarette. She looked relieved and puts her hands through her curly brown hair. "It could have gone really bad Sarah, you are lucky I pulled you out when I did."
"Yeah, where would I be without you?" Sarah says trying to convince herself as she looks at her phone, no messages, no voicemails, no calls. She sat on the park bench, staring at all the happy couples. They look so incredibly satisfied with each other. Sarah wondered if she could ever be that with someone.
"You would be heartbroken and lost without me," Sharon's all to familiar voice replied, it was almost as if she could read Sarah's mind. She was Sarah's constant companion, the only thing that had been consistent in her life the last five years. Sarah remembered when they first met.
Sarah sat in the darkness, outside of her small one bedroom apartment on the cool ground of a cement paradise, the city of San Juan was nothing but concrete painted in bright colors, yellow, hot pink, orange, blue and green. She couldnt believe it was over, she choked on tears. They kept on coming and she thought she would drowned in the bitter saltiness of her tangible sadness, but the thought of drowning wasn't entirely undesirable at the moment. The words kept echoing in her mind "It's over." It stabbed her in the heart, deeper and deeper, piercing her being.
'Is it over?' Sarah asked herself. She began to cry and put her hands over her face. The heat of the San Juan night couldnt spare her of how cold her now ex girlfriend had been to her 'Could a three year long relationship really end in one night?' she thought.
"Yes, it can," a women comes from out of the shadows. "Cigerratte?" She asks and holds out a pack of Sarah's favorite brand.
"I quit years ago," Sarah says too emotional to be surprised or even curious about where this strange, sexy, brown haired woman had come from and more importantly the question didnt even cross her mind... how did this woman read her thoughts?
"Oh come on," she says putting the camel turkish gold in her mouth and lighting it. "It will help calm your nerves."
"I guess you are right," she takes the newly litted cigarette from out of the mysterious woman's mouth.
"I am Sharon," she says holding out her hand to lift Sarah up from the unyielding cement ground.
"I am....."
"Sarah," Sharon finishes Sarah's introduction, "I know exactly who you are, possibly I know almost everything about you, and most importantly..."
Sarah grabs on Sharon's hand and begins to feel a little bit better as she is lifted up. It was good to have someone close by in her time of need. Strangely, it felt as if her and Sharon knew each other, like they had been friends their whole life. She wipes the tears from her eyes and looks at Sharon with some curiousity.
"I know what is best for you," Sharon says matter of factly and walks in the apartment, goes straight to the bedroom.
"Hold on!!" Sarah says hesistant to go inside, "my ex is in there!" but it was too late, Sharon was already in. Sarah waited, wondering if her ex lover would welcome such an intrusion, especially after this dramatic night.
Sharon came out with an overnight bag, and hands Sarah her cell phone. "What is all this for?" Sarah asks confused, "and what did she say when you just walked in our apartment? did she notice?" Sarah was too afraid to say her name, it was too painful to even think of her let alone....
"Don't worry about that my dear," Sharon hands her new friend the cell phone, "call that girl, the one that has the crush on you, she will make you feel better about the whole thing."
"Wouldn't that make things worse between my girlfriend and I?" Sarah asks concerned looking up the phone number.
"She isnt your girlfriend anymore!" Sharon yells and grabs the phone from out of Sarah's hand and dials the number, "get the fuck over it!"
"Shouldnt I give it some time before I start seeing other girls?" Sarah asks and is startled by the phone being shoved to her face, she hears her friend on the other line ask 'hello Sarah?'
"Talk to her!" Sharon says trying to push the girls together.
"Yeah, hey," Sarah says not really sure what to say to her friend who for so long fantasized of a moment when she can have Sarah all to herself.
"Something wrong?" Rosaline asked on the other line, a concerned tone. Sharon grabs the phone from Sarah rudely.
"Yeah, Rosaline," she says and winks at Sarah, "Me and my girlfriend broke up."
Sarah is confused and shocked. Wouldnt Rosaline notice it wasnt even her on the phone?
"Really?" Sharon asks with a smile, "you really wouldnt mind if I spent a few weeks at your house?"
That was years ago..... and still here they were, a pair. Sarah and Sharon, the unseperable couple of girls. They were a small gang, Sharon always had Sarah's back. Sarah remembered the years she spent in Puerto Rico under the teaching and direction of her new mentor, her best friend, the only person she could trust. They did everything together. Sharon made her feel strong, immune to heartbreak, and most importantly she reminded Sarah that life was supposed to be fun.
"Remember that time that you and I went to that club?" Sharon asks with a smile and crosses her legs, "and you made out with that one girl, the really pretty one?"
"yeah, what great times," Sarah says unenthusiastically, and grabs a leaf from the grass to examine it. She traced the brown leaf with her fingers, it was amazing something so lifeless and dead could be so beautiful, just like her.
"You are still stuck on that girl arent you?" Sharon asks annoyed. "What did I tell you!?"
"Yes, Sharon!" Sarah rips the leaf in half and throws it on the ground, "I am still stuck on her! and nothing you can say this time is going to make me feel better."
"Get over it!!" Sharon stands up and puts her hands on her hips. "Let's go make some friends, have some fun!"
"I was just fucking fine without you!!" Sarah stands up to make herself at the same level of her unwanted companion.
"You were not okay without me you ungrateful bitch!" Sharon takes a few steps forward staring at the sun.
Sarah remembered for once, being completely alone with the one person she loves without her friend Sharon trying to complicate things. It was a little scary being without her protection, her friend keeping her from safe from heartbreak for so many years. She wondered if she would last in a relationship being so open, vulnerable and without her defensive line.
"I promise you I will always love you," her best friend and lover says to Sarah putting her hand through her hair.
"I hope so," Sarah says and embraces her girlfriend tighter. It was a beautiful moment for the both of them, one that they would never forget.
"You forget that you were the one that asked for me, begged me to come back, things were getting too serious for you and you were afraid to be alone with her!" Sharon smoothly points out, "you needed me."
"I need you like I need the plague," Sarah says thinking about the words she just said and inhales another puff of her camel.
"What did you say?" Sharon seems appauled. "Remember all the times I protected you from getting hurt?"
"you know what?" Sarah flicks the cigarette across the park "I don't need nicotine to feel better, its a dirty filthy habit. Just like you."
"What about all those times, all the good times we had, all of the girls we dated?" Sharon grabs Sarah's shoulders and looks her in the eyes. Sarah noticed Sharon's eyes began to lose their glimmer, their life, their shine. It was an empty sad place within her friend's eyes.
"You got in between me and all of them," Sarah says realizing how much of it was true, "you are the reason I am so miserable now."
Sharon began to fade slightly, parts of her being blown by the wind. "I helped you in your darkest hours!" Sharon's voice began to dissipate just like her form.
"I shall never forgive you for getting between Candy and I," Sarah's tone becomes angry, "and I have never needed your help."
And just like the very first night they met, Sharon slowely became dark, not like a cloud or a mist but a shadow on the grass. The shape of a woman, a shadow with no host tracing its distinct feminine form unattached to anyone. A stranger with no face, and no place in this world. It was eerie to see a shadow so independent, and with no cause or reason for its presence.
Sarah watched the shadow walk away, she could see the legs and arms move with every step, away from her. As the shadow walked away Sarah felt a little lonely, for the first time being without her friend, keeping her from being hurt again. It was gonna be hard living without her. Sarah watched in the distance, watching the feminine shadow walk toward the big oak tree, which was hosting its magnificent dark shadow providing shelter from the sun for a couple of teenagers, unaffected by the bitterness of love. The shadow, that had once been her best friend, walked inside the shadow of the tree and became one with it's darkness, cooling off the unaware eighteen year old girl and boy.
'Gone for now,' Sarah felt relieved, 'now I can work on repairing my broken relationship.'
'Is it over?' Karen thought with tears in her eyes and leaned her body on the strong oak tree.
"Yes, unfortunately," A woman comes out from behind the oak tree, "cigarette?"
"Sure, well, I have never smoked before," Karen is hesitant and musters up some strength to stop crying for a moment.
"It will help you calm your nerves girl," Sharon lit the cigarette and placed it in Karen's hand.
"I'll go for anything right now." Karen takes her first puff.
"I am Sharon," the woman holds out her hand to lift the young girl from off the soft grass.
"I am...."
"Karen," Sharon finishes Karen's introduction for her and lifts her from her sorrow, "I know exactly who you are, and possibly I know almost everything about you and most importantly I know what is best for you."
Karen looks shocked and suprised, yet comfortable with her new found friend. She felt like she had known her for her whole life and felt safe with Sharon.
"Let's call that boy that has been dying to kiss you," Sharon smiles and hands Karen her cell phone, "and have some fun!"
"Don't you think it's too soon to see other boys?" Karen pulls on her bright pink converse shoe laces.
"He isn't your boyfriend anymore!" Sharon grabs the phone and dials the number, "get the fuck over it!"
"We sure did dodge a bullet!" Sharon says to her friend as she takes a puff of her cigarette. She looked relieved and puts her hands through her curly brown hair. "It could have gone really bad Sarah, you are lucky I pulled you out when I did."
"Yeah, where would I be without you?" Sarah says trying to convince herself as she looks at her phone, no messages, no voicemails, no calls. She sat on the park bench, staring at all the happy couples. They look so incredibly satisfied with each other. Sarah wondered if she could ever be that with someone.
"You would be heartbroken and lost without me," Sharon's all to familiar voice replied, it was almost as if she could read Sarah's mind. She was Sarah's constant companion, the only thing that had been consistent in her life the last five years. Sarah remembered when they first met.
Sarah sat in the darkness, outside of her small one bedroom apartment on the cool ground of a cement paradise, the city of San Juan was nothing but concrete painted in bright colors, yellow, hot pink, orange, blue and green. She couldnt believe it was over, she choked on tears. They kept on coming and she thought she would drowned in the bitter saltiness of her tangible sadness, but the thought of drowning wasn't entirely undesirable at the moment. The words kept echoing in her mind "It's over." It stabbed her in the heart, deeper and deeper, piercing her being.
'Is it over?' Sarah asked herself. She began to cry and put her hands over her face. The heat of the San Juan night couldnt spare her of how cold her now ex girlfriend had been to her 'Could a three year long relationship really end in one night?' she thought.
"Yes, it can," a women comes from out of the shadows. "Cigerratte?" She asks and holds out a pack of Sarah's favorite brand.
"I quit years ago," Sarah says too emotional to be surprised or even curious about where this strange, sexy, brown haired woman had come from and more importantly the question didnt even cross her mind... how did this woman read her thoughts?
"Oh come on," she says putting the camel turkish gold in her mouth and lighting it. "It will help calm your nerves."
"I guess you are right," she takes the newly litted cigarette from out of the mysterious woman's mouth.
"I am Sharon," she says holding out her hand to lift Sarah up from the unyielding cement ground.
"I am....."
"Sarah," Sharon finishes Sarah's introduction, "I know exactly who you are, possibly I know almost everything about you, and most importantly..."
Sarah grabs on Sharon's hand and begins to feel a little bit better as she is lifted up. It was good to have someone close by in her time of need. Strangely, it felt as if her and Sharon knew each other, like they had been friends their whole life. She wipes the tears from her eyes and looks at Sharon with some curiousity.
"I know what is best for you," Sharon says matter of factly and walks in the apartment, goes straight to the bedroom.
"Hold on!!" Sarah says hesistant to go inside, "my ex is in there!" but it was too late, Sharon was already in. Sarah waited, wondering if her ex lover would welcome such an intrusion, especially after this dramatic night.
Sharon came out with an overnight bag, and hands Sarah her cell phone. "What is all this for?" Sarah asks confused, "and what did she say when you just walked in our apartment? did she notice?" Sarah was too afraid to say her name, it was too painful to even think of her let alone....
"Don't worry about that my dear," Sharon hands her new friend the cell phone, "call that girl, the one that has the crush on you, she will make you feel better about the whole thing."
"Wouldn't that make things worse between my girlfriend and I?" Sarah asks concerned looking up the phone number.
"She isnt your girlfriend anymore!" Sharon yells and grabs the phone from out of Sarah's hand and dials the number, "get the fuck over it!"
"Shouldnt I give it some time before I start seeing other girls?" Sarah asks and is startled by the phone being shoved to her face, she hears her friend on the other line ask 'hello Sarah?'
"Talk to her!" Sharon says trying to push the girls together.
"Yeah, hey," Sarah says not really sure what to say to her friend who for so long fantasized of a moment when she can have Sarah all to herself.
"Something wrong?" Rosaline asked on the other line, a concerned tone. Sharon grabs the phone from Sarah rudely.
"Yeah, Rosaline," she says and winks at Sarah, "Me and my girlfriend broke up."
Sarah is confused and shocked. Wouldnt Rosaline notice it wasnt even her on the phone?
"Really?" Sharon asks with a smile, "you really wouldnt mind if I spent a few weeks at your house?"
That was years ago..... and still here they were, a pair. Sarah and Sharon, the unseperable couple of girls. They were a small gang, Sharon always had Sarah's back. Sarah remembered the years she spent in Puerto Rico under the teaching and direction of her new mentor, her best friend, the only person she could trust. They did everything together. Sharon made her feel strong, immune to heartbreak, and most importantly she reminded Sarah that life was supposed to be fun.
"Remember that time that you and I went to that club?" Sharon asks with a smile and crosses her legs, "and you made out with that one girl, the really pretty one?"
"yeah, what great times," Sarah says unenthusiastically, and grabs a leaf from the grass to examine it. She traced the brown leaf with her fingers, it was amazing something so lifeless and dead could be so beautiful, just like her.
"You are still stuck on that girl arent you?" Sharon asks annoyed. "What did I tell you!?"
"Yes, Sharon!" Sarah rips the leaf in half and throws it on the ground, "I am still stuck on her! and nothing you can say this time is going to make me feel better."
"Get over it!!" Sharon stands up and puts her hands on her hips. "Let's go make some friends, have some fun!"
"I was just fucking fine without you!!" Sarah stands up to make herself at the same level of her unwanted companion.
"You were not okay without me you ungrateful bitch!" Sharon takes a few steps forward staring at the sun.
Sarah remembered for once, being completely alone with the one person she loves without her friend Sharon trying to complicate things. It was a little scary being without her protection, her friend keeping her from safe from heartbreak for so many years. She wondered if she would last in a relationship being so open, vulnerable and without her defensive line.
"I promise you I will always love you," her best friend and lover says to Sarah putting her hand through her hair.
"I hope so," Sarah says and embraces her girlfriend tighter. It was a beautiful moment for the both of them, one that they would never forget.
"You forget that you were the one that asked for me, begged me to come back, things were getting too serious for you and you were afraid to be alone with her!" Sharon smoothly points out, "you needed me."
"I need you like I need the plague," Sarah says thinking about the words she just said and inhales another puff of her camel.
"What did you say?" Sharon seems appauled. "Remember all the times I protected you from getting hurt?"
"you know what?" Sarah flicks the cigarette across the park "I don't need nicotine to feel better, its a dirty filthy habit. Just like you."
"What about all those times, all the good times we had, all of the girls we dated?" Sharon grabs Sarah's shoulders and looks her in the eyes. Sarah noticed Sharon's eyes began to lose their glimmer, their life, their shine. It was an empty sad place within her friend's eyes.
"You got in between me and all of them," Sarah says realizing how much of it was true, "you are the reason I am so miserable now."
Sharon began to fade slightly, parts of her being blown by the wind. "I helped you in your darkest hours!" Sharon's voice began to dissipate just like her form.
"I shall never forgive you for getting between Candy and I," Sarah's tone becomes angry, "and I have never needed your help."
And just like the very first night they met, Sharon slowely became dark, not like a cloud or a mist but a shadow on the grass. The shape of a woman, a shadow with no host tracing its distinct feminine form unattached to anyone. A stranger with no face, and no place in this world. It was eerie to see a shadow so independent, and with no cause or reason for its presence.
Sarah watched the shadow walk away, she could see the legs and arms move with every step, away from her. As the shadow walked away Sarah felt a little lonely, for the first time being without her friend, keeping her from being hurt again. It was gonna be hard living without her. Sarah watched in the distance, watching the feminine shadow walk toward the big oak tree, which was hosting its magnificent dark shadow providing shelter from the sun for a couple of teenagers, unaffected by the bitterness of love. The shadow, that had once been her best friend, walked inside the shadow of the tree and became one with it's darkness, cooling off the unaware eighteen year old girl and boy.
'Gone for now,' Sarah felt relieved, 'now I can work on repairing my broken relationship.'
'Is it over?' Karen thought with tears in her eyes and leaned her body on the strong oak tree.
"Yes, unfortunately," A woman comes out from behind the oak tree, "cigarette?"
"Sure, well, I have never smoked before," Karen is hesitant and musters up some strength to stop crying for a moment.
"It will help you calm your nerves girl," Sharon lit the cigarette and placed it in Karen's hand.
"I'll go for anything right now." Karen takes her first puff.
"I am Sharon," the woman holds out her hand to lift the young girl from off the soft grass.
"I am...."
"Karen," Sharon finishes Karen's introduction for her and lifts her from her sorrow, "I know exactly who you are, and possibly I know almost everything about you and most importantly I know what is best for you."
Karen looks shocked and suprised, yet comfortable with her new found friend. She felt like she had known her for her whole life and felt safe with Sharon.
"Let's call that boy that has been dying to kiss you," Sharon smiles and hands Karen her cell phone, "and have some fun!"
"Don't you think it's too soon to see other boys?" Karen pulls on her bright pink converse shoe laces.
"He isn't your boyfriend anymore!" Sharon grabs the phone and dials the number, "get the fuck over it!"
Dime Que Quires De Mi?
July 25, 2009
"Were you followed?" She asks me and grabs my hand. I am hypnotized by her beauty and charm.
"Nobody knows that I am here," I say holding tight to her fingers with my palm.
"Good, let's go," she takes me to her secret spot, in the dark we walk through the cobblestone streets, between the old buildings, past the stray cats scavenging for food. Completely oblivious of all the crime happening in the small neighborhood only a few blocks away. The world is an evil place, surprise there is room enough for love.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask a little scared and excited of what is unknown.
"We are going to escape," she holds onto my hand tighter, "escape the craziness of this world."
I had no idea what she was talking about, but I felt my heart being pulled. This was it, now or never. I followed her through a maze of streets, pathways, and suddenly I find myself lost. And she is gone, dissipated. I kick the curb of the cobblestone road.
Defeated, I sit on the curb. I don't know what to do or where to go from here. I look over at one of the many stray cats, she is so lost in this world with no place to call home. The poor thing. I try to lure her in with a piece of fried empanadilla I found off the street, carelessly thrown by someone. She did not come, the gato, to afraid, too scarred to trust ever again. I wonder what her life must be like, was she kicked? Was she starved to death? What makes her so wild?
They say people always bring their cats to this old town. They drop them off because they don't want the responsibility of caring for them. It is too much. Abandoned. They become wild creatures, doing what they can to survive.
I feel broken, and I start to envy those around me that are immune to such pain. Do you ever build a tolerance to love's sting? I walk the streets, searching for her. I wonder if she left me or got lost herself. How long must you look before you find the answers?
"Were you followed?" She asks me and grabs my hand. I am hypnotized by her beauty and charm.
"Nobody knows that I am here," I say holding tight to her fingers with my palm.
"Good, let's go," she takes me to her secret spot, in the dark we walk through the cobblestone streets, between the old buildings, past the stray cats scavenging for food. Completely oblivious of all the crime happening in the small neighborhood only a few blocks away. The world is an evil place, surprise there is room enough for love.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask a little scared and excited of what is unknown.
"We are going to escape," she holds onto my hand tighter, "escape the craziness of this world."
I had no idea what she was talking about, but I felt my heart being pulled. This was it, now or never. I followed her through a maze of streets, pathways, and suddenly I find myself lost. And she is gone, dissipated. I kick the curb of the cobblestone road.
Defeated, I sit on the curb. I don't know what to do or where to go from here. I look over at one of the many stray cats, she is so lost in this world with no place to call home. The poor thing. I try to lure her in with a piece of fried empanadilla I found off the street, carelessly thrown by someone. She did not come, the gato, to afraid, too scarred to trust ever again. I wonder what her life must be like, was she kicked? Was she starved to death? What makes her so wild?
They say people always bring their cats to this old town. They drop them off because they don't want the responsibility of caring for them. It is too much. Abandoned. They become wild creatures, doing what they can to survive.
I feel broken, and I start to envy those around me that are immune to such pain. Do you ever build a tolerance to love's sting? I walk the streets, searching for her. I wonder if she left me or got lost herself. How long must you look before you find the answers?
Drawing a Line in the Sand
Drawing a line in the Sand
"So here it is baby," she picks up a stick, "I'm gonna draw a line in the sand."
The sun begins to set at the beautiful beach and all Sarah can think about was the endless love they shared on the sand, in the waves, under the palm trees. She remembered spending all day creating a Zen Garden in the sand for them to place their towels and sleep together in perfect bliss. Nothing to disturb them but the small sand crabs building their holes. It all came down to this.
A line, not unlike the demarcation line between two countries fighting. Civil War. This is what it was, love's battlefield.
"So it all comes down to this huh?" Sarah watches her lover drag her stick across the ground clearly marking where she ends and her lover begins. A clearly defined separation between what could have been....what should have been....
"That is right... I love you...but I need space," she put down the stick and sits three or four feet away from the line, clearly trying to enjoy her new found......loneliness.
"Alright then," Sarah puts down her towel and takes off her tank top revealing her red bikini covering her elegant curves, her counterpart stares and loses herself for a minute in thought. Thoughts of love making for hours, no insecurities, no games, no drama, just two people who are incredibly crazy about each other. But it was all over for now.
"You stay on your side and don't you dare get close to that line," she warns her lover trying not to think of how much she wished things were different.
"I am going to sleep," Sarah says ignoring her lovers request. She starts to assemble her beach side tent one pole at a time. This is what it would take to get her sweetheart back, one day at a time. One pole and then another until this pile of poles becomes a home. It takes a lot of patience to build a tent.
Her lover unrolls her sleeping bag, she is not as fortunate to have shelter. Exposed to the elements of the outdoors, the world is an unpredictable place. Sarah worried that it would rain, it hurt her to think that her baby girl could suffer unnecessarily, but it was out of her hands.
As the night claimed the day, Sarah was wide awake thinking, worrying, wondering. 'How is my Angel?' It was like an obsession, her feelings were unsurpassed. Unavoidable. A magnet inside of her, pulling her toward her girl. It wasn't mistakable, she was drawn to her, being away made her feel extremely uncomfortable, it just didn't make sense for them to be separate.
As the sunlight reached its rays a little further every morning hour, Sarah crept a little closer to her princess. One inch at a time. From outside the safety of her shelter, to the beach creeping closer and closer to the line.
A few hours pass, and there she is the line stepper. Sarah sleeping right next to the line, hugging the line, embracing it, trying to be as close as allowable.
Her former lover wakes up slowly, and for a minute she forgets the problems they had. Its too early for drama, too early for games, too early for anything complicated. She reaches over the line and puts her hands through her girl's hair, it felt good to let go and let in. Releasing all the hurt and the pain.
Sarah opens her eyes startled by the show of affection, she sits up staring at her lover, who still had her eyes closed. She knew once her girl opens her eyes, all the light of day would enter her eyes and she would remember 'oh yeah, I am mad at you.' She tried to enjoy the moment while it lasted.
Sure enough, her girl opened her eyes, almost surprised by her invasion of hand to the head of her sworn enemy, how dare she. "You stop getting close to that line!!"
Sarah wondered if being close to the line made her more accessible, more vulnerable, and yet she couldn't stop stepping the line. Such is love.
So there she is waiting, watching the waves in the distance wondering if its time to sail away to another island. But she can't let go, she can't stop, she is drawn. Its not time yet.
"So here it is baby," she picks up a stick, "I'm gonna draw a line in the sand."
The sun begins to set at the beautiful beach and all Sarah can think about was the endless love they shared on the sand, in the waves, under the palm trees. She remembered spending all day creating a Zen Garden in the sand for them to place their towels and sleep together in perfect bliss. Nothing to disturb them but the small sand crabs building their holes. It all came down to this.
A line, not unlike the demarcation line between two countries fighting. Civil War. This is what it was, love's battlefield.
"So it all comes down to this huh?" Sarah watches her lover drag her stick across the ground clearly marking where she ends and her lover begins. A clearly defined separation between what could have been....what should have been....
"That is right... I love you...but I need space," she put down the stick and sits three or four feet away from the line, clearly trying to enjoy her new found......loneliness.
"Alright then," Sarah puts down her towel and takes off her tank top revealing her red bikini covering her elegant curves, her counterpart stares and loses herself for a minute in thought. Thoughts of love making for hours, no insecurities, no games, no drama, just two people who are incredibly crazy about each other. But it was all over for now.
"You stay on your side and don't you dare get close to that line," she warns her lover trying not to think of how much she wished things were different.
"I am going to sleep," Sarah says ignoring her lovers request. She starts to assemble her beach side tent one pole at a time. This is what it would take to get her sweetheart back, one day at a time. One pole and then another until this pile of poles becomes a home. It takes a lot of patience to build a tent.
Her lover unrolls her sleeping bag, she is not as fortunate to have shelter. Exposed to the elements of the outdoors, the world is an unpredictable place. Sarah worried that it would rain, it hurt her to think that her baby girl could suffer unnecessarily, but it was out of her hands.
As the night claimed the day, Sarah was wide awake thinking, worrying, wondering. 'How is my Angel?' It was like an obsession, her feelings were unsurpassed. Unavoidable. A magnet inside of her, pulling her toward her girl. It wasn't mistakable, she was drawn to her, being away made her feel extremely uncomfortable, it just didn't make sense for them to be separate.
As the sunlight reached its rays a little further every morning hour, Sarah crept a little closer to her princess. One inch at a time. From outside the safety of her shelter, to the beach creeping closer and closer to the line.
A few hours pass, and there she is the line stepper. Sarah sleeping right next to the line, hugging the line, embracing it, trying to be as close as allowable.
Her former lover wakes up slowly, and for a minute she forgets the problems they had. Its too early for drama, too early for games, too early for anything complicated. She reaches over the line and puts her hands through her girl's hair, it felt good to let go and let in. Releasing all the hurt and the pain.
Sarah opens her eyes startled by the show of affection, she sits up staring at her lover, who still had her eyes closed. She knew once her girl opens her eyes, all the light of day would enter her eyes and she would remember 'oh yeah, I am mad at you.' She tried to enjoy the moment while it lasted.
Sure enough, her girl opened her eyes, almost surprised by her invasion of hand to the head of her sworn enemy, how dare she. "You stop getting close to that line!!"
Sarah wondered if being close to the line made her more accessible, more vulnerable, and yet she couldn't stop stepping the line. Such is love.
So there she is waiting, watching the waves in the distance wondering if its time to sail away to another island. But she can't let go, she can't stop, she is drawn. Its not time yet.
K pushers and the stages of grief
April 25, 2009
"Well, I am going to bed," I said to my brother and sister in law before walking downstairs to the guest room that I am now calling home for a few weeks.
I grabbed some pajama bottoms off of the floor. I have been packing and moving for a week now so everything is on the floor in 'organized piles' that only make sense to me but to everyone else it may appear a bomb exploded in the room. Give me a break, I am moving.
I put on my pajamas and took off my bra Jennifer Beal style in that movie Flash Dance, unhooking the back and taking it out the sleeve. yes, yes, I know I have some skills. You should see me dance to the song 'Maniac' for my next trick.
I plugged in my phone to charge over night and set it on the night stand. I then did my usual routine of making a wall of pillows around me on either side. Don't ask me why, but since I have started sleeping completely alone I have formed this habit of making a fortress of every single pillow I have around me. Probably this odd routine was developed to help me sleep alone, especially after having someone right next to me for years and then suddenly being alone. For me its, hard to get used to sleeping next to someone. I usually don't deal well with it at first. I mean it is okay for the first hour or so, cuddling and being erotically close to that one person with whom all your affections lie. The only problem is usually I can't sleep that close to someone. Don't get me wrong I enjoy this, but as far as sleeping; there will be no sleep; at least until I get used to it. My next gf is going to have to tear down this blockade in order to get to me.
I layed down almost falling asleep, warm between the soft fluffiness of white pillows. The pillows began to fade and turn into clouds and I was drifting off into dream land until..............
BZZZZZZ my phone vibrates.....a text message probably. How irritating to get a text message when I am so comfortable in bed. I looked at it, knowing if I don't check it my cell will vibrate periodically all night long. I probably should put it on silent, but I don't because you never know what kind of emergency could happen and someone needs to get a hold of you.
"If you sass me one more time woman I am going to give you another beating." the text read.
It was the tail end of my text conversation with my gay friend Rob. Okay so he has a sick sense of humor, kind of like me. Although I probably wouldn't pretend to be a domestic abuser which he did. Especially when we lived in Monterey, California where Rob and I met (at the gay bar but that is another story). We would go to public places and he would say things like "If you gain one more pound its over." and "Don't make me hit you again." Okay so we were younger then we are now (it was 9 years ago). At least one of us kinda grew up.
"haha...goodnight Rob." I text back hoping he doesnt' say goodnight back like an hour later when I am fast asleep and awaked by the BZZZZZ. I hate when you are awakened by a loud vibrating sound, check the text and all it says is either "goodnight" or "okay" or "K". I think "K" is the worst text you can get because it is such a lazy way of saying "Okay". I become mildly irritated with just "okay" and moderately annoyed with "OK" but "K" with any text at any time of the day may cause me not to text that person again for weeks. So you can only imagine how irritated I get when I get a "K" in the middle of the night waking me up.
Luckily, Rob didn't text me again. and thankfully he is not one of those friends that sends "K" as a response. Those people are the "K" senders or "K" pushers. They are the worst kind of people. They push "K", not unlike like the drug dealers who cook Ketamine, an animal tranquilizer they buy over the counter from Mexico and sell it for ridulous amounts of money. Irrational, lazy people who dont' want to get a real job who profit from other people's misery. Okay, so its not as bad as that but if you are going to send me a "K" at least make it special. That was a really lame joke. Anyway, back to "K" senders. If it were up to me, these people would get sent to concentration camps, but not like in the hollocaust, instead of getting numbers tatooed to their skin they would have a cell phone attached to their belts and would be subject to text messages all day with random letters, meaningless (if you think about it that is what they are doing). BZZZZ "A" Additionaly we will be engaging them in activities that require a lot of thought, such a the Rubicks Cube, puzzles, crosswords, word searches and then randomly annoy them. BZZZZZ "Q". To break their concentration, like salt being added to their exposed frying brains. BZZZZZ "R" "Goddamnit!! I almost found the word!" one 'K sender" would yell. Hopefully programs as such would cure the society of such menaces.
I finally fell into a deep sleep. This is bliss. For at night, when I dream I learn alot about myself. I always have the most random dreams. Some silly, others serious. It all depends on what mood I am in when I go to bed. This night I was dreampt that I went back to my aunt's house for a visit.
"Hey aunt Chris!! Im here" I say walking in the house to which I have the key. In my dreams I always have the keys to people's houses. I think that my dream self has a universal key to everything. I never have problems opening doors, safes, windows, cars etc. Is there a psychologist in the house that can explain this to me?? At any rate, I am the key holder.
So I walk into the house and notice a foul cat urine smell that is so pugnent that I vomited all over the carpet. Cat urine is by far the worst smell in this world. I think that Susan Wessnehoffer (lesbian comedian) said it right when she suggested we use cats as a weapon in war. Just drop off a bunch of felines in the desert and let them use the sand as their personal litterbox. This would surely send a strong message to the terrorist to leave the United States alone.
In this dream, after I vomit I am surrounded by cats. hundreds of cats all within the four walls of my aunt's house. I start coughing and sneezing, apparentely I am allergic to cats in my dream.
and I have to pee really bad. I go into the bathroom and notice cats all around. I can't go number 1 with cats and kittens clawing all over my feet looking up at me.
I wake up from this disturbing dream with that same feeling of needing to void. I am all so comfortable between the sheets and pillows, all nestled up. I seriously dislike having to go the bathroom in the middle of the night. It is almost as annoying as the "K" response. (writers note: but not quite as annoying as needing to go number 1 while you are in the middle of writing a blog).
Whenever this happens to me I go through the grieving process. As you may know there are five stages.
1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance
So when I first get the urge to void in the middle of the night I deny it. 'There is no way I really need to pee.' and 'I am sure that this feeling of needing to void is a false alarm.' Apparently when I am that tired needing 'to go' is similar to false labor for a pregnant person. 'Maybe if I just lie here for a bit, the feeling will subside.' (writers note: there is no way i need to go right now just as my blog is climaxing, perhaps it will dissipate in a few minutes.)
Then I get angry. I am laying in my bed comfortable, warm and I have my whole set up!! I am so mad because I know what getting up to go the bathroom entails. It means I have to get up, demolish my perfectly arranged pillow formation and I have nobody else to blame but myself!!! I am outraged at mysef for drinking that much water throughout the day. Why?? Who needs that much fluids in a day? (writers note: I can't believe I drank that whole soft drink knowing that I am embarking upon writing this blog!! What the hell was I thinking and why do I keep taking sips of it just as it sits here beside me? This is Bullshit!!)
FUCK!!!!!!! (Sorry, I'm trying to last till the end of this blog and the feeling keeps on getting worse, I am reminded of perserverence and endurance. If the marathon runners can run 25 miles I can hold it till the end of this blog!) Okay so maybe that is a little bit of the angry stage and the next stage I'm about to cover.
'I have to calm down a little bit,' I think to myself. 'There is always a solution.' I personatize (im not sure if that is a real word) my own bladder, that fickle irrational bitch waking me up so early in the morning.
"I need to go now!!" She screams at me.
"hold up hold up," I say in a rational tone, "how about we make a deal?"
"I need to go!" she screams again, "If you dont' get up within the next few minutes you will be sorry!"
"Don't you threaten me," I say back trying to keep my cool. I knew that in this kind of situation she always gets her way but I still try. "Tell, you what, give me half an hour and I will get up."
"No!!!" she throws me a punch in the gut and I am reminded of how bad she wants to get her way.
Now, at times when I am drunk these arguements are a little longer and I am a little bit more irrational then she is. I sometimes start weighing the pros and cons of letting myself just go right here and now. "It will be warm for a minute, then I can just roll over." But thankfully my Super Ego takes over and stops me from pulling such a regretable stunt. (writers note: If I can just last a few more minutes then I shall never drink this much fluid again).
After the bargaining stage comes the depression. It is situational depression. I become so sad that I have to get up. It is such a hassle. I feel that I am out of control. how come I cant' make these decisions for myself? If only we as a people, could decided when and where. Freedom is an illusion. (writers note: this is my body's way of reminding me that I am not superwoman, I am merely a mortal in this place and someday I shall cease to exist from this world.)
Finally after tossing and turning, I accept the fact that "Yes, I need to go and I will." I end up getting out of bed and succombing to the urgency of now.
Speaking of..... I better end this blog!!! (I am going to run off now!! hope you all understand!)
"Well, I am going to bed," I said to my brother and sister in law before walking downstairs to the guest room that I am now calling home for a few weeks.
I grabbed some pajama bottoms off of the floor. I have been packing and moving for a week now so everything is on the floor in 'organized piles' that only make sense to me but to everyone else it may appear a bomb exploded in the room. Give me a break, I am moving.
I put on my pajamas and took off my bra Jennifer Beal style in that movie Flash Dance, unhooking the back and taking it out the sleeve. yes, yes, I know I have some skills. You should see me dance to the song 'Maniac' for my next trick.
I plugged in my phone to charge over night and set it on the night stand. I then did my usual routine of making a wall of pillows around me on either side. Don't ask me why, but since I have started sleeping completely alone I have formed this habit of making a fortress of every single pillow I have around me. Probably this odd routine was developed to help me sleep alone, especially after having someone right next to me for years and then suddenly being alone. For me its, hard to get used to sleeping next to someone. I usually don't deal well with it at first. I mean it is okay for the first hour or so, cuddling and being erotically close to that one person with whom all your affections lie. The only problem is usually I can't sleep that close to someone. Don't get me wrong I enjoy this, but as far as sleeping; there will be no sleep; at least until I get used to it. My next gf is going to have to tear down this blockade in order to get to me.
I layed down almost falling asleep, warm between the soft fluffiness of white pillows. The pillows began to fade and turn into clouds and I was drifting off into dream land until..............
BZZZZZZ my phone vibrates.....a text message probably. How irritating to get a text message when I am so comfortable in bed. I looked at it, knowing if I don't check it my cell will vibrate periodically all night long. I probably should put it on silent, but I don't because you never know what kind of emergency could happen and someone needs to get a hold of you.
"If you sass me one more time woman I am going to give you another beating." the text read.
It was the tail end of my text conversation with my gay friend Rob. Okay so he has a sick sense of humor, kind of like me. Although I probably wouldn't pretend to be a domestic abuser which he did. Especially when we lived in Monterey, California where Rob and I met (at the gay bar but that is another story). We would go to public places and he would say things like "If you gain one more pound its over." and "Don't make me hit you again." Okay so we were younger then we are now (it was 9 years ago). At least one of us kinda grew up.
"haha...goodnight Rob." I text back hoping he doesnt' say goodnight back like an hour later when I am fast asleep and awaked by the BZZZZZ. I hate when you are awakened by a loud vibrating sound, check the text and all it says is either "goodnight" or "okay" or "K". I think "K" is the worst text you can get because it is such a lazy way of saying "Okay". I become mildly irritated with just "okay" and moderately annoyed with "OK" but "K" with any text at any time of the day may cause me not to text that person again for weeks. So you can only imagine how irritated I get when I get a "K" in the middle of the night waking me up.
Luckily, Rob didn't text me again. and thankfully he is not one of those friends that sends "K" as a response. Those people are the "K" senders or "K" pushers. They are the worst kind of people. They push "K", not unlike like the drug dealers who cook Ketamine, an animal tranquilizer they buy over the counter from Mexico and sell it for ridulous amounts of money. Irrational, lazy people who dont' want to get a real job who profit from other people's misery. Okay, so its not as bad as that but if you are going to send me a "K" at least make it special. That was a really lame joke. Anyway, back to "K" senders. If it were up to me, these people would get sent to concentration camps, but not like in the hollocaust, instead of getting numbers tatooed to their skin they would have a cell phone attached to their belts and would be subject to text messages all day with random letters, meaningless (if you think about it that is what they are doing). BZZZZ "A" Additionaly we will be engaging them in activities that require a lot of thought, such a the Rubicks Cube, puzzles, crosswords, word searches and then randomly annoy them. BZZZZZ "Q". To break their concentration, like salt being added to their exposed frying brains. BZZZZZ "R" "Goddamnit!! I almost found the word!" one 'K sender" would yell. Hopefully programs as such would cure the society of such menaces.
I finally fell into a deep sleep. This is bliss. For at night, when I dream I learn alot about myself. I always have the most random dreams. Some silly, others serious. It all depends on what mood I am in when I go to bed. This night I was dreampt that I went back to my aunt's house for a visit.
"Hey aunt Chris!! Im here" I say walking in the house to which I have the key. In my dreams I always have the keys to people's houses. I think that my dream self has a universal key to everything. I never have problems opening doors, safes, windows, cars etc. Is there a psychologist in the house that can explain this to me?? At any rate, I am the key holder.
So I walk into the house and notice a foul cat urine smell that is so pugnent that I vomited all over the carpet. Cat urine is by far the worst smell in this world. I think that Susan Wessnehoffer (lesbian comedian) said it right when she suggested we use cats as a weapon in war. Just drop off a bunch of felines in the desert and let them use the sand as their personal litterbox. This would surely send a strong message to the terrorist to leave the United States alone.
In this dream, after I vomit I am surrounded by cats. hundreds of cats all within the four walls of my aunt's house. I start coughing and sneezing, apparentely I am allergic to cats in my dream.
and I have to pee really bad. I go into the bathroom and notice cats all around. I can't go number 1 with cats and kittens clawing all over my feet looking up at me.
I wake up from this disturbing dream with that same feeling of needing to void. I am all so comfortable between the sheets and pillows, all nestled up. I seriously dislike having to go the bathroom in the middle of the night. It is almost as annoying as the "K" response. (writers note: but not quite as annoying as needing to go number 1 while you are in the middle of writing a blog).
Whenever this happens to me I go through the grieving process. As you may know there are five stages.
1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance
So when I first get the urge to void in the middle of the night I deny it. 'There is no way I really need to pee.' and 'I am sure that this feeling of needing to void is a false alarm.' Apparently when I am that tired needing 'to go' is similar to false labor for a pregnant person. 'Maybe if I just lie here for a bit, the feeling will subside.' (writers note: there is no way i need to go right now just as my blog is climaxing, perhaps it will dissipate in a few minutes.)
Then I get angry. I am laying in my bed comfortable, warm and I have my whole set up!! I am so mad because I know what getting up to go the bathroom entails. It means I have to get up, demolish my perfectly arranged pillow formation and I have nobody else to blame but myself!!! I am outraged at mysef for drinking that much water throughout the day. Why?? Who needs that much fluids in a day? (writers note: I can't believe I drank that whole soft drink knowing that I am embarking upon writing this blog!! What the hell was I thinking and why do I keep taking sips of it just as it sits here beside me? This is Bullshit!!)
FUCK!!!!!!! (Sorry, I'm trying to last till the end of this blog and the feeling keeps on getting worse, I am reminded of perserverence and endurance. If the marathon runners can run 25 miles I can hold it till the end of this blog!) Okay so maybe that is a little bit of the angry stage and the next stage I'm about to cover.
'I have to calm down a little bit,' I think to myself. 'There is always a solution.' I personatize (im not sure if that is a real word) my own bladder, that fickle irrational bitch waking me up so early in the morning.
"I need to go now!!" She screams at me.
"hold up hold up," I say in a rational tone, "how about we make a deal?"
"I need to go!" she screams again, "If you dont' get up within the next few minutes you will be sorry!"
"Don't you threaten me," I say back trying to keep my cool. I knew that in this kind of situation she always gets her way but I still try. "Tell, you what, give me half an hour and I will get up."
"No!!!" she throws me a punch in the gut and I am reminded of how bad she wants to get her way.
Now, at times when I am drunk these arguements are a little longer and I am a little bit more irrational then she is. I sometimes start weighing the pros and cons of letting myself just go right here and now. "It will be warm for a minute, then I can just roll over." But thankfully my Super Ego takes over and stops me from pulling such a regretable stunt. (writers note: If I can just last a few more minutes then I shall never drink this much fluid again).
After the bargaining stage comes the depression. It is situational depression. I become so sad that I have to get up. It is such a hassle. I feel that I am out of control. how come I cant' make these decisions for myself? If only we as a people, could decided when and where. Freedom is an illusion. (writers note: this is my body's way of reminding me that I am not superwoman, I am merely a mortal in this place and someday I shall cease to exist from this world.)
Finally after tossing and turning, I accept the fact that "Yes, I need to go and I will." I end up getting out of bed and succombing to the urgency of now.
Speaking of..... I better end this blog!!! (I am going to run off now!! hope you all understand!)
Down on My Luck In Walmart
MARCH 1, 2009
"Let's go out," Laura, my sister said. She is a full time mom of a three year old that doesn't really get out much except maybe when I am visiting.
"Okay, lets go out." I said and grabbed my keys.
So we get in the car and I inquire as to where she wants to go out to. I was thinking maybe a movie, some icecream, a night club (well okay maybe not a night club since Laura is a devoute mormon.) Something other than......
"I want to go to Wal Mart," she said excited. I couldn't believe it. I quicky suggested a movie and she had a sad look on her face as if telling me, 'as long as we can go to Wal Mart.'
I decided that perhaps, since it is her night out, that we would do exactly what she wants to do. Wal Mart it is. I don't understand the big deal about Wal Mart but I wasn't about to question the simple desires of my only blood sister.
So we went to Wal Mart and she spent a great deal of time shopping for garden supplies. To which, at the last moment, went to check her checking account balance, only to discover that she had only six dollars in her account.
"Dang that Shayne!" she curses at her husband who is at home tending their only child, "he didn't deposit the check like I asked him too."
I felt sad when I saw the dissapointment on her face and wished that I would have brought in my purse, which was in the car, so I could help her out. She carefully put away all the items that she had in her cart, except the paper plates, and plastic forks and some shamrock stickers for St. Patrick's Day. Six dollars should cover this right?
We were waiting at the checkout line when Laura handed me the shamrock stickers that had printed on them "kiss me I am irish". She looks at me and hands me all of the change from her wallet.
"I dont want to risk going over six dollars so could you pay for this with my change?" she asks me.
"I guess so," I replied taking the change. I had no idea what I was about to get myself into.
"It should only be a dollar or so." she reassured me, "so this will be enough."
It was my turn to pay, I handed the cashier the stickers and smiled. He smiled back with a smirk on his face while reading "kiss me I am Irish."
"I am not Irish," I said joking. I am not sure why I said that except the look on the cashier's face was provoking some kind of response from me.
"That will be $1.67," the cashier said.
"Crap!" I said looking at him, "I only have one dollar in change."
Laura stepped back a few feet and started laughing histarically. She was laughing so hard I couldn't believe it. Taking joy in my humiliation.
"Do you have any more change?" I asked Laura.
She started laughing harder as she handed me about ten pennies. The cashier looked at her and seemed to be suprised and disguisted that Laura was laughing so hard at my misfortune. Luck of the Irish huh? Which leads me to another point, I haven't had any luck lately.
"Don't worry," the cashier said to me rendering up some needed sympathy which was lacking from my sister, "this happens to me all the time."
Laura started laughing harder.
Nevertheless, I had to eventually go out to my car and get my debit card to make the purchase. At least I was able to lighten up Laura's day. For ever since we were kids she took joy in humiliating me. This has always been her way, and it will probably never end.
"Let's go out," Laura, my sister said. She is a full time mom of a three year old that doesn't really get out much except maybe when I am visiting.
"Okay, lets go out." I said and grabbed my keys.
So we get in the car and I inquire as to where she wants to go out to. I was thinking maybe a movie, some icecream, a night club (well okay maybe not a night club since Laura is a devoute mormon.) Something other than......
"I want to go to Wal Mart," she said excited. I couldn't believe it. I quicky suggested a movie and she had a sad look on her face as if telling me, 'as long as we can go to Wal Mart.'
I decided that perhaps, since it is her night out, that we would do exactly what she wants to do. Wal Mart it is. I don't understand the big deal about Wal Mart but I wasn't about to question the simple desires of my only blood sister.
So we went to Wal Mart and she spent a great deal of time shopping for garden supplies. To which, at the last moment, went to check her checking account balance, only to discover that she had only six dollars in her account.
"Dang that Shayne!" she curses at her husband who is at home tending their only child, "he didn't deposit the check like I asked him too."
I felt sad when I saw the dissapointment on her face and wished that I would have brought in my purse, which was in the car, so I could help her out. She carefully put away all the items that she had in her cart, except the paper plates, and plastic forks and some shamrock stickers for St. Patrick's Day. Six dollars should cover this right?
We were waiting at the checkout line when Laura handed me the shamrock stickers that had printed on them "kiss me I am irish". She looks at me and hands me all of the change from her wallet.
"I dont want to risk going over six dollars so could you pay for this with my change?" she asks me.
"I guess so," I replied taking the change. I had no idea what I was about to get myself into.
"It should only be a dollar or so." she reassured me, "so this will be enough."
It was my turn to pay, I handed the cashier the stickers and smiled. He smiled back with a smirk on his face while reading "kiss me I am Irish."
"I am not Irish," I said joking. I am not sure why I said that except the look on the cashier's face was provoking some kind of response from me.
"That will be $1.67," the cashier said.
"Crap!" I said looking at him, "I only have one dollar in change."
Laura stepped back a few feet and started laughing histarically. She was laughing so hard I couldn't believe it. Taking joy in my humiliation.
"Do you have any more change?" I asked Laura.
She started laughing harder as she handed me about ten pennies. The cashier looked at her and seemed to be suprised and disguisted that Laura was laughing so hard at my misfortune. Luck of the Irish huh? Which leads me to another point, I haven't had any luck lately.
"Don't worry," the cashier said to me rendering up some needed sympathy which was lacking from my sister, "this happens to me all the time."
Laura started laughing harder.
Nevertheless, I had to eventually go out to my car and get my debit card to make the purchase. At least I was able to lighten up Laura's day. For ever since we were kids she took joy in humiliating me. This has always been her way, and it will probably never end.
I dont wanna be the crazy cat lady!!
"Impending doom, free falling with no parachutte, a sense of panic, anorexia and sleeplessness are all signs of anxiety," Prof. Coral Andino told the class.
It has been years since I took my pschiatric nursing class, but i still remember the lessons. It is amazing how the human body responds to psychological stress.
"I love you." she says to you, and your heart begins to beat faster, your blood pressure is elevated, and you feel lightheaded. Falling in love is almost like jumping off a building into a safety net.
"Is it safe to jump?" you ask her, your heart pounding.
"Yes, don't worry, everything will be okay." she tells you.
"I am scared." you cling to the edge of the building. "I like to have my feet firm on the ground because falling doesn't make sense to me."
"It will be fun" she says and holds your hand, "I will jump with you."
"So we will do this together?" your hand shakes in hers.
"Yes, trust me." she looks you in the eyes. "on the count of three."
"Alright, I am ready." you stare back in her eyes.
"1,2...."
"WAIT!!" you say with tears in your eyes, "how do I know that the safety net won't rip or be pulled from underneath us?"
"You don't know that," she kisses your lips, "you have to trust me."
"I have been hurt before," you say wondering if that juice is even worth the squeeze.
"Trust me." she says and you both jump off into the unknown.
Landing in bed months or years later. Waking up next to the one with whom you gave your heart and soul to. A beautiful ending, perfect bliss, everything you have ever wanted. No regrets.
Or to the broken hearted:
You start seeing falling in love as a moment of temporary insanity. For how could you really trust someone with something as valuable as your heart, the center of yourself? You replay moments in your head. NEXT TIME you will be ready.
"I love you," she says to you and leads you to the edge.
"You are insane," you should have said.
"Trust me, I won't let you get hurt." she says and grabs your hand.
"That is what the last one told me, before I plummited to the ground." you say with anger in your voice.
She walks away from you,
'thankgod, i am so glad i won't go through that again' you think years later, while you feed your five cats in nothing but a bath robe.
"At least I have my precious cats."
IS it WORTH it???
Moral of the story....You can either wake up next to someone you really love, even after sustaining a few blows to your heart OR be the crazy cat lady.
It has been years since I took my pschiatric nursing class, but i still remember the lessons. It is amazing how the human body responds to psychological stress.
"I love you." she says to you, and your heart begins to beat faster, your blood pressure is elevated, and you feel lightheaded. Falling in love is almost like jumping off a building into a safety net.
"Is it safe to jump?" you ask her, your heart pounding.
"Yes, don't worry, everything will be okay." she tells you.
"I am scared." you cling to the edge of the building. "I like to have my feet firm on the ground because falling doesn't make sense to me."
"It will be fun" she says and holds your hand, "I will jump with you."
"So we will do this together?" your hand shakes in hers.
"Yes, trust me." she looks you in the eyes. "on the count of three."
"Alright, I am ready." you stare back in her eyes.
"1,2...."
"WAIT!!" you say with tears in your eyes, "how do I know that the safety net won't rip or be pulled from underneath us?"
"You don't know that," she kisses your lips, "you have to trust me."
"I have been hurt before," you say wondering if that juice is even worth the squeeze.
"Trust me." she says and you both jump off into the unknown.
Landing in bed months or years later. Waking up next to the one with whom you gave your heart and soul to. A beautiful ending, perfect bliss, everything you have ever wanted. No regrets.
Or to the broken hearted:
You start seeing falling in love as a moment of temporary insanity. For how could you really trust someone with something as valuable as your heart, the center of yourself? You replay moments in your head. NEXT TIME you will be ready.
"I love you," she says to you and leads you to the edge.
"You are insane," you should have said.
"Trust me, I won't let you get hurt." she says and grabs your hand.
"That is what the last one told me, before I plummited to the ground." you say with anger in your voice.
She walks away from you,
'thankgod, i am so glad i won't go through that again' you think years later, while you feed your five cats in nothing but a bath robe.
"At least I have my precious cats."
IS it WORTH it???
Moral of the story....You can either wake up next to someone you really love, even after sustaining a few blows to your heart OR be the crazy cat lady.
The Beginning of Me in a Gay Sense
Dec 2, 2000
We all had arrived at the Defense Language Institute in Montery California with an open heart and an open mind to embrace and experience life for the first time outside of our comfort zones and the walls of our parent's houses.
December 2, 2000
With eagerness I woke up and put on my uniform that were probably twice as big as me. The women who issued them to me my first day of basic training told me I needed to be able to fit my sweater and long johns underneath them so she gave me a size that would fit two of me. I literally looked like a gangster thug wanna be with my pants hanging to my ass. Not to mention I accidentally broke my only belt, I wanted to shorten it but cut the wrong end. I put on my hat and laced up my boots that hadn't been shined in probably a week.
"Come on roommate, we have to go to the bleachers to get our orientation, take your yellow envelope." I told my lazy roommate. (I couldn't stand Private Butts.) The yellow folder had all our in-processing stuff in it.
"Alright roomie, I can't wait to see all the hot guys." Pvt. Butts said with a perverted smile. Unfortunately for her all the male linguists had gone to a separate basic training as us. So today was the first day we would meet them.
At first I tried to lay low, kind of hard when you look like you ironed your uniform with a brick. Fortunately for me, all of us that arrived today looked like ass. I looked around the bleachers and saw so many with the ugly brown thick Basic Combat Glasses (BCGs) or as we would call them birth control glasses.
Now was my time to make friends and I was forced to sit beside the most annoying girl I have ever met, my roommate Butts. I knew that if I stayed with her stanky ass that I would have no friends. I refused to let this happen but was too shy to mingle.
I sat beside a strange looking guy, Paradis, he had the exact opposite problem as me. His uniform was much too tight, I feared to look down past his waste line, afraid to see camel toe. He said some witty and sarcastic things, his sarcasm was as thick as the morning mist and sense of humor as dry as the California desert. I liked him.
But I loved the guy that sat in front of me instantly. He was surrounded by many of the girls that I went to basic training with, which made me not want to talk to him. I didn't' really like that I didn't fit into their clique that was formed during the 9 weeks we were in basic training together. I have never really been the type to mold into any group. I was always the loner in high school and church in the past. It felt better this way, I preferred the attention of one friend at a time. I always had several best friends but never a group of friends.
I should have been offended as I overheard what he was talking to the female soldiers about, he was insulting the religion that I had grown up with. Which at this point, I was running away from, scary Utah. The place that messed me up the most.
"So yes, they believe that Jesus has visited several continents. Kind of like Where is Waldo, but Where is Jesus" he said. They all laughed. I also thought it was funny. I loved to hear him talk, he was so hilarious and...
"that guy in front of us is super gay." Butts whispered in my ear. It annoyed me whenever she got close to me bc she smelled like burnt clam chowder, her food of choice during lunch.
I didn't care that he was "super gay", I felt myself drawn to him. And I knew that he would be my friend, my close friend. It was only a matter of time. I didn't quite know his name until Drill Sargent Stern yelled it while calling attendance "Finkenbinder!"and of course he answered "Yes, Drill Sergeant."
I can't tell you what exactly the briefing was on, probably rules of the barracks and times of formation. I had so much on my mind, anxious to know what language I will be learning and when I can start.
Walking away from the briefing I wanted to introduce myself to my new friend, but he was surrounded by a mass of females. Girls like gay guys right? To help them dress, give opinions on guys, teach them to give good head. I thought to myself 'I should want a gay man as a friend for all these things shouldn't I?' but I couldn't' get myself to think that way, I wasn't sure why I wanted to be friends with him but I knew it wasn't to learn how to give a great blow job. Whatever the reason I would soon learn, that sometimes people have magnetic attractions, not sexually speaking, but just in general.
We all had arrived at the Defense Language Institute in Montery California with an open heart and an open mind to embrace and experience life for the first time outside of our comfort zones and the walls of our parent's houses.
December 2, 2000
With eagerness I woke up and put on my uniform that were probably twice as big as me. The women who issued them to me my first day of basic training told me I needed to be able to fit my sweater and long johns underneath them so she gave me a size that would fit two of me. I literally looked like a gangster thug wanna be with my pants hanging to my ass. Not to mention I accidentally broke my only belt, I wanted to shorten it but cut the wrong end. I put on my hat and laced up my boots that hadn't been shined in probably a week.
"Come on roommate, we have to go to the bleachers to get our orientation, take your yellow envelope." I told my lazy roommate. (I couldn't stand Private Butts.) The yellow folder had all our in-processing stuff in it.
"Alright roomie, I can't wait to see all the hot guys." Pvt. Butts said with a perverted smile. Unfortunately for her all the male linguists had gone to a separate basic training as us. So today was the first day we would meet them.
At first I tried to lay low, kind of hard when you look like you ironed your uniform with a brick. Fortunately for me, all of us that arrived today looked like ass. I looked around the bleachers and saw so many with the ugly brown thick Basic Combat Glasses (BCGs) or as we would call them birth control glasses.
Now was my time to make friends and I was forced to sit beside the most annoying girl I have ever met, my roommate Butts. I knew that if I stayed with her stanky ass that I would have no friends. I refused to let this happen but was too shy to mingle.
I sat beside a strange looking guy, Paradis, he had the exact opposite problem as me. His uniform was much too tight, I feared to look down past his waste line, afraid to see camel toe. He said some witty and sarcastic things, his sarcasm was as thick as the morning mist and sense of humor as dry as the California desert. I liked him.
But I loved the guy that sat in front of me instantly. He was surrounded by many of the girls that I went to basic training with, which made me not want to talk to him. I didn't' really like that I didn't fit into their clique that was formed during the 9 weeks we were in basic training together. I have never really been the type to mold into any group. I was always the loner in high school and church in the past. It felt better this way, I preferred the attention of one friend at a time. I always had several best friends but never a group of friends.
I should have been offended as I overheard what he was talking to the female soldiers about, he was insulting the religion that I had grown up with. Which at this point, I was running away from, scary Utah. The place that messed me up the most.
"So yes, they believe that Jesus has visited several continents. Kind of like Where is Waldo, but Where is Jesus" he said. They all laughed. I also thought it was funny. I loved to hear him talk, he was so hilarious and...
"that guy in front of us is super gay." Butts whispered in my ear. It annoyed me whenever she got close to me bc she smelled like burnt clam chowder, her food of choice during lunch.
I didn't care that he was "super gay", I felt myself drawn to him. And I knew that he would be my friend, my close friend. It was only a matter of time. I didn't quite know his name until Drill Sargent Stern yelled it while calling attendance "Finkenbinder!"and of course he answered "Yes, Drill Sergeant."
I can't tell you what exactly the briefing was on, probably rules of the barracks and times of formation. I had so much on my mind, anxious to know what language I will be learning and when I can start.
Walking away from the briefing I wanted to introduce myself to my new friend, but he was surrounded by a mass of females. Girls like gay guys right? To help them dress, give opinions on guys, teach them to give good head. I thought to myself 'I should want a gay man as a friend for all these things shouldn't I?' but I couldn't' get myself to think that way, I wasn't sure why I wanted to be friends with him but I knew it wasn't to learn how to give a great blow job. Whatever the reason I would soon learn, that sometimes people have magnetic attractions, not sexually speaking, but just in general.
An Old Friend
As long as I can remember I have always had my secret spot that I would go to whenever I felt confused, sad, angry, depressed, or to gather my thoughts. Before I was introduced to the beach I had this concrete enormous circular drain that I would go hide in. I spent much of my teenage years here, thinking and trying to sort things out in my mind. As you can imagine I spent hours in this drain, at the time with a cigarette between my index and middle finger. Everything was so dramatic and so hard back then, it felt good to get away. I haven't been there in years. I left my adolescent problems there when I left this small town years ago.
I finally fell in love with the ocean. I discovered that my new special spot was not secret, eveyone loved the beach. I remember spending hours on the sand with my sister after a good surf (not so much for me, I kinda sucked) and shared laughs and smiles. What a great and beautiful life we have to look forward to. There is so much to look forward to, and the ocean seemed alive with each splash of the waves and break on the sand. What an amazing world we live in, there is so much to live for.
There are times I have felt limited, that things are just not right. I discover that I am not perfect, and that I make mistakes, sometimes huge mistakes. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart. I let myself become enclosed in four walls, and I feel that my world is caving in on me. I wonder how I can break free from my mental prison, especially when I limit my options. When these times happen, I go and visit an old friend, older then you and I. The ocean has never hurt me, my most trusted friend. I have coffee with my friend the ocean on a sandy beach.
"Give me some percpective." I said and took a sip of my coffee.
"Every answer you need lie within your own heart," the ocean said as he crossed his legs and added some salt to his coffee.
"Salt in your coffee," I say with a laugh, "I guess it makes sense."
"U know me, I am very salty."
"Oh yes, I know all too well," I said with a laugh and put on my sunglasses, "I have at times accidently tasted the bitterness of wiping out."
"Tell me about wiping out," the ocean looked deep with in my soul with his amazing blue eyes.
"It usually happens when I get hit by one of your huge wave that I don't see coming." I look at the ocean's young face, he looks like a young adult with perfect skin and dreamy like hair. I could stare in his eyes forever, the place I always found myself.
"This is my reminder to you that not everything is perfect and the unexpected can and will happen," he took a sip of his coffee.
"Yes, but its so unfair because I am having such a good time and then out of nowhere I get hit from behind. Sometimes it seems like hours I am emerged in darkness and can't find my way to the surface."
"It may seem that way, but its only a few minutes," the ocean reassures me."How do you find your way to the surface?"
"I look for the light and I swim toward it," I say and look at my old friend, the ocean, with his perfect features.
"So you never swim toward the darkness?"
"No, because I know it is the wrong way," I say as I start to realize how this is correlating with my life.
I miss my old friend. It has been nearly 3 months and I have not paid my friend a visit. I guess being surrounded by land doesn't help that. I could really use the calming effect of the endless blue sea right now.
I finally fell in love with the ocean. I discovered that my new special spot was not secret, eveyone loved the beach. I remember spending hours on the sand with my sister after a good surf (not so much for me, I kinda sucked) and shared laughs and smiles. What a great and beautiful life we have to look forward to. There is so much to look forward to, and the ocean seemed alive with each splash of the waves and break on the sand. What an amazing world we live in, there is so much to live for.
There are times I have felt limited, that things are just not right. I discover that I am not perfect, and that I make mistakes, sometimes huge mistakes. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart. I let myself become enclosed in four walls, and I feel that my world is caving in on me. I wonder how I can break free from my mental prison, especially when I limit my options. When these times happen, I go and visit an old friend, older then you and I. The ocean has never hurt me, my most trusted friend. I have coffee with my friend the ocean on a sandy beach.
"Give me some percpective." I said and took a sip of my coffee.
"Every answer you need lie within your own heart," the ocean said as he crossed his legs and added some salt to his coffee.
"Salt in your coffee," I say with a laugh, "I guess it makes sense."
"U know me, I am very salty."
"Oh yes, I know all too well," I said with a laugh and put on my sunglasses, "I have at times accidently tasted the bitterness of wiping out."
"Tell me about wiping out," the ocean looked deep with in my soul with his amazing blue eyes.
"It usually happens when I get hit by one of your huge wave that I don't see coming." I look at the ocean's young face, he looks like a young adult with perfect skin and dreamy like hair. I could stare in his eyes forever, the place I always found myself.
"This is my reminder to you that not everything is perfect and the unexpected can and will happen," he took a sip of his coffee.
"Yes, but its so unfair because I am having such a good time and then out of nowhere I get hit from behind. Sometimes it seems like hours I am emerged in darkness and can't find my way to the surface."
"It may seem that way, but its only a few minutes," the ocean reassures me."How do you find your way to the surface?"
"I look for the light and I swim toward it," I say and look at my old friend, the ocean, with his perfect features.
"So you never swim toward the darkness?"
"No, because I know it is the wrong way," I say as I start to realize how this is correlating with my life.
I miss my old friend. It has been nearly 3 months and I have not paid my friend a visit. I guess being surrounded by land doesn't help that. I could really use the calming effect of the endless blue sea right now.
Sarah and Sarah!
"No, my step sister name is Sarah too" I used to tell people fighting to hold onto what little identity I had left. We did everything together when we were teenagers.
"And yes we are almost the exact same age." I would say with a laugh.
Growing up together has defined us, helped us turn into the people that we are. Perhaps we were the same person, same name, same age, and even more freaky....We liked the same things. Sometimes I would wonder how this would be possible. Where did I end and she begin?
I think this accounts for my acts of rebelion, a scream for identity, which was taken with me the moment I met Sarah. I was stripped of my own name, she was bigger and stronger less shy then me. I was given the nickname Leonard, Leo, Leonard Ho, Leo Ho and Haras (which is Sarah backwards). It was funny to everyone else but me.
I acted out, I asked myself "What would the other Sarah do?" and do the exact opposite to define myself and ask the question. "Who is Sarah Lyn?" Whenever I thought of Sarah, I would not think of myself, I would think about her. Anybody would agree, this was a problem. Especially since Sarah was almost a Saint, she had the answer to everything and always did the right thing. I saw little choices left and it made me ask "Did Lucifer chooose to be evil or was it merely the only thing left to do?"
I was lost in a rapid river of extreme misconduct. I had totally lost myself in trying to seperate myself and find out what defines me. I eventually hit bottom.
"Please come over," I begged my twin through marriage with tears streaming down my face. "I don't feel so well."
She rushed over to find me in an unspeakable condition. I don't remember a time in my life where I had been in more physical and mental sickness. I had finally given in to my best friend and sister. There was no more running away. She assured me that we would find a way out of this and we did.
Its been 8 years, and I have her to thank for helping me get to where I am and made me realize that its not so bad to share the same name and interests as the girl I spent so much of my developing years with. We still share many of the same manerisms, traits and way of thinking but we also have incredibly obvious differences apparent now to anyone that knows both of us.
What I learned from this? We are all snowflakes falling from the sky, that all came from the same general place, some of us from the same cloud, but this does not make us perfect matches. We all land in a different place. It is impossible to be the same design as another. Sometimes the weather can change our shapes and destinations, just like a rock being eroded over time. We never end up in the same condition as we started despite the fact that we started from the same elements.
"And yes we are almost the exact same age." I would say with a laugh.
Growing up together has defined us, helped us turn into the people that we are. Perhaps we were the same person, same name, same age, and even more freaky....We liked the same things. Sometimes I would wonder how this would be possible. Where did I end and she begin?
I think this accounts for my acts of rebelion, a scream for identity, which was taken with me the moment I met Sarah. I was stripped of my own name, she was bigger and stronger less shy then me. I was given the nickname Leonard, Leo, Leonard Ho, Leo Ho and Haras (which is Sarah backwards). It was funny to everyone else but me.
I acted out, I asked myself "What would the other Sarah do?" and do the exact opposite to define myself and ask the question. "Who is Sarah Lyn?" Whenever I thought of Sarah, I would not think of myself, I would think about her. Anybody would agree, this was a problem. Especially since Sarah was almost a Saint, she had the answer to everything and always did the right thing. I saw little choices left and it made me ask "Did Lucifer chooose to be evil or was it merely the only thing left to do?"
I was lost in a rapid river of extreme misconduct. I had totally lost myself in trying to seperate myself and find out what defines me. I eventually hit bottom.
"Please come over," I begged my twin through marriage with tears streaming down my face. "I don't feel so well."
She rushed over to find me in an unspeakable condition. I don't remember a time in my life where I had been in more physical and mental sickness. I had finally given in to my best friend and sister. There was no more running away. She assured me that we would find a way out of this and we did.
Its been 8 years, and I have her to thank for helping me get to where I am and made me realize that its not so bad to share the same name and interests as the girl I spent so much of my developing years with. We still share many of the same manerisms, traits and way of thinking but we also have incredibly obvious differences apparent now to anyone that knows both of us.
What I learned from this? We are all snowflakes falling from the sky, that all came from the same general place, some of us from the same cloud, but this does not make us perfect matches. We all land in a different place. It is impossible to be the same design as another. Sometimes the weather can change our shapes and destinations, just like a rock being eroded over time. We never end up in the same condition as we started despite the fact that we started from the same elements.
What Goes With Tye Die? .... Camouflage of course!
September 9, 2008
This weekend I went to the Utah State Fair with my Aunt and two of her friends. It was a lot more fun then I thought it would be. First of all, her friends a married couple are seriously hilarious! They are refereed to as Mr and Mrs Craig. They are both school teachers in Davis County and they refer to each other as such, their teacher names. In fact they call my Aunt "Miss Burrows" , because she is also a school teacher/ counselor. When I was in school I always imagined that the teachers did not have first names, nor did they use them in real life. My childhood belief was hereby confirmed today with the hanging out of three public school teachers. So if you are wondering or had been wondering what school teachers refer to one another as in their off time, then you may now know "yes they go by their teacher names in real life."
Mr Craig was hilarious! He was completely obnoxious, almost to the point of being rude. It was really really funny. First of all he was seriously hung over from the night before. Second of all, he hadn't been to a state fair in 25 years, I know this because he kept on mentioning it.
Mrs. Craig was a little more quite, but you could tell she was really wild. She was really sarcastic and said the funniest things.
The thing that we most enjoyed was the fashion display. My aunt, Miss Burrows, had told me that the array of fashion choices were out of control, but I had no idea. These people had mullets, some dressed as cowboys, big American Flag t-shirts, over-alls, fanny packs, some dressed as Gothic as possible looking as if they hated the fair (then why be there?) There were even people dressed as pioneers. But the gold medal of them all was......
"What goes with tye-dye?" My aunt asked me out of nowhere then paused. "Camouflage."
I looked over and saw a man wearing a tye-dye shirt and camo pants. It was really amazing. IT made us laugh, and then funny part is we kept on seeing him everywhere and it would make us smile again.
Another attraction that caught our eye was the freak show. We payed $3 each to get in to this trailer. There was a cow with two noses, a sheep with 5 legs and then a whole bunch of stuff in jars, like pickled pigs that were born with birth deformities. At the end of the freak show there was a girl (the human tri pod) that only had one leg. We were all shocked, but didn't want to stare. It is impolite to stare at disabled people right? But this was a freak show we were supposed to stare, which made it that much worse. We all felt bad for her. Imagine being an attraction in a freak show. What a horrible job.
Then my camera got stolen, I put it down in the bathroom and left it there. I returned one minute after this and it was gone. Mr. Craig kept saying things like "That would make a good picture" and would point to something cool..."Oh too bad you don't have a camera" It was so fucked up it was funny. This happened all night long.
And let us not forget the mechanical bull I rode and stayed on for the entire time. I still have the bruises to prove it.
Overall I would say that the State Fair was pretty awesome. Too bad about my camera.
This weekend I went to the Utah State Fair with my Aunt and two of her friends. It was a lot more fun then I thought it would be. First of all, her friends a married couple are seriously hilarious! They are refereed to as Mr and Mrs Craig. They are both school teachers in Davis County and they refer to each other as such, their teacher names. In fact they call my Aunt "Miss Burrows" , because she is also a school teacher/ counselor. When I was in school I always imagined that the teachers did not have first names, nor did they use them in real life. My childhood belief was hereby confirmed today with the hanging out of three public school teachers. So if you are wondering or had been wondering what school teachers refer to one another as in their off time, then you may now know "yes they go by their teacher names in real life."
Mr Craig was hilarious! He was completely obnoxious, almost to the point of being rude. It was really really funny. First of all he was seriously hung over from the night before. Second of all, he hadn't been to a state fair in 25 years, I know this because he kept on mentioning it.
Mrs. Craig was a little more quite, but you could tell she was really wild. She was really sarcastic and said the funniest things.
The thing that we most enjoyed was the fashion display. My aunt, Miss Burrows, had told me that the array of fashion choices were out of control, but I had no idea. These people had mullets, some dressed as cowboys, big American Flag t-shirts, over-alls, fanny packs, some dressed as Gothic as possible looking as if they hated the fair (then why be there?) There were even people dressed as pioneers. But the gold medal of them all was......
"What goes with tye-dye?" My aunt asked me out of nowhere then paused. "Camouflage."
I looked over and saw a man wearing a tye-dye shirt and camo pants. It was really amazing. IT made us laugh, and then funny part is we kept on seeing him everywhere and it would make us smile again.
Another attraction that caught our eye was the freak show. We payed $3 each to get in to this trailer. There was a cow with two noses, a sheep with 5 legs and then a whole bunch of stuff in jars, like pickled pigs that were born with birth deformities. At the end of the freak show there was a girl (the human tri pod) that only had one leg. We were all shocked, but didn't want to stare. It is impolite to stare at disabled people right? But this was a freak show we were supposed to stare, which made it that much worse. We all felt bad for her. Imagine being an attraction in a freak show. What a horrible job.
Then my camera got stolen, I put it down in the bathroom and left it there. I returned one minute after this and it was gone. Mr. Craig kept saying things like "That would make a good picture" and would point to something cool..."Oh too bad you don't have a camera" It was so fucked up it was funny. This happened all night long.
And let us not forget the mechanical bull I rode and stayed on for the entire time. I still have the bruises to prove it.
Overall I would say that the State Fair was pretty awesome. Too bad about my camera.
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