Crazy 8's

So, 8 has always been a lucky number for me. Actually, I have no idea if that has any basis whatsoever in reality; what I should say is that I have always fancied the idea that 8 might be a lucky number for me, since there are so many of them in my birthday. 8-28-81, born at 8:08 am, in room something-oh-eight. Today, a miracle occurred. I fit my booty into a size 8 pair of jeans. And comfortably too. I had a 10 on, and consulted Nik on the size, and she said, "Dude, they're too big." The natural skeptic in me emerged, "They can't be too big, they're a ten." To which Nik sighed in mild frustration, (you know the kind of sigh you get from a friend when you are complaining about how you are too fat/thin/tall/short/stupid/ugly, or have weird feet/bad hair/weak nails/[ ] -- it was that sigh) and then she disappeared from the fitting rooms only to return toting two pairs of size 8 jeans in her arms.

Unfolding them with immense doubt, I was fully expecting not to be able to fit them over my thighs, because, being the deliciously curvy gal that I have always been, I often have trouble with jeans in that area. Yet they met the thighs and kept on going, at which point I fully expected to be unable to zip them up. Somehow they zipped up no problem, and there I stood in the first pair of size 8 pants I've been able to get into since I was 19. That's almost 5 years people. I had to try the second pair just to make sure it wasn't a fluke, and those fit too. And then I got to buy a $58 pair of jeans for $20 because I work at the Gap. And to think I've been thinking of quitting. All told, not a bad way to end a rough week.

Although I will say that in spite of my alternate rage and sadness, I am a person who believes in second chances when asked for. And when a boy I love apologizes and says, "Will you be my girl again?" by a campfire that lights up his blue eyes like none I have ever seen, it's impossible for me to say no. So I said yes, and maybe you're thinking I'm silly for risking my heart again, but life is about risks, especially if it's a risk you take in order to try to get something amazing. Plus, who the hell does he think he's messing with anyways? I am from Southfield. He knows I will key his car and slash all four of his tires if he breaks my heart again. (So, so, so kidding on that one!) And then my Daddy threw in a death threat, just for posterity. (Still kidding, but not quite as much....) Ha ha ha!

Dear Alyssa

Oh my dear sweet Alyssa. I just walked in from work to discover your letter on my bed and I didn't waste a moment in opening it up. (I especially enjoyed the stickers from Wizzywig on the front as well; remember when we went with your dad that one day? You guys picked me up after my last class of college and we all went to dinner. That was fun.) But anyhow, since you mentioned being such an avid reader of my blog I thought I'd give you your own entry. Complete with photos. I even considered taking one of my bizarre feet for you, but could not locate my digital camera. Alas, that photo will be for another day. Another day when I have had more time to give myself a pedicure first!

I was shocked (to put it mildly) to read that Nicholas, world's youngest flirt, is three whole years old already. My nephew will turn three on August 11th, and he is *such* a troublemaker. I think I will always remember that look that Nicholas threw me when we were all standing in the kitchen at 1201 after graduation, it was such a knowing look for a child that small to give. Remember how hard we all laughed?

Talking with you the other night helped me feel so, so, SO much better. I feel ashamed that so much time passed between us without a word from me. I am going to try very hard to prevent that from happening again. I cannot tell you how many times I have been bummed or pissed or confused or worried and thought, "I miss the 1201 kitchen." The kitchen that you found and said to Bec and I, "So I found this house, and the kitchen is amazing...." The talking and the snacking on various baked goods somehow always made all of us feel better I think. No matter which of us was frustrated about whichever boy, or stressed out about whatever class, the kitchen was always there for us when we needed it! (Which is more than I can say for boys, especially lately, and that is the God's honest truth!)

Anyway my dear. Know that I think about you and miss you often. I have so many pictures on my walls of all my far off friends, it helps me feel closer to you guys. And I will absolutely plan to visit you soon, even if it's just for a weekend. I think it would do us both good.

Out of the Woodwork

So I am sitting here somewhat amazed at how incredibly lucky I am to have my wonderful friends and family. I had no idea that so many of them read this, and I am honored and flattered and taken aback at all of the emails and phone calls I've gotten today. I talked to Steph and Brian for like an hour and a half, Lys for an hour and a half. Why do you bastards all have to live so freaking far away?!

Today was a day to gain perspective, and it feels good to have it back. Thanks for coming out of the woodwork everyone. I love love love you all to the stars and back.

And to quote my dear friend Brian, a HAW to the end, "now it's time to party my tits off". Whatever that means... you stupid brrrriiitchh! Hahahaha....
I had to dig out some pictures, because I realized that my blog was becoming somewhat picture-less. My and the girls at the beach (Nik, we are so there on Saturday!!). Aubs and me in Cape Cod -- remember the galaxy in the ocean Aubrey? I will never forget that. And at MSU for the world-record setting Cold War game, with Dustin and Fadi and Brantley too.

All in all I'd have to say that I am done feeling sorry for myself. Life is too short. I have so much love in my life, from so many directions, and it's all good in the hood. Thanks you guys. You're my homies!

Southern Discomfort

So I should have known that doing shots of Southern Comfort with Matt on his couch last night would only lead to a bad place. It’s just that he said, “Beer? Or Southern Comfort?” and I thought, Mmmmm, Southern Comfort. And from there I ended up bawling. Matt, in his infinite and somewhat intimidating wisdom pointed out the obvious key point that I’ve been ignoring for months now: “Maria, he’s still in love with her.” Maybe not entirely in love, but there’s wreckage that still has to be cleared. And until it has been washed away in the natural course of life and living, there is nothing that I – or even he – can do about it. So I cried, and Matt hugged me, and let me borrow one of his pillows when I became too drunk to drive myself home. It smelled clean and good, like the man himself. This morning before I left, when I was half awake and half asleep, I think I murmured, “It’s going to be OK… right?” And he said, “Yes. It is.” And put his arms around me to let me feel my sadness with the strength of a good friend behind it. Ten minutes later I asked for some Motrin.

Two hours later I found myself crouching in my shower, awaiting the purge. I could feel it coming, thinking to myself, “Amazing how your body protects you by hurling that purposely ingested poison right out of your system.” And it came and went, and came and went again. Tripping out of the shower in my attempt to reach the toilet I managed to add injury to my already burning insult. Perfect, total humiliation in the face of emotional catastrophe? Achieved.

Lying on my bed in my towels, the dampness from my hair saturating my quilt, I couldn’t help but wonder how the hell I got myself into all this. And how ridiculous it is that I am this unglued. It’s not anyone’s fault that he doesn’t love me. It’s not my fault, it’s not her fault, and it’s definitely not his fault. It just is. Perhaps that is part of why it’s awful; being a person who likes to place blame where it belongs, I find myself unable to determine the legitimate culprit, and so it unfairly falls to him. Although he did lie to me, for weeks, but that was only ever a bi-product of him lying to himself. Hopefully I will get beyond that, and he will forgive me for the daggers I’ve been throwing him from my eyes, and the shortness and contempt I’ve been unable to suppress in my voice. Maybe then we will be able to behave toward one another with some semblance of the friendship that was underneath all of this. If we’re lucky I guess, maybe we’ll get to have that….

The Scientist

So tonight I stood in the rain while a man that I am in love with told me that he doesn't love me, and isn't sure if he ever will, so goodbye, and I'm sorry. Somehow the apology does not make anything better. I suppose I should have seen this coming. There have been signs, which I very conveniently ignored because it was too painful to put them together, but they were there, bright and obvious as the sun itself, and now I feel as if I have been burned and beaten and torn to pieces and it is noone's fault but my own.

I wonder to myself if I had this coming; cosmic revenge for recently having broken another person's heart who couldn't have deserved it less. I think of how the next time I try to love someone it will begin with fear and apprehension, and therefore likely end in a fiery demise of unreciprocated passion and thoughts of what might have been if only I'd been able to trust. To take a chance. To risk that all important first step into the uncharted territory that is new love. My heart feels like it has been tossed into the garbage, smashed and crushed into a miniature block that will decompose over time.

I titled this entry after a Coldplay song that I love. A song that I can only wish he might hear tomorrow, or a week from tomorrow, or a month from tomorrow, and then think, That is how I feel about her. And then he will drive his car to me, wherever I am, and say all the things he should have said tonight. He'll say all the things he should have said instead of goodbye, and I'm letting you go, and I don't love you.

But I know the likelihood of that is slim. And I try to comfort myself by saying that anyone who could let me go, doesn't really deserve me in the first place.

And yet the tears seem as though they will never stop....

by Coldplay

Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry
You don't know how lovely you are
I had to find you
Tell you I need you
Tell you I set you apart
Tell me your secrets
And ask me your questions
Oh let's go back to the start
Running in circles
Coming up tails
Heads on a silence apart
Nobody said it was easy
Oh it's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh take me back to the start
I was just guessing
At numbers and figures
Pulling your puzzles apart
Questions of science
Science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart
Tell me you love me
Come back and haunt me
Oh and I rush to the start
Running in circles
Chasing our tails
Coming back as we are
Nobody said it was easy
Oh it's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so hard
I'm going back to the start

Enraged

Have you ever woken up after a particularly shitty night and thought, "Great, now I have to get up and do things today." When I opened my eyes this morning it was pouring rain, thundering like hell, and that is exactly what I thought. Just perfect. Somehow appropriate.

I am so pissed off and hurt that I can't even explain why. I'll just say that I feel like I am being made a fool of, I feel like I'm being played, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop it. I just have to sit here and get jerked around. Which fucking sucks.

And now I get to go to work. Fantastic. Hope this day is not going to be as shitty for everyone as mine promises to be.

Poo Chicken...and Entourage

So on Saturday Shaun and I went to see "Wedding Crashers" -- hilarious! After the movie we went over to BW3's for some lunch, I ordered some chicken tenders and fries, he ordered a tender wrapper. So far, this sounds like nothing out of the ordinary, but I haven't told you yet that when my tenders arrived, they smelled strongly of poo. I would say they smelled like shit, but that could just mean that they smelled bad. That is not what I mean. They actually smelled like human poo. At first I thought, "It must be coming from the bathroom," because all logic and reason tells us that chicken cannot smell like poo, and we happened to be seated rather near the restrooms. I started eating -- attempting to disguise the smell with BBQ sauce, blue cheese, and ranch dressing -- and made it about halfway through my tender before I just had to have Shaun's opinion to make sure I wasn't crazy. So, after consulting his nostrils, he agreed that there was something not quite right about the odor, and he also pointed out that the tenders were, in fact, burnt. But to that I said, "Burnt chicken does not smell like poop. I've burnt chicken before, I know what it smells like, this is odd."

So we were sitting there, eyebrows raised, looks of incredulity on our faces, each silently contemplating the various and sundry ways human poop could have come in contact with the chicken during its many stages of preparation, when an unsuspecting waitress walked by and asked, "Is everything alright?" What to say? Shaun put it as delicately as possible: "Um, well -- her chicken has a strange smell, like a smell that would come from someone's backside." Oh, the decorum. The waitress picked up my basket of tenders, and after smelling them for herself she said, "Well, they're definitely burnt, would you like us to remake the order?" To which I politely declined and said I was cool with just my fries. When the waitress brought our check there was a $10 gift certificate included, so the next time we go to BW3's we can order some more poo smeared tenders! What can you do, perhaps it was just a freak coincidence -- or perhaps there was human feces on my food? (That, by the way, is a thought that will keep you up nights wondering if at any moment you are about to earl your brains out from the worst food poisoning you've ever had.) I suppose I will never know. But you know what they say, shit happens, I just wasn't expecting it to happen on my naked tenders.

On a more positive note I got to watch the new episode of Entourage tonight. (If you don't have HBO, this show is a reason to get it. It's awesome, Shaun got me hooked!) Tonight while watching it I thought to myself, "Wow, it's like a male version of Sex & the City; 4 guys, their fantasy lives, lots of fame, money, and hot chicks." Throw in some cool cameos (Val Kilmer's was the best), great writing, and just funny situations and you've got another great HBO original series. Now if we can just get on with the final season of The Sopranos, all will be right with the world.

Harold!

Harold, I took it as a serious challenge that you did not think I had enough pictures of you to create a collage. Lo and behold! I certainly managed to find 9 that would do you justice. Now, in return for this humble tribute, I would love love love it if, from now on, you post as your lovely self instead of "anonymous" when commenting on my blog. You are so much more than "anonymous" my dear sir, so act like it! ;)

An ode to Harold


For all those who do not know Harold, just know that he is a dear, sweet boy, who has experimented with hairstyles inspired by the Marines (bottom left), all the way to the Beatles (top center); and that he is a lover of music (right center), the ladies (top left, bottom right), and impersonating Macho Man Randy Savage (not shown).

Crying My Eyes Out...

Over a Harry Potter book. Oi. I just finished the newest installment in J.K. Rowling's uber popular Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and I am not ashamed to admit that I flat out sobbed through the last seventy pages. It's a damn good thing she's only got one book left to go, because I just can't handle her killing off all my favorite characters. First Sirius, now... well I suppose I probably shouldn't spoil it, just consider yourselves warned: Kleenex will be necessary. I had a hunch that one of Harry's best friends (Ron & Hermione) might die in the last book, but I never would have guessed this. *Sigh* See, that's the mark of a good writer, even when you think you know what's coming, you don't.

A little while ago I was trying to remember both the last book (other than this one), and the first book that ever made me cry. The last before this one was Cold Mountain, and the first ever was Where The Red Fern Grows. It amazes me that I can still remember sitting in my bedroom, at age 9, with my little unicorn lamp glowing on my bedside table, turning the pages of the book and crying. At some point my mom came into my room and asked me if I was OK, and I said, "Yeah (sob), I'm just reading!" And I think she must have smiled, being an avid reader herself, she knows what it's like.

I keep trying to get her to read the Harry Potter books, because although some consider them to be children's books, they are truly fantastic. She told me today that when she finishes her current novel, she's going to start at Year 1. She said, "You know what changed my mind about them? I heard that the Catholic church doesn't like them, and in my experience as a Catholic, if the church doesn't like it, that must mean there's something sinfully great about it!" I may have misquoted her a bit there, but you get the gist.

Anyway, back to my couch for more of my ongoing recovery from strep. I'm feeling almost totally like myself again, just a bit more tired and prone to headaches. Tomorrow Shaun and I are going to an early movie and lunch before he has to go to work.

By Request

For Steph

Strep Can Kiss My A**!

How is it possible that I am sick AGAIN?? If I find the germ infested weasel that gave me strep throat in the middle of July I will do bad, bad things to them. My doc looked at my tonsils this morning and said, "Yeah, those are pretty bad." A freaking doctor!! He sees this crap all the time. *Sigh* At least my fever is gone. For now. (Knock on wood! ...No seriously, knock on some wood right now!) I thought that I was just feeling crappy when I came home from work on Sunday because I only got about 3 hours of ZZZ's the night before -- but no, apparently it's because I was about to come down with strep throat. So, crazy thanks and appreciation to Nik, who drove my ass home from work on Sunday night, and also my baby Shaun, who got up early to drive my ass out to my doctor's office in Novi before having to go into work today. And of course I cannot forget my mom and dad, who always express crazy concern and take care of me when I'm sick. It's good to have the love that I have in my life. So far Boomer (my doctor) says no way on the tonsilectomy (!), but if I get sick once more in the next couple months, it's off to the ear-nose-and-throat-guy I go!

On today's agenda: some catch up emailing, some channel surfing, and A LOT of Harry Potter reading action. Oh man, I think I'm gonna start right now!!

First, I gotta do a collage for Steph though, since she was like, "Hey!! Where are the pics of ME??!!" Haha, love you Steph!

Shaun Is...

Mr. Incredible!

Snapshots

From old photo albums


A few days ago I talked to my friend Leah (click on the link at the right to see her blog) on AIM and I started thinking about high school. I dug out some of my photo albums and these are some of the pictures that I found in my Senior Book (holy crap!) and other albums.

From the top left: Me at Bay Beach in Green Bay, WI, probably around age 5? Granny, Jesse as a baby, and me, 1985 or 86. Me and Kid Bro, 1985ish. Me with daffodils (?) in Kentucky on Uncle Ellis' farm, I think I must have been about 8, so it was probably '89. Me, Mom, and Jesse at Jacques and Stefanie's wedding in Green Bay, summer of 1997. Howard, me and Jesse, before Homecoming sophomore year, October 1996. The Lady Blue Jays softball team after our last game, June 1999. Roscoe, the Supercat, Christmas 1995. Nik, me and Kira, at the Hazel Park ice arena, Winter of freshman year of college. (Mom, help me out on the years if I'm wrong on these!)

Going through my senior book was weird too. I had movie ticket stubs from "Star Wars: Episode 1" and "The Matrix," and gas was only$1.09 a gallon (those were the days!). I listed some group called, "Five," as a popular music group at the time and I have no idea who they are!! (Shaun can you help me out with that one?) I found my acceptance letter to Michigan, and the scholarship offer to Miami that I turned down. I had one my (many) 4.0 report cards (hey hey hey!), maps of Madrid and Paris from our trip after graduation, and about 5 invitations to graduation parties -- including Nikki's and Bobby's.

Thinking about that makes me remember how young I felt, and how out of place, my first year at U of M. It also makes me realize how lucky I am to have the friendships that I have, and how much I miss you guys! I know I've come a long way, but somehow I still feel disappointed in myself. I mean, I did NOT spend four years in college (and 60 grand) so that I could do customer service at Comcast. My car is a bucket of junk and I badly need a new one but cannot afford it. Nikki is trying hard to convince me to move to D.C. with her, and if I didn't have health insurance and student loan payments to worry about I'd probably do it, or at least seriously consider it. But as dissatisfied as I am with what I actually do at Comcast, I can't beat the benefits, and their education assistance program could be a great way to get a master's degree for cheap. My manager tells me I should use it as a means to an end, which I think is great advice. I love living in Michigan, even in the winter. Ecuador was amazing, but Christmas just wasn't Christmas without snow.

I'm babbling.

So what's my point? While unhappy with my actual job, I am extremely grateful to have one, because I tried the whole unemployment gig earlier this year and that was AWFUL. And I have to say that I find more and more in my life to be happy and thankful for every day. New ideas, new people. Potential for things I didn't think I'd find for a very long time. And I have all my past experiences -- with family and friends -- to hold me up if I start to feel a little bummed after a day of stupid assholes screaming at me because they haven't paid their bill in three months and now their cable doesn't work. I think that's why I like pictures so much. They always make me smile.

That's all for now folks.

Ex Marks the Spot

So today I had my fill of ex-boyfriends. One in particular. It's cool if he never wants to speak to me again. If that's what he needs, then I'm happy to oblige. All I ever wanted was for him to be happy, and if that means not talking to me then as much as it sucks ass to lose him as a friend -- since that's how we started -- then oh well. That was part of the risk I took when we started to become more than friends, and I understood that from the get-go. What's not cool is him pulling a 180 on me. A week ago he was all, "We should hang out," and, "When are you coming to Ann Arbor?" and sending me little nonchalant look-see, we-can-be-friends emails. Today he said, and I almost quote, "I would appreciate it if you could limit your contact with me as much as possible, because -- after consulting with my family and friends -- I've realized that the best thing for all parties concerned is for us not to speak to each other." And when I called him out on how he could've picked a better time, since I was in the car, on my way to his mom and dad's house, to pick up all the stuff that was abandoned at the end of our relationship, he basically told me to take a flying leap. The conversation ended with him saying -- and I DO quote, "Lose my phone numbers, lose my email address, and don't ever talk to me again."

So then I said, "Fuck you," and hung up the phone. I could feel the tears welling up and I started thinking, Well shit if Shaun wasn't right, I'm gonna end up crying, and then Matt said, "You better not cry, because he is not even worth one of your tears," and I'm sad to say that I actually felt like he was right. Three years of friendship, two years of dating, and it's like that.

Oddly enough this seemed like a weekend for exes. Them showing up out of the blue, wondering why the girls they shat on for years aren't happy to see them. That's some nerve right there. I was thinking about how exes are more trouble than they're worth, but there is at least one good thing that happens when they show up unexpectedly: they remind you why they're exes in the first place.

Sorry boys, the ladies are moving on to bigger and better things. It's time for a man now.

War of the Worlds

So tonight I had a date with my mom and we went to the mall and then to the movies and to dinner after that. We saw "War of the Worlds" and I have to say it's the best movie I've seen in a long time. That Steven Spielberg, he knows how to make a damn movie! And I wasn't even irritated with Tom Cruise, for all his recent ranting and raving and preaching about how Scientology rules, and psychiatry drools. There was not a moment of disappointment in the entire movie, and since I don't want to spoil it for anyone, I will just say GO SEE IT. Then if you want to talk about it, let me know!

I realized in the theater that my mom is 'that guy' -- the one who talks through the whole movie. (I guess that's where I get it from Shaun!) Haha, but it didn't even matter because the most obnoxious man in the universe sat just a few seats down from us. He had a ginormous bucket of popcorn that he was just rocketing into his mouth, and he must have been doing a piss poor job of chewing it because after every bite he'd start hacking and coughing. Then he'd grunt and shuffle around in his chair and hack and wheeze some more. It was ridiculous. After the movie my mom said to me, "How could that man's wife allow him out in public?!" It was just sooooo loud! And for the entirety of the 2+ hour movie!! It was animalistic, barbaric -- impressive even, in a revolting sort of way. It just figures he had to sit 3 seats down from us in a gigantic movie theater.

We came home after dinner and I watched one of my all time favorite movies, "The English Patient." I cry every single time I watch that movie, and always at the same part. Which I won't name here because I don't want to ruin it for anyone who hasn't seen it, but it's incredible how much it affects me. I get goose bumps and then my eyes well up and before I know it I am crying. The tragic love stories in far off places get me every time. And I love Ralph Fiennes. Even when he played a creepy lunatic in "Red Dragon" he was still somehow sexy as hell. And don't even get me started on "The End of the Affair" -- another tearjerker! I wonder how Mr. Fiennes will do as Harry Potter's greatest enemy, Lord Voldemort (a.k.a. You-Know-Who), when the next movie comes out (in November I think?). I'm sure he will be properly evil....

Time for bed now!

Think I Need A

Haircut?

We Get This From Our Father

When my brother and I discover a song that we are at once bound to love forever we will play it over, and over, and over, and over. In our cars. On our stereos. With headphones on. In the shower. My dad does this, which is funny because whenever Jesse and I are in the first throes of passion with a new tune, he will inevitably say, "Do you have to listen to it over, and over, and over, and over again??" I can just see my mom shaking her head and laughing to herself over how oblivious he is to his own habits.

On repeat now I have Coldplay's, "X&Y," which is track 6 off their new album, of the same name. Lyrics below. Again it has happened; as I listen to the song I think, "I wonder if this is how he feels?" But this time it is a different he, and I think the chances of me actually confirming my hunch are much greater than the last time I felt this way about a song. I think I agree with him though, that perhaps this CD was made for us to listen to together, and seperately, right now, and forever.

Today I grew a million tiny little crazy little lovely little thoughtlings in my brain. I wondered how cats can sound like miniature thunder when they purr, and how I want a cat again, and how it's too bad my dog eats cats, otherwise I'd go out and get one. I thought about how no matter what color I ever paint my toenails, my toes will always be ridiculous looking. I thought about how sometimes being patient is a pain in the ass, and sometimes sitting on a thumbtack is a pain in the ass. I thought about how I am waiting for a confrontation that I fear is inevitable, and how I will kick its ass Southfield style if it ever arises. I saw a picture of myself and thought, "Is my hair really that long?" Then I thought I ought to call my sister and ask her to cut my hair.

Right now I am thinking about how I feel so uncertain about my future, which is a foreign feeling for me. I feel like I am not sure what direction I will take, if I will go back to school, if I will join the Peace Corps after all, if I will write a book of poems and make a million bucks. I'm somewhat disappointed that I feel that last option is perhaps more likely than the middle one at this point. But I suppose only time will tell.

Patience is a virtue, or so he tells me. And I know he's right. So I'll just listen to "X&Y" a million more times while I am waiting for my life to figure itself out.

That'll work, right?

X&Y

by Coldplay

Trying hard to speak
And fighting with my weak hand
Driven to distraction
So part of the plan

When something is broken
And you try to fix it
Trying to repair it
Any way you can

I dive in at the deep end
You become my best friend
I wanna love you but I don't know if I can

I know something is broken and
I'm trying to fix it
Trying to repair it anyway I can

You and me are floating on a tidal wave... together
You and me are drifting into outer space... and singing
Oooohh, oooohh

Happy Fourth

Wow, I cannot believe it's the Fourth of July already. On Friday Shaun and I went to the Oakland County Fireworks at Addison Oaks County Park in BFE (actually, I think it may have been Lake Orion or something out there), and there was this little boy who kept going, "WOW!!! WHOOOAAAA!!! COOOL!!! I LOOOVE FIREWORKS!!!" every time one went off. It was hilarious. At one point he had all of us giggling because he was just so incredibly excited about the show, and Shaun said, "Can you imagine what that kid is gonna be like having sex??" Hahaha! Too funny....

Other than that, I haven't really done anything too Fourth-of-Julyish. I was remembering last year, how I had Nik and Gianny and Bri and Steph and Chris over at my house for BBQ and football and frisbee in my backyard, and how Sasha (my doggy) almost attacked Gianny when he walked in with his Panama hat on. And I think we played Uno at my kitchen table, and drank a lot of beer. Crazy how things have changed!

This weekend all I did was work. Comcast on Saturday, Gap yesterday, and today I work at Comcast for four hours (and it will be dead because people don't realize we're open 24/7). Then I think Shaun and I are going out with Shimmy and Kathy T. Shaun has gotten me all into NTN, and I think he's aching to serve me up a good butt kickin', since I beat him 4 out of 5 times last Friday! He even cheated once, but his guilt made him admit it to me as we were leaving BW3s. Hahahaha! The good thing about only working four hours was that I had a nice, relaxing morning. I sat outside in the sunshine and wrote in my journal and read (I just started Beloved, by Toni Morrison), and talked to Kira on the phone for a while. I can't believe her wedding is in less than two months!! I think the two jobs are starting to wear on me, and since lately it's been no fun at all working at the Gap, I am really considering quitting. But damn is that discount hard to let go of!

Pages

from my journal in Spring 2003

Get Behind Me Satan

Recently someone told me that a certain song makes them think of me, and it's on this CD, and I have listened to it a bunch of times and am still at a complete and total loss for how exactly it could remind him of me. I guess that is probably part of the reason we broke up. Whenever I think of him lately I feel like a tiny little piece of shit. Because I feel like I did something terrible to a person who didn't deserve it. It's not his fault I couldn't handle him. *Sigh* I know that eventually we will all be OK, because most wounds heal -- well either that or they kill you, and I am not a killing kind of a wound-- but I really wish I could get over feeling guilty for not loving him enough. And for wanting something with someone new, wanting everything with someone new. Wondering if maybe all I've ever wanted is waiting in this one someone new. (No pressure, by the way.) I can feel the guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt.... It's beating me like rain.

Earlier I was thinking about the title of this album, and how it made no sense to me at all at first, but I think I get it -- or at least part of it now. It's the loss of love, both given and received, and how it can make you crazy if you let it tear you up. How it can tempt you to do things you know you shouldn't, how it can make you be evil to someone you thought you loved. How when it's ending, it brings out the devil in you, and once it's over, you just have to get it behind you. How to do that I haven't exactly figured out yet. But I will keep listening, and let you know, if anyone is still reading this garbage.

You think not tellin' is the same as not lyin', don't you?
Well I guess not feeling is the same as not cryin' to you?
In the red... in the rain....

The White Stripes


Other than being eaten alive with guilt from the inside out, I guess I'm OK.

Except that I may have been incorrectly medicated by my pharmacist at Walgreen's. She filled my perscription for my thyroid (I have Hashimoto's Disease, Google it) incorrectly a month ago. The bottle said I had 60 pills as of 5/27, and today I went to pick up the refill cuz I had one left, which made me realize that I'd only gotten 30 pills. In May I noticed that they were bigger than they normally are as well, which I thought was because my doctor increased my dosage, but today my mom and I realized that the pill I've taken every day for the last 30 some odd days was the wrong one. Definitely the wrong size, and who knows if it was even for my thyroid??!! So, I foresee bloodwork in my very near future (yick!), and perhaps a multimillion dollar lawsuit (ha, wouldn't that be great?) against Walgreen's if I end up growing a sixth toe or something. Just my luck it'd probably end up being something to increase the hideousness of my poor feet. But that would decrease my 'quality of life' pretty significantly, which is good for lawsuits (but bad for sandal wearing in the summertime), right lawyers?!?

How scary is that though, that you could take a prescription to your pharmacist for penicillin, and he could fill it up with oh, say, cyanide? And just kill you like that. It's blind trust in the system. You never know what kind of twisted screwball could manage to graduate from pharmacy school. Or steal the night manager's keys to Walgreen's and play miserable tricks on the elderly and ill. I mean look at the ass who managed to steal one presidential election, and four years later still manage to dupe poor white people into thinking that they could be in his club too, so you better vote the right way, otherwise those evil God-hating (*gasp*) GAY people are going to come to steal your kids! But that's a whole 'nother entry all its own....

I was thinking today that it's weird that people I will never know will read these things about me, and somewhere they will have my thoughts and my pictures in their minds for a time -- even if it's only a second in passing -- and I will have nothing of them. And I wonder if this is an accurate representation of me. I worry that it's not. I feel like I'm trying my blog on like it's a dress I'm not sure I'll buy, because I'm not sure it's 'me'. So I ask my friends, "Guys, is this me?" As I come out for a twirl.

So guys, is this me?

Can't you hear me, can't you hear me calling your name girl?
In the red... In the rain....