I woke up today and I was sad. Sad and a little mad. I'm wasn't exactly sure why. Yesterday was my birthday and while I'm now closer to 50 than I am to 40, I think I handled it OK. Nothing like when I turned 40. That was trauma. It's strange because I don't think of myself as someone who would get all caught up in the age thing. But I did. I had anxiety attacks and crying jags and just hated the whole idea of my age beginning with a four. Part of it was that I closed the door on ever having kids when I hit 40. And so what, I didn't want kids to begin with. But the idea that the door was closing bothered me. Did I make a big mistake? Is the world going to suffer for never knowing a mini me? Hell if anything the world is better off without another me! One is plenty. But I agonized about it. Agonized that I was making a huge mistake, but not that I wanted to have a child. I certainly have nothing against people who have kids, but I just could never see myself in that role. I didn't grow up thinking, "oh I can't wait to have babies!" And yet, taking my option away bothered me. And sure, I know a lot of women have babies over 40. There was no way I was going to be one of them. Eventually I got over it and found my way back to how I've always been, happy in that decision. And what I'm feeling now I don't think is about age and certainly isn't about babies.
So why the hell am I sad today? Is it birthday "hangover"? This birthday was a little overwhelming, but not in a bad, holy shit I'm 45, kind of way. But in the, I received 16 cards (and that's not counting the stragglers that will arrive after the MLK holiday), 34 message board posts and over 130 Facebook birthday greetings, kind of way. I'm not bragging, I'm overwhelmed. It's hard to imagine that many people giving a shit. It's kind of humbling. I'm just a nobody but I guess having Facebook could make you feel like a somebody. You make "friends" and before you know it you have over 400 of them and you feel important, like you matter. And the truth of it is, you don't. You're still the goofy chick with purple hair that can't figure out what the fuck she's doing with her life.
A birthday always ends up making me look back on my life and look ahead at my life. Looking back I see wasted opportunities. Looking forward I see more of the same. What does this year hold for me? Will I continue to be chained in place because my parents need me more and more? Will everything I want be a secondary option because other people and other problems and anything other than what I want is more important? Will I matter more to the people who I want to matter to?
I was talking to my cousin on the phone yesterday and when I hung up I was mad. The mood I'm in now began there. It's not because I'm mad at her, but because I realized something in that conversation. Every year on our birthdays my mom makes the dinner of our choice. I tend to chose things that I don't make myself or that I don't make better than mom. It's just a fact that some things I do make better, or at least I like how I make it better. But inevitably I get attitude about my choices from my siblings. They don't like it or think it's a stupid choice or want something else, and give me shit about it. So this year I decided I'd make everyone happy and choose Thanksgiving dinner as my birthday dinner... meaning that I chose turkey and all the trimmings. I don't dislike this choice, but it's not something I would choose. What I love that my mom makes and I don't is oxtail soup. It's so good and she makes homemade noodles and I just love it. But the one time I chose this, you'd think that the world was coming to an end. I got so much shit from my brothers and sister that I just said fuck it. This year I saved myself the grief and chose something I didn't particularly want. And you know what happened? No one else came to dinner. I compromised for the sake of making others happy and I got fucked.
It really happened that way, but it's not about the dinner. It's a running theme in my life that this is how things go. I give, and it's not enough. I compromise, and I still get screwed. And why is it that they felt they could harass me and my choice? I'd never do that to someone. I am entitled to have what I want just as much as anyone else, so why should I change it to accommodate others? Would anyone do that for me? FUCK NO.
It's my own fault really. I'm a giver and I suppose I can't change that. There's not much I want and I do have a lot to give. I like to give. I like to make people happy. Mostly by give I mean give of myself. But sometimes it would be nice to have the people who matter to me give a little in return. I can't understand why I always have to take the high road. Why I have to be the one to compromise. Why I have to suck it up and deal with it. Once in awhile I'd like to be the one who gets to be selfish and do what I want, get what I want, and whoever doesn't like it can just fuck off.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Know Your Friends
It's two years to the day that I parted ways with several people I thought were very good friends. People I had known for years. People I loved and trusted. And the parting was for stupid reasons. At least from my POV they are. And that's all I can give you, my point of view.
To start from the beginning, the actual parting began back in October of 2008. My Grandma had just died a couple weeks before the first incident. I wasn't ever going to be the same again. Never. One of the most important people in my life had died. I was changed and shattered and devastated and just plain sad. I missed her and the people closest to me knew it.
It was also election year and things were heated, to say the least, on the message board I run. I've always had very few rules for the board. The main ones were say what you want but be respectful of each other and if you're going to talk politics, do so at your own risk. The subject is volatile and the two sides on the board were getting ugly. At this time, with everything else I was going through, I was really not having any of it. All parties involved in the current argument were my friends and as such I expected a little more respect and understanding than I got when I went into the argument and asked for all involved to step back and be peaceful. That is all I did. Only one person of the 3 who were arguing stepped back and understood. The other two decided that instead of backing off the argument they would, separately, tell me off via email. Was I shocked? Absolutely. And it was the beginning of the end.
Things were no longer the same after that. Everything I did was wrong. Every thing I said was wrong. Every decision I made was wrong. And the group of friends divided more and more. I guess I should have expected a blow up at some point. Can you really put fourteen women together in a group situation and not eventually have a blow up? I thought that all these women were interesting, mature, fun and a bit diverse. They were all women I respected. And for a long time we had a hell of a great group dynamic. But I had to ask for peace. Stupid me.
And not long after the political discussion blow up, one of our friends lost her mother. These women sent me a beautiful plant and flower arrangement and a very generous check as a gift after Grandma died so I took the lead on the gift because I felt like I wanted to give back. I collected the money and then with the help of the group we chose a lovely arrangement and decided to send her a few bottles of her favorite wine. But I ran into a problem. This friend lives in Indiana and sending alcohol through the mail to Indiana is tricky, to say the least. So we needed a Plan B. And every plan I came up with was met with derision, heated derision, until I finally threw up my hands and said I was done and that someone else needed to make the decision.
But that wasn't the final end yet. I loved these women, I kept going back for more and more punishment. I clearly hadn't been punished enough yet for asking my friends to be peaceful on my message board. The perceived "smack down" I gave them, now a month later, was still stuck in their craw and I had to be pay, big time. So it was then that another volatile subject was broached on the board. This time it was how the phrase "Merry Christmas" was becoming a thing of the past and the original poster was saddened by it. In come the vultures to tell people who believe in Christmas how hypocritical they are, how wrong they are, how selfish and petty they are to people who don't celebrate it. It was no longer a discussion of semantics or inclusion, it was an exercise in ridicule of people who believed in something. And again I stepped in but instead of speaking I just removed the whole topic and hoped it was over. It wasn't. Because I was wrong again. And again I had to hear about it. And when one of my moderators decided to take the heat for me, I was wrong again. The moderator told this person I now loosely call a friend, that the topic was getting rude and off subject so she removed it. The two got into a heated argument privately via emails and still, I was to blame. The "friend" told me about the argument and expected me to 1) take her side and b) remove the moderator from her position. The moderator who had been with me for 10 years was now to be removed because she had an argument with this "friend." That wasn't happening. And I was wrong again. Because at some point in my life I had told this "friend" that I would always have her back and that came hurtling at my face over and over again when I did not remove the moderator nor did I intervene on a private argument.
Every day I was accused of a new crime. Every day I was crying my eyes out for missing my Grandma and having to deal with all this nonsense. And yet, I still didn't want to lose my friends. I was determined to get through this and back to how we were. That is until the lies started. I can tolerate a lot, but lying is not something I can sit back and accept. Especially when the lies are about me and "friends" I've known for years and years spread them, start them or perpetuate them.
So many lies. The worst of which is that I'm a thief. Not only were people told that I kept their money when posters so generously donated to the board to keep it running, but I also found out that I'm a shoplifter. As if it wasn't ludicrous enough to think that I would run off with some big old cash cow of donations, but a shoplifter too!? As I understand it, the story is that the man and I would go to a certain store, distract the employees and then fill our pockets with merchandise. Yeah that has never happened. The last time I shoplifted was when I was about 12 or 13 years old and stole a big Bonnie Bell Watermelon Lip Smacker from Clarkins on Rockside Rd. I can't even fathom how this story came into existence. But that's not all. I also found out that I hate another friends baby. Seriously. Yep, I'm a notorious baby hater. There's more I'm sure. More said in the hopes of destroying me and bringing down my website. But it didn't happen. In the end people know better than to listen to the rantings of a lunatic.
It hurt. It all hurt me a lot. I cried a lot. I talked to other friends about it a lot. And it changed me. It made me trust my instincts more. I had instincts about several of the women who ultimately left my life but I ignored those instincts. I don't know why I ignored them. And after the fact, I found out several other friends had similar instincts about them. Why did it take extreme pain to give them up? Do I regret any of it? Yes, absolutely. I regret that I stayed as long as I did and in retrospect anyone who would tell me off to such a degree only a few weeks after losing my Grandma was not a friend at all and it should have ended there. I regret that my message board was dragged into the mess. I regret that friends ended up divided and took sides. But I don't regret anything I did or said. Maybe I didn't handle everything in the best possible way, but I don't have regrets. I don't regret having a standard for respect on my message board and enforcing that standard even if it's a friend who is breaking the rule. I will never regret asking for peace because in the end, that was all I did. I'm sure other points of view on all this are different, but like I said, I can only give mine. And being as true to the incident as I can be without saying names, this is exactly what happened from my point of view.
And a funny thing happened when ultimately it was all over. I felt free. I felt like a weight had lifted off me that had been pinning me down for years. I didn't know how much energy it took to be a friend to this certain person. I didn't realize how being her friend kept me from other friends. I never realized I put people I cared about on the backburner because this friend was so needy. I renewed friendships that had been pushed off to the side. And I'm lucky, I'm damn lucky that those friends understood and welcomed me back into their lives. I learned a lot through this incident. I absolutely learned who my friends are. But I also learned to trust myself more. It only took me 43 years to figure that out.
To start from the beginning, the actual parting began back in October of 2008. My Grandma had just died a couple weeks before the first incident. I wasn't ever going to be the same again. Never. One of the most important people in my life had died. I was changed and shattered and devastated and just plain sad. I missed her and the people closest to me knew it.
It was also election year and things were heated, to say the least, on the message board I run. I've always had very few rules for the board. The main ones were say what you want but be respectful of each other and if you're going to talk politics, do so at your own risk. The subject is volatile and the two sides on the board were getting ugly. At this time, with everything else I was going through, I was really not having any of it. All parties involved in the current argument were my friends and as such I expected a little more respect and understanding than I got when I went into the argument and asked for all involved to step back and be peaceful. That is all I did. Only one person of the 3 who were arguing stepped back and understood. The other two decided that instead of backing off the argument they would, separately, tell me off via email. Was I shocked? Absolutely. And it was the beginning of the end.
Things were no longer the same after that. Everything I did was wrong. Every thing I said was wrong. Every decision I made was wrong. And the group of friends divided more and more. I guess I should have expected a blow up at some point. Can you really put fourteen women together in a group situation and not eventually have a blow up? I thought that all these women were interesting, mature, fun and a bit diverse. They were all women I respected. And for a long time we had a hell of a great group dynamic. But I had to ask for peace. Stupid me.
And not long after the political discussion blow up, one of our friends lost her mother. These women sent me a beautiful plant and flower arrangement and a very generous check as a gift after Grandma died so I took the lead on the gift because I felt like I wanted to give back. I collected the money and then with the help of the group we chose a lovely arrangement and decided to send her a few bottles of her favorite wine. But I ran into a problem. This friend lives in Indiana and sending alcohol through the mail to Indiana is tricky, to say the least. So we needed a Plan B. And every plan I came up with was met with derision, heated derision, until I finally threw up my hands and said I was done and that someone else needed to make the decision.
But that wasn't the final end yet. I loved these women, I kept going back for more and more punishment. I clearly hadn't been punished enough yet for asking my friends to be peaceful on my message board. The perceived "smack down" I gave them, now a month later, was still stuck in their craw and I had to be pay, big time. So it was then that another volatile subject was broached on the board. This time it was how the phrase "Merry Christmas" was becoming a thing of the past and the original poster was saddened by it. In come the vultures to tell people who believe in Christmas how hypocritical they are, how wrong they are, how selfish and petty they are to people who don't celebrate it. It was no longer a discussion of semantics or inclusion, it was an exercise in ridicule of people who believed in something. And again I stepped in but instead of speaking I just removed the whole topic and hoped it was over. It wasn't. Because I was wrong again. And again I had to hear about it. And when one of my moderators decided to take the heat for me, I was wrong again. The moderator told this person I now loosely call a friend, that the topic was getting rude and off subject so she removed it. The two got into a heated argument privately via emails and still, I was to blame. The "friend" told me about the argument and expected me to 1) take her side and b) remove the moderator from her position. The moderator who had been with me for 10 years was now to be removed because she had an argument with this "friend." That wasn't happening. And I was wrong again. Because at some point in my life I had told this "friend" that I would always have her back and that came hurtling at my face over and over again when I did not remove the moderator nor did I intervene on a private argument.
Every day I was accused of a new crime. Every day I was crying my eyes out for missing my Grandma and having to deal with all this nonsense. And yet, I still didn't want to lose my friends. I was determined to get through this and back to how we were. That is until the lies started. I can tolerate a lot, but lying is not something I can sit back and accept. Especially when the lies are about me and "friends" I've known for years and years spread them, start them or perpetuate them.
So many lies. The worst of which is that I'm a thief. Not only were people told that I kept their money when posters so generously donated to the board to keep it running, but I also found out that I'm a shoplifter. As if it wasn't ludicrous enough to think that I would run off with some big old cash cow of donations, but a shoplifter too!? As I understand it, the story is that the man and I would go to a certain store, distract the employees and then fill our pockets with merchandise. Yeah that has never happened. The last time I shoplifted was when I was about 12 or 13 years old and stole a big Bonnie Bell Watermelon Lip Smacker from Clarkins on Rockside Rd. I can't even fathom how this story came into existence. But that's not all. I also found out that I hate another friends baby. Seriously. Yep, I'm a notorious baby hater. There's more I'm sure. More said in the hopes of destroying me and bringing down my website. But it didn't happen. In the end people know better than to listen to the rantings of a lunatic.
It hurt. It all hurt me a lot. I cried a lot. I talked to other friends about it a lot. And it changed me. It made me trust my instincts more. I had instincts about several of the women who ultimately left my life but I ignored those instincts. I don't know why I ignored them. And after the fact, I found out several other friends had similar instincts about them. Why did it take extreme pain to give them up? Do I regret any of it? Yes, absolutely. I regret that I stayed as long as I did and in retrospect anyone who would tell me off to such a degree only a few weeks after losing my Grandma was not a friend at all and it should have ended there. I regret that my message board was dragged into the mess. I regret that friends ended up divided and took sides. But I don't regret anything I did or said. Maybe I didn't handle everything in the best possible way, but I don't have regrets. I don't regret having a standard for respect on my message board and enforcing that standard even if it's a friend who is breaking the rule. I will never regret asking for peace because in the end, that was all I did. I'm sure other points of view on all this are different, but like I said, I can only give mine. And being as true to the incident as I can be without saying names, this is exactly what happened from my point of view.
And a funny thing happened when ultimately it was all over. I felt free. I felt like a weight had lifted off me that had been pinning me down for years. I didn't know how much energy it took to be a friend to this certain person. I didn't realize how being her friend kept me from other friends. I never realized I put people I cared about on the backburner because this friend was so needy. I renewed friendships that had been pushed off to the side. And I'm lucky, I'm damn lucky that those friends understood and welcomed me back into their lives. I learned a lot through this incident. I absolutely learned who my friends are. But I also learned to trust myself more. It only took me 43 years to figure that out.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Strange Memories
For some reason, while I was showering today, a strange memory popped into my head. I can't exactly remember how old I was, but I'm going to say around 14 or 15. And I can't remember how I hooked up with this guy T, because he went to public school and I did 12 years of Catholic school. But he lived nearby so that's probably how we ended up knowing each other. He would occasionally call me up and ask to come over. The only purpose of these visits were to make out in my basement. It happened a few times. But I was a very naive young girl and he was far too fast for me. He was the first guy that got to third base with me and it was way too much. Catholic school drilled into my head from an early age that any kind of sexual activity is bad bad bad!!! So at the time, I was probably thinking I was going to hell. But third base aside, this boy T, had a very unusual move. Thankfully he was the only one who ever did this to me and I never ever had to experience it again. He French kissed my ear, a lot. He actually put his tongue in my ear and went to town. It was really gross, like a wet willy that went on and on. I have no clue whatever happened to him but I know he stopped calling me when I told him to get his hands out of my pants.
One memory leads to another and I started to realize wow, I made out with a lot of guys when I was young. What a dick tease! My first kiss, was it M or was it J? I want to say it was J, but I can't be sure. J and his brother F, both had been my boyfriend at different times. And come to think of it, both were public school boys too. F was definitely the studlier hotter of the two. Oh F, I was so in love with him, as much as a 13 year old can be in love. Even at a young age I was attracted to the Guido's. F had a Polish last name, but so did I. There was no mistaking his Guidoness though. He with the long dark feathered back hair, the white tank top muscle shirt (now known as wife beaters), green eyes (oh damn I'm a total sucker for dark hair with blue or green eyes), tight jeans and a chain on his wallet. What a freakin hottie of a 14 year old! He used to come over to my house with this Triumph albums and we'd listen to them in my basement and make out. I never liked Triumph, but I liked making out with him so who cares what was playing! He was the first boy I ever said "I love you" to. Although I think I never really actually said the words. What I did was, I called him up and put on my brothers Led Zepplin album. When the song "All of My Love" came on, I put the phone up to the speaker. In 1979, that song was huge and it conveyed, I thought, what I wanted to say. And after I "said" it, he came over a day or two later with a gift. A lovely blue Timex watch without a box. He just put it in my hand and kissed me. It was official, we were in love.
Unfortunately from there my memory gets fuzzy. How did we break up and why? No clue. But most likely because I wouldn't put out. That's why most boys broke up with me. Whatever happened to him? No idea. I do know that whenever I saw him after that, I'd swoon. He was and remains one of the hottest guys I ever knew.
Memories are a strange thing. The littlest thing can spark them. Why did I think of ear kisser T while I was in the shower? Did I get water in my ear and suddenly have a strange flashback? And why do I remember some weird minute detail like Triumph albums but not how F and I parted ways? I guess this quote puts that in perspective...
One memory leads to another and I started to realize wow, I made out with a lot of guys when I was young. What a dick tease! My first kiss, was it M or was it J? I want to say it was J, but I can't be sure. J and his brother F, both had been my boyfriend at different times. And come to think of it, both were public school boys too. F was definitely the studlier hotter of the two. Oh F, I was so in love with him, as much as a 13 year old can be in love. Even at a young age I was attracted to the Guido's. F had a Polish last name, but so did I. There was no mistaking his Guidoness though. He with the long dark feathered back hair, the white tank top muscle shirt (now known as wife beaters), green eyes (oh damn I'm a total sucker for dark hair with blue or green eyes), tight jeans and a chain on his wallet. What a freakin hottie of a 14 year old! He used to come over to my house with this Triumph albums and we'd listen to them in my basement and make out. I never liked Triumph, but I liked making out with him so who cares what was playing! He was the first boy I ever said "I love you" to. Although I think I never really actually said the words. What I did was, I called him up and put on my brothers Led Zepplin album. When the song "All of My Love" came on, I put the phone up to the speaker. In 1979, that song was huge and it conveyed, I thought, what I wanted to say. And after I "said" it, he came over a day or two later with a gift. A lovely blue Timex watch without a box. He just put it in my hand and kissed me. It was official, we were in love.
Unfortunately from there my memory gets fuzzy. How did we break up and why? No clue. But most likely because I wouldn't put out. That's why most boys broke up with me. Whatever happened to him? No idea. I do know that whenever I saw him after that, I'd swoon. He was and remains one of the hottest guys I ever knew.
Memories are a strange thing. The littlest thing can spark them. Why did I think of ear kisser T while I was in the shower? Did I get water in my ear and suddenly have a strange flashback? And why do I remember some weird minute detail like Triumph albums but not how F and I parted ways? I guess this quote puts that in perspective...
"We do not remember days; we remember moments." ~Cesare Pavese
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!
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.
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
Dudes
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!
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.
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.
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