Tuesday, November 30, 2010

The Other Woman

R and I ended our romance, if that's what it can be called, July in that magical year, 1987.  The way I remember it was, on 4th of July the whole lot of us were at the fireworks at Edgewater Park in Cleveland.  He disappeared and was found later with the other woman, A.  That was the devastating end.   I was beyond shattered.  I was so in love with him.  He had that bad boy thing going for him and he was super hot.  Chicks always dig the bad boy, especially when they're young and stupid.  And possibly when they're old and stupid too.  Anyway, it wasn't long after that we talked and I asked him if he would still be my date for my brother B's wedding, which was July 18.  He promised me he would and gave me the "I still want to be friends" speech.  And he did, still want to be friends that is.   We still hung out together and went places together.  The big difference was, at the end of the night we didn't spend an hour in my driveway making out.  He just dropped me off and left.  It sucked!

July 18 arrived.  B's wedding (his first of three, but that's a different story).  It was a pretty big fancy affair at the place to have a wedding in the Cleveland area.   At least one of them anyway.  It was elegant and classy and my mohawked dude was supposed to meet me there.  Being in the wedding party, I had agreed to clean up for the occasion and dyed my hair black, solid, all one color.  The one and only time I ever agreed to such a thing.   Anyway, the reception got underway and my brothers friend D, who was also in the wedding party but not my partner, kept coming around by me.  I wasn't really noticing at the time it was happening because my eyes never left the door to see if/when R would walk in.   As the night went on and I got more and more drunk, it became very clear that he wasn't going to show up.  I went out into the lobby to call him at a payphone and he wasn't home.  It was official, I had been stood up.  And I was devastated all over again by him, cried and drank some more.

D swooped in.   He didn't leave my side all night.  He was sweet and understanding and in retrospect, had an agenda.  But I was drunk.  I was young.  And I was stupid.  D was someone I knew and trusted.  His sister was one of my best friends.  His parents and my parents are best of friends.  We were lifelong friends.  I'd known him for as long as I have had memory.  Having him there to lean on helped, a lot.  It was such a long night.   After the wedding, we went to a bar at a nearby Holiday Inn and partied some more.  And then after that, we headed back to my parents house and partied some more.  And that's when things between D and I shifted from concerned friend to something entirely different.

Back on my home turf and still in my hideous cream colored bridesmaid dress... seriously the thing was a monstrosity of tulle and embroidery... my drunkenness went from happy partying to sad and angry and I ran outside to cry and "woe is me" myself to death.   But, there was D.  He followed me outside and comforted me.  He told me all the right things.... "the guy is a jerk,"  "how could he walk out on you?  Look at how gorgeous you are!"  "he doesn't deserve you"  He hugged me and held me close while I cried and before I knew it we were making out leaning against a car in my driveway.  He took my hand and lead me to the backyard.  And then we were on the lawn and he was doing things to me that up until then no one had done to me!  He was making me forget being dumped, at least for that night.  And before I knew it we were fucking on my parents back lawn, with that hideous dress bunched up around my waist.  And it was great.  It was exactly what I needed.  People went in and out of the house, and I have no idea if anyone saw us or heard us.  I'm not exactly quiet when I'm having sex and that fucking ugly cream colored dress wasn't exactly camouflage!

And all the while, I knew... I knew D was involved with someone and had been for a long time.  I knew it and I didn't care.  Some other woman stole my man so it was only fair.  At least in my drunk addled brain it was.  So there it was, I was the other woman.  And he knew he would have me that night.  It's the only reason he didn't bring his girlfriend to the wedding.  While he was consoling me, he was probably thanking R for standing me up.  Ahh the best laid plans, literally!

Sunday, November 21, 2010

We Want Your Kid's Spine

Back in September of 1987, otherwise known as the Glory Days, the Best of Days, Those Were the Days, or the OMG How Did I Get This Fucking Old Days, it was a typical Friday night with a bunch of guys in my less than rockin car, an Olds Calais.  Stuffed in the car that night were R, E, Butthole, B and BFF, and me driving.  BFF was sitting on B's lap (her boyfriend) in the front seat, and the rest of the guys were in the back.  We were driving down Mayfield Rd. in South Euclid, the reason why we were in the area escapes me at the moment.  Butthole and R wanted to stop to get something to drink at McDonald's so I pulled into the parking lot and let them out.  Why I didn't go to the drive-thru, I don't know.  Bad move.  Things immediately looked off.  Butthole and R went inside... R about 6 feet tall, mohawk, leather, hot.  Butthole about 6 feet tall, leather, crazy, loud, probably shooting off his mouth somehow.  Outside in the car, the rest of us started to feel very tense as swarms of high school kids who were there after a football game paced back and forth outside my car, giving us far more than just the stinkeye.   We were pretty used to being stared at, made fun of, harassed and whatever and apparently there wasn't a big population of punks in South Euclid.  But this, this was very different.  This was menace.

Suddenly Butthole and R came out of McDonald's, VERY QUICKLY, yelling at me to start the car.  They jumped in, I peeled out and the chase was on.  Three car loads of teenage boys followed us.  The guys in the back were screaming out for me to go faster, to cut down streets, to try and lose them.  B held onto BFF tight as I raced through the streets of South Euclid trying to ditch these assholes.   And then I made a big mistake. I turned down a street that had it's lanes separated by a median.  This enabled the chasers to block us in.  One raced in front of me and skidded to a stop, forcing me to stop.  One stopped on the side of my car and one in the back.  We were seriously fucked now.  The boys all got out of their cars and I locked all my car doors.  R, Butthole and E were screaming at me to let them out but I wouldn't, there were too many, I was afraid they'd get really hurt.  And then it happened, baseball bats came out and suddenly these asshole kids were beating on my car, breaking headlights, making dents and then the loudest crash I have ever heard when they bashed out the rear window. 

I completely stopped thinking at this point, threw open the locks on the car, jumped out by myself because the guys in the back couldn't get out yet, and started screaming my lungs out at those fucking pieces of shit.  R, E and Butthole finally got out as did L and B and the guys started to go after the attackers, but they were already jumping in their cars and taking off.   I collapsed on the median strip in some kind of hysteria and R jumped on top of me and tried to calm me down.  L, always the cooler head, was trying to get license plate numbers.  Once R effectively snapped me out of it, we started knocking on doors to see if someone would call the police.  It was pretty late in the night but we did find people who were willing to help us.

The police came to where we were, still on that street, and took our statements and immediately began rounding kids up.  That same night, on that same street and then back at McDonald's, we positively ID'd several of the culprits.  And wouldn't you know it, one of the assholes was the chief of police's son.  Isn't that always the way?  What a douche.

Police reports, court dates and all that happened, but in the end we didn't have to appear in court.  I don't even remember what happened to those kids, probably nothing.  But I did get a letter from the parents of the kid who broke out the back window, with a check for the damages.  She apologized for her son and yadda yadda yadda.   I posted that letter on my refrigerator at a party I had about month later, so everyone who was with me that night could see it.  And this is the reply E wrote to her that night...

In case you can't read it, it says... "Dear Mr & Mrs. Whatever (he used their name but whatever), We don't want money, we want your kid's spine in a bottle of formaldehyde or at least his stomach lining in a bowl of Campbell's soup."  Obviously, since I still have it, we never sent it.  Maybe we should have.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010


I dig the dudes.  Always have.  And in my younger days I had way more male friends than female.  It was the norm in the punk scene.  We all just hung out with each other.   And I didn't sleep with any of them.  Fooled around with one, had a crush on another, one had a crush on me, two tried to sleep with me and one I kissed, deeply.  I'm still friends with several, two have died, some I have minimal contact with and several I have completely lost touch with.

I wouldn't say I regret not sleeping with any of them, but looking back I wonder how I didn't. Opportunity often presented itself.  Hell I lived with T for five years and not only did we never sleep together, we never even kissed.  It was never thought about, not on my part anyway.  I'd be willing to bet it wasn't on his either.  We just didn't have that kind of chemistry.  But living together was easy.  I never had to worry about him taking my clothes.  If he wanted to borrow something,  he asked.  He never ever went in my room uninvited or without knocking.  And I couldn't get him to eat my food.  I wanted him too!  The boy ate so poorly I really really wanted him to eat a damn vegetable every now and again.  But alas, he would not.  For 5 years T's diet consisted of blueberry pop tarts, blueberry waffles, blueberry bagels, macaroni and cheese (that he made with Velveeta), frozen ravioli with Ragu bottled sauce and Kool Aid by the gallon.  I didn't cook as much then as I do now, but I ate way better than that!

But no, no fleshy fun time with T.  Interestingly, in the time we lived together he had several different girlfriends and at least two of them were real screamers.  That should have peaked my interest in finding out what he had going on, but no, it didn't.  I guess there are just people in this world that, as John Bender (from The Breakfast Club) said about women, "some I consider my girl friends and some I just consider."

Nowadays, I have less male friends than female and at first it was strange.   I guess I just think men are easier to talk to, especially when the subject is sex.  Something I love to talk about anytime, anywhere.  My hormones are in such overdrive that I think about sex all day sometimes... well not every minute, but a lot of minutes in the day and some of my female friends don't get it at all.  Not long ago I broached the subject with a female friend, about how I want to have sex daily, more than once a day, how I am so fucking horny all the time and how much I love it.  She looked at me like I had sprouted wings and turned green.  It had been quite awhile since she and her boyfriend had had sex and she really has no interest in it at all. I've been there, in that no interest place.  I like horny better.  MUCH better. 

But when I talk about sex with my male friends, they get it.  Oh do they understand where I'm coming from!  They've been there, they are still there.  What is that stupid statistic?  Men think about sex every 7 seconds?  I don't believe that.  But a more realistic one, like men think about sex every day, several times a day is believable and I think it applies to women too.  This woman for sure.  I wake up horny.  Throughout the day, I just become horny.  It's crazy and funny and kind of interesting and at first it was disturbing but not anymore, now I love it.  I just become aware that I'm horny.  I don't have to be thinking about anything, consciously anyway, I just am horny.   And I think, wow, this is cool.  I love being horny.  It feels good and I feel sexy.   It carries over into other areas.  I smile more.  I notice men notice me.  Maybe I'm giving off pheromones.  I don't know.  I feel more confident with myself.  Whoever said sex is power was right.  I feel alive and ready any time of any day.  It totally kicks ass!

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

You and Me, We Disagree

My brother B and I are less than a year and a half apart in age and world's apart in every other way. When we were at dear old St. W grade school, he played the part of the big brother and he stood up for me when I was picked on.  And in high school, when he started driving, I got rides to school with him.  His friends were nicer to me than he was by then.  In fact, I dated one of his friends for awhile.  It didn't work out.  D was as possessive as they come and even at the tender age of 16, I knew damn well no guy was going to control me.

So we fast forward to our adult lives.  You've already read some about my path.  His was completely different.  Out of all four of us siblings, he was the only one to finish college.  He majored in Theology and became a religion teacher in Catholic high schools and has since worked his way up to Assistant Principal at the high school he works for in Florida.  Yes, a much much different path than me.  He's also on his third wife.

When he was married to his second wife, T, we shared a duplex.  They lived on the bottom, N and I on top.  I can't remember how long we lived there, two years maybe, and not once did we go out to dinner or have movie night together or do anything at all socially.  Not once.  When T was away, B would make a beeline up to our place to hang out and talk.  So yeah, I guess T didn't like us... well me.  There is no reason to dislike N.  I can come up with lots of reasons to hate me, and apparently she did.  It matters not, chick turned out to be a total psycho anyway.  She may get her own blog post someday.  Ahh the stories!

B and I though, we have nothing in common, other than the fact that we come from the same family.  We argue about politics, about abortion, about religion.  He is self righteous and a pompous asshole.  He is always right.  He is the golden boy who can do no wrong in the eyes of our parents.  When he speaks, they listen.  That shit really frosts my ass because it's me who's here, doing everything for them.  When we had to have a ramp built onto our existing deck to accommodate dad's wheel chair, we couldn't afford the $1800 price tag.  We had already bought them a bed, a TV, had the driveway paved and the bathroom modified.  So I went to my brothers and sister for help.  At the time, my sister was struggling financially but she said she would do what she could.  J, as always, was more than willing to help.  B flat out said no.  He said this was my parents responsibility and he would not contribute.  I was pretty stunned, but not as stunned as I soon would be.  This is when B gave me "the speech."  It went something like this... "Mom and dad are now your responsibility.  If they need something, you have to take care of it.  It's not my problem.  Don't come to me."   That's mom's golden boy.  Mom ended up getting the money from Grandma for the ramp. 

I spared my mom the knowledge of this conversation for a long time.  I figured she wouldn't have believed me anyway.  Case in point... many years ago, I was out of work.  It was getting to be Christmastime and I didn't have any money so I bowed out of gift giving that year.  In previous years, and in years since, other members of my family have done this.  When one of us bows out, we all bow out.  That is, unless it's me bowing out.  Then they just skip me and buy for everyone else.  If my sister bows out?  No one buys for anyone.  If either of my brothers bow out?  No one buys for anyone.  But yeah, when I bow out, oh well... too bad so sad.  I guess it has something to do with being youngest?  I don't know.  So it was one of those years where I bowed out.  Admittedly I was sad, not because I wasn't receiving.  I don't care about that ever.  But I love buying something unexpected and seeing the look of surprise and joy on someones face.  Fuck your lists, if I can't figure out what to buy my own damn sister, then I'm pretty lame.  So I was sad.  I had to sit there and watch everyone give and receive (I had a few things from parents, parents always buy no matter what).  I wasn't crying, I wasn't making any kind of fuss.  I was just a little sad.  B grabbed my arm and pulled me aside and said words I will never ever forget, "why don't you just fucking leave.  Nobody wants you here."  I looked at him like he was nuts and said, "what?"   He said, "you heard me, get the fuck out."  You don't have to tell me a third time, I turned around and started for the door, tears rolling down my face.  My mom asked where I was going and I said, "leaving." She freaked out and tried to stop me.  I told her, "your son told me to get the fuck out, so I'm going."  She didn't believe me.  Her angel would never say such a thing!  He did.  And I left.  I went to N's house.  We were dating at the time, and had the breakdown of all breakdowns.

A month later it was my birthday and that was the first time I saw the whole family again after that hellish Christmas.  B was there.  He came over to me, looked at me and then punched me in the arm playfully and walked away.  That was apparently my apology since I never got a verbal one.  Seriously, is it so hard to say you're wrong?  To say "I'm sorry I hurt you"?  To say, "geez I was such an ass and I'm sorry"?  To say anything that would make it better?  Resentment can last a long long time so why not make the effort to make things right?   I know I've had to eat the proverbial piece of humble pie now and then.  And while I don't enjoy it, it's infinitely better than damaging a relationship irreparably.  If I'm aware of a hurt I've caused, I do try to make it right if that person matters to me at all. And if I don't know, or seem oblivious, I hope the hurt party will tell me so I can make it right.

B and I will probably never get along, but we do talk to each other now and again.  He likes to call me if he has a question about food or if he's made something he found particularly good.  He likes to call me if one of his friends did something really really stupid and we get a good laugh.  We talk maybe four or five times a year.  I'm fine with it.  In the end the fact is, he doesn't know me at all and would rather make his assumptions about me and my life.  Maybe I'm doing the same thing, but after being on the receiving end of the two incidents I just told you about, I don't think I am.